The women knew their effort was in vain:
No box of unguent, myrrh, or aloes could
Prevent the corpse from rotting; muscles would
”with bones and sinews”turn to dust again.
The body, pierced and bruised, had two nights lain
Entombed behind a massive stone that stood
Between these women and the pointless good
They meant to do for him who had been slain.
An hour past, two women race pell-mell,
With empty hands and bursting hearts, intent
On bringing news of angels who defied
Embalmers’ plans and bid them quickly tell
Apostles what they’d left undone: the scent
Of spices wafts from caskets cast aside.
The Church’s Answer to the World (ft. Carter Griffin)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Fr. Carter Griffin…
Voyages to the End of the World
Francis Bacon dreamed of abolishing disease, natural disasters, and chance itself. He also dreamed of abolishing God.
The Lost Art of Saying “No”
Conservative pundit Matt Walsh recently contended that “we have to recapture the long-lost art of saying ‘no.’”…