For Kentucky author Wendell Berry, the environmental crisis he lamented to such great effect in his essays, poetry and fiction was also a human crisis — a deeply spiritual one.
Berry, who died Monday at home at age 92, drew that connection in poignant writings across many decades.
“Persons cannot be whole alone,” Berry wrote in “The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture,” his classic 1977 work. “It is wrong to think that bodily health is compatible with spiritual confusion or cultural disorder, or with polluted air and water or impoverished soil.”
While Berry inspired writers, artists, local-food activists, environmentalists, agrarians and many others, some of his deepest admirers were moved by his spiritual vision.
That's despite — or maybe because of — Berry's skepticism of organized religion. He called himself a “bad-weather churchgoer” because in finer weather, he often skipped church to spend Sundays in what he called nature's “timbered choir.”
He was too steeped in the Bible and his Baptist heritage to fit the common notion of “spiritual but not religious.” But he was too independent-minded to be pigeonholed into any one tradition. Defiantly non-conformist yet committed to neighborly and communal bonds, he quipped about creating an “International Brotherhood of Contraries” in one of his poems.
“One of the reasons Wendell has been read and loved by so many people who are in faith or spiritual traditions is that he was able to think about the most fundamental questions of land and water and community and health and a flourishing life in such an expansive way,” said Norman Wirzba, a longtime friend of Berry’s who has written and edited numerous essays about him.
“He was also able to show the industrial mindset is not just a technique, but it’s a spiritual way of seeing the world that turns out to be very damaging and degrading,” said Wirzba, a professor of Christian theology at Duke Divinity School.
Berry recoiled from any spirituality that was ethereal and other-worldly, Wirzba said. “Wendell was a master in showing that any spirituality that’s worth anything starts with the human body.”
Seekers found a kindred soul in Berry, one who accompanied them in a time haunted by species loss, environmental disasters and social alienation.
Many sought him out in person: seminarians, clergy, professors and others on a search for greater meaning. They found their way to Berry's farmhouse overlooking the Kentucky River in Port Royal, the prototype for the tiny hamlet that was the setting for much of his fiction. Visitors sat on Berry's porch or amid the towering bookshelves in his living room, bringing their anxieties and questions in conversation with the author and his wife, Tanya.
Of course, Berry reached many more through his writings.
“So today I find myself giving thanks for someone I knew rather well, yet never met,” wrote Derek Peterson, a youth development educator. He said Berry helped deepen his appreciation for the North Dakota farm where he and three previous generations of his family have lived.
“He helped me understand that loving a place is not sentimentality; it is a discipline,” Peterson wrote on Facebook. “To know a piece of Earth — its soil and water, trees and birds, seasons and wounds; to understand what happened here before you arrived and wonder seriously about what condition it will be in after you leave — is a particular way of being human.”
Berry was many things. As an author, he wrote more than 40 books, publishing his final novel, “Marce Catlett: The Force of a Story,” at age 91 in 2025. As an activist, Berry took part in an occupation of the Kentucky governor’s office to protest mountaintop-removal mining. As a farmer, he plowed with a horse rather than a tractor, rejecting the “Get big or get out” mandate of industrial agriculture.
Berry embraced parts of his Baptist heritage. He took the Bible at its word when it says the Earth was made by God, and it was good — a gift to be cared for.
But he believed the Southern evangelical religion had gone wrong with a stark separation of the spiritual and the physical worlds. To Berry, it focused on other-worldly salvation while blessing slavery and, later, environmentally devastating practices of agriculture and coal mining.
The title character of his acclaimed 2000 novel, “Jayber Crow,” concludes that “Christ did not come to found an organized religion but came instead to found an unorganized one.” Young Jayber studies for the ministry but has too many doubts to continue, becoming instead a barber and church janitor and living out “questions to which you cannot be given answers.”
In one of his poems, Berry gleefully defied both the religious and the cynical.
“When they said, ‘I know my Redeemer liveth,’ I told them, ‘He’s dead,’” Berry wrote. “And when they told me ‘God is dead,’ I answered, ‘He goes fishing every day in the Kentucky River. I see Him often.’”
The title of his widely admired “Sabbath Poems” partly reflects that he wrote many of them on his Sunday amblings in nature. But it also hearkens to biblical concepts of “Sabbath” — that humans and the land need a time of rest, not the constant churn demanded of an industrial economy.
In a time of rampant loneliness and anxiety, such a message is crucial, said Wirzba.
“More people today enjoy a standard of life that would have been unimaginable to people 100 years ago, but they’re not happy,” Wirzba said. Berry's answer, he said, is to “see the beauty of this world and see that it’s worth cherishing.”
Among Berry's longtime admirers was Russell Moore, editor at large at Christianity Today and author of a 2025 cover story on Berry for the evangelical magazine.
“He believed body and soul, heaven and earth, are meant to hold together,” Moore wrote after Berry's death. “When they do not, the result is what Berry saw as the most fundamental crisis of the modern era: the disintegration of persons and communities.”
Through The Berry Center in New Castle, Kentucky, the author's family promotes the values he championed through education, agricultural training and other means. The center launched a small cooperative for local farmers raising grass-fed beef — a model for helping maintain small-scale farms.
Berry’s death came just days after the center announced publication of a 50th anniversary edition of “The Unsettling of America.” It was his passionate manifesto for human-scale, sustainable farming and against the machines, chemicals and human displacement of the era of industrialized agriculture.
“The tragedy of this book is that it originated in the recognition of a still-continuing absurdity,” Berry wrote in a new foreword. That is the assumption “that we can produce food by means that destroy, in human culture and in nature, the sources of food.”
Yet Berry insisted in interviews that he refused to give in to cynicism. Hope, he noted, is not a sentiment but a theological virtue, something one is obligated to pursue.
“I haven’t quit,” he said in a 2013 interview. “You have to assume I have hope. If you want an easy life, indulge yourself in despair.”
Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
FILE - Kentucky author and poet Wendell Berry reads about himself, Feb. 14, 2011, in Frankfort, Ky. (AP Photo/The Independent, John Flavell, File)
FILE - Wendell Berry talks with a reporter at his home in Port Royal, Ky., March 10, 2011. (AP Photo/Ed Reinke, File)
