Gloryland
© Robert LeBlancWest Virginia and the Appalachian Mountains possess an almost irresistible allure, their rugged terrain mirrored by the resilient people who call these mountains home. As you ascend deeper into Appalachia, the winding roads seem endless, flanked by Empress trees and Black Pines that stand like guardians of a sacred passage.
In the small town of Squire, with a population of fewer than 300, a humble church called The House of The Lord Jesus sits quietly by the roadside. At first glance, it might seem like any other mountain church, but inside, it practices “signs following,” a raw and visceral form of Holiness worship. The space is intimate: twelve pews, wood-paneled walls, and burgundy carpet blending into a worn wood floor. Before the service, women kneel at the pews, praying and weeping. Rattlesnake rattles fill the air as a guitar wail, a blend of delta blues and bluegrass, a unique sound to this style of worship. Women spin in flowing dresses, their hair wrapped in cloths, as Pastor Chris Wolford pours strychnine-laced water into Dixie cups, lights a flaming bottle under his chin, and dances with fervent praise. Beads of sweat mix with tears as he lifts a diamondback rattlesnake high, the serpent glinting under the lights as the congregation surges with energy.
Here, life and death intertwine, and the region's struggle is palpable. Yet, amid the coal dust lies love, compassion, and an undeniable mystique ritual impossible to ignore.
Welcome to GLORYLAND.
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