Celebrating Sunday Mass in a ‘wild church’

WILMINGTON — Windswept rain clouds raced over a swollen Brandywine Creek on a recent, blustery Sunday, and worshippers scattered like leaves to wander its muddy banks.

One ran her hands over an old oak’s rough bark. Another picked up pieces of trash. A pair of Canada geese honked loudly at them all.

The Rev. Pete Nunnally, of St. David’s Episcopal Church, crouched down and ran his fingers through the cold, turbid water. Nunnally, 47, leads a monthly “Water and Wilderness Church” here at Brandywine Park and another at a park in Washington. His website describes the Mass as a way to “worship in the wild places and graft our worship into the full, wild beauty of the wilderness.”

“I knew that if I did this, people would come,” he said.

Christianity, he pointed out, began as an outdoor religion, long before churches and cathedrals. Followers of Jesus walked and talked with him, and among one another too, gathering around him in rocky outcroppings or by the Sea of Galilee.

“He was always near water,” Nunnally said.

As the COVID-19 pandemic wore on and attendance at indoor Mass dropped, Nunnally found that worshippers left the church, as in the physical building, but not their faith. That’s what drew him to the growing “wild church movement,” a worldwide effort to give nature and climate-minded worshippers an outlet for their faith.

“Nature sometimes speaks to people in a way that church doesn’t,” he said, “but it says the same thing.”

The Wild Church Network lists over 200 groups, internationally, from Ohio to Australia. Most are nondenominational, secular groups that meet on private lands and in public parks.

Unlike a traditional, indoor Mass, Nunnally’s outdoor Episcopal worship feels looser, with small discussions and Bible readings, broken up by short hikes. There are no chiming bells or calls to stand or kneel to mark the time.

“So this is it, right now. This is our Mass,” he said while walking alongside the creek in the rain with about two dozen people.

Nunnally grew up near the Potomac River in Sterling, Va., spending his days fishing and hiking. He carried those traditions into the priesthood and never drew a hard line between an indoor and outdoor faith.

“I spent a lot of time outdoors and still do, obviously,” he said.

On Instagram, Nunnally is known as “the wilderness priest,” and his short videos are meditations on nature, hope, and love. In one video, he’s catching snowflakes with his tongue at night.

“Never lose the joy of small things, like snow,” he says.

At around 4 p.m. on Feb. 16, worshippers gathered in a rose garden in the Wilmington park and Nunnally started Mass with a rendition of “This Little Light of Mine” on his acoustic guitar. Temperatures plummeted as the light waned and the wind picked up, and it was all the better for Nunnally.

“When you feel the wind, you’re feeling God,” he told the small crowd.

As the worshippers set off on their walk through the park, Nunnally encouraged them to introduce themselves, to let others know why they came, and why nature and faith are inseparable for them.

“I love being outdoors and I see God in every single thing my eyes set upon out here,” said Amy Harra, 63, of North Wilmington.

After a short walk, a worshipper read from the Gospel and everyone discussed the reading in a light rain.

“There’s hope in the reading, isn’t there, that those who are suffering now, won’t be suffering later?” Nunnally said after.

After everyone crossed another bridge, worshippers broke bread and sipped wine. Kristen Thompson, a Dover resident certified in forest bathing, urged everyone to spend some time alone for a few minutes before Mass ended.

“Go explore this abundance with your sense of touch. Touch a tree. Touch the water. Turn on your senses,” she said.

Kevin Kane, 58, of Garnet Valley, Delaware County, walked over large tree roots as the winds picked up and blew leaves and branches across the landscape.

“I’ve always found peace and God out here in the wilderness,” he said. “I grew up Roman Catholic but I sought this out. This was intentional.”

Nunnally called everyone back with chords of “Amazing Grace,” and, soon, Mass was over.

Afterward, everyone gathered by some parked cars for hot chocolate, and a few of the day’s last sunbeams cut through the clouds.