After the sorrow, the angerrises like dust, a mitewith its own life, its own mightyspirit, its power so buoyantand light that it's borne in the airlike war. After the mourning, the poemforms like mold, its greenspores a wonder, its story dampand slow, ancient, growing, moving through the quiet worldlike fear. After the shock, an energygathers, a secret battery charged, and whatever we knowfor sure has been usedup arises from some holy ground like food.
Benjamin M. Stewart on baptism and ecology, William H. Willimon on learning to preach, Eugene H. Peterson on unplanned ministry.
The Century's work relies primarily on subscriptions and donations. Thank you for supporting nonprofit journalism.
Support us by buying books: