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Getting to the Festival of Faith and Writing

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This is always fraught as I do not have a car. Years past I lived in Chicago and carpooled, usually in a minivan and could bring my bike. This time I live in Okemos/E. Lansing and could have possibly rode my bike to Grand Rapids had I not been out of shape and worried about the swings in weather we’ve been having. Which was never more evident at the Festival. Huge amounts of walking back and forth between venues, despite there being a shuttle, new this year, and a stormy Friday where winds exceeded 30 miles per hour. All this to say, I booked tickets on Indian Trails. Which, as it turned out, was a GREAT option. One never knows, and I emphasize the word never, what a driver or transit company thinks about bikes. They can decide to give you a hard time no matter what. I had called ahead to see what the regulations were. They told me it needed to be boxed (more on this later). I showed up at the E. Lansing pickup point by the Marriot and hugged my daughter good bye. Pray for me I sa
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Round up of Festival of Faith and Writing, Calvin University

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Soooo back from Grand Rapids and the Festival of Faith and Writing. It has been 6 years since we met in-person. I was last there in 2018. Boy, has a lot changed. Of course, I’m/we’re older. I missed seeing some of the Calvin University faculty (Gary Schmidt, Karen Saupe) that used to introduce the speakers. Some of the intros were more informative than the actual speaker. This year, as the festival continues to regroup after the pandemic-induced hiatus, there were some measurable differences from past years. As I mentioned I missed seeing some faculty—and, especially on Thursday, I noticed venues were half full (I’m being generous in that observation). In past years I saw way more of the student body taking advantage of the festival. Maybe there are just less English majors. The humanities have certainly taken a hit. There is a “new” financial/business department supported by the DeVoss/Amway family fortunes that I walked through to access the Prince Conference Center. I doubt the
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Go Where You Can Make a Difference

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I was thinking the other day while out on a run about the novel by Willa Cather, Death Comes for the Archbishop. I know, I know—how abstract. But, not really. It had to do with friendship, between unlikely characters, and their steadfastness—even that word seems antiquated—and how our lives are impacted by the love and support of one or two faithful companions. I reread Death Comes for the Archbishop every couple of years. I miss it, the story, like an old friend. We have been together since high school when I went out to New Mexico to visit my sister who was working at Ghost Ranch in Abiquiu. Many scenes from the book are inspired by the landscape of this area. In fact, one of the driving themes of the novel is the Archbishop’s desire to build a cathedral in Santa Fe. The plot is sort of a string of scenes out of Father Letour’s long life. Some don’t even involve him and are merely retold stories of parishioners or myths that support the theology, local folklore. It is not a nov
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I’m at the Festival of Faith and Writing

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The Festival of Faith and Writing taking place in Grand Rapids, Michigan on the campus of Calvin University. Which used to be Calvin College when I first started attending the festival in 1992. The conference began in 1990, inaugurated by the Calvin English department, The first few festivals leaned academic with the presentation of papers, but evolved into a mainstream celebration of all kinds of literature that resonates with Reformed Theology—from their mission statement: [rooted] in common grace and the goodness of creation, the Festival of Faith & Writing creates space for meaningful discussion and shared discovery among people with different religious beliefs and practices. The festival is now hosted by the Calvin Center for Faith & Writing. Through the years I’ve changed pews, but I’ve always held onto the belief that reading will save the soul. This year I will be presenting at a Festival Circle, basically a lunchtime discussion. My topic is Slow Looking: Freeing
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I no longer reside with gulls.

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I no longer reside with gulls. This is hard to believe after so many years. Thirty-eight years by a fresh water lake, Gulls were everywhere. Eating out of the trash barrels, scavenging in the streets, circling the sky overhead, resting on fence posts, in the vacant soccer field, skipping over the sand beach. From a distance their white bodies looked like sails. Like the pigeon, they are a bit of a pest—especially when picnicking. If not careful, they would swoop down and rip the bun out of your hand. With cautious hops they’d edge closer to your blanket to see what they could steal. These are Chicago gulls, cagey, street-smart, running in gangs.   Now, living in Michigan, I am struck by the fact that there are no gulls. I live in the interior, no longer by open water. The woods are full of birds—but no gulls. I’m feeling ambivalent, not sure I miss them or merely the idea of them. After so many years . . . Shouldn’t I wax nostalgic, reveal a hidden longing, be burne
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