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.”
I would like to beg of you, dear friend, as well as I can, to have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves.
–Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
That’s right: you may now order a copy of Every Moment Holy from the Rabbit Room Store (or Amazon!) and expect to receive it in the mail in an altogether reasonable amount of time. To celebrate this milestone as well as the travel-filled season of summer that is now upon us, we share with you “A Liturgy For Leaving on Holiday.”
An endorsement blurb from Johnny Cash graces the back side of Nashville Skyline, Bob Dylan’s 1969 album recorded in Music City: “Here-in is a hell of a poet,” said Cash. And for such poetry, a half century later, Dylan would receive the Nobel Laureate for literature.
But, really, so what? “What is poetry’s role when the world is burning?” asks no less a poet than Chris Wiman.
If you’re unfamiliar with Tenebrae, it’s a traditional Holy Week service that uses the gradual extinguishing of light to draw attention to the sufferings of Christ and the resident darkness of the world. It’s an occasion to meditate on and lament the brokenness of the human heart and the groaning of creation. The following liturgy is taken from Douglas McKelvey’s Every Moment Holy. We hope it serves you well this week in the darkness before the dawn. (If you’d like to use this liturgy in a group or church setting, you can download it here.) Read More ›
I read in a textbook that Gerard Manley Hopkins entered a Jesuit Novitiate, vowed to never write poetry again, and burnt all the poems he had written in his life. Failing to regard this trivia with imagination, I moved on without letting these blandly stated facts move me. Read More ›
I set out to write a sonnet per day of Advent, then got too busy to keep up with it. Here are a few, offered up in the hope that they’ll be good for you somehow—even if that only means giving you the courage to try your hand at writing your own. Read More ›
At Hutchmoot-most-recent I was delighted to join the company of N. D. Wilson and Helena Sorenson for a session on fictional world-building. More comfortable leaning on pre-thought thoughts than trying to formulate new ideas in public, I began by Read More ›