Where I live drought desecrates,
Heat scorches fields, crops wither,
Wasted while elsewhere floods
Devour bridges to rip asunder
Friend and family. Things fall
Apart. The parched earth cracks,
The chasms widen to swallow
Whole our fractured world.
Here, before us, the abyss,
Yet, if you can, imagine this:
Within that void, the empty tomb,
A place of grief, of loss, of fear,
A woman weeps. She stands alone.
A place of waiting, hidden, fertile,
Why are you weeping? Jesus asks,
And out of darkness, springs new
Life.
—Sarah Rossiter
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
The Church of Ratzinger (ft. Sam Zeno Conedera)
In this episode, Sam Zeno Conedera joins R. R. Reno on The Editor’s Desk to talk about…
Pelvic Theology, Pelvic Justice
In a recent New York Times guest essay, Catholic writer David Gibson praised Pope Leo for moving…
Can These Bones Live?
The Saturday after Easter, on a cloudless morning, I fell and shattered my left elbow while taking…
