* This passage was originally written as the voiceover for the feature film Genesis. 

Why must we destroy each other?

Cause pain?

You must be acquainted with the darkness to put this in us.

You put the fire in us and we leave a trail of ashes on the roads we travel.

What you hold precious we hold loosely.

We discard.

We are snow on the cusp of spring, ignorant that our days are few.

Let today last forever.

We aren’t ready to face you.

You told Abraham that he would be a great nation, as numerous as the stars.

But his skies remained clear for many years.

You are the mystery.

Your hand is slow and we forget its might.

Would you strike us down so that we could remember?

In this darkness we have forgotten where you stand.

We clamor through the fog and cannot find your hand.

Perhaps you withhold it from us.

Your face is turned, and we wonder how to return to your table.

We will find our food elsewhere.

Some other god or king or lover will fill us with wine and give us a place to lay our heads.

Is this faith?

Is this rebellion?

Tell us the difference.

You are always moving through us, keeping watch over our days.

Weaving our lives together.

Playing out your story through us.

Bless me.

Bless us.

We are wary of your slow hand.

Our feet have grown tired of the paths that lead us to our death.

Remind us, because we have forgotten.

Are you honest?

Would you make a promise you cannot keep?

Would you hold our lives as hostages?

Are you good?

We have forgotten the cool winds of the garden, the soil on our feet.

Tell us your name.

Just as you plant us in the ground, you pull us out.

You won’t suffer the darkness hiding in us, and our cities will burn in your judgment.

Ashes and smoke, purified by fire, cleansed by death.

Will we be consumed from the inside out or the outside in?

We tremble before the cleansing.

Our darkness is an illusion, we whisper.

You smile at us.

It is the dream that makes us move, dreams that make us die, and dreams that set us free.

I need courage.

We want to return to you, oh God, but how can we face you with blood dripping from our hands? With lust in our hearts?

I am a savage who wishes to speak your name.

To know the touch of your hand.

What does it mean to die?

To go away from this life and never return?

A spring that never interrupts winter, or a spring that is never interrupted by summer?

We are a breath but you stand eternal.

Moving across the highest mountains with your cup spilling over.

Give us this cup.

Let us lay down for a while and drink.

Spare us the grave.

Let there be another way to be restored.

Not yet, you say.

This is our inheritance.

The beauty and tragedy of Eden, always yoked to our necks.

A reminder of where we have been and where we are going.

Wait for us in the garden.

Listen for our footsteps.



It is the dream that makes us move, dreams that make us die, and dreams that set us free.