The co-pastor at the Waldensian Presbyterian Church in Valdese, North Carolina, Matt Matthews, wrote this report.
My wife and I have lived in Valdese for just over a year and a half, and we still have much to learn about the tenacious Waldenses who founded this town in 1893.
They fled hunger and over-population in the tight valleys of Italy’s Cottian Alps. They emigrated here with the dream of every immigrant: to build a better life.
These newcomers struggled to survive in their new home. Francis Garrou, who with his brother “Bobo” and Antoine Grill formed the Waldensian Hosiery Mill in 1901, is alleged to have said, “Our first business for several months after locating in Valdese was starving to death.”
Hungry or not, they cleared timber then discovered fields clotted with rocks. Farming failed them, but they found economic traction with textile manufacturing, a bakery, sawmills, rock masonry, and other endeavors.
They worked hard.
They built a church, dedicated on July 4th, 1899, which still provides sanctuary for our community—worship, concerts, and stained-glass contemplation.
They built roads named for places and people rooted in their Piedmontese homeland: Praley (Prali), Rodoret, Gardiol, Janavel, Micol. I live on Italy Street. They created a town.
I’m still getting a grasp on the dates, people, and political intrigue surrounding Waldensian history before they arrived in North Carolina.
Waldo, who founded what became known as the Poor of Lyon (France), got scripture translated into the common language, which people studied, talked about, and attempted to embody.
Their religious spark kindled fire.
Waldenses, as they became known, preached the Bible in a time when, typically, only bishops (not even priests) were allowed to preach. People were hungry for stories of faith.
What was winsome to many communities in Europe, became a thorn in the side of the established Roman Catholic Church. Because Waldensian thinking was often at odds with the religious status quo, they were seen as usurpers. For their part, the Poor of Lyon were not against the church, though they disagreed about some church ideas (purgatory) and practices (prayers for the dead, the use of oaths, among others).
Popes and inquisitions, kings and dukes and henchmen, politicians, and generals played their parts in the Waldensian saga. Bloodshed ensued. People were burned at the stake.
Three hundred years after the Poor of Lyon began their ministry, the plot thickened when Waldenses allied themselves with the wider reformation begun in 1517 with the nailing of Luther’s 95-theses upon the church door at Wittenberg.
Pope Lucius III excommunicated Waldenses in 1184 at the Synod of Verona. Three hours west, in Turin, and 831 years later, Pope Francis apologized to the Waldenses world-wide for Catholic “non-Christian and inhumane” treatment.
All these years later, two Waldensian celebrations live on in our modern lives in Valdese, NC: the commemoration of both the Glorious Return and the Edict of Emancipation.
We celebrate the Glorious Return every August with the Waldensian Festival. Soutisso, Brenda’s frozen peach Bellinis, bags of kettle corn, street vendors, and rock and roll on the main stage belie the gravitas of the actual event we observe.
After his Piedmont Easter Massacre nearly decimated Waldenses (between 1,000 and 6,000 were slain on Easter week, 1655), King Louis XIV forced surviving Waldensian families into exile. They fled to Geneva, Switzerland, and found welcome there, but vowed to return to their Italian valleys.
In 1689, Henry Arnaud led some 900 men against all odds through the Alps, defeating 2,500 French soldiers. About 300 survived the arduous trek and the fighting to reclaim their beloved valleys.
The second celebration we commemorate happens every February 17.
On February 17, 1848, King Carlo Alberto of the Kingdom of Sardinia in northwest Italy, issued the Edict of Emancipation granting civil rights to Jews and Waldenses. Although full religious freedom would take another century, this news met with revelry and the setting of celebratory bonfires (called falós) on mountaintops throughout the valleys.
While we in Valdese observe this red-letter chapter of Waldensian history with a small celebration, Waldensian communities in Italy celebrate with gusto, akin to our Fourth of July.
I love joining these celebrations—even though I’m still learning the story.
Upon their arrival in Burke County, the Waldenses had good neighbors, and they were good neighbors.
Nowadays, this growing neighborhood consists of not only Waldensian Christians but Jews and Muslims, too. People with and without Waldensian blood with and without faith call Valdese home.
The U.S. Census Bureau reported in 2020 that 22-percent of North Carolina identifies as Black or African American; 615,000 of us are veterans; We are gay and straight and differently abled, with PhD’s and GED’s, espousing nearly every perspective on the political spectrum; over 12-percent of Morganton is foreign born. I buy coffee from and practice Spanish with a friend from Guatemala.
We are a melting pot, a tossed salad, a community made stronger (and more interesting) by diversity and mutual respect.
While our roots and histories are different, they deserve attention.
What matters most, it seems to me, is not the history we come from but the history we make.
Are we interested in forging a more perfect union by nurturing wider friendships—even with those who think, look, and speak differently than we do? Are we working to become better neighbors?
I hope so.
These aspirations are sacred.
Figuratively speaking, I think every neighborhood should kindle a faló. Let’s shoulder together and warm ourselves in this unseasonable winter cold. Building a fire builds camaraderie, emancipates us from prejudice. And light, casting aside ominous shadows, reveals a path through darkness wide enough for everyone to walk together.
This report was written by Matt Matthews, co-pastor of the Waldensian Presbyterian Church in Valdese, North Carolina.
