In pursuit of the Lost City Madonna

When I was a young man growing up in Bluff, St. Christopher’s Mission was central to my spiritual, educational, and emotional training. 
Established in 1943 by Episcopal priest H. Baxter Liebler, its objective was to minister to residents of the northern Navajo reservation. Because Liebler was a wanderer, the mission was named for the patron saint of travelers. 
In his parish, Liebler taught cultural respect and love for all people, no matter the color of their skin. Consequently, not long after arriving in Bluff, Liebler began integrating Navajo traditions into his ministry.
Liebler’s goal was to allow his congregation to experience God through their natural language, in their traditional homeland, and on their own terms. 
He learned quickly, and by the end of his tenure at St. Christopher’s could deliver entire sermons in Navajo. 
Liebler studied ancient healing ceremonies and became known as bilagáana hataałii, the white medicine man, an extremely high honor.
Over time St. Christopher’s developed many essential services, including a medical clinic, nursery school, and food bank. Consequently, my four siblings and I often visited the mission for classes, medical treatment, church services, or just to spend time with other children.
Momma Rose endeavored to raise us in the Roman Catholic faith, but there were no churches of that denomination near Bluff, so St. Christopher’s became the best alternative. 
I am sure she worried about her children growing up godless, and the mission helped fill the void. Rose must have feared that without proper religious training her wild bunch would end up working on the chain gang or doing life without parole. 
That was before Merle Haggard released his hit single “Mama Tried,” so Rose probably breathed a sigh of relief when she first heard the song, knowing she had avoided a similar fate for her budding miscreants.
Craig and Barry became altar boys at the old log church, which burned in 1964. I was too young and never entered the brotherhood before we relocated to the Bay Area of California three years later. 
I do, however, have hazy recollections of sitting on wooden benches during services performed at the flagstone and wrought iron altar. Whether those memories are accurate or whether I crafted them from photographs I have seen and stories I have been told, I cannot say. They do, however, seem real to me.
By the time I was old enough to appreciate Father Liebler and his contributions to Navajo people, Episcopal church leaders had become uneasy with his unconventional conventions and consequently reassigned him to Monument Valley, replacing him with a more compliant priest. 
It seems cultural integration, unrestrained compassion, tolerance, and racial colorblindness did not come easy to church leaders in the early 1960s.
Undaunted, after his relocation, Liebler established the Hat Rock Valley Retreat Center and St. Mary’s of the Moonlight chapel at Oljato, often referred to as the Moonlight Mission. 
He remained in Monument Valley until his death in 1982 at the age of 92, when his body was returned to St. Christopher’s for burial. He was laid to rest adjacent to the remains of the old log church.
A few years ago, I stopped by the mission to locate Father Liebler’s grave and see what was left of the burned-out chapel. While there, I noticed a well-worn cabinet I did not remember from my earlier visits. 
In the display there was a beautiful, but weathered, rendering of a Navajo Madonna. I could not tell whether the statue was made from carved timber or plaster. 
How I had previously missed the sculpture is a mystery to me, but there it was. I found myself captivated by its grace, energy, and theme, and was amazed it had survived the fire and outlasted the elements over 60 years.
Inspired by Liebler’s struggles to bring us all together and the elegance of the mother and child, I asked Mancos, Colorado artist Brad Goodell to create a mural for Twin Rocks. 
After overcoming his initial reluctance to paint religious iconography, Brad decided it would be a fun project, went to work, and recently completed a captivating rendition of the Madonna for the trading post.
Once the mural was finished and installed, I asked Priscilla and Pamela how older Navajo people refer to Bluff. 
They said because it is difficult for elderly tribal members to pronounce the name, they generally refer to Bluff as “Lost City.” The mural has, therefore, been christened, “Lost City Madonna.” 
For me the sculpture and mural stand as symbols of unity, as a reminder of the power of diversity, and as a tribute to Father Liebler. 
They also remind me that despite our differences, we are all the same.