Sabbath Devotional :: Encountering my Brother at Crazy Horse Memorial

Sometimes to really see someone or something, we must look and see again in a repeating cycle until the real messages God intends for us finally penetrate into our hearts and minds.

Just last week, during my return trip from the lakes of Nisswa, Minnesota back to Provo, Utah, I experienced a serendipitous moment of inspiration despite my strong desire to “just get back home” as quickly as possible. As we took our final glance up at the impressive gray faces of four US presidents carved into Mt. Rushmore, two of my kids continued to bicker while my mother gently suggested that we make just one more stop in the Black Hills of South Dakota. While I was ready to finish up my epic post-COVID road trip to visit my 49th (North Dakota) and 50th (Minnesota) US states and rebuff my mother’s request, I hesitated to just say no. I took in the reality that my 78-year-old mother may never visit the Black Hills again in her lifetime, so I gave in to her request. We packed back into our all-too-familiar car and drove the 30 minutes or so to the Crazy Horse Memorial site, which is still undergoing construction.

As we pull up to the toll booth at Crazy Horse, I am struck by the magnificence of the scene before me. The sunlit Black Hills with bright green grass and dark pine trees contrasts with the reddish stone of the sculpture far in front of me. Certainly, I notice the unfinished nature of Crazy Horses’ profile on the mountain before me. But I can see so much more majesty and purpose than I observed 10 years ago when I encountered not only a physical fog covering the sculpture but also the figurative fog of tending to five young children who all vied for my attention during our brief visit. A decade ago, I barely took in the message of this sacred place but still managed to check off a box in my experience of Native American heritage and lands. In essence, I had “done” that place, but I had barely even taken in the deeper experience this place and people offered me.

However, during my second time at Crazy Horse, God has His way with me and penetrates my heart with an entirely different experience. While watching the introductory film chronicling the life and works of the sculptor, Korczak Ziolkowski, the Spirit surges through me as Korczak accounts for his life’s dedication to creating this memorial on sacred native lands; he confesses simply: “we must live our lives for others.” Immediately, I turn to my son, who is sitting next to me, and see that he is also visibly touched by this statement. Both he and I are familiar with this truth that we are here on earth to serve others, but the Lord has something more to tell me beyond this cherished lesson of living a life of service.

As we exit the thought-provoking film, we wander through the exhibits that feature artifacts, paintings, photographs, and quotes from a variety of both lesser-known and more famous Native Americans. Eventually, we wind up in the souvenir shop that enchants and attracts me, not because of the jewels and trinkets but because of the particular image I am drawn to from across the typical store-room full of goods. I look into this man’s eyes in the photograph and cannot pull away. I try to distract myself by looking through other related photographs nearby, but I cannot avoid his gaze.

I pick up the image of Sitting Bull and gently inspect the details of his face, including his eyes and the creases on his forehead and cheeks. I see him; I want to see him better. I want to know him and all that he knows. Startled by this intimate encounter with only the likeness of a man who lived long ago, I recognize the feeling within me. It is of family and intimacy, this deep connection of relatedness that moves through me unexpectedly.

I steep for a minute in this feeling. We are one. We are part of the same family. How many times have I looked at my brothers and sisters in pictures just like Sitting Bull’s without really seeing beyond an image or an artifact? But this time is different because I am taking it in and allowing this truth to settle inside me. I recognize that there is so much unfinished business in our human family; so much heartache and discomfort when considering all that my brothers and sisters have been through, but I must do something. I must live my life for others even if I can’t complete my offering within the lifetime I’ve been allotted on earth.

As I leave Crazy Horse that summer evening, my mind and heart are churning with the idea of living for others, my brothers and sisters, even if my offering is incomplete or even impossible to complete during a lifetime. I take my final glances at the far-away carving on the mountain with the setting sun and consider Korzcak’s vision that extended even beyond his lifetime.

Given the grandeur of the project and the impossibility of finishing the sculpture in his lifetime, he and his entire family committed themselves to this purpose beyond themselves. Korzcak explained:

“By carving Crazy Horse, if I can give back to the Indian some of his pride and create a means to keep alive his culture and heritage, my life will have been worthwhile.”

There is still much to consider and to learn as I drive away through these sacred hills, but I am moving in the right direction. Yes, I must live my life for others, even very real people who are part of my wider human family.