There, you were, dearest LORD,
Your arms which held the poor and hugged the child
bound now....tightly in ragged strips of cloth,
And your fingers which caressed the blind man’s eyes and touched our lips with bread
stilled... by nail and wood
Your eyes which peered into hearts and wept for love
brushed closed... by the darkness of finality.
Wrapped....
Tightly. It suffocates us. And stifles us.
There, you were, dearest LORD,
Your flesh and blood abandoned on that godforsaken hill
broken and poured...
By your own flesh; your own blood you were left
in a tomb, hewn from rock and earth
The world careened to a stop and silence crawled
as, tended by our own hands, we buried love.
Laid...
Cold. Creeping our spines and chilling our bones.
And then, and now...
How now, dearest LORD?
Has unexplained sweetness slipped from your lips
as you kissed the cosmos
And beginnings stirred again
as your heartbeat quickened and your pulse throbbed once more.
Your limbs stretched and reached;
as you rose and turned towards light.
Loosened...
Softened. Waking. Yearning.
Now, now, dearest LORD,
What was laid dead within you; within me
returns.
For we are no longer wrapped tightly; no longer laid bare; no longer waiting...
for you are not.
Even in your death, you have kept vigil over us
Death and despair are exhaled from your body
and our lungs are filled with the rush of new morning air.
Clean. Cold. Crisp. New.
And you are risen.
And so am I. So are we.
Freed. Oh, dearest LORD, so now we live again too. Freed.
