Spiritual Erosion and Wild Edges at Trail Church

By Jess Podolak, Co-Leader of Trail Church

The first time Trail Church met at Centennial Park in Altoona it was March.

Thanks to the rather odd winter we had, there was little in the way of snow. The sun was bright, and the hiking was dry, clear and relatively easy on that crisp morning.

Our diverse group of curious adventurers trekked together for a time and then broke off into smaller groups at a fork in the trail, with some of us taking “Creek’s Edge.” We dared to approach a high bank fenced off by strategically placed posts and orange plastic netting.

As we got closer to the edge, the reason for this cautionary obstacle was clear: a large chunk of the bank had eroded into Otter Creek a good fifteen feet below, and venturing too close to the edge might cause serious harm to a careless wanderer, not to mention the soil of the trail. We respectfully gave wide berth to the vulnerable edge as we forged ahead on our journey.

Since March, we’ve hiked those same trails each month, and I haven’t given a lot of thought to that sketchy spot along Creek’s Edge.

When in the woods, I’ve slowed down with my new friends (and some of my old ones) as we delight in noticing the small things.

The moss glowing on a log in the morning rays, the bud of a wildflower emerging from the crispy brown leaves of the forest floor, or the glisten of an intricately woven spider web holding the glittery dew.

These gifts of nature draw me deeply into God’s creation, and I feel a deep resonance with the psalmist’s words, “What a wildly wonderful world, God! You made it all, with Wisdom at your side, made earth overflow with your wonderful creations” (Psalm 104:24-25 MSG).

Experiencing the changes in vegetation, bird songs, and even insect activity from month to month makes the paths feel both familiar and new each time we meet. The coexisting familiarity and novelty satisfy both the part of me that likes to know what to expect and the part of me that loves surprises.

The people who bravely show up to try this “fresh expression of church” share common interests in nature and in the way Jesus lived his life, and they each carry a unique story that brought them out.

This “both-and” experience is rich, and as the months have passed, I realize it has done something for that part of me that suffers from a bit of an erosion problem.

There are many of us, I think, experiencing some type of erosion issue. Things have happened along our personal storylines, or even in the larger narrative of the Collective We that make us question the security and certainty of the path we are or were on.

Erosion can happen with a sudden cataclysmic event, or it can be slow and imperceptible, until one day it seems to have reached a critical juncture with nowhere safe to plant our feet.

As I interact with family, friends and community members on a daily basis, I observe an erosion of trust in many of society’s institutional pillars: religion, health care, education, politics, science. Where we once could tread with confidence, we now find the paths wrought with unstable soil, and that can tempt us to stay out of the park altogether.

The orange fences make us think the route is closed, unnavigable and irreparable. It seems like the only logical thing to do is pull back completely and hunker down. But is it?

What might we miss of the wildly wonderful world of connecting to others who love Christ if we remove ourselves completely from anything that emits even a hint of church?

Erosion came up in a conversation I had this weekend.

A good friend of mine owns some property on a lake, and on our visit there, he pointed out the shoreline, which is undergoing some genuine damage due to boat traffic that exceeds reasonable use for a body of water its size.

Rather than lamenting or raging about the damage, he just asked us to grab some rocks when we see them and place them on the shore to fortify it. “If we all make that a habit, it can help.” The lake association will work on reforming some of its rules, but in the meantime, my friend is doing what he can to hold the shore intact.

His comments made me think about my own erosion of institutional trust.

Even if it feels a bit risky, if I engage in practices that have stood the test of time…

…(meeting together, eating together, sharing awe and gratitude, remembering sacred scripture, being present in this magnificent creation), might God fortify the foundations which seem vulnerable in my eyes? Might the Creator fortify me?

A verse from Job serves as a good reminder of the lessons we can get when we practice something like seeking God in nature: “But ask the animals what they think—let them teach you; let the birds tell you what’s going on. Put your ear to the earth—learn the basics. Listen—the fish in the ocean will tell you their stories. Isn’t it clear that they all know and agree that God is sovereign, that He holds all things in his hand?” Job 12:7-10 (MSG).

So, that’s where Trail Church is meeting me these days.

The paths are winding and uncertain, but I’m not alone on them. Meeting together, feet on the earth (and sometimes in the sweet, soft sand of the creek), I come back to the basics.

We are held by something bigger, and no matter how eroded our trust is, there is much beauty to be had when we remember to seek.

Gazing at creation connects me to Creator and brings peace to my soul, even in a world that seems quite sketchy and scary at times. Gazing at nature in community helps me see things I would have completely missed on my own.

And it is a simple fact of life that sometimes, things do erode and change quite drastically, but it’s not always a bad thing. I mean, after all, isn’t the Grand Canyon a product of erosion? Hmm… How about a Trail Church Field Trip?!

Who’s game?