seminaries all over Europe, dropped off the radar screen for most of his twenties, spent five years in a Spanish monastery where rumor has it he took a vow of silence-and kept it-and has never married. Although he says he's open to the possibility.
The details of his lost decade are a little fuzzy, but people with secrets in and around Clayton are nothing new. There are a lot of secrets both above and below the surface of Lake Burton. Davis's mother and father died while he was studying in the Spanish monastery. He buried them in London, along the river Thames, and when he read his father's will, he discovered his folks owned a little ten-acre tract on Lake Burton. Obviously, they'd had hopes of building a retirement home. Davis flew back to the States to put it on the market, but when he drove around the lake and pulled onto the gravel drive next to the Burton Campground, he changed his mind.
When The Well came up for sale, Davis was on his way to the Clayton hardware store to pick up some more bolts for the extended dock he was building. He drove through Harley's Curve, saw the sign, inquired about the price at the real estate office in town, and was told to make an offer. The city wanted to be rid of the headache, so Davis canvassed a few friends, sketched out a business plan on a napkin, and told them what he wanted to do.
"One of my favorite stories is when Jesus meets the woman at the well. Imagine that moment. She was a `loose woman,' known around town, and in the flash of a second, He knew everything about her: her five husbands, current boyfriend, everything she'd ever done wrong-He knew it all. Yet He spoke to her and loved her despite all the baggage she brought with her. Something about how He treated her was magnetic, because she wanted to be there. Like all of us, she was thirsty, and when He pulled that bucket up just spilling over with clear, cool water, she shoved her whole face in it and sucked it dry.
"The people who are really thirsty aren't going to church on Sunday. They're driving around this lake, running from their secrets, looking for a good, quiet, fill-your-stomach place to eat. Trying to fill that God-shaped hole with a bigger house, another boat, a second mistress, whatever. So let's take the bucket to them. Speak to the heart, and the head will follow. And the fastest way to the heart is through the stomach. I want to get in the business of making God-shaped cheeseburgers."
The silent four nodded, pitched in, and the five of them bought it off the courthouse steps for $100,000. After about six months' renovation, Davis opened the doors. The first day, the wait at the door was an hour, and it's been overcrowded ever since. For the last three years, seven days a week, Davis has pounded out the burgers and tended bar. On his days off, which are few, he disappears into the mountains.
The Well is not your local biker hangout. Above the door is a small, barely noticeable sign that reads: As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. And that's just the beginning. The entire place is one well-disguised billboard for God. The cocktail napkins are printed with Scripture from Genesis to Revelation, there's a Bible on every table, the mixed drinks are labeled after the twelve apostles, and chalkboards around the bar are covered with everything from the Ten Commandments to the Sermon on the Mount.
And while the jukebox is filled with rock-and-roll titles, all the records have been replaced with gospel music. G5 may read "Hell's Bells" by AC/DC, but when the quarter's dropped in and the unsuspecting bar hopper sits back with his beer to combat the writing on the walls with some good old hard rock, he's greeted by the Atlanta Gospel Choir singing, "Ain't No Rock Gonna Cry in My Place."
Most of the servers are kids from church, and on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday mornings, Davis fills the room with recovering junkies, admitted adulterers, and struggling soccer moms in his morning Bible study. Right
The details of his lost decade are a little fuzzy, but people with secrets in and around Clayton are nothing new. There are a lot of secrets both above and below the surface of Lake Burton. Davis's mother and father died while he was studying in the Spanish monastery. He buried them in London, along the river Thames, and when he read his father's will, he discovered his folks owned a little ten-acre tract on Lake Burton. Obviously, they'd had hopes of building a retirement home. Davis flew back to the States to put it on the market, but when he drove around the lake and pulled onto the gravel drive next to the Burton Campground, he changed his mind.
When The Well came up for sale, Davis was on his way to the Clayton hardware store to pick up some more bolts for the extended dock he was building. He drove through Harley's Curve, saw the sign, inquired about the price at the real estate office in town, and was told to make an offer. The city wanted to be rid of the headache, so Davis canvassed a few friends, sketched out a business plan on a napkin, and told them what he wanted to do.
"One of my favorite stories is when Jesus meets the woman at the well. Imagine that moment. She was a `loose woman,' known around town, and in the flash of a second, He knew everything about her: her five husbands, current boyfriend, everything she'd ever done wrong-He knew it all. Yet He spoke to her and loved her despite all the baggage she brought with her. Something about how He treated her was magnetic, because she wanted to be there. Like all of us, she was thirsty, and when He pulled that bucket up just spilling over with clear, cool water, she shoved her whole face in it and sucked it dry.
"The people who are really thirsty aren't going to church on Sunday. They're driving around this lake, running from their secrets, looking for a good, quiet, fill-your-stomach place to eat. Trying to fill that God-shaped hole with a bigger house, another boat, a second mistress, whatever. So let's take the bucket to them. Speak to the heart, and the head will follow. And the fastest way to the heart is through the stomach. I want to get in the business of making God-shaped cheeseburgers."
The silent four nodded, pitched in, and the five of them bought it off the courthouse steps for $100,000. After about six months' renovation, Davis opened the doors. The first day, the wait at the door was an hour, and it's been overcrowded ever since. For the last three years, seven days a week, Davis has pounded out the burgers and tended bar. On his days off, which are few, he disappears into the mountains.
The Well is not your local biker hangout. Above the door is a small, barely noticeable sign that reads: As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. And that's just the beginning. The entire place is one well-disguised billboard for God. The cocktail napkins are printed with Scripture from Genesis to Revelation, there's a Bible on every table, the mixed drinks are labeled after the twelve apostles, and chalkboards around the bar are covered with everything from the Ten Commandments to the Sermon on the Mount.
And while the jukebox is filled with rock-and-roll titles, all the records have been replaced with gospel music. G5 may read "Hell's Bells" by AC/DC, but when the quarter's dropped in and the unsuspecting bar hopper sits back with his beer to combat the writing on the walls with some good old hard rock, he's greeted by the Atlanta Gospel Choir singing, "Ain't No Rock Gonna Cry in My Place."
Most of the servers are kids from church, and on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday mornings, Davis fills the room with recovering junkies, admitted adulterers, and struggling soccer moms in his morning Bible study. Right
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