Photograph by Kelsy Gagnebin via Unsplash

There’s a special delight in creating book stacks — those carefully curated collections of books arranged to share on social media. They invite people to a conversation about reading, hint at the thoughts you’re currently exploring, and, in some way, reflect the kaleidoscope of your mind. For me, it’s become more than just a visual exercise; it’s a joyful practice, a way of connecting dots across genres and themes, and an ongoing discovery of new worlds and voices.

Lately, my book stacks have been a blend of new discoveries and revisitations. One book that recently joined my collection is “Survival Is a Promise: The Eternal Life of Audre Lorde” by Alexis Pauline Gumbs. This new biography offers a luminous and loving exploration of Lorde’s life, framing her radical poetry and activism in fresh, tender ways. Gumbs doesn’t just write a biography; she conjures a spirit, a presence that reaches through the pages and invites a new generation to dance with Lorde’s words. It’s a reminder of the transformative power of literature and the necessity of keeping such voices alive in our reading lists.

Reflecting on Gumbs’ book made me realize how much I missed when I was younger. In those formative years, I didn’t encounter much science fiction written by queer and Black authors. It’s only recently that I’ve started catching up, spurred on by an interview I listened to recently with Samuel Delany, a titan of the genre whose works broke boundaries and offered new visions of what science fiction could be. Delany’s insights were captivating — an elder sharing his personal history, his strange relationship to sci-fi as a genre theory, and reflections on queerness and race that left me eager to dive into his back catalog.

This ongoing awakening has led me to explore not only Delany’s work but also other authors who write at the intersections of marginalized identities and speculative fiction. I’ve been reading Theodore Sturgeon, whose stories like “More Than Human” and “Slow Sculpture” explore the complexity of human connections and identities in ways that still feel revolutionary. I’ve paired these with Katherine Rundell’s “Impossible Creatures,” a modern fantasy that brims with wonder and invites both children and adults to see the magic in the everyday. And somehow, alongside these stories, I’ve woven in an academic volume on “Postdigital Dialogues on Critical Pedagogy, Liberation Theology and Information Technology,” a text that grapples with the role of technology in education and what it means to teach and learn in a world that is increasingly mediated by digital experiences.

If this all sounds like a strange jumble of books, that’s because it is! But that’s the beauty of it — the joy of making book stacks. Each title speaks to different parts of my curiosity and my calling. As someone who preaches regularly, I find that weaving together diverse voices and genres enriches my thinking. It offers new metaphors and insights that feed into the tapestry of sermons, discussions, and reflections that are part of my pastoral ministry.

Take, for example, David Bentley Hart’s latest book, “All Things Are Full of Gods: The Mysteries of Mind and Life.” It’s a dense, philosophical text that digs deep into the idea that the world is suffused with divine presence. Hart’s arguments challenge me to think beyond the usual theological frameworks, to see the sacred in new and surprising places. This idea pairs beautifully with speculative fiction — think of Theodore Sturgeon’s stories, which often explore the sacred potential in what seems mundane or broken. There’s a resonance there, a way that both authors invite us to see the extraordinary in the ordinary, the divine in the seemingly profane.

Reading widely, across genres and disciplines, becomes a spiritual practice in itself. It’s an invitation to keep our eyes and hearts open, to remain curious and questioning. I find that books are like companions in ministry — each one offers new ways to engage with the world, new perspectives to bring to conversations with parishioners, and new stories that resonate with the deepest human longings.

But beyond the enrichment of ministry, there is sheer joy in reading — the excitement of turning a page, of discovering a sentence that seems to hold the whole universe in it. There’s something delightful about pulling together books from different corners of the literary world, arranging them just so, and capturing the moment in a photo that invites others to peek into your reading life. It’s an act of sharing, an open-ended conversation that says, “Here, these are the words that are speaking to me right now. What’s speaking to you?”

So, why not start your own book stack? Gather the books that are feeding your soul, the ones that make you think or laugh or cry. Share them with friends, online or in person. Encourage others to pick up a new title, to explore a different genre, or to dive into a book they’ve always meant to read but never found the time for. Reading is a communal activity as much as it is a solitary one, and there’s so much joy to be found in the shared love of a good story.

I’d encourage everyone to make regular reading a part of your life. Whether it’s fiction or theology, memoir or science, there’s a book out there that’s waiting to meet you where you are. For those in pastoral ministry, reading is more than a hobby — it’s a lifeline, a way to stay grounded and inspired, to keep finding new ways to tell the old, old story.

So, what will your next book stack look like? Perhaps it will include a bold biography, a speculative classic, a theological tome, a contemporary novel, or an unexpected gem from an author you’ve never heard of before. Whatever it is, let it be a reflection of your journey, a snapshot of the ideas and narratives that are shaping you right now. And don’t forget to share it — because in sharing, we find new connections, new conversations, and perhaps even new friends along the way.