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One Stone Upon the Next

One Stone Upon the Next

By Timothy W. Tron

 

Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock. And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock.” – Matthew 7:24

Block upon block, stone upon stone, the process can be extremely laborious when working with masonry. It would be all the more easy to throw up a building built with any other foundation, like a pole barn for example. But for a long-lasting, secure underpinning, one must work with the bedrock of building materials. It can be very taxing upon the body, especially when you don’t lay block or stone for a living. Slowly, one block, one brick at a time, the wall begins to take shape. As I step back and wonder if it will ever get done, a message from the past floods into my mind. It’s the voice of my father speaking in my ear, “Once you get it down, you’re done, and you’ll never have to do it again. It may take a while, but you’ll get there.”

Walking in faith is likewise never easy. One step at a time, another scripture memorized, another theological lesson learned and soon, like a stone wall, your pathway begins to take shape. We are continually and will forever be tempted in our earthly bodies by the world in which we live. Yet, we can stand firm, like that rock wall, withstanding the floods and winds of storms that crash against us.

Many years ago, there was another time when I worked with masonry. Then, as now, the feel of the mud, the right consistency, the flow of buttering the stone, then finding it in place, all come back like something ingrained in who I am. The more I worked with it, the more it felt natural. Eventually, I would learn that it was more than just a feeling, it was part of my heritage.

It was no wonder that our ancestors from the Waldensian Valleys where renowned masons. The word Waldensian simply meant, “People of the Valleys.” The valleys consisted of a 25 square mile area of the northwest corner of Italy, known today as the Cottien Alps.  Living at an altitude where there was always more stone that timber, the natural selection for building material became stone. The ancient villages with the slate rooftops and stone walls speak to a life of living in hardships but being prepared for them as well. The harsh winters required a dwelling place that could withstand the rigors of months of snow and freezing cold temperatures.

Waldensian Community Oven, Trail of Faith, Valdese, NC.

For centuries, they continued to build their homes, barns, and landscaping using the stone that God had provided. Likewise, their faith was based upon the granite bedrock from which they drew strength. They had received the word of God from the Apostles, and as such, held it dear to their hearts. They had become known as the “People of the Bible,” because of their memorization of scripture. Families would commit entire books to memory so that when a community came together, they could recite the entire Bible by heart. For nearly a thousand years, they had been persecuted by the Holy Roman Catholic Church. Their crime was sharing the gospels outside the church walls and possessing the Word of God. For to know the Word to the point it is within you, there is nothing else you can do but to do as the Bible says, “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

Yet, they never wavered. The people of the valleys kept the light of Christ alive until the day would come that they could build the bridge that would carry it beyond the valleys into the rest of the world. Their evangelism would spread to all of Europe. From there, and over many centuries, until the Reformers would pick up the mantle and carry forward from that point.

When these Waldensians came to America, where they founded what would become known as Valdese, North Carolina,  they brought with them their inherent talents, one of which was being natural masons. At first, they seemed turned away from who they were in more ways than one. Having no longer been persecuted, it was easy for many of them to eventually join a denomination that didn’t demand the same attention to faith as their ancestors that had died by the sword. So too were they eager to leave behind the toil of working with stone, and instead, tried to build homes made only of wood. Before long, when they finally had time to regroup and reflect more on who and what they were, many went back to working with stone. From there, many churches and WPA projects in and around Burke County were either built or enhanced by these ancient stone smiths from the valleys. But even more dramatic was that some would return to that ancient faith and find more compatible churches to attend. Like myself finding an inherent talent that I didn’t know existed, these Christians of old would return to what felt natural, as they had always done, worshipping God based on the spirit and truth, the Word of God.

Abernathy Methodist Church, Rutherford College, NC.

It was this worshipping God as Christ had asked that determined their course in destiny. “Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock.”

The Waldensians place in the history of Christianity was that of an Ark, of sorts, for the Word of God, a place where God prepared a people in a place that would allow them to protect this word and preserve it until a time when the rest of the world was ready to receive it.

When Andrew took his brother Simon to see Jesus, the first thing Jesus said to him was, “Thou art Simon, son of Jonah, that shall be called Cephas.” The Greek word for Cephas meant stone, or even more precise, a little stone. It was this little stone that Christ would build his church upon, which he himself was the cornerstone; one stone upon the next.

It would seem a bitter irony that a man from Lyon France, a wealthy merchant, would sell everything he had to turn to an Apostolic way of life after hearing a traveling troubadour sing about a people from the valleys who lived out their faith as in Apostolic times. Once he heard this tale, he was determined to live and preach the word of God from that point forward. Yet, if he had used his real name, his family would have been persecuted and killed, again because it was against the law of the church-state to do so. So, to hide his identity, he became “Peter Waldo.” The name simply meant a little stone from the valleys. This “Peter of the valleys,” would go on to lead many in Lyon to Christ and would eventually have to flee to safety to the same valleys from which he took his name. Some historians would tell you that this was the beginning of the Waldensians, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Knowing that they could not destroy the people of the valleys by force, for they had tried and failed so many times, eventually, the Catholic Church would use the Peter Waldo tale to sway people away from the truth. When Satan gets a foot in the door, he not only takes an inch but will always take a mile.

Sadly, the story is perpetuated even unto today; some by people who are ignorant of the truth while others purposely continue the lie to diminish the true connection of those ancient people of the valleys to the disciples. Without a doubt, the ancient Waldensians can be traced back to the time of the Apostles, even though their persecutors tried to eliminate or destroy any proof thereof. A good starting point for anyone wanting to research the truth can be found in Ted Alexander’s book, “The Waldenses, of Whom the World Was Not Worthy.” Even with the persecutor’s attempts to hide and slander the truth, one can still search into ancient documents today and find clear evidence of Apostolic ties.

It is no wonder that with the ancient Waldenses connection to the Apostles, many denominations seek them out as their forefathers of faith. The Peter Waldo story was and is still today created to perpetuate a false story which is to diminish this fact, that the ancient Waldensians were the link to the original word of God having received it from the Apostles. If it were not so, the Catholic Church could, and does claim to be the sole inheritor of these rights. Ironically, what the Catholic Church tried to kill never died. Their persecutions of these simple valley people became the voice of martyrs, whose blood planted the seeds of the Reformation.

As we have seen, and hopefully now you too can understand, how those ancient people of the valleys persevered for centuries when they held their faith close to their heart. When the flames of persecution lessened, so did their vigilance. Today, we face the same lessons. When we give in to the world around us, we weaken our diligence to fight the devil. We must not fall away from our focus on the word, for as it is written in Ephesians 6:12, “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”

We can never forget the past, should we be tempted to repeat it. To diminish the truth is to void Christ of all that he did to be the salvation for all mankind. It is up to us to carry on the truth, for it is written, “The father seeketh those who worship him in spirit and in truth.”

Do not let the light of Christ go out. Carry on the work of those distant forefathers and speak boldly to others.

Remember, one stone upon the next is all it takes.

Their salvation is in your hands.

Lux Lucet in Tenebris. The light shines in the darkness.

Thanks be to God.

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A Visitor from Afar

And Elisha prayed, and said, Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see. And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.” – 2 Kings 6:17

He looked down at his worn, weathered hands as he told his story. His voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and as cracked as those calloused palms to which he spoke. “They would not listen,” he recalled, the clear blue eyes glazed over as he looked into the distant past. “We tried to warn them, but it was of no use.” He shook his head as he looked up at me, wanting to say more but emotion had gripped his throat. He lowered his head and ran his fingers through his course gray-speckled hair, relenting to the pain within until he could speak once more.

When he had finally recovered, his demeanor had changed. Like that of an ancient warrior who had finally prepared for battle, he had returned to the front to continue the fight and tell the rest of the story.

“We had known that they were coming, but we didn’t know when. I was with my brother in the upper pastures. It was late spring, and our sheep were hungry for any new growth. A couple weeks earlier, all the men had met one evening to discuss what we would do if they came. We knew that God was with us, but we also knew from the past, that we would need to do more than to kneel and pray when their swords began to swing. There were arguments on both sides of the faith, but eventually, we of the warrior clans ruled out. We wanted to believe that God would lead us, and we always will, but then again, we knew in the ancient times, God also fought on the side of the Israelites, and we as them, believed in our Heavenly Father; now so probably more than then. So when we heard the rumble of the hoof beats echoing up the canyon walls, we knew it was time. I raced along the ridgelines trying to watch as I flew through rock and tree, trying not to slip to the depths below. As we raced back to our farms and villages, the ancient men of faith felt their hearts in their ears. The pounding of blood pulsed through our veins as the spirit drew neigh. We had been told that overwhelming forces would come, but we feared not, for in the days of Elisha, Gideon, David, and all the other biblical kings of old who needed God to help them win, we too knew that without Him, we would surely meet Him sooner than later.

In the distance, I could see some of the families already beginning to flee to the upper reaches of the valleys. Their belongings and animals in tow. There was something about the sight of family and friends fleeing for their lives that made your insides turn into fire. We no longer felt our legs as we were at once lifted from the ground and seemingly placed into our positions of defense awaiting the onslaught of deranged armies. Their purpose had been prepared by those who had lied about the truth, swaying even the most ardent believer into thinking that they were doing the Lord’s work by attacking these meager hunters and farmers. We would find out later that we had been described as devil worshippers, practicing occult rituals, holding worship of our own accord and slandering God’s Word to make it fit our demonic worship. Those lies stung as bad as the flames that would consume most of our kin, the lucky ones that had been captured.

The rest of us would live to find a worse fate.

That day could never be erased from my mind, as we stopped one advance after another. They came like swarms of locusts, too many for the few of us to shoot with arrow and spear. We turned to rolling boulders from above to both crush them and to block the passes through which they had been attempting to pass; some only wide enough for one or two men to pass through at a time. By nightfall, we had secured our border, but with only a handful of men, the new dawn would bring more soldiers from below. Our families had for now made some good time, but the climb to the nearby peaks was slow and grueling. The elderly moved at their own speed, not fearing what was to come, but instead, welcoming it, for they had already asked for the Lord to deliver them.

Knowing that they needed more time, we stayed to buy them at least one more day’s travel. That night I watched as the stars came out and all of God’s creation was on display for us. The pitch-black sky was the perfect backdrop for the multitude of stars that lit the heavens above. The night air was cold, for it was still spring. Pockets of snow still clung to the shadowed sides of the mountains. The woolen overcoat I had carried was barely enough to keep me warm. We dared not light fires for fear of being discovered and giving away our positions, so we huddled close to one another and did the best we could, falling asleep praying to God above.

I felt as if we had barely fallen asleep when the glow of the coming morn began to light the eastern horizon. The sun had barely touched the skyline when we heard the sound of footsteps echoing again up the valley. Our hearts began to beat in time as we knew we were the only thing between our loved ones and death. Before we picked up the sword and shield to begin possibly our last day on earth, we gathered together in prayer.”

“Brother,” the old man said to me as his eyes began to well up once again, “I can tell you I had never known anyone or anybody that had prayed a prayer before that day that came true as it did that day. I must say to you before you think it, that this must just be an exaggeration, but I tell you as the Father in Heaven above sits on the throne of God, it is true. That day we prayed as one, and we said this, “God, please Lord if it be your will, give us the strength to do what is right, to save our loved ones, to defeat this force. God we know we cannot do this alone, for as in those days of Elisha, we need you now, oh Lord we need you. We beseech you, God, to send us down angels from on high to aid us in this battle if it be your desire. We seek your guidance, we seek your love, we seek you in all that we do from the very day we are born until the day we die. Lord hear our pleas, for we are the keepers of your word, from the beginning until this day, Thanks be to God, Amen.”

“We turned from that moment and took up our positions, the few of us that remained.

As we knelt behind rock and crevice waiting and watching until they were within range, the clouds began to cast shadows on the lower vestiges of the valleys. We could see the winds swirling them over the peaks behind us. Some of our younger men began to pray out loud, asking for the safety of those family members still trying to reach those distant summits before the storms hit. Distant thunderclaps shook the ground as dark, ominous clouds began to shroud the peaks that heretofore shone like brilliant golden statues in the morning sunlight.

It was then as if God had truly stood with us, that the unbelievable happened.

Shrouds of blinding ice and rain began to rush past us, like embodied beings of another realm. Lightning strobed in sequenced flashes, striking objects below our cover, shaking the earth until we thought we too might be thrown into the hell that had become the onslaught of man and beast below. Screams of horror and death could barely be heard over that of the wind, like a horrific banshee of hades, all had been obscured from anything we could determine to be human. There was no describing the scene below us, other than we could only determine in blinding sequences of scenes; men, beast, and other, intertwined in a battle that no mortal could withstand.

Time passed, and the sound of our own heartbeats in our ears drummed to the sound of the throng of echoes which combined into a siren of prayers which had been answered. I grasped onto the granite boulder before me to make sure I was still alive, so surreal was everything else around me at the moment.

We don’t know what day if it were the same or more than one, but eventually, the squalls ended, and we could rise from our places of battle refuge.

Below us on the mountain, there were only vague remnants of what had been a sizeable army. Pieces of shields, fragments of weaponry, and human remains all littered the landscape. It was as if a mighty beast had torn them asunder, limb from body, head from torso; the death was complete; not one had survived.”

The old man looked up at me and smiled for the first time.

“You see,” he nodded as he spoke, “God be with us.”

I sat in silence and in awe.

For a moment, I could feel his hand upon my knee as he wanted to say more, and then he was gone.

The day had been long and my brief rest in the chair had turned into a nap. Little did I know that it was more than just a peaceful rest I would encounter. Outside in the nearby woods, a woodpecker tapped out his vibrant melody.

I had not expected it nor known he was coming, but it was a blessing to have been visited from afar once more.

May God be with us.

Thanks be to God.

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