The Dawning

We’re discussing a joyous and mirthful Easter poem over at the Register. Come join the festivities!

Christ is risen! Alleluia!

Reckless Scientists in Communist China Treat Human Beings Like Commodities
Question about Magisterial Failures
"Connecting the Dots" on Real Life Radio at 5 PM Eastern
Japanese John Denver Fans, Because Why Not?
  • ivan_the_mad

    The shroud as handkerchief! There’s an image I won’t soon forget. I cannot help but connect in my mind that poem and mirth with this, my most favorite passage of Chesterton’s:

    “Joy, which was the small publicity of the pagan, is the gigantic secret of the Christian. And as I close this chaotic volume I open again the strange small book from which all Christianity came; and I am again haunted by a kind of confirmation. The tremendous figure which fills the Gospels towers in this respect, as in every other, above all the thinkers who ever thought themselves tall. His pathos was natural, almost casual. The Stoics, ancient and modern, were proud of concealing their tears. He never concealed His tears; He showed them plainly on His open face at any daily sight, such as the far sight of His native city. Yet He concealed something. Solemn supermen and imperial diplomatists are proud of restraining their anger. He never restrained His anger. He flung furniture down the front steps of the Temple, and asked men how they expected to escape the damnation of Hell. Yet He restrained something. I say it with reverence; there was in that shattering personality a thread that must be called shyness. There was something that He hid from all men when He went up a mountain to pray. There was something that He covered constantly by abrupt silence or impetuous isolation. There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when He walked upon our earth; and I have sometimes fancied that it was His mirth.” — Orthodoxy

  • Pavel Chichikov


    Last night upon the Easter vigil
    Of Christ’s uprising from the dead
    I refused to hold a candle,
    Stood with darkened soul instead

    But as I waited in my gloom
    Another came and gave to me
    A candle to light up the room
    In which I keep my melancholy

    Then I saw how that grew strange
    Although it seemed a face well-known
    But somehow by the gift had changed,
    To sadness that was not alone

    And that which does not stay alone
    Is in that cell no longer kept,
    For that which simple love has known
    May leave the tomb which Christ has left

    March 31, 2013