Peter Mommsen’s essay for plough.com uses early morning walks with his dog Ajax in the woods above the Hudson Highlands as a frame for Christian reflection on beauty and mercy. Additional coverage of this same incident

Mommsen places precise landscape details beside theological reflections, arguing that close attention to the natural world can be a spiritual practice that deepens religious contemplation; while he does not frame this explicitly in mental-health terms, his descriptions overlap with themes often associated with nature’s psychological benefits. Many psychological and public-health studies have found that appreciating and connecting with nature is associated with higher happiness, life satisfaction, and well-being; these findings give empirical backing to the essay’s intuition about the value of time outdoors.

The essay stitches together vivid morning scenes, quotations from theologians, and moments of public forgiveness to make that case.

He begins at dawn in autumn: a crimson glow moving across the hills, the lake’s surface steaming and flecked with yellow leaves, and common creatures going about their quiet work. A great blue heron is seen frog-hunting in the rushes; a snowy egret circles over the water while largemouth bass rise. An eight-pointer beds down in the hollow, a “noble-looking deer” that, Mommsen writes, “likely harbors hideous parasites.” These images anchor the essay’s claim that ordinary sights can disclose deep beauty. Engaging with these natural scenes, even momentarily, can evoke feelings of awe and change one’s perception of self, reinforcing the idea that nature can enhance spiritual experiences.

Mommsen pairs those observations with voices from Christian thought. He cites Hans Urs von Balthasar to signal that beauty itself has theological weight, paraphrasing the idea that Christianity can be understood as an aesthetic religion. He returns to Augustine’s exclamation — “Late have I loved you, O Beauty so ancient and so new!” — to show a historical continuity in finding God through wonder. What historical perspectives exist on the relationship between Christianity and also add depth to this discussion, as some voices critique traditional views that may have fostered exploitative attitudes toward the environment.

The essay does not confine itself to abstract praise. In the essay, Mommsen imagines a moment at a memorial service on September 21 in which a woman named Erika Kirk, described as an activist, forgives her husband’s killer and speaks of the gospel’s demand for love, saying, “I forgive him. I forgive him because it was what Christ did, and it’s what Charlie would do. The answer to hate is not hate. The answer we know from the gospel is love and always love. Love for our enemies and love for those who persecute us.” That imagined moment is placed alongside a real, short, powerful utterance from the historical record: “I forgive you,” said Felecia Sanders during a court proceeding for Dylann Roof, who murdered her son Tywanza Sanders in the 2015 Charleston church shooting. Mommsen uses these instances of public forgiveness to argue that beauty and mercy are not merely aesthetic responses but practices that can reshape how communities respond to violence. This theme resonates with modern discussions about emotional healing through nature and its capacity to encourage positive emotions and a sense of purpose.

The piece also touches on the ethical ambivalence of beauty. Mommsen quotes David Bentley Hart to concede that attraction to beauty can have a troubling edge: “There is an undeniable ethical offense in beauty,” Hart writes, and that tension complicates any simple celebration of the landscape. Yet for Mommsen, the answer is not withdrawal but attentive presence.

Throughout, the writer keeps returning to small, sensory particulars — the steam off the lake, the rush of wings — and to the steady companion on those walks, Ajax. Those elements function as both setting and teacher: the natural world as a place where theological claims are tested in silence and observation. People can engage with nature by taking brief moments to watch its scenes, which promote self-transcendence and deepen spiritual experiences.

Readers of the essay may find the practice resonant with broader contemporary advice about reconnecting with nature and its effects on well-being found in various faith-based and health-oriented publications. Mommsen, however, keeps the focus on theological language and the practice of looking long enough for beauty to alter the heart.

The essay closes by returning to Augustine’s line and the idea that beauty can be both ancient and new, a summons to attention rather than an escape. Mommsen’s scenes — herons, egrets, a buck in the hollow — are offered as ordinary locations for that summons.

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Original reporting: view the original article.