“Rise, not as consumers of resurrection, but as its poets, its gardeners, its conspirators.
Rise, because the tomb has been breached and the imagination of God has been loosed in the world.”
Wow. Just wow. I’ll be sitting with this for a long time. The question I’m asking myself now is: What does it mean for me not to be a consumer of resurrection, but a poet, a gardener, a conspirator of it?
I’m also recalling your earlier words in the prayer: “Every time we refuse the easy cynicism of empire and practice the slow re-membering of love—we rise.” Cynicism is easier—and I’ve let it fragment me at times. Thank you for reminding me, for re-kindling the movement—again, ever so slowly—toward re-membering a love that lives despite empire. The most powerful line for me was: “But resurrection is an insurgent remembering. It composts empire’s logic into the soil of imagination.” Just incredible. Thank you.
“Rise, not as consumers of resurrection, but as its poets, its gardeners, its conspirators.
Rise, because the tomb has been breached and the imagination of God has been loosed in the world.”
Wow. Just wow. I’ll be sitting with this for a long time. The question I’m asking myself now is: What does it mean for me not to be a consumer of resurrection, but a poet, a gardener, a conspirator of it?
I’m also recalling your earlier words in the prayer: “Every time we refuse the easy cynicism of empire and practice the slow re-membering of love—we rise.” Cynicism is easier—and I’ve let it fragment me at times. Thank you for reminding me, for re-kindling the movement—again, ever so slowly—toward re-membering a love that lives despite empire. The most powerful line for me was: “But resurrection is an insurgent remembering. It composts empire’s logic into the soil of imagination.” Just incredible. Thank you.
I’ll be writing on how to become a poet in everything you do.