Spirituality of Place: The Grotto

Before I launch into a description of the Grotto you should probably know a few things about me. First of all I grew up in a small town in Washington on five acres of natural evergreen forest. The majority of my childhood was comprised of barefooted adventures with whatever animals and insects I could find, plus my little sister. camping meant sleeping on the bare ground and any 'path' I traveled on was typically forged by a wild animal. Moving to Portland for college is really my first experience with city life and it has definitely been a big adjustment.

That said, I was absolutely enthralled at the thought of a botanical garden. Some of the most spiritual experiences I have ever encountered happened in the midst of God's creation so I was positively thrilled at the idea of a botanical garden purposed for spirituality. Upon my arrival at the Grotto I noted the grey skies and prayed that the rain would not greet me today. It took a few minutes of poking around to find the elevator and then realize it requires a token… this was the beginning my doubt.

After paying in the gift shop (which was strange enough) I passed the famous grotto with the big statue inside—it also housed dozens of candles, spotlights, and fake flowers. The spectacle was more than a bit too much for my taste and I walked over to the elevator. At this point I was becoming exceedingly skeptical about the whole ordeal. Reaching the top of the cliff, the elevator opened to a rock wall sectioned off by a steel wall with a window. This window was the first of the only three things at the grotto that really impacted me. Somewhere between the absurdity of a window on top of a mountain and the juxtaposition of steel and pine trees I felt the odd sensation of a stirring in my heart, although I wouldn’t realize the implications of this until later.

After consulting the map my friend, who had accompanied me, suggested that we walk the loop around the upper garden so that we could stop and read all of the signs and displays. As we walked I couldn’t help but notice the lack of natural scenery. Contrary to the advertisements and my expectations, the ‘upper garden’ consisted of little more than some sparse shrubbery and a few glorified fish-ponds. In addition to the relative unnatural state of the gardens there were booths stationed periodically along the path containing statues and story boards. Each figurine was enclosed in a well-lit glass display case. These cases were fine to look at from a distance but a closer inspection would reveal the second impactful aspect of my journey—dead insects. Each figurine was laden with cobwebs and dead spiders, and the bottom of the display riddled with dead flies and moths. This pairing of the life of Jesus and His deceased creation haunted me.

Disappointed and disgusted with the state of this place I made it clear to my friend that I was ready to leave. On our way to the elevator she noticed a path that we had previously overlooked and I reluctantly followed her towards it. After a few twists and turns the path opened up to a large metal building with glass doors. Hesitantly my friend and I ventured towards the door and stepped inside. Where the back wall of the building should have been was instead a momentous wall of solid glass looking out over Portland. Positioned towards this view were six jumbo leather Lazy Boy recliners. The air inside was slightly warmer than the outdoors and seemed charged with a tension that demanded complete silence. After a few minutes of gazing out over the expanse of Portland, of which I recognized virtually nothing, I abruptly turned on my heel and left.

            Rather than leaving the grotto rejuvenated or enlightened, I left it fuming with anger and it wasn’t until halfway home that I figured out why I was so upset. Flipping through the pictures I had taken on my phone I located the three that summarized my visit to the grotto: the window, the moth, and the recliner. What about these three objects had put me into this state of blind anger? After five days of mulling over these images along with the emotions they evoked in me, I have come to two separate but relative conclusions. One—all three of these images were of man-made objects. And two—all three images had the capacity for beauty despite the ugliness that I found in them. While I have focused this week on deciphering my findings I am left with nothing more or less than a boatful of questions.
            How can I find beauty in a man-made world? What is so glorious about the fabricated world that renders the natural world inadequate? Where can I go to be absolutely alone in nature? What is so spiritual about God’s creation in it’s purest form of the natural world? And most importantly why am I having such a difficult time dealing with these questions? In the past I could spout off bible verses to answer all of my questions but Warner has changed me. Where I used to see a clear-cut solution to whatever problem or issue I was faced with, I now see a mass of shapes and colors that do not seem to definitively begin or end. Every time I feel close to an answer I am bombarded with more questions. I recognize that I can’t answer them all myself and am beginning to realize that this may be the point; that it is okay for me to not know.