I write to you from Torrington, Wyoming - where I once again find myself in a weird situation. Trying to find the best motel rate/bargain (no surprise to any of you, I'm sure), I phoned all that were listed in the tourist brochure for Torrington, where I am staying tonight after having visited two Presbyterian churches in the area. I had a choice of Gramma's Motel, America's Best Value, and Days Inn. Gramma's was cheapest, at $51. Bargain - maybe too much of a bargain. America's Best gave me a "special rate" of $82.50. OK, but still too pricey for me. The Days Inn phone was answered by a person with an Indian accent (no surprise) who offered me a special rate of $60. I took it.This afternoon I arrived at the motel, which does indeed have half of a Days Inn sign in front of it. But the motel has no other signage, and it was completely deserted. It's a big motel - at least 100 rooms. No one was at the desk in the deserted lobby. There was a phone that said dial zero to get an attendant. I did; the phone rang; no one came. I waited. I decided to leave. As I got in my car, an Indian woman came out and urged me, I think, to come back in. She promised to show me a room. She did; it is indeed a nice room. The problem is: I am the only person in the motel. The huge parking lot is completely empty. There are new mattresses stacked in the lobby and the hallways. So, after going to a community dinner (pay what you can - a dinner given each week by a local restaurant that is supported by the town churches; it was the Presbyterians' time this week, so I went to assist as a waiter), I returned to the motel and have carefully locked myself in my room. Internet does work. The room is nice. The place is beyond spooky.
But, on the good side, my nice picture window faces the railroad track - the same one I observed in Moorcroft and Gillette. I did have opportunity while staring out of the window to count the cars on a fully loaded coal train as it passed by. There were 130 cars. And these trains pass by about every 20 minutes; loaded cars going out, empty cars coming back. I just thought you'd like to know.
My drive this morning from Moorcroft to Torrington (on the eastern edge of Wyoming) was beautiful. Indeed, I would say that I have never seen more beautiful country-side. People say it's boring. It is not. It is empty (like the motel). I saw only cows for over 80 miles. But the landscape is interesting: rolling hills, devoid of trees, unless they are planted by a remote ranch house, or along a creek bed. There are often interesting rock formations or butes. I was never bored. I set my cruse control on 65 and never moved it.
The Presbyterian churches in Torrington and Lingle (a very small town nearby) are served by the same pastor, an interim pastor who has inherited a difficult situation. Both churches took a vote on whether to remain in the PCUSA, Withdrawing from the denomination requires several steps - the first being a congregational vote . Those supporting withdrawal must win a super-majorityof 65%. In both of these churches, the loyalists narrowly won. The result has been the withdrawal of many individual members of these two churches, some to join more conservative denominations, other simply to non-activity. Both churches, under an able pastor, are trying to rebuild and recover. Splits like this are always very disruptive and painful.
I spent most of today in Gillette, looking around, talking to the pastor of the First (and only) Presbyterian church, looking at coal mines.
To quote from the town brochure: "If Campbell County (i.e., Gillette) were a nation, it'd be the sixth largest coal producing country in the world; as it is, it now mines more than one-fourth of all American coal. Open-pit mines work round the clock to dig coal that provides one-third of the nation's electricity, and they have become models for reclamation all over the world."
The pit mines are amazing. I watched humongous coal-haulers, twice as big as tanks, moving coal from the pits to the trains today. I have seen trains over a mile long hauling nothing but cars loaded with coal. These trains have at least 120 cars, I am told, each of which holds 130 tons of coal. There are at least 30 trains per day hauling this coal out of Gillette, and of course there are thirty trains returning with empty cars. The trains pass at the end of the street in Moorcroft where my motel is situated. I have watched them This information is true. (One person told me that many trains have more than 120 cars; although I am prone to counting,I did not verify.)
Gillette became a boom town in the early seventies. Coal, gas, oil - it's all here. The town looks like a frontier town in some ways. There is not enough housing for the workers. Trailers are everywhere.
Senator Mike Enzi is from Gillette. He is a member of the Presbyterian church here. The congregation is, I am told, very worried about the mistaken actions of the US government and the Presbyterian General Assembly.The session (the governing board of the local church) has gone on record as opposing the church's redefinition of marriage. Both Senator Enzi and Senator Barrasso are very upset about proposed federal regulations to limit the amount of coal-produced electricity. Let's just say President Obama doesn't have many fans in this part of the world. While those of us who are concerned about global warming may have a different attitude than they do, let's remember: no one (well, hardly anyone) ever agrees with proposals that will limit their livelihood. If you were a struggling rancher who suddenly got rich from the mineral rights beneath your land, you might not look kindly on anything that threatens that wealth. It's the old story: whose ox is being gored?
But Christianity in theory calls us to transcend our self-centeredness, doesn't it?
Since I had free time today, I dashed over the border into South Dakota to see Mount Rushmore. It rained steadily, and sometimes quite hard, as I drove through the Black Hills National Forest. The rain stopped when I emerged from the parking lot at Mount Rushmore itself. I took this as some sort of sign. I think the rain had the advantage of thinning out the crowd a bit. (As most of you know, I am not a fan of crowds. That is one reason I am in Wyoming.) But there were plenty of people there, and all of us were astounded when a large passenger jet airliner flew, at a very low altitude, in a circle twice around the mountain top. All of us stood transfixed watching it. I am sure I was not the only one who had uncomfortable thoughts while this was happening. But all was well. Mysterious, but well. Just the pilot giving the passengers a view of the monument, someone said.
My response to seeing this monument was strong. I am in awe of the workers who hung off the mountaintop for over six years, with chisels and jack-hammers and dynamite to accomplish this task. It is an impressive site. Like Devil's Tower, the scale of the structure is startling. A movie, shown at the Visitor Center, showed old footage of the men hanging in mid-air. This makes me queasy, just as the thought of people climbing to the top of Devil's Tower makes me queasy. Both monuments, for some people, are sacred. I understand and appreciate that response. I cannot say which is the greater mystery.
I regret that the rain discouraged me from stopping to see the monument to Crazy Horse that is still being sculpted. It is appropriate to wonder whose mountains these really are.
I began the day by worshiping at the Shepherd of the Hills Presbyterian Church, the only PCUSA congregation in Casper. Five years ago there were three. One closed because of dwindling membership, and the second withdrew to a more conservative denomination. But the Shepherd of the Hills is a thriving church. I found the solid, open, affirming traditional Presbyterian worship service invigorating. People there gave me a very warm welcome, and I enjoyed conversation with several members following worship. I was told that Senator and Mrs. Barrasso are active members of this congregation. Obviously the congregation has a broad constituency.
Then I travelled to the Northeast corner of Wyoming, got a room in a very small but nice family owned motel in Moorcroft, a small town east of Gillette, near Devil's Tower. I spent several hours at Devil's Tower. It is inappropriately named. It is, as the native American tradition recognizes, a holy place. It is stunning in its majesty.
I returned to Moorcroft to get dinner. It is a very small town, with very few stores. I stopped at a "restaurant" off the main street that was brightly advertised, offering amazing meal deals. It was a large, almost totally empty space. And when I say totally empty, I mean totally. No people. No evidence of decorations. No food. Just a young girl, about 11, sitting at an old cash register. She greeted me like I was an angel. I asked if they were really open. She said yes. Her father came out from the other room. He explained that they were having a hard time, and had only two items on the menu, both $5.00 I had a lovely sandwich, with the little girl asking me, every two or three minutes, if I needed something else. They gave me a complimentary root beer float. They insisted. They told me I was their sixth customer of the day.
Wyoming is very beautiful. People say it is empty, and there are stretches with no evidence of habitation. But the landscape, far from being barren, is always interesting. And so are the people, It is an unusual place.
I have spent much of today learning about the Oregon trail, both by visiting a great museum/interactive learning facility called the National Historic Trails Interpretive Center, and then, using one of their wonderful (and free) National Park System guidebooks, following the trail over dirt roads and back country from Casper to Independence Rock (about 50 miles). For most of the back country ride, I saw no other cars and no other people. Only occasional cows amid the sagebrush.
Here's what I learned: the Oregon trail, the California trail, and the Mormon trail were in fact one trail through most of Wyoming. All three of them, though having separate endpoints, converged near Casper (which of course did not exist in the 1840's and 1850's) to cross the North Platte River. The river looks quite tame now, thanks to five dams that have been built. Then it was quite wide, and the crossing was treacherous. It became easier after Brigham Young left a few Mormons behind to start a ferry service. Truly. And that was quite successful.
Almost a half million people made the journey across these trails - all of them through what became Casper - beginning in the 1840's and ending only when the transcontinental railroad was finished in 1869. After bumping along the dirt road for a couple of hours, I could only imagine what it was like to walk, or ride in a wagon, or pull a cart, for four months.
This transcontinental manifest destiny is a storied part of American history. What is not so well known is the establishment of forts all along the trail to protect the travelers from Indians (better to say native Americans, or Shoshone, or Arapaho or Sioux ), who either do not appear in the story at all, or appear as threats to the pioneers. But the story of the continuing infringement upon already-constricted native land is rarely told or known, and neither is the fact (I learned today) that of the 450,000 pioneers, only 350 were killed en route. Far more, vastly more, died of cholera or from the strains of the journey. The result of the Westward expansion, however, was the near destruction of native American livelihood.
And so the question arises again: Who defines progress, and who pays the price for it?
I flew into Casper late yesterday afternoon, watching a beautiful full-horizon sunset turn into a totally enveloping azure sky. From the air, the territory south of Casper looks like moonscape. On the ground, it is an oasis of trees surrounded by brown, with a significant mountain range (Casper Mountain) to its south. I drove up to the top today, with enough hair-pin curves, sheer drop offs, and popping ears to make me wonder how I'm going to handle driving in the "real mountains".
Casper is a beautiful and prosperous city. It is, I have learned, all about oil and gas. Private jet terminals dominate the small airport. At a population of 55,000 it's the second largest city in Wyoming., behind Cheyenne. Headlines in the morning paper make me aware of two things.
First, in Gillette (the city I visit next week, which produces one-fourth of the coal in the US): "Coal backers blast federal reforms." It was a significant mass meeting. Conservationists were very outnumbered. The meeting was attended by both of Wyoming's US Senators - John Barrasso and Mike Enzi - who, I learned today are not only Republicans (which of course I knew) but they are also Presbyterians.This makes my journey even more interesting.
The second headline was "Yellowstone park officials euthanize bear that killed hiker". Be warned. Sad for the bear. Much sadder,of course, for the hiker.
A question to consider and explore: Can religious belief ever trump - or transform - economic status? (It is not lost on me that Donald Trump is also a Presbyterian, he says.)
"What is this project?", you ask.
I will visit all 28 Presbyterian (Presbyterian Church USA) congregations in the state of Wyoming, talking with pastors and members, trying to discover how the changes in the PCUSA are being received and expressed in the state of Wyoming. Since Wyoming is known as a conservative state, and since certain recent decisions in the PCUSA have moved the denomination toward left of center, I hope to find out how things are going. This project also gives me a good reason to explore all parts of the state of Wyoming - a place where I have never been before. I am grateful to the Louisville Institute for awarding me a Pastoral Study Grant to support this project. I am bound, by the terms of the grant, to communicate my findings, which I will do through this blog and also through (perhaps) an article when the project is completed.
