I spent the better part of yesterday in a four-and-a-half-hour long faculty meeting. Yes, you read that right: 4.5 hours, 270 minutes, 16,200 seconds. But before you start feeling sorry for me (at least those who know faculty meetings well enough to generate sympathy), let me hasten to add…that I loved it. Why? Because the lion’s share of the work we accomplished was the review of every student at The Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia. Yeah, every…single…student – well over 200, btw, in case you’re wondering. Admittedly, we gave particular attention to those who were struggling in some way, so didn’t celebrate...

e. e. cummings’ unconvential use of grammar, syntax, and style forces you to slow down as you read his poetry in order, not just to decipher, but more to savor the meaning he is crafting and offering over to his reader. Born into a Unitarian family, cummings’ poetry is infused with a sense of God – God’s Being, God’s presence in nature, and God’s goodness, a goodness that in turn prompts cummings’ profound and lyrical gratitude. With that in mind, this seemed like a fine poem to tarry over for a few moments as we move toward Thanksgiving, a day we also ought to slow down and savor, offering our own...