Come, dear Sisyphus; enjoy your hike.
Find meaning as much in the means
as you seek in the end,
for who knows if your day will ever come?
Why do you strive to pay for the sins of your past?
Are they not stacked too high for you to ever scale?
And where is your redeemer, the strong man who gives freedom?
Have you forgotten him? Or has he disappeared?
Is he not more real than the boulder set before you?
Is his strength not stronger than your fatigued arms?
Does his love not burn strong enough to melt mountains —
even your heart of stone?
I assure you, there is freedom from yourself
When you forfeit your pride and
lift your eyes up to the hills.*
(Oh, that you would throw off your burden
to the only god who does not condemn the criminal!
Is it not only you who has condemned yourself?
Your standards surpass his, for you are your own god.)
Come, dear Sisyphus; enjoy your hike.
There is too much joy in these hills
for you to waste your life.
Find meaning in the means,
for your hope is certain
only in the Rock who
already
bears
your burden
on His shoulders
forever.
My heart breaks for your broken spirit,
(father, brother,)
for I know it is not too late
(but you won’t believe me)
Yet
Footnotes
*See Psalm 121.
