As I promised in my last post, I return to more of Wendell Berry’s Sabbath poems. The poems below can be found in his book Leavings and these Sabbath poems are dated 2005-2008. Berry asks the question, How may a human being come to rest? For all too many of us “rest” does not come easily or naturally. We have come to believe that unless we are busy we are not productive and if we are not productive we are idle, wasteful, even otiose. If the God of Creation rested then it might be good for us to follow that example. Wendell on his early Sunday morning walks in the woods of his Kentucky home and farm, pauses and becomes still, and in the stillness he ponders and listens not just to the woods but to his inner soul. Out of this stillness the pencil moves, words are shaped, thoughts are shared. Of Eternity he writes “It is entirely present always.” Might that be so for you.
I.
I know that I have life
only insofar as I have love.
I have no love
except it come from Thee.
Help me, please, to carry
this candle against the wind
XI.
My young grandson rides with me
as I mow the day’s first swath
of the hillside pasture,
and then he rambles the woods beyond
the field’s edge, emerging
from the trees to wave, and I wave back,
remembering that I too once
played at a field’s edge and waved
to an old workman who went mowing by,
waving back to me as he passed
XIII.
Eternity is not infinity.
It is not a long time.
It does not begin at the end of time.
It does not run parallel to time.
In its entirety it always was.
In its entirety it will always be.
It is entirely present always. Wendell Berry
Prayer:
O Lord of Light,
show me the way.
O Lord of Light,
teach me the path.
O Lord of Light,
lead me in your truth.
O Lord of Love
show me how to rest.
O Lord of Love,
teach me to love
O Lord of Love,
lead me in your grace. Amen.
Prayers, Poems, and Christian Ponderings 
I like each poem, but XI is especially meaningful for me. In the early days of our marriage my husband and I visited relatives that he had not yet met. One of them, my 4 year old cousin, took a particular liking to him and together they spent the afternoon wandering the woods and walking the pasture. As it was almost dusk, I looked out the window to see them approaching the house, my cousin on the shoulders of my husband. Other than feeling pleased that they had enjoyed themselves so much I never thought of the scene again, until many years later when the exact scene repeated itself. My young cousin fresh out of college, and my own 4 year old daughter, content and sleepy on his shoulders coming across the pasture after an afternoon of adventure. I understand how Berry’s Sabbath sauntering became poetry.
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