“Sometimes the visionary aspect of any particular day comes to you in the memory of it, or it opens to you over time.”

The visions in Gilead come in many forms—from the abolitionist grandfather’s witness to the Lord's touch to the youngest Reverend Ames’ witness to a life of beauty and grace that continues to surprise him even after nearly eighty years of living. But there are also visions here that unveil themselves only gradually, gathering strength over time, until in memory they take on the sheen of the sacred. As he digs further into his past, and as that past’s relation to the present continues to intrude on his reflections, John Ames’ letter to his son pushes us to wonder whether holy wisdom can emerge from within our own personal histories. Might the act of writing the truth about our lives open bring wisdom to the writer as well as the reader? Could each of our lives provide opportunities to witness to the presence of the sacred in the world? And how can we tell or know the truth about ourselves at all without travelling to the places where we are weak and wounded?

Suggested Reading:
Gilead, pp. 85-125