Sleepy Prayers

I have met God so many times in the early morning that I have decided it must be His best time.  Of course, that raises a deep and profound theological question.  When is it morning for our God who does not measure time as we mere mortals measure it?  In the midst of my early morning theological pondering, I remember, "God neither slumbers nor sleep."  (Psalm 121:4.  I remembered, too, the way Elijah taunted the prophets of Baal on Mt Carmel by asking them if their gods were asleep because He knew Yahweh was wide awake and ready for whatever.  

I must confess that there have been those times in my early morning meetings with God when He might have nodded off due to boredom.  After all, when He hears the same prayers prayed in the same way over and over again, what else could He be expected to do.  I know I have fallen asleep in some of my early morning conversations with Him, but I also know that whenever I do drift off and wake up, He is still watching and listening.  God is certainly steadfast in more ways than one.  

There was a time years ago when I invited people to a prayer experiment and which required waking up at 5 am on Sunday morning and praying for an hour.  Some suggested six o'clock since it was closer to normal waking up time, but the point of the earlier hour was intentionality and not convenience. Surprisingly, there were always about twenty early morning risers during the several years of this ministry of prayer.  Again, I must confess.  There were times I fell asleep, but I took consolation in the fact that I was where I committed to be. 

Words for the Journey

A Thomas Merton quote came to me this morning while doing some reading. "We are often confronted by questions that we cannot answer because the time for answering them has not yet come."  I have turned the page and closed the book, but the words still linger in my mind.  Oh, I have gone on about other things; yet, when my mind comes to a neutral position, the quote comes again with such force that it cannot be ignored. Is it, perhaps, a word that helps us understand the silence from God that often follows some question we are asking Him?  Does it explain the moments when He seems to be saying "No" when we want to hear "Yes" ?   

While these thoughts are possibilities that might help us unlock the meaning of the quote, the authors of the book highlighted it to enable the readers to understand that the spiritual life is a journey.  A spiritual journey is a venture into the unknown.  The prototype for the sojourner is Abraham who heard God calling him to go to a land not yet revealed.  Regardless of how much of a planner we might be, if we choose to walk with Jesus we are going to walk into unplanned moments and unchartered territory. It might be said that when we travel with Jesus, we do so on a need to know basis.  

The questions that we cannot answer may be the Spirit's way of pushing us forward into a season of knowing what cannot be understood until we get further along the way.  Such a way is hard to embrace in our culture of instant gratification.  It is hard to accept when a hand held device can be asked any question and an answer comes instantaneously.  Culture's way is not God's way.  God's way is the way of not knowing.  It is the way of mystery.  It is the way of trusting that when the time for answering the unanswerable questions comes, what we strive to know will be revealed to us. 

A Grandfather's Gift

I ran up on an essay today about John Bunyan's "The Pilgrim's Progress."  As many know it was written while Bunyan was enduring a twelve year imprisonment.  This allegory of the Christian life is a religious classic.  When I finished the essay I thought about the man who gave me my first copy of the book. His name was the Rev. William Raymond Wilder, Sr.  When his son married my widowed mother, he took on a grandfather role in my life.  

Actually, my copy of Bunyan's book came to me when he died in 1970 and I was given a number of the books from his personal library.   The books I received from him were the first ones which went on the shelves of this young about to be a preacher.  His books introduced me to G. Campbell Morgan, E. Stanley Jones, Charles Spurgeon, G. Ray Jordan, and someone as unusual as Billy Sunday. "The Pilgrim's Progress" was then and continues to be regarded as a treasure.  It was an old worn volume when I got it and so it has remained.  It's pages had been turned many times and I continued turning them over the years. 

Anyone who has yet to read Bunyan's allegory would do well to pick up a copy and begin to read.  It describes a character known as Christian as he leaves the City of Destruction and journeys toward the Celestial City.  The trials and temptations he encountered will resonate with each one of us as we continue our own personal journey with Jesus.  When I gave my five minute retirement speech at Annual Conference back in 2010, I was proud to identify myself as a third generation Methodist preacher. 

Matthew 6:24

The preacher whom I heard this morning preached from a great story in the book of Acts.  Of course, the book of Acts is full of great stories, but this one was about Paul and Silas being thrown into prison for freeing a young woman of a spirit of divination.  She made money for her owners by telling fortunes and when Paul ordered the spirit out of her, it took away a source of income from the man who owned the slave-girl.  Anyone who knows anything about anything knows that upsetting the economic cart of anyone or any church can result in serious consequences.  

Paul and Silas ended up in jail.  Preachers have freedom to preach about most anything, but if serious sermons start coming from the pulpit challenging people to examine how the use of money and faith in God are connected, there are liable to be people who will tell the preacher to get back to preaching the Bible.  The truth is the Scripture has a great deal to say about our attitude toward wealth.  Jesus was about as forthright as one can be when He said, "No one can serve two masters...You cannot serve God and wealth."  (Matthew 6:24).  Jesus also told that parable about the rich young ruler who would not follow Jesus because he could not turn loose of his money.  

It has come as a rude awakening to many to realize that the money they hold actually has a hold on them.  Not only does it have a hold on them, but the accumulation of money can have such power over us that it becomes a spirit that controls us as surely as the young slave-girl was under the influence of an evil spirit.  It is really not hard to figure how much having becomes more important than giving.  Look at the church budget and figure how much is spent on maintenance and how much is spent on missions.  Look at the household budget and figure how much is given and how much is kept.  When all the pencil work is done, go back and figure on Matthew 6:24 again. 

Epiphanies in the Ordinary

After I had been here at the farm for a spell, I began to realize I was somewhere I had never been before.  While I had stood in awe at many a sunset, marveled at towering mountains, and felt I was standing at the edge of eternity when I saw unending waves crash onto the shore, I never saw the majesty of the minutiae in  the unfolding creation in which I was immersed.  I had never considered the fact that I could never see the same river twice.  It never occurred to me that the trees which seemed like forever were actually changing each day.  Neither did I know that the God who moved in the first Garden could still walk midst the garden I was growing.   

One of the most surprising things discovered as I learned about life in this place was the ordinary.  Through the ordinary God could make His presence known.  The crosses and candles and altars of the church were special things, but none of those symbols were required for God to make Himself known.   In the ordinary God quietly and softly spoke as surely as His voice thundered through the voices of Old Testament prophets such as Isaiah or Jeremiah.  Every day was a moment for something new to appear.  There were birds hatching in the blue bird boxes, pecans moving toward maturity in the trees, and wind that brought a cooling breath into worn, tired, and hot bodies.  

I could never have imagined God bringing such epiphanies into my life.  I knew about Epiphany Sunday, but not about daily epiphanies of grace.  Of all the lessons learned through creation's baptism, it is the lessons about grace that have been most constant.  I have learned and continue to learn that nothing is really about me, even less is about what I have done, and everything is about the grace of God.  The grace of God is at the beginning of everything.  It is like a strong thread which holds life together.  It is what has brought me this far and as the old song says, "it is grace which will lead me Home."  

Celtic Spirituality

Celtic spirituality had its beginning in Ireland and Scotland back as early as the third or fourth century.  It is often frowned upon as being so focused on nature and creation that it is pantheistic. It is true that the Celtic Christians often baptized places and rituals associated with pagan Druid worship so that what was pagan became Christian, but what was embraced was not pantheism, but panenthesim.  For example, some grove of trees associated with Druid worship was regarded as such sacred space that the emerging saints of Celtic spirituality re-imaged it into a sacred place for Christian worship.  

One of the things which makes Celtic spirituality a unique creature of religious life is that it came into being without being under the influence of the institutionalized Roman Church.  The theology developed by its saints was not influenced by Roman thinking; thus, what came into existence was an order of religious life not bound by the theology being developed by Augustine who preached total human depravity.  Celtic spirituality looked into the face of the baby and declared that it was not evil which was present, but goodness.  It was a faith established on the belief that there were two books of authority.  One was the written Scripture and the other was the creation.  One was the little book and the other was the big book.   

It is not surprising that when the Roman culture began to move back into the regions of England after some two hundred years of being absent that there would be a theological clash.  The conflict between the institutionalized Roman Church and Celtic spirituality came to a head in 664 at the Synod of Whitby.  The outcome of the Synod affirmed the Roman tradition and the stream of Celtic spirituality began to lose influence until it became a fringe element in the religious life of the land and its people. It has only been in recent years that the practice of the Celtic traditions has found a new place in a church that has become so institutionalized that it could be losing its heart. 

Working up a Sweat

This Sunday I am going to be preaching just up the road at a small church I served as pastor immediately after retiring.  I could say that I got an invitation which sounds better than the truth which is I volunteered.  When they get the word that I am coming, there may be a lot of weekend trips planned!  Regardless, I will show up to preach.  When I started preaching back in 1971, I had three small churches on a Charge.  It was in the day of Sunday evening worship.  The congregations were all small and sometimes evening worship crowds really did not measure up to the definition of a crowd.   

I can remember times of preaching to a single digit congregation.  Most of the time the standard length of my sermons was a little less than ten minutes; however, there was one night I got to going and could not find the conclusion so I just kept on preaching till I could think of nothing else to say.  When I finished a laymen told me that I did not need to shoot the whole load on so few people.  It could be a problem this week as well since I only preach now and again.  I will have to be careful not to unload four months of not preaching into one sermon!   What I have learned is that regardless of the frequency of preaching, or the size of the congregation, it is still serious business to stand in the pulpit to speak a word which meets the criteria of being "the word of God for the people of God." 

I find myself pondering the Scripture more intensely this week.  As I pray I am mindful of my need for the guidance of the Holy Spirit.  It is only Tuesday, but Sunday is beginning to loom large on the horizon.  The other day I came in from tractor work soaked with sweat, but I was not complaining.  After months of battling the residual weakness of chemo, it felt really good to be able to work up a sweat.  When Sunday comes, it will feel good to be able to sweat a bit while I am gifted to once again preach the Word of the Lord. 

The Gift of Silence

The farm has given me its silence.  It allows me to share in it, be a part of it, and to be blessed by it.  It is a gift I never really sought, but once received, it has been life changing.  It is as if I have been dropped in a deep river able to know nothing but the water all around me.  So, it is with the silence.  I am immersed in it, deeply immersed.  Immersed within it, I am learning to live, to think, to be, to know myself, and to know who created me.  The gift of this silence is like the gift of a stone thrown into the pond, there is no end to the rippling power in my heart.  

There is no edge it has not touched.  There is no depth it has not gone.  There is no barrier which stands in its way.  The silence and I have become the same.  There is a oneness in those moments when I simply allow myself to be, asking nothing, expecting nothing, but experiencing everything.  This silence is surely a living silence as surely as everything in creation lives.  As the trees and the grass has been given life, so has the silence in which I am immersed.  I can feel it moving as it breathes.  I can hear the beat of its heart.  It, too, along with me and every living thing which God has placed here is alive and to it and everything else I am connected and joined.  It is a gracious and undeserved blessing.  I am grateful.

In the silence of the farm I have read the first chapter of Genesis.  Not once, but many times.  Many, many times.  What was there before the noise of the animals?  What was there before the waves of the sea touched the shores of land?  What was there before the sounds of men and women talking in the Garden? Before things were created for the ears to hear, there was the silence.  It is a silence that was not quenched by the sounds created in Genesis, but a silence that continues to exist as surely as does the created earth and air itself.  As did all created things, we came into being out of the silence.  When we learn to live in the ever existing silence, we will know what it is to live.  We will know what it is to be home.

The Call of God

Back in the day some sixty years ago, the word I heard that changed the direction of my life was commonly known as a call to preach.  As the years rolled into an era of many specialized ministries, the term I knew became out dated.  No longer were people called to preach; instead, they were called to ministry.  It is, perhaps, a better way of speaking of that moment when someone realizes their life no longer belongs to them in the sense that God wants them to be involved in a life of full time service in His behalf.  

God's call is a powerful thing.  Because of it Mother Teresa went to the poorest of India and washed the feet of those so sick no one would touch them.  Because of it E. Stanley Jones passed up on opportunities to live safely in a college professor's office and also went to India.  Because of it Burleigh Law became a martyr in the Congo.  Because of it some college friends lost themselves in service to the forgotten in a large metropolitan area.  Because of it many of those who grew up in my day became preachers in churches scattered across this state and beyond.  There is no end to what men and women will do simply because they have heard the voice of God calling them to let go of personal dreams and plans in order to embrace His plan for their lives.  

The truth is God's call comes to everyone of us in some form or another.  Sometimes it comes for a life time and sometimes it comes for a season.  When we say "yes" to Jesus we are not just saying, "Yes, I know You are my Savior," but we are signing up for whatever.  When we are baptized, it is not just a feel good moment in the church, but for those who take it seriously, it becomes a moment when one declares himself or herself available for the work of the Kingdom of God.  We are saying that God can count on us. I am amazed at the ministries to which some are called which require not a seminary degree, or ordination, but only a willing heart. 

Behold, the New Has Come!

Is it not a uncommon feeling to feel somewhat lost at times.  Feeling adrift and going know-not-where might be one way to describe it.  Someone else might speak of being uprooted from all that is familiar. Another might simply experience it as a feeling of "dis-ease."  Perhaps, the common denominator to all these images is not being sure who we are and where we are.  Certainly, it is not something we carry with us as the every day baggage of our life, but instead it seems that there are seasons of our life in which we experience these times of feeling dislocated and separated from our self.  

This should not be such a surprising moment when it appears for life is always changing.  It is always becoming, or to use one of my favorite terms, life is always unfolding before us.  It is the nature of life.  As life does what it is created to do, it brings us into new beginnings which usher us into what can only be described as the new normal for our life.  The old normal has passed away, behold, the new has come.  It sounds a bit Biblical, does it not? 

These new normal seasons may come to us in a traumatic way.  They may come as we struggle with a disease only known about but not experienced until today.  Or, they come after the loss of someone we love, or even through some unexpected change like the loss of a job, the death of a pet, or a near miss accident from which we walk away with no injuries, only surprise.  They also come to us as God leads us or takes us out of our comfort zones and the Holy Spirit finds Himself with the task of helping us to become rooted and settled in the new world which has become our home.  In these moments of not being sure who we are and where we are, trust and patience will enable us to make the uncomfortable journey from where we are to where God is planning for us to be. 

Wesleyan Economics

My first adventure as an entrepreneur came when I was just a young boy.  I went downtown in Waycross and hawked boiled peanuts for ten cents a bag.  I remember selling all my bags and coming home with $3.60.  It was then that my mother taught me my first economics lesson.  She said I should pay for the cost of the peanuts.  She would not charge me for her labor.  I did as she said and still had what seemed like a nice sum to a boy who had nothing in his pockets at the beginning of the day. The next part of the economics lesson caught me by surprise.  

"You need to take out 10% of what is left and put it in the offering plate tomorrow when we go to church.  The first 10% goes to God," she said as she concluded the lesson.  As I got older and became a more serious wage earner, I practiced and preached that spiritual discipline for two reasons.  It was Biblical and my mother taught me to do it.  On the way to where I am now, I learned the tithe was nothing to brag about; it was the minimum.  More recently I have been thinking about something John Wesley said about money in one of his sermons.  "Earn all you can, save all you can, and give all you can," surely makes a good three point sermon for any preacher.  

What has stayed with me during these recent reflections is the last phrase, "give all you can."  It is a word which takes us beyond being satisfied with giving God the minimum which is an easy choice to make.  There are many coffers of resources with which God blesses us. Whether we are talking about giving money, or our time, or our energy, or anything else, giving all we can is always a better choice than being satisfied with the minimum.

Before the Rising Sun

Before the rising sun came, 

the dream that tagged along, 

went, and I wondered, where?

Is it so for the other old men?

Do they dream dreams like me

to wake and watch them flee

before the cock a doodle do?

'Twas such a good one, too,

this now gone dream of mine.

I long to find it in memory,

to know again it is mine, 

but, alas, what has come

like all things that are here,

is gone to be no more.

If dreams reveal our soul,

I must venture forth now

without knowing the way

which in the dark unfolded.

Must I now step amiss

and stumble on some path

not intended for this day? 

O, Revealer, of all that is,

of all that is not yet to be,

guide these faltering feet,

make the dream a vision

wider than a single night,

one that will show the way

to this searching soul of mine.

Watch Out!

Prejudice is a hard thing to lick.  Real prejudice is rooted deeply in us because of the modeling influence of the important and influential people in our lives.  It can also be so imbedded in the culture around us that we do not see that it is evil, only that it is acceptable.  The Apostle Paul tells a telling story on Simon Peter in his letter to the Galatian Christians.  Peter, of course, has an impressive resume.  He was a disciple of Jesus for three years and not just any disciple, but one of three who were often pulled apart from the others for special moments with Jesus.  

He was the rock upon which Jesus said the church would be built and on the Day of Pentecost, he and the others were overpowered and filled with the Holy Spirit.  A disciple became a Spirit filled Apostle who preached the new church's first sermon at Pentecost.  Being a Jew, Simon Peter grew up in a culture that regarded non-Jewish people as second class.  Peter's culture taught him there were Jews who were God's chosen and everyone else was a Gentile whose status might have been a little higher than slaves, but not much.  

It would seem that a man so spiritually blessed would live by that word the Apostle Paul wrote.  In Romans 10:12 Paul wrote those revolutionary words,  "For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek, the same Lord is Lord of all."  When Peter went to Galatia to visit Paul and the churches he willingly ate with the Gentile converts, but when Jewish members of the Jerusalem Church came, Peter would no longer eat with the Gentiles.  Paul called Peter out for his hypocrisy that was birthed by a life time of prejudice against the Gentiles.  Be careful when saying, "I am not prejudice" for unless our heart is completely surrendered to God, it is likely to show up and surprise us. 

Rings and Repentance

I am a misfit in this society of ring wearers.  I grew up with the notion that rings are worn on the fingers of the hand and nowhere else.  Today rings are worn on the ears, the lips, the nose, the navel and other places which I leave to your imagination.  My problem with the ring wearers is my reaction to them.  I see them and immediately begin a process of mental devaluation.  I am not bragging.  I am confessing.  What I am doing is letting a judgmental spirit have a place in my heart which is surely troublesome to the Holy Spirit who is working to make my spirit reflect the heart of Jesus.   

This problem of mine, dare I call it sin, slapped me in the face the other day in worship.  I was visiting a church which I had never attended.  I saw a man dressed in the robe of the clergy.  His back was to me as I tapped his shoulder to ask a question about the Sacrament which was going to be offered.  When he turned around, I immediately saw his nose ring.  It was a small thing, but suddenly it was all I could see.  As I sat there in the pew, I started building my case against the young man.  Before I finished, he stood and preached a sermon I wish I could have preached.  It was indeed a Word of the Lord.  

As the holy bread was placed in my hand and I dipped it in the cup, I had much to repent.  Prejudice does not always show itself in something as obvious as skin color, but in the small and subtle ways we allow ourselves to put on robes of self righteousness and see ourselves and others in a way that is displeasing to God.  To live in a way that displeases God can only be defined as choosing sin.  Prejudice does this.  It drops in upon us in unguarded moments and the only real answer to the problem is a heart surrendered completely to the Holy Spirit.

The Demons of Prejudice

I am old enough to have memories of a day when prejudice was an accepted part of the fabric of the culture in which I lived.  It was a day when the signs of segregation were painted in bold letters that separated "whites and coloreds" at water fountains, a day when the illusion of separate but equal was accepted, and a day when white supremacy was the new master.  While some declare "not enough," we have come to a place where blacks and whites live more as one community rather than two.  

This is not to say that prejudice has disappeared.  It still raises its head to sow division, discord, and even hatred among people who choose to focus on differences instead of commonality. If given a free rein it can send people onto battlefields to kill one another.  The history recorded in books and the history being written reveals this awful reality.  Recently, while reading the Old Testament book of Ruth, I saw it as a story which was something more than a love story, or a narrative that recorded an important lineage thread.  Perhaps, it was because I had just finished reading the book of Judges where prejudice led to horrific battles where thousands were killed that I saw that the tiny book of Ruth pointed out how people who are different can choose to live together.  

It is a book from the Old Testament which points out that people can live honoring each other's traditions, respecting one another and their values, and creating communities of mutual care. In some ways it is a precursor of the not yet seen world of Jesus where neighbor was re-defined and prejudice was overcome by the heart transforming love of the Christ.  The world of the Incarnate Christ was certainly not a world empty of prejudice and the demons it gave birth.  In a world not so different than our own, Jesus showed us to the way to live in peace with one another.  

The Church Sign

For at least two years I have read a church sign which says, "Time Changes.  Jesus Does Not."  I have this thing about church signs.  The surest way to get people to ignore them is to never change them.  If this is their goal, the church down the road has accomplished it.  My problem is that I still read it.  Do I hope it might be changed?  Maybe, but after two years, I surely should let that hope die.  I have finally decided the church should at least add one more line to the sign which would read, "And Neither Does this Sign!"  

Though this church sign is likely to be the same when Jesus comes, everything else is changing.  Some of the change is harmful and some beneficial.  Some of it leads to a better world and some of it has within it the seeds of destruction.   History has shown us that the institutions of our society are slow to change and only change as a result of some kind of reaction that is revolutionary.  Institutions being threatened build their last bastions behind self-preservation.  The church as an institution seems to thrive in the world of "this is how we have always done it."  

It matters not if the church has been around several hundred years or just since yesterday.  The temptation is always to settle into a pattern of operation and to embrace a document of direction that makes change possible only by divine intervention of the Holy Spirit.  In too many places the church has lost that revolutionary spirit that became present on the Day of Pentecost.  The church in the book of Acts did not exist to fill its coffers, or to build shrines, but to share Jesus with the world.  The world does not need another political party, or another ism, but a church that is willing to shed the robes of the status quo for the revolutionary spirit of Jesus.

The Blessings of the Farm

I have learned many things from the farm.  It has been a place that has required a lot of sweat and work.  From the beginning it was my intent to tend it with care.  I  want to leave it without some heavy footprint to tell those who come after me that I was here.  I have done things like planting grass to stop good soil from washing downhill to the branch.  I have planted and pruned pecan trees, picked up dead fallen limbs, and harvested whatever crop it gave the land.  I have grown hay and provided a small herd of cows a home.  It often seems that there is no end to the things the farm ask of me.   

I somewhat expected this, but not to the extend that I experience it.  What has been surprising is the way the farm has given back to me.  If I have blessed it with attentive care, it has blessed me a thousand times more.  I have been blessed by the silence which fills this place.  In that silence I have learned to hear the soft but sure voice of God.  I have been blessed by the wisdom I have heard.  I have been blessed by many farmers who have been helpers and mentors. I have been blessed by the way the farm has filled my life with an awareness of creation.  I am not the person who left the pulpit and came to the farm and hopefully the man I have become is one that pleases the God who entrusted this land to my care.   

One of the most transforming lessons the farm has taught is that it does not belong to me.  My name is on the deed in the courthouse, but I have come to think of the farm as belonging not to me, but to its own self.  It has seen many like me come and go and there will many who will walk and work this place behind me.  The land is the constant.  It is never really owned by any of us.  The owner is, of course, the Creator God who has enabled me to share a span of time with the land that has given me a home and roots on this earth. What a wonderful blessing it has been and continues to be.  

Behind and Ahead

On this day in 1932 my mother was born as the last of nine children on a farm in deep South Georgia.  She grew up like most children of that day and region.  Necessities were mostly provided, but not much else.  Her childhood stories were not about dolls and fancy dresses, but picking cotton by hand alongside of older brothers and sister.  She gave me and my sisters many gifts.  She gave us an education she did not have, a work ethic that kept us away from any feelings of entitlement, and a deep and abiding faith in God.  She lived a long life and became one of those saints who made a difference in the places where God put her as she lived out those years.  

She died back during the days of covid, but I remember her today as one who became one of the foundational pillars of my life.  Any and everything I have accomplished in life is built upon the love and the sacrifice she offered in my behalf.  Whenever we foolishly began to think that what we have done with our own life is all about me, we need to climb down off the pedestal where we have put ourselves and look more closely at those who have made the way possible for us.  Hopefully, all of us have parents who stand first on that list, but there are surely others who have invested in us when we were mostly empty and trying to figure out what to do with the life given to us.  

There is a long list of neighbors, and teachers, and peers who have helped us to reach this point of our journey.  There are so many behind us who can no longer hear any words of appreciation, but we can express our thanks to them by being an enabling person to those who are walking along a little behind us.  In many places and in many ways the Word of God calls us to pass on our faith and the values that come with it to the generation behind us.  May we be as faithful as those who have come before us.

Remembering Wendell Berry

A member, perhaps, even more so,

of the membership past and present,

and stretching out into the beyond,

you still remain.  Though not here, 

but there, we will long call your name

as one who knew us as you knew

Jayber, Burley, Hannah, and Old Jack.

 

Long will we remember the farmer

who trailed along behind mules and 

the writer who shunned the keyboard

for the simple sheet of paper and pen.

You wrote as if you knew our hearts, 

as if you knew we were where we were,

but somehow still strangers far from home.

 

You always cared about us, Wendell Berry,

in ways we did not know we needed care.

Though Baptist we saw the heart of Francis

and in your love for the old ways, Thoreau.

When you entered into the world of memory,

we grieved, hugged books from the shelves,

and wished once more to hear your voice.

 

Thank you, for all you said and tried to do,

for all you wanted to do that was for our good.

Be blessed in the eternal holy membership

which is a part of the one lived in here.

Though your chair on the porch is empty

we know you  are in the other room, 

and we wait with hearts filled with memories. 

 

Wendell Berry (August 5, 1934-August 31, 2026)