Discover more from Notes from Un-Sovereignty
The mystery of passion is this:
Not that evil exists in a cruel and greedy world, Not that good people suffer for bad reasons or none at all, Not that we cannot finally slow injustice or quiet pain, But that God responds not first by fixing what is broken, But by making it clear that love suffers with us— That in the darkest valley we are nearest to Christ’s heart.
The quiet of absence
Is too quiet sometimes,
Like the quiet of soft rain
On cold granite headstones,
Or the stillness and dark
Of a room when guests have gone.
But quiet isn’t always quiet,
When work goes on underground,
And sabbath is half-done
Till toil and death and shame are spoiled.
So teach us how to hope—
In spite of bones that know
That you are not here now—
That you are never gone.
With fear and great joy They ran to tell.
If your kind and faithful friend had died A gruesome death and then said, "Good morning!" From behind as you went to put flowers On their fresh-tilled grave, what would you do?
Where do you run With fear and great joy?
How is a new world announced? "Do not fear" Whispered with power, growing, rippling out To hill and hollow, city, field, and slum With the holy whiplash of redemption.
With fear and great joy You catch your breath.
Frozen with longing for something not yet, Glass-eyed, agape, like a road-killed coyote In unfinished howl of rigor mortis— Truth is the hardest story to swallow.
What do you see Through fear and great joy?
Each friendship is resurrection practice, Reaching for love and faith and hope and rest Knowing full-well that time and space and sin And death challenge every effort, but still
With fear and great joy You hold on tight.
Hope writhes and rises With fear and great joy.