A meandering passage recording the life of an ordinary clergyman as it careens from the sublime to the ridiculous, often without knowing which is which.
Appropos of your sermon this morning, asking for a new earth and heaven: here is another point of view. My favorite poem by Wendell Berry. The Wild Geese Horseback on Sunday morning,harvest over, we taste persimmonand wild grape, sharp sweetof summer's end. In time's mazeover the fall fields, we name namesthat went west from here, namesthat rest on graves. We opena persimmon seed to find the treethat stands in promise,pale, in the seed's marrow.Geese appear high over us,pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,as in love or sleep, holdsthem to their way, clear,in the ancient faith: what we needis here. And we pray, notfor new earth or heaven, but to bequiet in heart, and in eyeclear. What we need is here.
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