Our Church in the Desert

Our church does not have four walls or a roof. It does not have front doors, an alter, pews, or air conditioning. Our church does not have electricity, did not cost anything to build, and was not man-made. There is no set time or day for our church services. Services do not follow a strict routine. Some days, our church lasts for only a few minutes; on other days, our church goes on for hours and hours. Our church does not have any staff, it does not have a priest or preacher. Our church does not have a holy book, and our church knows no denomination.

It’s okay to be quiet at our church. It’s okay to be sad, angry, hopeful, contemplative, or furious. You can talk at our church or you can sit in silence. You can cry and scream and yell. You can talk to a friend, you can talk to yourself, you can talk to a passing stranger, you can talk to the earth or the sky or whoever you believe is out there listening.

We share our church. With the sky and the trees, the spikey cacti and rough gravel, with the bushes and boulders, all the desert creatures that call it their home and all the human beings that explore its winding paths.

Our church is unpredictable. It is spicy. It is wild and free. It is a place to connect, a place to think, to learn, to grow, to understand, to find even a brief moments peace.

Our church reminds us to be mindful and honest and raw and open-minded. Those who enter our church with an open mind, open heart, and open arms will experience the profound, will witness things that no words can ever adequately describe.

(This post is dedicated to the life of Ronan Sean Thompson.  Thank you, Ro.)