I wake early each day and have for many years now. I did it as a child, while waiting for my father to get up so we could head to the barn we rented that was a mile or so away and do our morning chores. I woke early thru my Army years, too, naturally, but usually earlier than I needed to. Whether at home or somewhere else in the world, living comfortably or being used hard, I kept that time for myself.
I have always enjoyed the quiet and peacefulness of the early morning hours. It is an ideal time to think and dream; to worship; to read, write, and plan, and do all the things there is never any other time to do. For a loner, those are golden hours, and I am extremely jealous of them and guard them ardently.
This morning, I woke just a little later than usual. I made coffee, did devotions, and sat down to read and worship. In that hour I was overcome with a powerful, compelling desire to worship in a grand cathedral today. The desire was as real as any craving I’ve ever had. It was sensorial; I could feel it, smell it, and even hear it. The glorious stained-glass windows with sunlight streaming in, the high cathedral arches and elegant stone pillars, the huge pipe organ playing great, sacred music–it was all there, and I felt it deeply. I reveled in it, worshipping and, for a moment, I was lost in the majesty and glory of Holy Father.
Those moments, when we have them, are spiritually refreshing, but of course, can’t last forever. The world intrudes, chores call, animals need attention. While I dressed for chores, I checked my emails and accounts, and took a quick look at Facebook. There I saw @stewartfarmsbeef, my friend and neighbor’s morning post. I was tickled to read about his latest calf that he had to recover and protect and move into the warm, clean barn. As a farmer, there is no better feeling. It makes farming a joy and not a chore.
Smiling at that thought, I headed out to the barn. A light rain was falling, raised garden beds were still green and neat, chickens were scratching still-green grass, cows stood at the hay ring chewing slowly–it all struck me as such a pastoral scene. I was physically in it and it was just as sensorial as my grand cathedral thoughts had been. I chuckled to myself–I was singing under my breath, “My Cathedral” from Jim Reeves’ album 𝘞𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘦 that I listened to endlessly in my youth. There is probably not an album out there that is as rural and rustic as that one, nor as emotive to a farmer. “My Cathedral” perfectly captures the glory of nature as a place of worship.
After church today, my family and I went to brunch and I shared my thoughts with my wife and girls. We talked about church, about cathedrals, about how completely absorbed one can be in worship and how the place you are can be a grand cathedral.
We also talked about our own church. Honestly, it’s much closer to a chapel than it is to any grand cathedral. The music is usually more CCM than it is great, sacred music. There is an electronic piano instead of a pipe organ. There is no stained glass.
Yet, we worship there just as well, and we lose ourselves in the glory of God. I love when the staff rolls up the huge media screen that blocks the view of anything of artistic value and I can look at the beautiful molding and trim work that fronts and surrounds the altar. I love when the Pastor preaches from the hand-crafted pulpit. It, too, is trimmed out beautifully. I love the colors; I love the peace that inhabits the sanctuary. Clearly, a lot of effort and skill and devotion was put into those things, and I see that as a form of worship; a love offering.
We should aspire to these cathedrals, I think. We should dwell in cathedrals of praise and worship. There is great beauty in them, spiritual peace, and, in them, our longings are fulfilled.
We drove home from brunch, listening to Elvis singing gospel:
“You saw me crying in the chapel;
The tears I shed were tears of joy.
I know the meaning of contentment,
Now I am happy with the Lord.”
written by Artie Glenn, 1953