church

SA Guide: Yosemite Falls, Bridalveil Falls, Middle Falls vista, Merced River loop, Lower Grove loop

There was a good crowd in church during our last visit. The pews weren't full, but the conditions were, after all, quite cold and overcast, with a hint of drizzle in the air (maybe even snow at the higher elevations).

Even so, everyone was generally cheery. Most smiled and offered greetings, some in that clipped but enthusiastic kind of "Hi" which suggests a congregant from a foreign land. But if the tongues may not have been familiar, the veneration was shared - it was in everyone's eyes. This church transcends language and culture, and conventional communication.

There is no pastor, priest or clergyman of any sort in this assembly (unless you count the guys in the wide brims). No sermons cloud the clarity. No interpretation of any message is required. There is no message, no word. There is only the purity of presence.

You can choose to appreciate that presence from the perspective of a visitor, imagining you don't necessarily belong. But thinking as a resident, regardless of whether one lives there, allows for a deeper, more intuitive connection. One becomes a caretaker of a place that is home.

Reverence is optional here. What's in someone's heart is fleeting and immaterial, and therefore pretty much irrelevant in this context. For the same reasons - plus the fact that there is no receiver - worship would be a waste of time. (And after all, shouldn't the act of desiring worship be an immediate disqualification from deserving worship?).

On the other hand, respect is required. Respect for this house is, at root, an expression of respect for one's brethren. In this case it isn't about observing elaborate etiquette or reciting verse. It's mostly about preserving and maintaining the experience for all who follow.

When I was young church was a distraction, something to be endured for the prize of a confectionary high (I'm still working off those calories). But I'm older, and hopefully a bit more thoughtful now, so I no longer need to be cajoled. I'm anxious to attend. Of course I've also left behind the fanciful trappings, the musty halls and the unhelpful anthropocentrism.

I now tithe to uncut granite and unhewn wood, splintered peaks and glacier-carved valleys. I revel in immovable permanence and irresistible change.

And these days, after I leave church - perhaps overfull of both sweaty elation and sugary rewards, I actually feel as if I've earned them, because what I've given for their gain is something honest and meaningful.

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