Unlike the many trails in Maine’s Acadia National Park, this one was
not well marked and showed signs of neglect. Fallen branches covered many spots
along the way and most of the path was reminiscent of a well-worn deer trail.
We were here because I was curious. A National Park map revealed a small
splotch of color that indicated park property. This spot was far removed from
other areas of the park, and I hoped it would provide an off-the-beaten-pathway
to a rocky cove familiar from my childhood. It was five decades since I had
been in this location, and I could vaguely remember what it looked like. I
recalled that in the area were the ruins of one of the famous “summer cottages.”
These “cottages” harkened back to the late 1800’s when wealthy “rusticators”
built magnificent mansions along the coast of Maine for their summer getaways
from the heat and humidity of the stifling cities of the east coast.
After scrambling
through the woods, climbing over fallen trees and branches, we discovered a
path that led in the direction of where I thought the cove would be. A few
hundred yards down that path, we came upon the ruins of the foundation of the
“cottage.” The footprint of the “cottage” was about the length of a basketball
court. It was ringed by granite foundation stones that were interrupted by
occasional brick archways which at one time must have served as lintels for
basement windows. On one end of the ruins facing the cove, elaborate brickwork arranged
in a herringbone fashion remained. My guess was that it was a porch or portico
of some kind that must have looked over the cove and out into Frenchman’s Bay.
The vista was now blocked by massive birches and pines and their overhanging
branches. Stepping off the brickwork, we followed a series of massive granite
steps. These descended sharply through tall trees leading us toward the distant
sound of the ocean crashing on the rocks. Following the sound we finally broke
out of the leafy canopy and stood on the rocky coast watching and listening to the
waves. I wondered, “What did the remnants represent?” My imagination kicked in
and I wondered about those who lived there. What activities took place there? Why
had the place fallen into ruins when it was evidently such a wonderful place
and in such a spectacular location?
Thanks to the
wonders of the internet, I discovered that the remnants represented a great
deal. The ruins were of the home of George Dorr, who is often referred to as
the Father of Acadia National Park. The building was indeed a magnificent three
story “summer cottage” of the Queen Anne style built by Dorr's father in
1876-77. According to George Dorr, "It was the first house in Bar Harbor
to be really well built; and well-built it was with nothing spared in work or
material." Many influential political, social, and financial individuals
of the late 19th and 20th centuries were frequent guests at this “cottage”
called “The Old Farm.” It was here that the plans were made to preserve the
land that now makes up the National Park. Dorr invested most of his private
wealth to buy up lands to contribute to the Park; and when he died in 1944, his
fortune had dwindled to almost nothing. He bequeathed his “cottage” and the
property to the National Park Service. In 1951, the NPS determined that his
home had lost its value and should be demolished because of disrepair. The
ruins are a remnant of a wonderful place, where a rich history is connected, where
a wonderful mission was launched, where a remarkable man lived, and where a
later generation forgot what the place stood for and had it dismantled.
Some parallels come
to mind when I look upon some of the “spiritual remnants” I see in the
religious landscape of the United States of America. I see the remnants that
remain in some universities that reflect that there has been a dismantling of their
former glory and purpose. For example, on many buildings around Harvard
University you find the original motto of the university adopted in 1692, “Veritas
Christo et Ecclesiae,” which translated from Latin means “Truth for Christ and
the Church.” The remnants of the past reveal significant words. Do the
realities of the current campus instruction reflect those aspirations?
In numerous
churches we see remnants of the past in creeds and confessions. They are being
quickly abandoned and dismantled by misguided tolerance, quasi intellectualism,
anemic faith, and fear-filled accommodation to transient cultural whims. Even
churches with the word “Bible” in their name are often just a remnant of their
former selves. Too often the Bible is not God’s Word to be revered, studied,
and obeyed but simply another source to be considered as an option among
options. If churches and Christians are but ruins of their former selves, would
it be good to go back and ask, “What do these remnants mean?”
In the Old
Testament the leaders of a previous era wanted following generations to ask
questions about the remnants they saw. An example of this is seen in Joshua
4:1-7. The idea was this; there are lessons in the remnants of the past that
should serve as a reminder of how to live in the present. In the New Testament
Paul says the remnants of the past are to act as examples and admonitions for
those in the present (1 Corinthians 10:6, 11). Exploring the way God has worked
enables us to explain how God works to a new generation.
George Lucas of Star
Wars fame observed, “Old stories have to be reiterated again in a form that's
acceptable to each new generation. I don't think I'm ever going to go much
beyond the old stories, because I think they still need to be told.” Do we too need
to go back to the past and ask, “What do these remnants mean?” Perhaps there is
a story to be remembered in the ruins of the past.
