FEATHERS ‘N FINS

There’s an outside chance that you and I are members of the same church. Although we will never be described as religious zealots, we are, however, devoutly conscientious about attending and supporting our place of worship.

An unusual church it is, to say the least. Nondenominational, devoid of dogmas, decrees, and hierarchies, its parish is boundless and its services are continual. Amid constant, often harsh displays of life and deathcontinual. Amid constant, often harsh displays of life and death, peace prevails there, as does comfort and contentment, honesty and truth.

Not out of habit or fear do we remain faithful to our church, nor do we go there to pray for selfish reasons or to ask forgiveness for being what we are. Never do we go there to be seen. We attend our church simply because that is where we feel closest to whomever or whatever God may be.

For those who are not yet privileged to be included in its parish, let me attempt to explain why the church that you and I attend is as wondrous and miraculous as the season at hand.

To begin with, awe-inspiring though they may be, the world’s most magnificent cathedrals do not offer architecture more beautiful or intriguing than that of our church. Towering spruces and firs form its steeples and spires, its roof is a sun-streaked canopy of cerulean sky, cloud-shadowed hills and mountains shape its domes and arches.

It would be impossible to imagine the forces that constructed its massive altars of granite and bent rainbows to form stained-glass windows and created chandeliers from the crystal-like castings of ice storms.

Most people will be surprised to know that our church’s litanies are chanted by wild geese and its hymns are sung by a choir of birds – accompanied, if you please, by the music of wood-winds. In its vestibules, baptismal fonts are formed by the waters of lakes and ponds spilling from immense bouldered basins. Ceremonial wines are fermented from the juices of fox grapes, blueberries, and elderberries, and incenses are fragrant with the aromas of woodsmoke, grass fires, and the smolder of autumn leaves.

In accordance with its unorthodox structure, holy days are notour unusual church. Instead, the arrival of the seasons are celebrated quietly but joyously.

The arrival of springtime, for example, is announced by the trilling of toads on evenings steamy with ground fog, the buzzing of woodcock on thaw-spongy singing grounds, and, of course, salmon fresh in from the sea.

Summer, the most festive of seasons, is celebrated with warm breezes, hazy sunlight, vibrant greenery, and fields cluttered with wild flowers. On inland waters, loons laugh at the aquabatics of kids at camp, and along the coast, fishermen practice patience as they wait for tides to silver bays and estuaries with runs of mackerel, “blues,” and “stripers.”

Autumn’s arrival is celebrated with the pipings of teal and plover gathered in grassy coves, a melon-colored moon coursing a sky frosty with stars, the chiming of dogs’ bells, and the whisper of wings in the dawn wind. And in deference to the inferno of foliage raging through hardwooded hills, our church’s altar is decorated with torches of scarlet sumac and tapers of golden hackmatack.

Soon thereafter, Ol’ Man Winter arrives to seal lakes and ponds with ice-paned storm windows. To acknowledge his arrival, our church graciously changed its vestments to a seasonal white, as did the ermine and the snowshoe hare.

For the most part, the congregation is composed of wild creatures – or more realistically, creatures considered wild because they fear man. Each of them, however, no matter how great or small, is equal in purpose and importance to a plan that we seem unable to understand.

Our church has no priests, but the lofty pines serving as its pulpits are religiously occupied by appropriately plumaged eagles. And because they are men blessed with wisdom and patience, old guides and grandfathers are the lectors and ushers in the church of God’s great outdoors.

Once again, the most mystical, magical, and holiest of seasons is at hand. With great reverence, then, we should renew our vows to serve our church with respect, appreciation, and concern for its future, and to welcome all who find the trail leading to it. Only by regular attendance and support will that sacred institution remain to be enjoyed by generations of parishioners who one day will have the privilege of passing this way.

A Merry Christmas to you all.