The other day while we were walking, my photographer friend V told me about an ivy-covered, abandoned church downtown where he wants to do a shoot.
I immediately began scheming for a Scavenger Hunt.
I’ve wanted to get “church” since I first saw Marie Rebel’s daring church shot, but I am hampered by the feeling that the one time I set foot in a church since I was 11 years old (except for a wedding and a funeral) should not be to satisfy my kink for exhibitionism, so I have not pursued it.
I couldn’t turn this opportunity down, though, if it could be done. I wasn’t sure if it would count, to be honest, as it is not an active church – or even an actual building anymore – but when I saw it I knew I had to do it.
If I were the prayerful type, if I were to turn to God – if I believed in “God” – my church would be in the open air. My prayers would be made to the open sky, to the heavens above, without the encumbrance of a roof. It would be under the leafy canopy of a deep wood, standing at the edge of the world on a cliff by the sea, looking above to the wide open skies of an empty prairie, or standing beneath the stars in the desert.
There, if anywhere, is God’s Church.
So if this doesn’t count as a “church” Scavenger Hunt, I’m okay with that. It’s between me and my gods, and that’s what counts.