I read an article in New Yorker this week that mentioned one of my favorite (but intellectually a bit above me) writers, Marilynne Robinson. On a poet and a christian, Christian Wiman, who has been living with and fighting cancer for 14 years, I saw why. His faith was of a piece with hers, at least as I read it. A professor, parent, husband and writer, it was a great article, bringing one man's beliefs to me in a way that, once again, like Robinson's novels, almost made me want to believe again.
All that and then, one of Wiman's poems given in the article coupled to a moment I'd had. Just the day before, waiting at a red light in town, looking ahead and to the left, I saw a flock of birds rise from a tree and fly away. Certainly not as profound a thinker as he, I had been taken by the sight. Wiman's poem captured my feelings.
Between the man portrayed and the poem, I felt I knew him, and most importantly, liked him.
Invites Connection
