In primal garden
the tree
stands laden,
splendor
consummate,
grace-rooted,
owned by him
who warns,
don’t eat or
sure you’ll die.
Yet you,
arrogant Adam
in us all,
grasp prerogatives
never due.
Thrust out,
bedeviled,
you stumble toward
that other tree,
cross-beamed
for life.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
LETTERS FROM ROME—2025 #1: Reports and Commentary on the Papal Interregnum
Welcome to LETTERS FROM ROME—2025, which continues a tradition of “theological journalism” begun almost a decade ago…
The Bible’s Forgotten Women
The latest installment of an ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein. Mary E. DeMuth joins…
Who Died on the Cross?
Who hangs on the center tree at the Place of the Skull? That’s the question of Good…
