The Meeting is pleased to present four photographs by Buck Ellison.

No more indulgences: When Martin Luther snuck copies of his Ninety Five Theses to bishops in 1517, he low-key ignited a reformation in Christianity—an ideological exodus from the Roman Catholic church, whose theatricality and melting gold spilled over the world at a clip. A mortal sin can no longer be absolved with a donation or a prayer—a medieval tradition termed heavily as indulgence—we could only be liberated by Confession.

When salvation went off the market, the Protestant Reformation was in business. The new work ethic provided that more responsibility, prudence, and discipline would always save us, both now and for eternity. The stiffened European customs lent themselves easily to the last few centuries, relieving the guilt that affluence might drag along with it. A creep up to the next ascending level of status dissolves a feeling of extravagance as long as it’s invested toward wholesomeness—wholeness—to erase our sicknesses of excess, of the weak poisons—germs, pesticides, smog—that tempt every day, of the indoors. The more resources at hand, the easier to make one’s own pasta, or watch over one’s own child.

Fixating on one’s relentless wellness is a sickness, too, one as deceitful as Thyroid Problem, and in need of more scrutiny than an allergist alone could provide. At a lower dosage, the appropriate drug would be an uncanny serving of Upper School Greenhouse, Marin Country Day School, Tiburon, California; if still diminished, it would be the noon brilliant prescription of Student Garden, The Branson School, Ross, California. The dividend—and the pending pleasure—would be Cheeseboard, its own reward, a beige plane refracting the golden hours.

Jennifer Piejko