Sunday morning services

The morning light

I left organized religion many years ago. Yet this Sunday morning I find myself standing in a most beautiful cathedral listening to an awe-inspiring choir – a cathedral without walls, a cathedral without a preacher.

No stained glass windows for me – I have the colours of nature to inspire me. The fresh green shoots of grass, the bright yellow of the skunk cabbage, the steel grey of the cascading water in the stream, the periwinkle blue of the sky where the clouds part to reveal its splendor. The daffodils and japonica in my yard are in bloom, and I find a late crocus poking its lavender head through the winter grasses. Ladybugs are everywhere, their tiny dots of red and black covering my bushes and windows like little drops of life-giving blood.

In the distance I hear the familiar woodeling and ki-yi-ing from the dogs of a neighbouring animal sanctuary as they greet a visitor or go for their morning run. And I hear the birds, an amazing array of birds – Northern flickers and sparrows, robins and Steller’s jays and European starlings, mallards and Bewick’s wrens and the tiny black-capped chickadees.

Close by I hear a sound I have only heard once or twice, the loud resonant drumming of a pileated woodpecker. They are large, colourful birds, the ones the famous Woody Woodpecker was modeled after. We seldom see them here – they are a shy bird who quickly moves away when humans intrude. This morning, I am richly blessed with the sight of the bird in a nearby tree and quickly snap a photo before he moves farther afield. I step closer to marvel at the depth of the hole he has drilled in the soft damp trunk.
Pileated woodpecker high in my tree

His morning's work

I hear the piglets happily munching their greens, their soft oofs and erfs and oinks marking their satisfaction. Martin, too, chomps his lettuce and makes a soft high-pitched hum to tell me he is pleased.
Martin in his pen

Piglet guards his carrot

Derby chowing down on greens

A small flock of Canada geese call their greeting to me as they wing overhead. In the distance, I hear the call of a hawk, possibly the first of the Kestrels returning to the area after the winter migration.

The only human- made sound to impinge on this moment is the hand-rung melodic bells of a nearby monastery echoing off the hills and across the valley, complementing the sounds of nature and reminding me that we, too, are part of nature and that all life must live in harmony.

Tomorrow, my introductory sociology class discusses religion. It is always a challenge explaining to my students, many of whom have very strong ties to organized religion, that a sociological examination of the institution of religion is not a challenge to their faith. Many are unable to understand the difference between spirituality and the social structures in which our society packages and presents it.

I hope there are times in their lives when they too experience moments when the heart is full of joy and peace, moments when their connection to the earth and all creation feels complete.

For me, those moments come when I am standing on a hillside at the break of day, drinking in the beauty such as I have been blessed to taste this morning. For me, that is spirituality. That is my faith.

Sadie sharing the morning's beauty