Every morning I am given all this wisdom
and every afternoon I throw it all away.
I can’t pray.
I can only walk: the forest is my audience.
There is a hill behind me, it has always been
behind me, and it has been given to me to climb,
especially in the summer and in the morning
when it is cool and soft and I can tell the trees
all know and love me.
If I were to die at the top, overlooking
the valley, if my body were to drop,
the trees wouldn’t move.
They would never leave me.
They would just keep rising.
Mark A. Noll
On Death in December
A Deliberately Spiritual Thing
The Shape of a New Era: Valparaiso's Chapel of the Resurrection in
Suffering Unto Salvation in Wendell Berry's Jayber Crow
Martha Greene Eads
In Thy Light
O. P. Kretzmann
Love and Marriage: A Wedding Sermon
Creativity and Creation: A Lutheran Context for the Arts
Martin E. Marty
Beauty and Justice