Rolling Junk: Corning, Seneca, Chautauqua, and Sacred Places
“And so we beat on, boats against the current, born back ceaselessly into the past.” - Fitzgerald
Well, I was a bit sour on Day One. My wife is fond of observing that “Yankees go crazy in the heat.” Certainly when the temperature hits 100° in the shade, people should review their decision-making paradigm.
That explains much of the driving we witnessed through portions of our continuing trek to the west. The flow and volume was at its usual laconic pace through most of New York state, but once we came into the denser area that stretches from Erie, Pennsylvania to Cleveland, I was attempting to determine whether some of the drivers were intent on suicide or homicide, or some creative combination of the two.
But, before the madness, there were the rolling hills along the New York and Pennsylvania borderlands where it was not unusual to see no one in our rearview mirror and maybe one or two other cars half a mile ahead.1
Day Two was looking better.
There are three or four interesting sites along this particular stretch, beginning in Corning, New York2 where there is a remarkable museum.
Thirty years ago the Corning Museum of Glass was a smaller enterprise that celebrated the art and science of fiberglass, Corning’s lasting contribution to the industry. Surfers are into that, you understand, because of surfboards.
However, since those days, it has built this remarkable facility and expanded the appreciation of glass in its many forms.
For those looking for an overnight trip, this is worth a visit. Also, this is the Finger Lakes district so there are always sites to explore, trails to hike, and water sports in which to indulge. The restaurant scene is good, too.
For a very long time, the Seneca tribe has quietly maintained their rural reservation in Western New York. So quietly, the only reason you would know you were on the reservation is that the road signs became bilingual, rendered in English and the Seneca language.
That, and you could buy really cheap cigarettes.
As with other modest tribal reservations in the Northeastern United States, the Seneca have built…wait for it…a massive casino in the middle of nowhere.
No, we didn’t stop. I was stuck at the casino once during a blizzard when the state closed the highway and found it unremarkable.
The journey continued and I began to feel like a character in a John Cheever story, gradually passing through personal history.3
The next stop was The Chautauqua Institute, which is a little difficult to describe. Founded in 1874 as a Christian education training facility, it has become a gated village complete with small, very expensive houses, a bookstore, concert venues, lecture halls, an elegant old hotel, a beach along the large, attractive Lake Chautauqua, and all sorts of other diversions.4
In the late 1980’s, I was invited to take up a weeklong residence as the chaplain at the Episcopal Cottage on the grounds. I was given a free room and daily breakfast.
In return, all I had to do was officiate at Morning and Evening Prayer in the chapel, make myself available for pastoral needs [of which there were none], and offer the invocation and benediction at one of the lectures or concerts during the week. That was easy, pleasant duty, and a favorable memory.
Forty-five minutes down the highway is the former monastery of the Society of St. Barnabas in North East, PA [which is in the north western part of the commonwealth] on the shore of Lake Erie and a literal stone’s throw from the New York border.5
It had been an active monastic order of the Episcopal Church beginning after World War II that originally served terminally ill children. By my era, it had become a contemplative order.
My group of monks was the last to be in residence, though, as we all eventually answered other calls in the greater church. It would be sold by the diocese and nowadays is a, God help me, wedding and event venue.
Just south of Erie, Pennsylvania are the two parishes in which I first served as a vicar. They were what was known as a “yoked parish“; meaning that I was halftime in each, and they shared all the salary, insurance, pension, and housing responsibilities equally.6
It was with these congregations that I was ordained a priest, learned the hard lessons of ministry without the advantage of a mentor, and found ways in which to balance the life of an educator with the life of a parish priest.
Driving through these towns and past these places called to mind my first six years of labor in The Episcopal Church. From a monk, to a parish priest and university chaplain7, to the resident pastor of a world-recognized institution, I came away with the experience that determined the rest of my ministry.
Day Two was nostalgic and satisfying and I was glad to have seen these places again and to know that they are still physical.
Day Three will take us to the Biker Riviera.
For potential west-bound travelers, I want to note that the Rte. 17/I-86 route through New York takes only twenty minutes longer than the full I-80 route through Pennsylvania.
The home of Corning Inc., an almost century old American business that gave us, among other things, Corningware and that glorious cornflower percolator that was popular in the 1970s.
One should read his short story, “The Swimmer”, to get the reference.
It is also where Salman Rushdie was almost assassinated by a crazed Islamist a few years ago. They don’t like to talk about that, but I did notice some increased security at the gates.
I know this because some of the other monks would throw stones at the New York State border sign from the front yard of the monastery.
This is becoming a fashionable arrangement once again. Honestly, I would never repeat the experience. For all of the convenience, one has two parishes jealous for one’s time and they become competitive and argumentative like children.
At the time, I also served as Episcopal chaplain at Edinboro University of Pennsylvania and Protestant chaplain at Mercyhurst College in Erie.
Two comments and a question. I think CCB will soon be yoked to another church in Naugatuck or Shelton. Yesterday I drove through Quacker Farms for the first time- it's in my neck of the woods now. And, in all your travels, have you ever seen the world's biggest ball of string?
Love driving through New York, the rivers, mountains and beauty of its abundant nature brings me a sense of balance and peace. Beautiful state.