“Pssst, Hey you.”
Halfway to the milking parlor for a 2 AM shift, I stop and gaze up. Constellations dazzle.
“Hey you, wanna worship?”
“Uh, it’s 2 AM.”
“I know, just checking if you want to worship.”
“Well, I guess so. Hadn’t really thought about it, but I’m not exactly decked out in my Sunday best.”
“Uh, alright, but it’s not just the muck on my boots and Wranglers, if you’re who I think you are, you know there’s a muck-filled heart in my chest right now. Kinda disqualifies me, don’t you think?”
“Nope. That’s what I’m looking for.”
“I gotta hunch I’m hearing the one that spoke that Milky Way over there into being. Pretty compelling. But, between you and me, I’m just a messed up, can’t stop sinning cow milker.”
“True, and your reputation as such extends beyond just me and you.”
“Take a deep breath.”
I inhale slowly and deeply. My lungs fill with the biting cold, crisp and invigorating, high elevation Montana, winter night air.
“OK, yes go ahead and exhale, but I want you to Remember.”
Unsure of what I was to remember, I waited inside of that brief, peaceful, blissful moment after exhale in which the compulsion to inhale hasn’t kicked in yet. Something beautiful was going on. Some sort of gentle movement, a barely perceivable shift, down so deep in my soul it seemed strange.
Gasp! The urgent need for another breath kicked in. I didn’t even know I needed it, but it happened with a jolt. Turns out, I needed it.
I noticed for a short moment a beautiful rhythm. Inhale life. Exhale death. Repeat. I stumbled on to the liturgy of breathing. Something initiated from beyond my choosing that is both mysterious and mundane. Both stimulating and routine. Whether conscious of it or not, a good thing to get invited into.
Welcome to the dairy. Hope you like to hear stories. Stories of Barnyard Liturgy.
Liturgy, like breathing, is less something you do than it is something done to you. It’s God’s liturgy. It’s gospel-driven. He invites. GOD CALLS US TO WORSHIP. “Pssst, Hey you.”