Why say “salvation” when I can talk about how it feels to be let out of a hot car trunk and led to a waterfall? Why reach for “hermeneutics” when I can ask people where they got the eyeglasses they use to read the Bible? If someone asks you what you mean by “God,” do you have your answer ready?
Thank you, Barbara, for this deep, true and earthy reflection. I wish I'd had a teacher like you when I was in seminary, a gig that lasted only nine months before I had to set out in search of incarnation. How a faith tradition rooted in the radical idea of the word become flesh became so disembodied continues to baffle me, despite what I know about church history, the role of theology in exercising political control, etc. What's kept me somewhere in the Christian fold is the gift of knowing folks who embody the faith in word and deed, and your work and witness has been an important part of that. Thank you!
I always loved the text on the word became flesh most. Later I figured it was also a favorite of M Buber and Hildegard and I guess many more kindred spirits like Barbara and you 😇
This essay moves with the quiet authority of someone who has wrestled with words long enough to know their limits. You do not reject theology, you honor it as the scaffolding that once held the soul aloft, but you no longer mistake the scaffolding for the sky. The sacred, as you suggest, is not only in the syllables of “salvation” or “sanctification,” but in the scent of gardenia, the grit of compost, the texture of dough on tired hands.
What lingers is not just the shift from abstraction to embodiment, but the ache beneath both… the longing for something greater that, in the end, returns us to the dirt. This is theology that no longer seeks control or clarity, but presence. It’s not a system of thought… it’s a way of being, face down on the earth, whispering, “Will you have me back?”
Theology, if it is true, must become flesh again. It must sweat and knead and carry the scent of fish. It must be lived, not just learned. And perhaps this is the final paradox you leave us with: that the journey to God, begun with lofty words and urgent seeking, ends not in knowing, but in belonging. Not in ascent, but in return.
I will say that you were one of those early authors for me, who helped tend to my spiritual and storytelling fire, and I’ll always be grateful for that.
And as simple as it seems, Mother Earth seems to hold us and speak to us so deeply in this chaotic time. We need her grounding to keep going. Thank you for writing about the deep connection between dirt and spirituality, friend. ♥️
What I started to say was this spoke straight to my soul. But what I really mean is that it cracked my rib cage in two and my whole body reached out to swallow these words into their core. Your way with, through, and in words has made a way for so many of us, and that is spackled with holy.
"The yearning for God has never been greater, though my demands have all but dried up." Yes. I still pray for the simple, the daily, but it seems words fail me for what I really need. Fortunately, the Spirit intercedes for me. Some days, all I can manage is, "Thy will be done."
Very best description of how I feel now-in this stage of life. Helpful because the highs and yearnings you describe of the past “awakening” are so different now —and to trust how it feels now rather than be confused by it is the challenge. Thank you!
I’ve read many of the comments already posted; clearly you’ve touched something deep within many of us. The search for God within the context of religion fails many of us. I’ve read 3 or 4 of your books, but Holy Envy and Leaving Church I read in the last two years of my connection to religion. You affirmed for me the “beyond,” and I recognized where I had been trying to land. You opened up a world of possibilities I had been trying to work through in my head, heart, body, and soul. I had already “left church” long before I finally left. For me and for many others, there is such conflict in leaving church—from within ourselves and from our church community, friends, and family. Nine months in postulancy to become a deacon in the Episcopal Church was my undoing. The whole process was an intellectual exercise in words, gestures, memorizing the contents of The Book of Common Prayer, liturgical furnishings of the church, etc., and took me so far away from my very soul and any connection with God. I had no real understanding of what was happening and why we were doing this and I felt lost and more separated from God than ever before. I don’t have a farm, but I have nature in many forms, and my experiences in the natural world inform my understanding of God in ways no creed or doctrine or church service ever could or did. Nature is my connection to God. You said it well: “For all the places religion has taken me, it begins and ends in dirt.”
Last weekend while sanding and weather treating old saloon doors I’m prepping to convert into garden gates, I found tears rolling down my cheeks. In my earbuds were the songs “buy dirt” by Jordan Davis and “when you’re my age” by Lori McKenna. My oldest’s birthday was the next day. He’s 39. Much like you, my comfort and peace is often felt in the woods, working on our land, harvesting in the garden, creating with my hands, sharing pans of sour dough creations, playing with my granddaughters. The ideas and work that had compelled me for so many years calls less frequently and gives less joy. My ears seem to prefer the birds, the creek, certain music, and voices of the ancients and grandmother cedars. Thanks for your beautiful companion piece, Barbara!
“language ..life preservers”. Words for me as 1st ordained pastor in southern Va UM 3point charge. And your words, too, Barbara Brown Taylor, that grounded and guided me in sermon preparation. Thank you.
There is so much to love about this. Thank you! I, too, have recently sought and found peace and joy in movement from theological words to God embodied in the earth. In the branches of the willow whose lower branches are shorn by a doe who passes thru, the delicate spider webs glistening with rain drops, the happy songs of finches, cardinals, bluebirds, and mockingbirds as they feed, the rich smell of the earth. Everything we need to know about God, love and healing and renewal, is here. 💝
Love it all especially this: “Some days, the most faithful thing I can do is lie face down on the earth and say, “Will you have me back?” without asking what will happen after she folds me in her arms for good. “. 👏🙏🙏
Thank you, Barbara, for this deep, true and earthy reflection. I wish I'd had a teacher like you when I was in seminary, a gig that lasted only nine months before I had to set out in search of incarnation. How a faith tradition rooted in the radical idea of the word become flesh became so disembodied continues to baffle me, despite what I know about church history, the role of theology in exercising political control, etc. What's kept me somewhere in the Christian fold is the gift of knowing folks who embody the faith in word and deed, and your work and witness has been an important part of that. Thank you!
Right here. Two of my most favorite authors speaking Truth to one another and the world. Thank you both for sustaining me in dark times.
Exactly. Well said. Both of you do that for me. Thank you Parker and Barbara.
I always loved the text on the word became flesh most. Later I figured it was also a favorite of M Buber and Hildegard and I guess many more kindred spirits like Barbara and you 😇
This essay moves with the quiet authority of someone who has wrestled with words long enough to know their limits. You do not reject theology, you honor it as the scaffolding that once held the soul aloft, but you no longer mistake the scaffolding for the sky. The sacred, as you suggest, is not only in the syllables of “salvation” or “sanctification,” but in the scent of gardenia, the grit of compost, the texture of dough on tired hands.
What lingers is not just the shift from abstraction to embodiment, but the ache beneath both… the longing for something greater that, in the end, returns us to the dirt. This is theology that no longer seeks control or clarity, but presence. It’s not a system of thought… it’s a way of being, face down on the earth, whispering, “Will you have me back?”
Theology, if it is true, must become flesh again. It must sweat and knead and carry the scent of fish. It must be lived, not just learned. And perhaps this is the final paradox you leave us with: that the journey to God, begun with lofty words and urgent seeking, ends not in knowing, but in belonging. Not in ascent, but in return.
Thank you so much for this enfolding. My soul is so very tired.
Mine too, so very much.
Yes🙏🏼💗
Beautiful.
I will say that you were one of those early authors for me, who helped tend to my spiritual and storytelling fire, and I’ll always be grateful for that.
And as simple as it seems, Mother Earth seems to hold us and speak to us so deeply in this chaotic time. We need her grounding to keep going. Thank you for writing about the deep connection between dirt and spirituality, friend. ♥️
What I started to say was this spoke straight to my soul. But what I really mean is that it cracked my rib cage in two and my whole body reached out to swallow these words into their core. Your way with, through, and in words has made a way for so many of us, and that is spackled with holy.
If I've ever read something more beautiful, I don't know when it was.
"The yearning for God has never been greater, though my demands have all but dried up." Yes. I still pray for the simple, the daily, but it seems words fail me for what I really need. Fortunately, the Spirit intercedes for me. Some days, all I can manage is, "Thy will be done."
Very best description of how I feel now-in this stage of life. Helpful because the highs and yearnings you describe of the past “awakening” are so different now —and to trust how it feels now rather than be confused by it is the challenge. Thank you!
Thank you for articulating so clearly what has been on my heart and offering deep wisdom to help guide us home.
I’ve read many of the comments already posted; clearly you’ve touched something deep within many of us. The search for God within the context of religion fails many of us. I’ve read 3 or 4 of your books, but Holy Envy and Leaving Church I read in the last two years of my connection to religion. You affirmed for me the “beyond,” and I recognized where I had been trying to land. You opened up a world of possibilities I had been trying to work through in my head, heart, body, and soul. I had already “left church” long before I finally left. For me and for many others, there is such conflict in leaving church—from within ourselves and from our church community, friends, and family. Nine months in postulancy to become a deacon in the Episcopal Church was my undoing. The whole process was an intellectual exercise in words, gestures, memorizing the contents of The Book of Common Prayer, liturgical furnishings of the church, etc., and took me so far away from my very soul and any connection with God. I had no real understanding of what was happening and why we were doing this and I felt lost and more separated from God than ever before. I don’t have a farm, but I have nature in many forms, and my experiences in the natural world inform my understanding of God in ways no creed or doctrine or church service ever could or did. Nature is my connection to God. You said it well: “For all the places religion has taken me, it begins and ends in dirt.”
Last weekend while sanding and weather treating old saloon doors I’m prepping to convert into garden gates, I found tears rolling down my cheeks. In my earbuds were the songs “buy dirt” by Jordan Davis and “when you’re my age” by Lori McKenna. My oldest’s birthday was the next day. He’s 39. Much like you, my comfort and peace is often felt in the woods, working on our land, harvesting in the garden, creating with my hands, sharing pans of sour dough creations, playing with my granddaughters. The ideas and work that had compelled me for so many years calls less frequently and gives less joy. My ears seem to prefer the birds, the creek, certain music, and voices of the ancients and grandmother cedars. Thanks for your beautiful companion piece, Barbara!
Creation sings her song of welcome and brings us home to ourselves and to the beyond that we yearn for. Beautiful sharing Barbara.
Thank you for knowing me though we have never met.💫
Deep breath. So It Is. 💞
“language ..life preservers”. Words for me as 1st ordained pastor in southern Va UM 3point charge. And your words, too, Barbara Brown Taylor, that grounded and guided me in sermon preparation. Thank you.
There is so much to love about this. Thank you! I, too, have recently sought and found peace and joy in movement from theological words to God embodied in the earth. In the branches of the willow whose lower branches are shorn by a doe who passes thru, the delicate spider webs glistening with rain drops, the happy songs of finches, cardinals, bluebirds, and mockingbirds as they feed, the rich smell of the earth. Everything we need to know about God, love and healing and renewal, is here. 💝
Thank you for speaking to me as you have for years through your writing.
Love it all especially this: “Some days, the most faithful thing I can do is lie face down on the earth and say, “Will you have me back?” without asking what will happen after she folds me in her arms for good. “. 👏🙏🙏