The world mourns the loss of Wendell Berry, a remarkable poet, prophet, and pastor. Some may wonder why I called Berry a ‘pastor' since he wasn’t an ordained clergy member. That's a fair question. A quick look into the word 'pastor' reveals it originally relates to caring for animals, much like a shepherd.
Although Berry perhaps was never a literal 'shepherd,' his care for the land had a pastoral quality. One of my early mentors noted that whenever we read about a farmer or character’s relationship to the land in Berry’s writings—whether articles, essays, books, or poems—we could substitute 'church.' This reflects wisdom applicable to those in parish ministry. What I most appreciated about Berry’s fiction was his grasp of Jesus’s command to love our neighbor, regardless of their creaturely state. He also understood the importance of community, frequently emphasizing the value of being rooted in a particular place and of staying committed there.
Berry was a prophet. Reading “The Mad Farmer Liberation” reveals a voice calling in the wilderness, urging us to abandon our indifferent, greedy, and apathetic relationship with creation and to stop the practices that destroy our planet—Earth. I love, as one writer put it about Berry’s prophetic wisdom, “As a cultural conscientious objector, he occupied the rarefied space of a neo-humanist, a Renaissance man in an era of industrial agriculture, technology overdrive, and obsessive consumption. Most importantly, he was a prophet, warning us about the abuse of land, water, and atmosphere for ever-larger food production and the demons of economic development (and data centers).” If ever there were a time for his wisdom here in Central Illinois, it's now.
In seminary, I signed up for a class mainly because Wendell Berry was scheduled to speak the last time it was offered. On the first day, as I reviewed the syllabus, I saw an afternoon set aside for Berry. Despite the heavy workload, I thought it was worth the effort to learn from one of my favorite authors. Unfortunately, when a student dropped the course, the professor canceled it, and I lost my chance to meet Berry—like a small farmer’s lost hope. Later that year, in my final Master of Arts in Spirituality class, we read Jayber Crow, which became one of the five most important books in my personal library. It’s Berry’s most renowned novel and has taught me the most about membership and belonging. Some of my most treasured memories from that period are from the Thomas Merton Center at Bellarmine University, where I listened to Professor Greg Hillis teach Jayber Crow to help us understand and experience the doctrine of the Trinity.
Before moving to Kentucky at twenty-two, I wasn't familiar with Wendell Berry. Soon after, I started reading his poetry and dreaming of living in harmony with the land like him. His works, along with those of fellow Kentuckian bell hooks and Kentucky transplant Thomas Merton, have greatly influenced my understanding of ecclesiology. Although I know I will never reach his level of literary skill, I aim to grow by drawing inspiration from his art and work—as a pastor to this congregation and as a community member.
One of the first lines I read from Berry in his book A Place on Earth resonated so deeply with my 22-year-old self that it became the subtext for my very first blog. The blog no longer exists, but the words and their impact do:
“Nobody can discover the world for somebody else. Only when we discover it for ourselves does it become common ground and a common bond and we cease to be alone.”
For me, this is Berry in a nutshell. May we discover together our common ground, common bond, and common love – remembering we are never alone. I hope, at the very least, you feel this within the ministry of 1PC.
I don't have a photo of Berry. I could take a picture of the books of his I have -- but that's lame. Instead, here's this one. I invite you to think about your relationship with your place: the air, the ground, the creeks, the creatures above and below. And then remember this line: There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred and desecrated places."
