The Rising Word

The Word that spoke the light
gave up his final breath
into the waiting hands of God,
but, oh, the light still shines.
The Word now speaks again,
its mighty echoes rolling on.

Before the stars shone down,
before the mountains rose,
he was, before the world began,
and after stars burn out,
when mountains are no more,
he is, beyond our human span.

But human he became,
a moment and a pulse:
Eternity would live and die.
A fingerprint, a name,
to feel earth's downward pull,
and yet, beyond all hope, to rise.

The author of all life
rewrites the book of death
upon the pages of our hearts.
All glory be to Christ,
world without end, amen,
who pulls us into endless song.

Christ Pantocrator By Unknown author – Unknown source, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5820582

Witnesses

He said to them,
“These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you,
that everything written about me in the law of Moses
and in the prophets and psalms must be fulfilled.”
Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures.
And he said to them,
“Thus it is written that the Christ would suffer
and rise from the dead on the third day
and that repentance, for the forgiveness of sins,
would be preached in his name
to all the nations, beginning from Jerusalem.
You are witnesses of these things.”
Luke 24:35-48

We saw, but could not understand,
the works you did before,
until we saw your wounded hands
reach out to us once more.

We knew what every human knows,
that death would be our end,
but now we know you rose.  You rose,
and reach for us again.

And in this hour, your life and death
rewrite the world we knew.
Your peace has touched us with your breath,
and all things are made new.

So we become your witnesses
who have received your peace,
who know what your forgiveness is,
who shared your paschal feast.

And we will go, who are sent out,
to tell what we have seen:
that every tomb is open now,
and we have been redeemed!

Jesus giving the Farewell Discourse (John 14–17) to his disciples, after the Last Supper, from the Maestà by Duccio, 1308–1311By Duccio di Buoninsegna – Web Gallery of Art: Image Info about artwork, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7922656

Showing

Amid our doubt and fear,
our loss of hope and trust,
amid our sorrows, you appear
and breathe your peace on us.

But we cannot receive
the peace that you would give
until somehow we can believe.
Lord, show us that you live!

For we have seen you die,
and death we know too well,
but if the dead can truly rise,
then raise us like yourself!

Give back the hope we lost,
as we lost Eden's dream:
not earthly hope, but hope transformed,
and every loss redeemed.

And you give us this grace,
untroubled by our tears.
You come to meet us face to face,
to calm us in our fears:

the breaking of the bread,
the showing of your wounds,
the feeling of your hands and breath,
and our lives are made new.

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio (1601–02) – http://www.christusrex.org/www2/art/images/carav10.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6804893

Feed

You feed me, and I hunger still.
You give me drink, and still I thirst
as if my cup will never fill.
I am as hungry as at first.

So I must call to you again,
you who have given o'er and o'er,
world without end, amen, amen.
I still must ask you more and more.

You daily hear, and daily give.
You pour anew the blood-red wine
and bless the bread I need to live.
You fill again these hands of mine,

for you have made me hollow, Lord,
this earthen vessel from your hand.
You chose the substance, chose the form:
Forever empty I shall stand.

Forever you will fill my need.
Forevermore I shall not want.
In verdant pastures where you lead,
I'll drink forever from the font

and I will eat the bread you made.
Forever you will nourish me
there at the table you have laid
and laid again eternally.

Woman baking bread (c. 2200 BC); Louvre, Photo By Rama, CC BY-SA 3.0 fr, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=69938567

Eclipse: Annunciation 2024

We cannot bear the burning light;

we do not love the dark:

The sun, dimmed for our naked sight,

becomes a ring-crowned spark.



See how the night enfolds the noon,

death overshadows us:

Life hides itself behind the moon;

Christ hides himself in dust.



Oh, but the wonder of that sight!

Oh, but the terror, too—

Shadows dissolve into the night

while the sun stands at noon!



In the beginning was the Word

telling the light to be—

time was, another voice is heard:

Let it be done to me.



Lift up your heads and do not fear;

look with unshaded eye:

See how your hope is ever near.

Soon the light dawns on high!



True God from God and light from light

is swaddled in the dark.

Oh, blessèd is the cov'ring night!

Blessèd the crowning spark!

1904 By Joseph Norman Lockyer – Internet Archive identifier: LockyerAstronomia, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=85851566

Love Marked Out

Thomas, called Didymus, one of the Twelve,
was not with them when Jesus came.
So the other disciples said to him, “We have seen the Lord.”
But he said to them,
“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands
and put my finger into the nailmarks
and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”
John 20:19-31

When I look through weeping eyes, Lord,
aching for the light of day;
when I seek and cannot find you
in the shadows of the grave;
when I cannot recognize you,
Teacher, call again my name.

When I turn back to my old ways,
daunted in the face of dread,
wandering confusion's mazes,
tell me what the truth has said.
Come with me to my Emmaus:
Savior, stay and break the bread.

When all that my heart remembers
is your silence in the tomb;
sorrow drowns the burning embers
kindled in the upper room;
show me death was not the ending:
Lord and God, show me your wounds.

When my faith has failed to know you,
when I have to walk by sight,
call my name and bless the broken;
let me reach to touch your side.
Jesus, in your mercy, show me
love marked out for humankind.

Eglise du Saint-Sauveur, transept nord : l’incrédulité de Thomas. Photo By Cyr Manuel Evgenikos – Réunion des Musées Nationaux, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15154497

See

I know you're not among the dead,
the graves baptized with tears,
for you have risen as you said—
but still I want you here.

I cannot see you in the dawn,
the new-sprung blades of grass:
They bloom and wither and are gone;
as quick as breath they pass.

The songs of birds are not your song,
as sweetly as they sing.
They're silent when the night is long,
but your notes ever ring.

No, I can't hear you in the night
or see you in the day.
I walk by faith and not by sight,
but weary is the way.

Show me, O Lord, your hands and side,
and tell me by my name
there is a place for me inside,
untouched by any shame.

Yes, blest are those who have not seen—
But I still want to see.
And blest are they that can believe.
Lord, help my unbelief.

Doubting Thomas – Google Art Project By Unknown – illuminator – hgFUz6bXaLmUQQ at Google Cultural Institute maximum zoom level, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22185693

Bright

Bright shines the Easter sun,
now that the clouds have passed,
but we wait for another one,
a morning sure to last:

the cold earth we have closed,
the tamped-down mud of spring
beneath the green of spreading oaks,
uplifting, opening.

The dust God grasped at first 
to shape the forms of men,
when we have all returned to dust,
he'll take in hand again

and shape us, skin by limb
by liver, rib, and thumb,
all shining images of him 
who stand upon his palm,

and treasure every lash
of eyes that see for once
how glory's fadeless lightning flash
in all creation runs.

We'll raise our light-filled hands
and weep our diamond joys
to have each other back again,
when death has been destroyed.

By Prof. Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé Flora von Deutschland, Österreich und der Schweiz 1885, Gera, Germany – http://www.biolib.de, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8778

First the Blade

He said, “This is how it is with the kingdom of God; it is as if a man were to scatter seed on the land and would sleep and rise night and day and the seed would sprout and grow, he knows not how. Of its own accord the land yields fruit, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. And when the grain is ripe, he wields the sickle at once, for the harvest has come.”
Mark 4:26-29

First the harrow, then the plow
turns and opens barren fields
where the seeds are trampled down
into wounds the sun will heal.

First the shoot and then the leaf
pierce the earth to catch the rain,
turning all this dead world green,
springing up to life again.

First the sprouting, then the growth
prophesying joy to come,
bounty pledging summer's troth
while the length'ning days run on.

First the blade and then the ear,
then the grain comes, rip'ning gold,
to the harvest of the year,
to the feast so long foretold.

First creation's sixfold day,
then the years' repeating rounds:
Death and life eachother chase
'til the final sun goes down,

then out of the ling'ring gloom
comes the day that will not end.
Seeds sprout up from every tomb.
Winter will not come again.

By User:Bluemoose – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=333105

The Word

In the beginning was the Word,
long before worlds began.
After the end it shall be heard,
spoken aloud again!

Spoken at first, it silent fell
under the reign of death,
now does it ring out as a bell,
sung on undying breath.

What is the word that shapes our sense,
filling the skies above,
echoing in the caverns' depths?
What could it be but love?

What was the silence of the grave
stilling the Word at last?
What could it be but love that gave,
filling death's endless grasp?

Stronger than death is that great love,
deeper than any hell,
truer than stories tell us of,
broader than ocean swells.

Into the silence now it speaks,
thunder with lightning's flame,
filling forever's depths and peaks,
calling us each by name!

Three Marys, by Henry Ossawa Tanner. From the left, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome approaching Jesus’ tomb. Oil on canvas, 42 × 50 in. Fisk University Art Galleries, Nashville, Tennessee. By Henry Ossawa Tanner – https://artandtheology.org/tag/henry-ossawa-tanner/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=132778182