the poetry of resurrection

"And if we will have an angel at the tomb, make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck's quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom..."
- John Updike

We must grow deeper into the cross...and become evermore fascinated with Jesus - with his really dying and really rising from the dead - for His resurrection was the undoing of the most seemingly definite thing. Until He was raised, Jesus’ followers felt defeated, foolish and stuck in an unbearable place. And then, Hope was restored. They were remembered and called by name through the lips of Hope himself. Why should be despair unless we are uncertain of the implications of the resurrection? We are no longer hopelessly broken. We are being put back together rightly and we are being renewed through and through. There is beauty forever beyond the reach of shadow.* What do you make of the resurrection?


*Tolkein, LTR

poetry feast

let me tell you of last night!

a small gathering of people, some familiar, some not. books on every wall. a table spread with delicious things. poetry, poetry, poetry! aloud! voices rising, sweetening the air. thoughts ping-ponging silently, knowingly.


billy collins, wendell berry, madeleine l’engle, william carlos williams, lucy shaw, e.e. cummings...


in the expressions of these, i find refreshment. hilarity. wonder. anticipation.


it would be nice to read aloud more often. to each other. not rushing.