I’m delayed in finishing up this post on part two of my trip to Michigan for Calvin University’s Festival of Faith and Writing. To read part 1, click here. Sorry, but I didn’t take many photos at the Festival.
Friday, April 17, 2026
On Thursday morning I first attended a discussion between Robin Kimmerer and Kyle Meyaard-Schaap, moderated by Debra Rienstra. I’VE read all of Kimmerer’s books and have just finished Meyaard-Schaap’s book, Following Jesus in a Warming World. I also read Rienstra’s weekly Refugia newsletter. The conversation started with an interesting twist. Kimmerer expressed curiosity as to why she was invited to a conference about faith. Not thinking of herself as a faith writer, she expressed interest into why so many Christians seem drawn to her work. Meyaard-Schaap responded that Christians long for a deeper story than we sometimes are fed, and that the Old Testament is essentially an indigenous story. Kimmerer is Native American.
The 45-minute conversation provided many insights which ranged for what we think about the human body, to the land we inhabit, and to how fear is not sustainable. Everyone agreed in the need theologians to address the ecological crisis.
My second morning session was a conversation between Laurie Halse Anderson and Ayana Mathic titled “Rewriting the Record: Literature, Memory, and the Histories We Inherit.” Deb Van Denen moderated the conversation.
My next lecture was by Kiki Petrosing, titled “Spell, Ceremony, Miracle: The Literary Narrative of a Lapsed Catholic.” I was especially interested in hearing her conversation having read two of her books of poetry, Bright: A Memoir, and White Blood: A Lyric of Virginia. I also learned more of her relationship to her mentor, Gregory Orr, as both have tragedy in their past.
At lunch, I took part of a writing circle focusing on memoir. Courtney Ellis, who along with her husband, pastors a Presbyterian Church in California, led the discussion. Most of the lunch hour focused on the mechanics of memoir writing, drawing heavily on Annie Dillard and Anne Lamont. She reminded us of the difficulty of publishing memoirs unless we were able provide a different hook to make our story even more interesting. This “hook,” can help us create a framework. She also reminded us how we can’t write everything and must make decisions as to what we should cut. As a preacher, she thinks about her stories from the pulpit and won’t include anything which she would feel uncomfortable saying in a sermon. She also encouraged us to write within a community (writing group) to get helpful critique.
After lunch, I attended the most straightforward “how-to” lecture of the conference. Margot Stenbuck, an editor and author of A Grown Woman’s Guide to Online Dating,” talked about how to pitch non-fiction books. While her outline was straight and organized, with details about the cover letter and what to say not to say, she tied it all together referring to clips from the movie “Hitch.” In a humorous manner, she presented finding a publisher (or editor) akin to finding a spouse.
My closing lecture was Ross Gay, a poet, who describes himself as a student of joy. He mostly drew on his work, Why I Garden, which sold out, but I did come home with another of his book of poetry, Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude. His readings were enjoyable, but I didn’t take many notes. However, I did appreciate a side comment made between poems as to his indebtedness to Amy Leech’s work. I recently read another of her books and reviewed it here.
Saturday, April 18, 2026
I began the final day of the conference sitting in on a discussion between Ross Gay, whom I heard the evening before, and his friend Patrick Rosal. Not only delightful, but the conversation showed their genuine friendship for each other. They play basketball together but now live far apart so they appreciated the festival bringing them together. Throughout the conversation they told stories about the other and spent a lot of time laughing and causing us to laugh.
Next, I attended a conversation with Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest and college professor. Back in the 1990s, as Taylor began her ascent as one of the great preachers of the generation, I spent a week with her and 12 other preachers in San Francisco. A lot has changed since then as she left the church for the college classroom. For much of this presentation, she talked being “a free-range preacher.” While she no longer a pastor of a congregation, she still gets invited to preach in churches all over the nation. She joked about this new role, comparing herself as the babysitter who brings with her a dart board and steel darts. The other thing which impressed me is how she still draws and relies on her mentor from seminary, the late Fred Craddock. She mentioned him several times including his saying, “you’re a preacher. You hold the camera; you don’t get in front of it.”
At lunch, I was with the second meeting of the memoir writing group. Courtney Ellis began with an exercise. We had to give two sentences of a scene from our story. Then, each of us had to ask questions based on those two sentences, to help the writer draw deeper into the story. After this exercise, she provided a few closing insights into publishing and the role of social media.
After lunch, I attended a conversation titled “Witnessing What’s There: Writing and Attention in a Wounded World” which featured Daniel Jose’ Camaco and Alejendra Oliva with Alisa Tigchelaar moderating. The conversation centered around their work as activist writers in a conflicted world of immigration. Then I attended Christine Byl’s talk titled Place and Landscape as Character. Living between Montana and Alaska, Bly has written about her work building trails and living in remote areas.
The closing plenary lecture featured Barbara Brown Taylor. As always, she was amazing as she spoke about the power of words. As she often does, nature played a role in her insights. She also drew from her recent book, Holy Envy, in which she writes about engagements with students from other faiths through her teachings. Part of her talk she included in a recent Substack post.
After leaving the conference, driving back to the hotel and thinking about dinner, I spied Red Lobster. For some reason, I recalled a day of Christmas shopping with my daughter twenty years earlier. At this point in her life, people thought she was Dakota Fanning, the child music star. Twice that morning, in stores, people had told her she looked like the star. Then, at lunch at Red Lobster, the waitress fawned all over her, again, thinking she was Dakota Fanning. I’m not sure what came over me, but I suggested she sign a napkin Dakota and leave it on the table. While I thought it would be a good joke, my daughter conscience wouldn’t allow it. I pulled in for a late dinner, recalling the events of twenty years earlier, before heading back to the hotel.
Sunday, April 19, 2026
Sunday morning, I attended The Church of the Master, which has over the years done incredible work with worship. I have attended this church many times, going back before living in Michigan. Several times when staying with Jack Stewart, we’d attend church there. The last time, they’d just called a woman from Scotland as pastor, and I really enjoyed her sermon. This church also an incredible group of congregants who were the intelligentsia within the Christian Reformed Church. But this time, the preaching wasn’t overly impressive. But I enjoyed other parts of the service. The most unique thing was the detailed bulletin that didn’t name any of the clergy participating.
After church, I headed to Hastings. While I waited to meet my friend Bob for lunch, I walked along the riverwalk which runs where the old Michigan Central Line used to be. There, along the Thornapple River, was a series of monuments consisting of pages from a children’s book about an owl in Central Park in New York City. At each stop, there was a place for those walking to stop and read. This new feature was dedicated to Jane Arnold, a former 1st Grade teacher from Hastings who was a member of the church when I served this community. I had heard but forgotten that she had died.
After lunch, Bob and I headed down to Pierce Cedar Creek, where we hiked back in the woods by Cedar Creek, where I had walked and skied or snowshoed many times when I lived in Hastings. The leaves on trees were just beginning to unfurl, allowing the flowers along the ground to put on a display. I estimated nature here is about two weeks behind what where it’s at in the Virginia Mountains.
It’s always a joy to be in the woods with Bob as his botanical knowledge far exceeds mine. We looked at the small flowers blooming before the forest canopy closed in and shaded the ground. The swamp marigolds amongst the skunk cabbage in the lowlands were especially beautiful.
That night, we had decided to eat ice cream for dinner at the new Culvers in town. We stayed up late talking.
Monday, April 20, 2026
On Monday, I met Jim, my winter canoe partner, for breakfast at Richies. It was good to be served by Sandy, who still waits on tables there, and to see a lot of old regulars from when I lived in town. After lunch, I meet with the other Jim, who was my assistant at the church when I was there. He doesn’t get out much these days as he cares for his wife and depends on a walker or cane to get around.
Afterwards, I called the finance manager at First Presbyterian Church. Nancy lost her husband a little over a year ago from a heart attack just a month after he’d retired. She had planned to retire a year earlier but stayed on a second year to have a place to go and to let the church minister to her in her grief. I had talked to her after Dave’s death, and wrote to her, but hadn’t seen her since I left Hastings. Nancy now plans to retire after the books close this year.
I dropped by the church to see her, which seemed odd as this was the first time I had been in the church since I left in the summer of 2014. I had called Nancy, the church’s finance manager, to see if I could visit. She seemed delighted and had some time before a 1 PM finance meeting. Nancy has been the finance director for the past 25 years, including all the time I was at the church. She had planned to retire a year earlier, but then her husband who had just retired, died from a massive heart attack. I talked to her afterwards and wrote to her, but had not seen her since that tragic event and wanted to drop by. Nancy insisted on showing me my “full-sized” portrait on a hallway in the church. We talked about old times and how she was doing without Dave, along with what her kids (and grandkids) are doing. She introduced me to their pastor (the second one since I left). I stayed long enough to greet those on the finance committee, all who were in the church when I was the pastor.
When I left the church, I stopped for a quick lunch and then drove to South Bend. I picked dinner as I knew I would be boarding the train after the dining car closed. Next, I dropped the rental car off at Enterprise and had them give me a lift back to the train station. A little after nine, I boarded the train and headed east, running through the towns and cities below Lake Erie. I slept. I don’t even remember stopping in Cleveland.
Tuesday, April 21, 2026
I woke up early in the morning, just before we pulled into Pittsburgh, watching another familiar area as the train ran along the Ohio River and then over the Allegheny and into the Steel City. I noticed a bicyclist getting on the train at the stop in Pittsburgh. It was 4:30 AM. Soon, I was back asleep, but at breakfast I talked to the bicyclist who’d just completed the C&O Canal and the Great Allegheny Passage train, which brother and I had done last May. This was his fourth ride on the trail and now headed back to his home to Washington, DC.
Breakfast became an interesting place to meet folks. There was an attorney who worked for the District Attorney in Austin, Texas. Another woman had spent the past six years taking care of her sister in Salt Lake City, Utah. She decided to buy a rail pass and was heading to Miami. After a stop in Washington, I boarded the Southern Crescent for the last leg of my ride through the Virginia Countryside. Sitting next to me was a guy named Brandon, heading to Charlotte to see his brother who was in a traveling theater group. Brandon lives in Narobi, Kenya and works as an attorney for the United Nations. I enjoyed our conversation. I arrived back in Danville, from where I started a week earlier, a little after 11 PM.
