“Look at that castle!” exclaimed my five-year-old son, pointing up to a stone tower in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.

“Does a king live there?”

“Not only a king, but the King,” we replied as we noticed a sign for St. Margaret of Scotland Church and turned in to check it out.

Although not far off the beaten path, it felt as such as we meandered up a narrow, windy road in the heart of Maggie Valley, N.C. The church kept disappearing behind the trees as its dark gray color nearly blended in with the wooded hillside.

This feeling of seamlessness with the natural surroundings continued as we ventured inside the church. The interior featured the same earthy stone as the exterior, with beautiful oak woodwork throughout.

An image of St. Margaret, the 11th century Queen of Scotland and lover of the poor, whose feastday is Nov. 16, hung high above the church’s entrance. It’s the only colored glass to be found here.

Otherwise, the entire left wall of the sanctuary offered an amazing view of the lush valley, and the giant floor-to-ceiling window behind the altar highlighted the surrounding mountains.

I later learned that such a design was the express desire of the builder, Father William Murphy. He was known to have said that “stained glass or any work of human art cannot compare with the marvelous beauty of nature.”

As I exited the church, I stopped at a portrait of the elderly priest with the mountains in the background. An adjacent advertisement for his biography piqued my curiosity even further when it described him as Murphy, Apostle of the Smokies: The Story of a Detroit Businessman Who Became a Priest at Age 80.

It turns out that Murphy was the grandson of devout Irish immigrants whose family took frequent trips from Michigan to Florida for vacations. Following his beloved mother’s death in 1950, he headed south once again, this time to grieve and to heal.

His mother’s dying wish was that he would build a church in her memory. At the same time, a burning desire to foster Catholic community in the South had been growing in Murphy’s heart.

Both dreams seemed to providentially come together when he decided to take the roundabout route through the Smokies on his healing journey. With every stop, Murphy found the mountains irresistible — and he never left.

In particular, the town of Maggie Valley captured his heart, as it reminded him of his mother, Margaret. It is no surprise then that the touristy village would eventually provide the backdrop for the church in her honor.

When Murphy arrived in the Valley, the Catholic population there was too small to warrant its own parish. Nevertheless, while he waited for the bishop’s permission to build a church, the determined Northerner kept busy cultivating the fledgling community.

He remodeled a house into a Newman Center near Western Carolina College, changed a craft shop into a small chapel, and opened a 25-unit motel. (The motel was eventually transformed into a retreat center, which is still in operation today.)

More importantly, this “Yankee’s” gentle spirit and humble heart won over even the most hesitant Bible Belt residents.

Finally, in 1967 — 17 years after arriving — Murphy laid the cornerstone for St. Margaret’s Church.

According to biographer Sister Jane Schmenk, Raleigh Bishop Vincent Waters visited Maggie Valley often to check on the church’s progress and took the opportunity to encourage Murphy to consider the priesthood.

Sister Jane writes that Murphy had always wanted to become a priest but felt a strong need to care for his mother. In his 70s, Murphy thought he was too old to realize his own dream.

Nevertheless, God gave him the courage to try.

Murphy entered Indiana’s St. Meinrad Archabbey, where the young seminarians allegedly teased him, saying that he was taking a crash course in extreme unction.

Determined to offer Mass at least once, Father Murphy was ordained to the priesthood on May 11, 1972, at the age of 80, at his cherished St. Margaret’s in Maggie Valley. He was named its first pastor shortly thereafter, and he offered the sacraments there for 18 years before his death in 1990, at the age of 99.

As we prepared to leave Maggie Valley and continue on our journey through the Great Smoky Mountains, the soothing sound of the wind blowing through the trees was interrupted by the church bells intoning “Panis Angelicus.”

After reading Sister Jane’s biography of Father Murphy, this familiar hymn seemed particularly fitting. She wrote that it was Father Murphy’s desire to “reflect the Son deep in the heart of the mountain.”

Indeed he did. Like Mary, he always pointed others to the bread of angels: Jesus himself.

Kimberly Jansen writes

from Lincoln, Nebraska.