Barbara Brown Taylor writes in An Altar in the World that “The House of God stretches from one corner of the universe to the other. Sea monsters and ostriches live in it, along with people who pray in languages I do not speak, whose names I will never know.”
What I love most about Taylor’s description is her inclusion of sea monsters as occupants in the House of God. It reminds me that there are many things on this earth that defy my limited imagination, things that are indescribable and magnificent and sometimes thrillingly terrible. Taylor’s description reminds me that the worship of God must extend beyond the four walls of the church.
God is everywhere.
He is all things … all the time.
Hope Episcopal Church is surrounded by towering pines, struggling oaks and surging Brazilian peppers. In Florida, such abundant vegetation is rare in highly developed and populated areas. Combine that vegetation with a view of the water and Hope Episcopal becomes an oasis in a concrete desert.
I have never been a nature person. But a few weeks ago I went out to the church one Saturday morning to take pictures of the trees and the water. I followed Pastor Debbie down a path and saw her glance at a spider web clinging to a branch.
“Don’t worry,” I said to her, “I broke through all the spider webs when I was down here earlier.”
What I didn’t tell Pastor Debbie was that by “broke through” I really meant that I had accidentally stumbled through several spider webs, after which I flailed about, shrieking like a mad woman, arms wind-milling. But I didn’t want to talk about spiders with Pastor Debbie. I wanted to talk about gardens.
At the end of the path, close by the water, is a memorial garden. The garden is surrounded by a white picket fence and a small stone angel sits nestled in the grass near the back. There are two benches, white concrete with a stone mosaic inlay, and when the sun rises, it bathes the whole area in an otherworldly light.
I fell in love with the area immediately. Hope Episcopal had a secret library and now its very own secret garden. Without a doubt, God was there, in the rustling of the palm fronds, in the calls of the sand hill cranes, in the sunlight that streams through the branches overhead.
I am not a nature person, but I don’t have to be to recognize something truly special. Only God could make me forget about spiders, ticks and mosquitoes.
Only God could convince me to stand still, be silent, and breathe.
