The forest doesn’t go to church the way humans do. There’s no building, no start time, and it doesn’t have to happen on any particular Sabbath day. Only humans need to mark a Sabbath day to remember holiness and rest. The forest just knows. Sometimes, it happens at eleven on a Sunday morning; sometimes, it happens on a Tuesday at 3:43 in the afternoon. But the entire forest feels it. Every plant, animal, insect, and mushroom. They know that it is time to pause, to put aside the business of living, and connect to that Great Being from whence they came. There are different names for this Being. The wolves call the Being the Pack Leader. The bears call Them the Salmon Giver. The salmon politely chose to ignore this. The trees call the Being something that can only be translated from the ancient language of trees as SunRainFood. The plants, fungi, and all the other forest beings that exist where they are planted are the mystics of the forest. They commune directly with their Creator, praying when they know it is time to pray. The denizens of the forest that are mobile gather together. Like they know the when, they all know the where that they will gather to worship, and they do so. Any plants that happen to already be in the gathering place welcome the worshippers to their holy practice. The squirrels and chipmunks of the forest bring acorns, seeds, berries, and other gathered items and lay them on a large rock that rests fortuitously beneath a massive sycamore. Their offering placed on the altar, they scamper to their pews on the sycamore- the squirrels in the branches, the chipmunks nestled among the roots.
Predator and prey call a truce. The herd of deer makes no mention to the pack of wolves about how, just a week ago, they attempted to eat Grandma. She survived, and it’s been an abundant summer, so nobody is feeling particularly put out. The raccoons have entirely too many kits this year, but space is made for them in one corner of the meadow. The rabbits, who are very familiar with big families, help out so that all may worship. The vixen and her pups are welcome to join. This is a time when they are only parents and children, all beloved of the Creator.
There is a lone grizzly bear. He slips into the back of the meadow, a little shy. He’s the only bear present, and everyone else is so much smaller than he is. He’s a little self-conscious, but he knows that it is time to gather, and his mama taught him never to ignore the knowing. He hunkers down to make himself as small as he can, a little ways back from the gathered throng. But the flock of geese is having none of it. They surround the bear, honking and flapping and nudging him until he moves closer, into the thick of the gathering. They continue their noisy attentions until most of the gathering has welcomed him in their own way. A respectful nod from the wolves, predator to predator. An excited chattering from the groundhogs and a polite wave of the paw from a skunk, who was also very shy initially, and remembers vividly being “goosed”. The poor, introverted bear is still dazed and overwhelmed to be in the thick of things when heads suddenly swivel to a gentle crunch of forest floor to the left. Another grizzly emerges from the surrounding trees. A female. She is familiar to the others already gathered. This is her territory, and she has joined this congregation on previous occasions. The beavers scoot over to make room for her in their midst. She was most helpful in knocking down a large tree for their dam. The geese are looking back and forth between the two bears, a particular gleam in their deep black eyes. The big buck slowly shakes his head at them. There will be time for their matchmaking later.
There is a honeybee hive in one of the trees at the edge of this particular meadow. Their buzz creates a gathering music that fills the meadow, the particular hum marking this space and this time as sacred. Songbirds gather in trees, robins, sparrows, and the like, chirping back and forth, like a choir warming up. Then they all find their shared note, and a song of perfectly harmonized bird song rings out —a voice of praise that tells all who have gathered that now is the time, here is the place. Let us pray.