It started with an open mic and a semicircle of chairs in a church classroom in Nashville, TN.Read More ›
It’s no secret that Jonathan Rogers is a wellspring of writerly wisdom, a masterful storyteller, and a disarming conversationalist. He has all kinds of resources available at his website—and now, he’s teaming up with the Rabbit Room Podcast Network to launch The Habit Podcast.Read More ›
I remember what it was like to want a baby.
I remember how it felt to walk through the grocery store Read More ›
I had not meant to think on dancers
No, nor womanhood
I meant to write of summer,
Goodness, and the love of God.
Now that Lent is over and we’ve walked through all thirty-three of Andrew Roycroft’s poems, we’re making the complete collection available here in a single post.
In case you’re just now hearing of this, our friend Andrew Roycroft (pastor and poet from Northern Ireland) adopted the medieval practice of writing thirty-three poems, each thirty-three words long—one word for each year of Jesus’ life. We posted these throughout Lent as opportunities to meditate on the narrative of John’s gospel.Read More ›
One Saturday, my friend Rebecca Reynolds bundled herself in three coats and hiked up Roan Mountain with a jar in her hand. Standing on the mountaintop, she opened the jar, read a poem into it, then sealed it shut and carried it back down the mountain.Read More ›
In the blissfully bucolic English village where I found myself living a few years ago, there were only two reasonable sources for takeout when my workday went long. On the low end was the fish and chips counter, affectionately known to Brits as the chippie, where a prior experience with cod made haddock the only wise option. A few paces up the street and the quality scale, however, was an Indian restaurant, a self-styled fine dining establishment with an impressive ten-page, full-color menu.Read More ›
“Writing poetry is too hard.” This is the offense I hear my high school students protest frequently. I get it, but I don’t think it’s entirely true.
Last fall, our family took a morning to hike up the craggy paths of the North Georgia mountains. We knew our end: a precipice overlooking the tops of the newly bronzed and coppered trees. But there was a long path between us and that view, and it was not a level one.Read More ›
Andrew Roycroft is a pastor and poet from Northern Ireland. New Irish Arts commissioned this poem this year, and artist Ross Wilson contributed a new painting for it. Merry Christmas from the Rabbit Room. God is with us.
Darkness, unspeakable and unspeaking
Darkness. Silence, not of contemplation,
Nor of craning, halt-breathed expectation,
But silence of the now non-verbal God,
Void quiet, out-of-form condemnation. Read More ›
The Christmas season is filled with imagery of Jesus as a helpless infant, and with good reason. There is not enough wonder, surprise, and praise to match the occurrence of God incarnate deigning to appear in the world as a baby, of all things. How magnificently ridiculous it is to think of the infinite and incomprehensible choosing to wrap itself in rolls of pudgy flesh and set itself in the arms of people like you and me.
In the afterglow of Hutchmoot 2018’s dizzying cascade of several dozens of wonderful and meaningful conversations, I can no longer remember who requested copies of the poem I read during Rebecca Reynolds’ and my tag team session on “the holy, hidden potential of human weakness.”