Nature as a Church
Where do you most feel the presence of the Divine? Where is your church? Your temple? Your synagogue?
When I was younger, I told my parents that I didn’t need church in order to feel whole and connected to life. This brazen statement unleashed an interesting family discussion, one that I’m unlikely to forget. As I’ve grown and matured, I find the statement remains true for me. I don’t need church services in order to feel whole and/or connected to my life. There are places, however, that I need to return to in order to feel the fullness of my life and nurture my relationship with the Divine.
A few weeks ago, Scott and I ventured to Tahoe for a country getaway. We rolled through the central valley at 15 miles an hour on the dusty, gritty 110-degree highway, slipping with sweat on our hot vinyl seats. No worries, though, we were headed to “church” and I was in great need of a revival. Church for me lies in the sanctuary of the forest, the mountains, the desert, the ocean, the woods, the prairie, the rivers, the lakes, the streams. This is where I find Spirit in all its glory.
I grew up near the Boundary Waters, a string of lakes and islands that lie between Canada and Minnesota. During the summer, campers reach campsites by way of canoeing and hiking. In order to reach one's destination, it is common to “portage” across each island. In other words, one must carry one’s equipment while hiking across the island in order to reach the next lake. Sometimes people make several trips across an island in order to transfer their gear from one end to the other. The journey can be difficult, but the rewards are worth it. Many islands host a few remote campsites and it’s rare to see anyone other than a moose, a bear, or a bird while traveling through the wilderness. The silence is exquisite. The stars are more brilliant than one could possibly imagine.
I experience the Divine everywhere, including church, but I feel Spirit radiate through my cells when I am in nature far away from most things man-made.
In the Boundary Waters, life feels eternal. There are no clocks (unless you bring one, of course). The sun and stars are the only indicators of time. It’s peaceful and breathtakingly beautiful.
One late summer, about seven years ago, I journeyed into the Boundary Waters for the first time. My friend and I canoed and portaged for many miles until we arrived at our destination. We found a small island in the middle of a lake and claimed it temporarily as our own. We hung our food high in a pine tree so the bears and raccoons wouldn’t eat it. My friend spent each day in seclusion on the other side of the island, so I was free to sit on a large rock that jutted into the water.
It was during this trip that I had one of my most profound spiritual experiences. I felt as if a giant hand was going to reach out from the lake and grab hold of me. It was an unsettling feeling. I felt small. Insignificant. I realized that to the rock, I was like a fly landing temporarily on its back. I suspected that all of nature in that area, the rocks, the water, the trees, the animals, even the air, were more conscious than I could possibly know. I felt seen. I knew there was nowhere I could run to hide. And truthfully, I didn’t want to.
Later I noticed a large, 15-foot rock sticking out of the water, partially connected to the island on which we were camping. The rock was split from top to bottom in several places and I said to my friend, “Look how the rock fell apart.” My friend was silent for a moment and finally replied, “Actually, the rock is falling.” I looked again, with new eyes, and understood what my friend was saying. The rock lives thousands of years. This rock was in the process of falling, but to me it appeared to be still.
Seeing nature in a new way is exciting to me. It is the Great Mystery unfolding, always chaos, always order, birthing, dying and birthing again. What finer teacher is there than nature? But in order to let nature be teacher, one must be able to see with new eyes.
There is a great Rumi poem I especially love:
We can't help being thirsty
Moving toward the voice of water
Milk drinkers draw close to the mother.
Muslims, Christians, Jews
Buddhists, Hindus, Shamans.
Everyone hears the intelligent sound and moves with thirst to meet it.
Clean your ears.
Don't listen for something you've heard before.
Nature for me is a delightful sanctuary filled with sacred meaning. It remains my church, my temple, my synagogue. I always return to the Source so I can listen for something I've never heard before.