“When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”
-Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things
Reflection by Rev. Amanda Crice
There was plenty on my to-do list when I left my house on the morning of All Saints Day to head to Green Hill Farm. I would be in a race with the clock to leave on time for the wedding I was officiating later that day, my house was a wreck, and my mind was spinning with the latest onslaught of anxiety provoking news headlines that seem as pervasive as the air we breathe in 2025. Nevertheless, before I even arrived, nature met me in my mess. Zooming down the bypass, I did a double take as I saw a bald eagle dining on road kill in the ditch. I laughed to myself as I thought about how my avid birdwatcher mom would have managed to whip her camera out to capture a snapshot of the regal bird in such a state. The thoughts of my mother led to thoughts of her mother, my grandmother, who had died three years ago on All Saints Day.
I’m sure the others who made their way to the farm that day carried their own version of what my head and heart brought to that space; but, as we gathered around French-pressed coffee and fresh baked goods in the simple farmhouse kitchen, presence took precedence. Steam curled from hot cups as unrushed conversations ensued. We spilled out onto the back deck where free range chickens and a couple of cats wandered about. A few of us meandered to the barn as the youngest among us was eager to visit the horse and his companion goat, Ringo. Eventually, Rev. John Varden invited us to circle up underneath a nearby tree and take a deep breath formally calling us to worship, knowing fully that we had already begun.
“This is a working farm that has been around for over 100 years,” John told us. “There is much this space can tell us about ourselves, about those who have gone before us, and the God we serve.” And, as we read the scriptures, joined in communal liturgy, shared movement, and observed silence, the land invited us to listen together.
John invited us to pay attention as we walked the land, “How does it feel under your feet? How do you feel as you move through it? What speaks to you?” Walking through the woods, over the levee and even around the invasive wild grass… for the second time that day nature mediated an encounter with my grandmother whose childhood farmland is still in my family. The feel of the air, the colors in the trees, and the light of the sun unique to this time of year all heightened my awareness of the great cloud of witnesses that always surrounds us. It also shed grace-filled light on the complexities of the very human relationships I had with those who have gone before. I was reminded of the cycles and patterns and resilience of nature. I was reminded of the ways even the difficult and dark parts of nature can produce beauty. And, I was drawn into worship of the imminently present God who created and transcends it all.
Rev. John Varden has a deep wisdom of how the land can connect us to one another and to God. In fact, John’s first inklings of his call came through creation and it was to creation. Driving home after a summer internship in Montana John stopped for a hike in the Grand Tetons. As he was hiking he came upon a view of the water and the Tetons that struck him with awe and wonder. “I was struck by the magnificence of creation in that moment, and also how we are messing it up,” John remembered.
The call came on one bend of the winding road that was John’s journey to ministry. John grew up in Fulton, Kentucky and a part of every day of his young life was spent on his family’s farm. His grandfather died when he was young, but he’d accompany his grandmother daily to tend to the chores of tending to the land. From Fulton the road led all over: from Sewanee College, to Montana, to Boston, Utah, Colorado and eventually seminary at Duke. Over the years work in environmentalism, recycling, and youth ministry shaped John’s call that eventually led to pastoral ministry in small rural communities. And, before he knew it, he was back where he started. The world had changed, he had changed, but this family farm land was a constant.
As it turns out, John’s regular practice of care for the land has deeply grounded him spiritually and in his ministry. Varden’s own Spiritual life has remained anchored in the rhythms of nature that are lived out in the daily tasks of running a farm. And, lately, as so many in the church feel burned out and defeated by the powers and principalities of this world, God’s given him a desire to share this space as a place where hearts can be healed and inspired anew. When he was asked what he hoped people would receive at Green Hill Farm, John evoked Wendall Berry’s essay, It All Turns on Affection. We cannot care for that which we don’t have affection for. “I want people to experience that kind of affection for their place.”
The All Saints Worship service at Green Hill Farm is one of many expressions of Sabbath Life at Green Hill Farm that Rev. John Varden and his family will continue to offer. All are welcome to come be grounded and renewed in our connection to God, to one another, and to creation through shared contemplative experience. The next opportunity will be on Friday, December 5th at 4:30pm for an Advent lantern walk around the farm. Come and see!
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