Grind

I want to wake up tomorrow morning, and walk up a mountain alone, to sit alone on a ledge of rock and sing prayers. I want a few moments of simple worship, without having to worry about logistics, scheduling, team rotations, audio signal chains, or lyric slides.

There’s a particularly good ledge on the John Muir trail, up above Courtright Reservoir. It drops off about a thousand feet beneath you, and the wind sheers straight into your face, rattling the branches of the pine trees behind you. You can see the peaks and valleys of the High Sierra stretch out in front of you, reflected in the waters of the lake. I remember sitting there when I was 18 with a group of friends, sharing a canteen while my brother read out loud from Psalm 104. These were Boy Scouts, and not youth group kind either, the shoot and cook meat and swear and sweat kind, but nobody uninterrupted him or mocked his sincerity, because it seemed so appropriate to the moment. I would like to go back there tomorrow. Well, this morning, now, since midnight passed a while ago.

It seems more and more … inappropriate I think is the right word, how much complexity we’ve introduced into our gatherings. I’d like to play hooky tomorrow, and spend some time on my own, but I’ve already printed the charts, swapped out the audio snake, and coordinated the players.

Oh well. Maybe some other week.

3 thoughts on “Grind

  1. michael lee Post author

    Doug, I just discovered this comment, which I missed the first time around for the entirely forgivable reason that, yes, when we left church early, Gretchen was going into contractions.

    And yes, I would still like to find my mountain.

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