Remembering the Crown of Thorns and the One who Wore It

It's Easter morning and I wanted to post a blessing. As we were on an excursion this week,  we first went to check out an area a friend told us about, to see it the first warblers had made it to the high places yet. It had lots of forrest service roads and no foliage on the trees, so we got to see some amazing looks into distant mountains that we don't normally get to see. Pine warblers were everywhere, and putting on their Sunday best.  Bright shiney yellow fluff balls hanging in lots of trees along the hillside parking lots and overlooks.  We had one worm eating warbler, a chippy or two, but everything else was a local regular...sparrows, and robins, woodpeckers, and jays, chickadees and titmouse. There was one odd call, similar to a peacock that we couldn't figure out. Grouse maybe? But what captured our attention was the bright white mountain top, we could barely see behind the distant mountains. It barely peeked over the tops of the others, until we got to the highest spot.  It was just a sliver of sparkling jewel, which without binoculars and scope, seemed more like clouds than snow.  Where, we wondered, was so much  snow?

As we drove to lower altitudes, the day was early yet, and I caught on right away that my husband was not finished prowling yet. We took a road toward the Hiwassee River, and came across the most amazing old country church.

 

It had a historical marker, that shared some of it's history, and it was obviously in need of stablizing, for many of the rocks that were it's support had fallen from the foundation. But you could still climb the steps and look inside the window. The glass had been removed, and I could stick my camera through the window frames, and take picts of the bare bones interior. Only a few pews suggested it was a small congregation, a few families at most who attended, but I could almost hear the love and imagine the hours spent fellowshipping there. The walls had been yellow, but most of the paint and stain had weathered away from the pews and pulpit. But the windows, 3 on either side, opened the whole area to views of the river outside. I could see myself day-dreaming while the pastor tried to keep my attention away from that view, if I had been a child on one of those pews. What must it have been like in the fall!

There was a platform for the choir, backed by a door that went upstairs. the pulpit was far left and was small. The setting sun cast a shadow across the front of it, and made it the center of attention in the now sadly unattended room.

I took a number of pictures of the architectural elements inside and out. I noticed that outside there appeared to be old blue buttermilk paint under the paint that was wearing away from the porch ceiling, and the double doors were large enough to bring a piano through.

 

 

 My husband called me to come see the gardens, which had white crocus just finishing their bloom.  It was easy to see there had been love in this place. The banks of a spring had been lined with old bridge iron. Along the bank of the river, under a tree, the flower garden showed signs of daffodils ready to bloom, and many more flowers to come with the spring. There were large flat rocks placed here and there on each level as you walked down. It was obvious that they had been sat upon often. I imagined Sunday School classes being held there in Summer under the shade of that tree, and in the cool breeze coming off of the flowing waters. 

Just above, near the spring, was a sprawling leafless bush. And I was hugged by God's spirit, when I came close and saw what it was. Taking sustenance from the waters was a Crown Of Thorns tree.  How appropriate for a church to have this as a centerpeice to its gardens. The thorns looked treacherous. I had to pause and just stare as I thought of the crown that was woven from thorns just like these. And they placed it on the head of the one I adore. Since this was Easter week, I knew this was my Easter present from God. To be blessed by this old church, to find this garden, and to feel one with saints of another time, who worshipped and loved the same Christ.  To know they loved my savoir, and planted this bush by the waters that flowed to the river.

 Their garden was like a journey, through the Easter Story. Beginning with the crown of thorns to the place where the river of life flowed.  I imagined that children were able to see with their own eyes what that crown might have looked like. That thorny old crown, meant to mock the KING of our hearts. Interestingly, I recalled that the real name of the bush, I beleive, is "Mock Orange," because of its blooms and its fragrance.

How many prayers may have been prayed there.  By the river, where it only seems right that the members of this church were baptised.  I wondered if it was shallow enough.  The old pictures out front, showed a store and a nice large home had been nearby. It had been a community built around their church, with wagon roads, and farms and barns.

Here on the river, I am sure they caught fish, and surely there had been at least one fish supper. And it was clear to me, the pastor and people who built this church were celebrating the life of Christ, and being true to his call to be fishers of men.

I was so blessed by this lovely gift from the Lord.  I hope you can sense the joy that was in this place they way I could. If I were to have a church that inspired me, I would choose it to be just like this one.

Happy Easter Morning!