What I mean by The Church of Awe

Ordinary Awe and Wonder

Living in the metaphoric mitral valve of the nation's Heartland, also known as Kansas, we are exposed to much wrangling about the origin of the Earth and all its bounty. As I listen to impassioned speeches all 'round, I keep feeling that everyone is missing the point. I find myself wishing they'd all just clam up for a while and go hang out in the garden. The wonders they might see!

And often on the heels of wonder, grace.

On a visit last summer to the Atlanta Botanical Garden, I watched a
video in their amazing orchid center demonstrating how orchids are
pollinated. In keeping with the breathtaking variety found in all of
nature, this versatile species has several tricks up its reproductive
sleeve. My favorite was the orchid with a hinged lower lip that opens
when an insect lands on it, then closes over the bug, only to reopen
after the creature has gotten itself dusted well and proper with
pollen. The insect then backs out and flies to the next flower, which
lowers its hinged lip, then shuts its trap long enough for the pollen
to be scraped off. I was so moved by this tiny wonder, I simply
couldn't speak.

And that's just one infinitesimal example of the amazing mechanical
magic of one species of one type of plant that is one teensy fraction
of all the plants on the planet. Although they're essential, the
plants aren't even the half of it. There are animals and air, people
and rocks, and water everywhere, and it all has to dance in the same
direction and keep the beat without slowing to look at its feet for
any of it to work.

Every plant in our garden, every insect, bird or butterfly,
represents layers of complexity that begin with sub-subatomic units so
mysterious I don't even have language to imagine them, connected so
intricately in ways so far-flung our minds can't reach that far.

Have you ever seen the Hubble spacecraft images of the birthplace of
stars? The physical material of those ineffable, towering space-clouds is
the same stuff that makes up the tiny red mite that scrambled across the
stone by my rockroses the other day.

Now, if you can consider all of this and not be left shaking your
head and saying, "Wow," I can't imagine what it would take to impress you.

I want to start a faith organization of my own, not to interfere with
or supplant any that already exist, but simply to amplify. Services
for the Church of Awe will be simple: Every so often we'll
get together and tell each other about the most amazing thing we've
recently observed – in nature, in the miracle of our own human
existence. Then we'll clasp hands, shake our heads and say, "Wow!"

Because, really, when you get down to it, to the essence of it all, what else
could there possibly be to say? Wow! And thank you, thank you, thank you.

Awe-men.