There was a time when I was absolutely captivated by nature. The way the wind blows, the smell of the mountain air, the feeling of coarse sand underneath my feet. I remember enjoying long hikes in the mountains or taking my son on early morning walks on a misty beach. Over time, something shifted, perhaps due to age or the busyness of life. I found myself less grounded in place and more grounded in things and ideas.

Re-Enchantment

As my age begins to show, and my beard starts to form more and more white hairs, a captivation with nature has slowly begun to return. I long to be out there, in the sand or in the woods. I long to hear the song of a Jay, watch the waves break, or spectate the flight of a swallowed tail kite. Somehow, though, this return has taken a new shape; it has become more than sensual captivation — it has become spiritual. It’s a re-enchantment.

As I spend time out there, I feel more connected to the God who has called me by name. “I’d rather be in the mountains thinking of God, than in church thinking about the mountains,” these words of John Muir have never rung more true. Hence, the purpose of this Blog. What spiritual good will come from my sauntering? Only time will tell.

John Wesley famously said, “I look upon all the world as my parish; thus far I mean, that, in whatever part of it I am, I judge it meet, right, and my bounden duty to declare unto all that are willing to hear, the glad tidings of salvation.” My hope is to share what I find in my natural parish with you. In my life, I have worn many hats, but for now, I’m a simple Pilgrim by the Sea.

God’s Grandeur By Gerard Manley Hopkins

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.