On Easter morning, I will celebrate the glory of the Resurrection—but not inside a church.

I’ll be standing by a cross on a hillside, surrounded by sagebrush and cedar trees, miles from civilization in the foothills of northwest Colorado. With a handful of other early risers, I will brave the cold as the sun ascends over the distant snow-capped mountains.

After a Scripture is read, I will join in the singing of a hymn and feel a special closeness to the Creator as I embrace the familiar comfort of this Easter sunrise service. This is the church I have called home for many years. My church of the great outdoors.

Looking at the high desert foothills, you might think, “There’s nothing here.” I’ve had visitors ask, “Why do you live in the middle of nowhere?”

I could tell the long story of how