Victoria Loorz cofounded both the Wild Church Network and Seminary of the Wild, so when I began reading her 2021 book, Church of the Wild: How Nature Invites Us into the Sacred, I expected it would explain how a “church of the wild” functions, or how others might plant similar churches. While a resource list expands on these questions, the book itself is much more: a meditation on constantly encountering the Great Mystery in the form of nature, whether in the isolated mountains of Colorado or a suburban neighborhood in Washington State. Loorz’s goal is to invite her readers into an intimate relationship with the living world, recognizing they are members of an interconnected network made of all participants of the planet, held together by love—and to convince them that they, too, should fall in love with the wild. As this was a path I was already on, I was easy enough to persuade . . . but it was her unique perspective on Christian theology that really drew me in.
Loorz describes “church of the wild” not simply as a way of taking traditional church outdoors, nor as a means for people to gain the health benefits of hanging out in nature, but rather “a movement of people who are taking seriously the call from Spirit to Earth to restore a dangerous fissure. Spirituality and nature are not separate” (p.5). Naturally, this means spending time in nature, experiencing the wild to remind yourself that you are already connected to it, that you can reclaim a dynamic, sacred, wild relationship with the Divine.
Throughout the book, Loorz is careful to not direct her ideas only to those who believe in the Christian God—or even any god at all. The book is, at its core, about falling in love with the earth and committing ourselves to being in relationship with it. But because her roots are in the Christian faith, she often draws comparisons to its theology, while at the same time trying to revamp that theology to disengage it from harmful hierarchical, patriarchal, and colonialist mindsets.
Many readers will be captivated by her descriptions of her repeated encounters with wild deer—how they show up at pivotal moments in her life, and how she is able to establish a relationship with a pair who frequent her yard. But I liked when she took her connections to the natural world and expanded them to reflect on the need to restore authentic conversation . . . something that will require “intentional unlearning,” something that is “necessarily countercultural.” Certainly speaking of ravens guiding you along a specific path, or the feeling that an oak tree is listening as you pour out your thoughts, goes against the rationality we are taught in Western society. It’s not something that people will be comfortable with—but then again, how comfortable was society when Jesus showed up? Jesus, too, shared a deep union with the natural world, being baptized into the river Jordan, being sent into the wilderness, going into the mountains to pray. Loorz (who loves “big secrets hidden in small worlds”) shows the use of “into,” rather than “in,” reveals the relationship Jesus has with the water, the sands, the trees, the sense of belonging, the experience of love.
Loorz expands on her love of words and geeking out on academic puzzles when she dives deep into the true meaning of “logos,” a chapter that blew my own nerdy brain. To summarize, she discovered that “logos,” long translated as “word” in English, is better understood as “conversation.” Essentially, this means Christ, which is who “logos” refers to in the Gospel of John, is conversation: a discourse, a back-and-forth, an intimacy and a familiarity, “an interconnected relationship underlying and holding together the whole universe” (p.109). And because “the Conversation became flesh and dwelt among us,” we all carry the spark of the divine—yes, the deer and the oak as well. Staying true to Christian belief, she reminds us this does not mean we, or any of the created, are God, but that acknowledging we are all actively connected to the divine can increase our compassion and help us treat the non-humans of our world as kin, rather than attempting to dominate them, or to view them only as a resource we can extract for our own purposes.
Church of the Wild concludes with a call to action, a call in the truest sense of the word: not only to step into nature to encounter the Divine Mystery, but to allow ourselves to be “ordained by the wild.” This is not an advertisement to attend Seminary of the Wild, but a plea for us to listen for how our own particular gifts and talents can play a role in renewing and restoring our sacred creation. What the individual reader’s calling is is not explained—it cannot be explained, because only the reader can discern it. Loorz does offer guidance on this discernment, though: we must first step into relationship with this interconnected web of life, into conversation with other species, other habitats. The call, she says, will be both unexpected and familiar, and most likely ridiculous, even implausible. But when it comes, we must say yes, adopting a “holy arrogance,” fully acknowledging that our uniqueness means we have a role to play in this world—and we must say yes now, even if we do not know all the steps, do not know what is to come, trusting that God will guide us. So much of this world is on the verge of collapse, and while it may seem that one person cannot do much, with this book Loorz proves that wrong. I encourage you to read it and see what sparks a call in you to enter into the Great Conversation.