Rachel's Knoll

There are natural places of prayer that exist all around us. I have experienced them is churches all over the globe, but most recently I encountered one in central Arizona. What is it about space that often makes space feel relevant for prayer?

In October I went to the Arizona hill country. I had on previous sojourns visited many tourist sites, so this time I simply wanted to focus on spending quality time with God. As I traveled into the red rocks area near Sedona, I found myself being drawn to a particular place among the iron infused rock. I spent hours there, standing, sitting, and praying all the while. The view was gorgeous and yet only about a half dozen folks moved in and about my immediate vicinity while I was there. There was a golf course below, which felt out of place, but no more so than the stacked rocks that the discourteous leave behind to mark their place of prayer.

I could feel the presence of God. I could feel the breeze flow gently across my mind and tease me with thoughts of the creative acts of God that separated us from the beasts. I heard the first creation story playing over and over in my mind. I heard God give us dominion over the earth and with that dominion the tremendous responsibility that we share. I did not hear Jesus, but I recognize his presence in creation and my own salvation as a repentant sinner. I felt the presence of the God of Moses, who guided him to part the sea and slap a rock with his staff causing it to bleed water to quench the thirst of the then wandering Israelites.  

Space has always been important to me. The first time that I went to St. Mark’s Church, Frankford I found a quiet place to pray. Unbeknownst to me, the place I had selected was where folks had prayed for a century to end wars, facilitate the transition from this life to the next, and to heal a beloved friend or family member. It was a powerful place for prayer and without any inkling I naturally fell into the place and prayer.

What was it that was so special about Rachel’s Knoll? Was it the elevation? Was it the iron, which rusts and turns the sandstone red? Was it the way that the breezes moved around me? Was it the absence of people? Was it the mindset and spirit of expectation with which I entered the space?  I was later to learn that I was at the Rachel’s Knoll vortex. I felt that I was in the presence of God in a very special and powerful way.

Along with public and congregational prayer, I recognize the personal nature of prayer and how intimate it can feel. When we enter hallowed ground, what is it that clicks that makes the Rachel’s Knoll vortex feel so incredibly special? A vortex is a very special place where folks for generations have come to experience God. I don’t know if the earliest Shaman from the native populations of the area came to the Knoll where I was, but I cannot imagine that they did not.

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As I explored the rock and vegetation, I saw none of the tell-tale cedar, with twisted and turned trunks, bent in the breezes, into a circular pattern, but that would be more common up against a hill side where the winds are “forced” into the vortex; this is different as there is no pocket of wind. I did see the ancient vegetation that had been there hundreds of years and recognized them to be a resource to be left undisturbed by humans. There need not be any marker left behind, as we 21^st Century folks are so often inclined to do.

When I returned to civilization and the internet, I learned a little about the concept of the vortex and the many special places around the geologic transition zones in central Arizona; I read some of the speculation about tribes and Shaman, but that was not my experience. My experience was not of the humans who walked, sat, kneeled, and prayed before me. My experience was of God, who I know to be the Triune God, whose works we know as beginning creation. It is with that open mindedness that I felt as though I was participating with God in creation on this holy ground.