Somewhere along the way I got a free Kindle edition of The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry. I’ve been making my way through them very slowly… like, over a period of years. I love Wendell Berry—such crotchety eloquence—but I need him in small doses, kind of like Annie Dillard.
I ran across this bit last night and as one of my preaching professors used to say, Wowowowow.
The hill is a voyager standing still. Never moving a step, it travels through years, seasons, weathers, days and nights…
The hill is like an old woman, all her human obligations met, who sits at work day after day, in a kind of rapt leisure, at an intricate embroidery. She has time for all things. Because she does not expect ever to be finished, she is endlessly patient with details. She perfects flower and leaf, feather and song, adorning the briefest life in great beauty as though it were meant to last forever.
That is the essence of a life lived Sabbathly.
That is the way I want to live.
Image: A view from one of my favorite hills, Dun I on Iona.