My church is nature. On Sundays, you will find me in communion with God, here, amidst his works. Now some would say that means I am spiritual, but not religious. They would be wrong. Although I believe in houses of God, I prefer the house God built. With the earth my church, I am forced to treat her as a sacred temple. I don’t throw trash in my church, and although I may swat the occasional vermin, I nurture those God chose to house in his temple.
The earth is my temple
I shall not want
it maketh me to stand straight and notice
to stop to hear the call of the cardinal
Yeah, though I walk through the shadow of the sewers of filth,
I will heed no people
for thou are with me.
Now I realize that as prayers go, that one sounds a bit misanthropic. In truth, it has little to do with people. Instead, it’s a reminder to trust. I walk in the sun, close my eyes, and try to forget all the things I’ve been taught are impossible. In letting go of what I’ve accepted, hopefully I can take possession of what I’ve been promised.
My church has bugs, but it’s bigger than yours. The roof leaks too.