In the weeks that followed, Pat would lie in bed at home alongside his wife and do his best to get some sleep, but he couldn’t. He was unable to get Leonard and Salvation Mountain out of head, and he was becoming a mess over it. “Lord,” he said. “I asked what you wanted me to do next, but it couldn’t possibly be to spend months and even years in the desert to shoot a film about Leonard, could it?”
Realizing that just weeks before he found himself feeling like there was a lack of formidable antagonists to create the conflict every story needs to present redemption, he suddenly knew he had one. The oppressive desert heat, the lack of any comfort, Leonard’s elderly and broken-down body, a hostile community, even a calling to build according to how God was instructing him—he was like a modern-day Noah, doing what the world thought was the height of foolishness.
In his career, he had never come across a story like this. Like Richard Dreyfuss’ character in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Leonard was being compelled to build a mountain by something outside this world, and amazingly, God seemed to be asking Pat to capture it.
He looked at his camera again. It represented God’s calling on his life. My talents aren’t about me or merely a way to make a living, he thought. They have been given to me to honor God and build his kingdom. My camera is my ministry. He looked at his bank account and saw that it was nearly at zero. But he shrugged his shoulders and began to load his van.
During the next several months, Pat became friends with, interviewed, read the Bible to, followed, filmed and got to know Leonard and every odd inch of Leonard’s fantastically peculiar mountain. He got used to sleeping on the hard floor of his van. He befriended the skin and bones, desert-blown dogs and cats that traipsed through the camp. He saw the meth-addled marauders who stole Leonard’s belongings. He got to see the scores of cars and buses that would arrive each day to bring thousands of people per week to specifically see Leonard and Salvation Mountain. He learned that Leonard was the most visited man in the world with more than 500,000 people getting a chance to speak to him and hear the Gospel. And he got to see the miracle of people being touched—moved to speechlessness in the presence of the mountain and Leonard’s simple testimony of a God so great that he would, in his words, “Bring me to a place like this.”
On two occasions, when Pat decided he couldn’t continue to make the grueling trips to the desert in light of the fact that he was unable to raise the funding to finish the film, he called it quits. Both times, Pat experienced a life-threatening illness, including a brain tumor and colon cancer. It was as if God was saying, “I want this story told and I want you to tell it. Stopping is not an option.” Suddenly, the script was flipped: Going out to the near inhumane conditions of the desert was a way to stay alive.
Finally, after Pat had spent seven years of his life filming the miracle of Salvation Mountain, Leonard, 82, spoke his last praise to God, and passed into the afterlife. Pat wondered what else, besides Leonard’s life, had just come to an end. Would Salvation Mountain survive?
It was the saddest wrap to a project he had ever experienced.
In August of 2015, Pat’s documentary, The Love Story of Leonard Knight was completed. It nearly killed him, but by God’s grand design, it also saved him. He got to witness what a life looks like when it is completely sold out for God. He now carries a deeper sense of love and gratitude than ever before. And it wouldn’t have happened had God not answered his simple prayer.
“I’ve learned that our talents are truly his,” Pat says, “not ours. They must be relinquished back to him for his use. Everyone has a ministry, and it’s not just a responsibility. It’s how God is trying to bless you.”
If the past two years since Leonard’s death is any indication for the future of Salvation Mountain, it is both encouraging and discouraging. Some parts have fallen into disrepair, some ransacked, some areas have been marked with graffiti, and a few tawdry music videos and photo shoots have used it as a backdrop while it sits unprotected on most days. But despite the challenges and competing agendas, there is a renewed interest in preserving the mountain by locals and groups. Patrick is hopeful his film can play a role in returning Leonard “in spirit” to the mountain. This remains to be seen.
No matter what happens, it will never be the same experience without Leonard singing the praises of God as people roam an actual desert oasis of love. Should it fall down and get carried away by thieves or desert winds, it occurs to Pat that perhaps the only chance for someone to see Leonard and his mountain in the future is in his film. Perhaps his film has become Salvation Mountain.
On a recent trip back to Borrego Springs, Pat found himself with the owners of his favorite desert eatery and told them about how the idea for his movie started there, in their family-owned establishment. “Remember how you used to have placemats with the funny rendering of all the sites in this area of the desert?”
“We’ve never had placemats like that, have we, honey?” The owners’ wife asked the owner.
“No, never. We’d never do that. That is absolutely against our motif.”
“Are you sure?” Pat asked.
“Hundred percent. Not a chance in the world.”
“Well, I wasn’t the only one who saw it. Your blonde, middle-aged waitress, who worked here that day, also saw it and helped us identify Leonard and Salvation Mountain.”
“Blonde middle-aged waitress?” the owner’s wife said. “Impossible. If there was ever a blonde waitress working here, I would know about it.”
In 2015, The Love Story of Leonard Knight premiered at the Pan Pacific Film Festival in Los Angels and won Best Feature Documentary. Learn more about the documentary at SalvationMountainTheMovie.com. For more information about Salvation Mountain: SalvationMountain.us
