The Cool of the tomb
The heat of the sun,
Returning to remedy
What was undone.
The spices in hand,
The ointment in jar
Daybreak excursion
That didn’t get far.
The guard was asleep
The stone rolled away
The body was gone,
What could they say?
Did someone steal in
Under cover of night
Purloin the body
Vanish from sight?
Was he moved by the gardener,
As he cleaned up the mess?
The women would wonder
In the midst of distress.
The angel attendants
Sat idly by,
‘Why are you weeping?’
Was their instant reply.
Cruel question or pointless
Why need they to ask?
‘They have stolen his body,
And I can’t do my task’
What kind of cruel villain
Disturbs the dead,
Was his death not enough
Was there no mortal dread?
Had all of Christ’s miracles
Led to this end,
To a grave and a tomb,
And the loss of a friend?
Could the great Physician
Not heal himself then
Not avert disaster
Not rise up again?
Jairus’ daughter
The Nain widow’s son,
The Beloved Disciple
But what of the One?
Who would come to his rescue,
Who would champion his cause,
Who would touch his cold body,
Who would unwrap the gauze?
No mortal dared enter
Was sacrilege done?
Who stole their poor Jesus,
God’s only Son?
Not empty tomb or angels,
Could assuage such deep grief
Or convince he was risen,
Or provide soul relief.
No vision of the Master,
No delusion too grand,
Could overcome disaster,
Could meet their demand.
‘They would see Jesus,’
He must call them by name,
No similar stranger
Their hopes could reclaim.
But then in an instant,
‘Miriam’ and she ran…
And suddenly she was clinging
To the risen Son of Man.
‘Go tell the disciples,
Go tell them it’s so
God’s yes to life,
Is louder than death’s no!’
So Miriam went proclaiming
So says the script
The males maligned the preacher
Women’s ‘fantasies’ they quipped.
Empty tomb insufficient
Angelic vision grand or gruff
Even an ascended Jesus
Wasn’t resurrection enough.
It was Jesus’ appearances
To friend and to foe
That turned around history,
Showed it where to go.
The denier was restored
The deserters were found
The women who were grieving
Were all turned around.
And Saul the assaulter
Stopped dead in his tracks,
Saw Jesus arisen
And finally turned back.
And James his own brother,
Who had previously sneered (Jn. 7.5)
Began to believe
Just because he appeared.
No one witnessed Easter
At the dawn of that day,
But they saw the result,
Meeting Him on the way.
On the road to Emmaus
Or in mid-flight from the tomb
Or hiding in darkness,
Or near
They didn’t find Jesus,
No dreams calmed their fears
What changed their whole lives
Was when Jesus appeared.
The story’s too improbable
NOT to be true,
And that is why Easter,
Can still happen for you.
BW3 March 21 2008
2 comments:
Great write, dear brother.
You've definitely captured the moments.
You can find my own Good Friday poem at http://www.borrowedbreath.com/2008/03/21/man-of-sorrows-2/
Shalom
I really like that picture. It is beautiful.
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