[Editor’s note: In case you didn’t know, Malcolm Guite has an excellent collection of poetry for the seasons of Lent and Easter—one poem for each day, including classics like Dante, contemporaries like Rowan Williams, and the work of Guite himself. The collection is called The Word in the Wilderness, and it makes an excellent companion to the Lenten season. To give you a taste, here’s a poem of Guite’s called “Dancing Through the Fire.”]Read More ›
I was giving a lecture in Oxford the other day, and took the opportunity, as I often do, to drop into the Eagle and Child. It’s a fine old 17th-century pub, unspoiled by “improvement;” it still has a couple of those lovely wood-panelled “snugs” which encourage camaraderie and close conversation—and, most famously, “the Rabbit Room,” where C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, and their friends met on Tuesday lunchtimes, for the kind of sparring, cajoling, but ultimately encouraging conversation that was at the heart of their informal club, “The Inklings.” As Lewis said of these pub sessions in a letter to his friend Arthur Greeves: “The fun is often so fast and furious that the company probably thinks we’re talking bawdy when in fact we’re very likely talking theology.”Read More ›
In the spirit of fall, here’s a “lost verse” from Douglas McKelvey’s liturgy of “Praise to the King of Creation.”Read More ›
One of the most brilliant aspects of The Faerie Queene also makes this work inaccessible to most modern readers. For approximately 35,000 lines, Spenser writes in verse (tight poetic form).Read More ›
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 ›