How a Pagan Goes to Church

I worship in the Cathedral of Nature, the Church Not Built by Hands.

Years ago, a Christian friend who had left the Lutheran church and later the local Methodist church remarked to me that she’d started “going to church” every Sunday morning. That was a surprise to me, mainly because she was very ill and couldn’t physically leave her home then. It was a mystery to me for several months, until she mentioned “going to church” on her back patio.

As it turned out, she’d discovered my own way of “going to church.” She said she felt close to God when she sat on her patio and listened to birds sing, or smelled the flowers in the breeze, or felt the first drops of rain, or watched the squirrels play, or felt the warm sun on her face.

I knew exactly what she meant.

This week begins a weekly “example” of how this Pagan goes to church, without words, just a photograph of something I saw on my usual Sunday morning walk that made my heart sing with the connection to Deity.


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