I have nothing against church. Of a Sunday morn, you’ll more often than not find me there. But this Sunday, I traded its usual languid liturgy for another worshipful activity, to wit a bike ride on the Bruce Freeman Rail Trail.
Church attendance is not the same as devotion to God, in my opinion. Worship can happen anywhere. Certainly, there was no shortage of sights and sounds to remind me of the glory of God yesterday on the bike path.
Here’s a sampling…
Due to recent heavy rains, the brooks that meander alongside and under the path were at their peak level. The sound of the rushing water was more worshipful and musical than any of the pop songs that have taken the place of hymns in recent years.
A deep blue sky peeked through the trees that were bent over the trail to form an interlaced ceiling of branches and leaves that would leave Michelangelo breathless.
There was a sermon at church, I assume, but what more could I learn than I absorbed in the natural setting of blue sky, puffy clouds, trees, ponds, and streams? After all,
The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard; yet their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.
The one thing that church offers that is its true gift to the world is community. Since I was biking with a good friend, I had that, too, albeit on a small scale.
This is not something I’ll necessarily make a habit of. Nor am I recommending ecclesiastical truancy to others, but it was the right thing for me to do yesterday.