Earth is so thick with divine possibility that it is a wonder we can walk anywhere without cracking our shins on altars.

We are quirky--this progressive congregation. We struggle through hymns, get lost in liturgy, contemplate Jesus and his revolution of love. The ceiling is heart pine. An olive waits outside, un-flowering. We have planted a garden to remember the old ways. This was my Aunt Ida Mae's church. I answered yes, unknowing.