"At The Church of Equus, we believe that the divine is not confined within the walls of a traditional brick-and-mortar sanctuary. Many feel a tug in their hearts to get closer to their spiritual selves—yet sitting in a pew, passing a collection plate, and listening to a single voice preach often doesn’t speak to that inner yearning. Instead, the peace of the forest, the whispering wind in the trees, the gentle whinny of a horse, and even the hum of the bees resonate with our souls, guiding us toward a more natural and heartfelt connection with God.
We honor this call by embracing the natural world as our sacred space. Through our close bond with equines and all of God’s creatures, we nurture a living, breathing sanctuary where spirituality is experienced in the everyday rhythms of nature. We see ourselves as caretakers of His creation, entrusted with the profound responsibility of cherishing and protecting the divine beauty of the earth.
Our mission is to offer a path for those who seek a deeper, more organic expression of faith—a path that invites you to rediscover your spiritual self in the open air, in the rustling leaves, and in the quiet presence of the living world around you. At The Church of Equus, every natural element is a testament to God’s love, inviting you to experience worship in a way that aligns with your heart and soul.”
Today we stand in the shadow of heartbreak, carrying the weight of lives lost and futures stolen far too soon. The waters rose, the storm came, and in its path it swept away not only homes and possessions, but the precious light of beloved children, mothers, fathers, friends.
And yet—even in this valley of sorrow—we are not forsaken.
We do not pretend to understand why such tragedy strikes, but we believe this: that God weeps with us. That in every cry of anguish, He is near.
As the Psalmist says:
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)
We at the Church of Equus believe that the Creator speaks not only through scripture but through the quiet gaze of a horse, the blooming of a wildflower, the shelter of an old oak, and the rhythm of rain. We honor the sacred in all living things, and in that sacredness, we find God’s presence still alive—especially in times of loss.
Let us take this moment not only to grieve but to reconnect—with the earth, with one another, and with the divine responsibility we hold as stewards of His creation. The horses teach us: to be present, to listen without words, to offer quiet companionship in pain. So too must we now walk beside those who mourn.
May we be like the open pasture—soft with welcome, wide with grace.
May we carry the memory of each child lost not only in our tears, but in our actions—in how we cherish life, defend the vulnerable, and protect what God has entrusted to us.
And may the wind, the rain, and the earth itself remind us:
We are not alone.
We are loved.
We are called to love in return.
Amen.
