Tag Archive | resurrection

That Folded Head Cloth

 

Momentous rising,

shuffling off the stench

of death; the world a-tilt;

a cosmic shining in that soiled

empty sheet, spices strewn across the barren

floor; life undying bursting

through the cloth once tightly

shrouding our mortality.

*

And that lone head cloth,

folded, tidy, set apart,

quiet in a shining

all its own, whisper of divine

attentiveness to the minutiae

of our lives, quotidian patterns,

daily tasks that shape our days; hint

of holy presence, quiet glow

in all the foldings and unfoldings

of our tidy, not-so-tidy everydays.

I Would Have Danced a Jig

jig

Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” He asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.

Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Mark 8:27-38

I would have danced a jig

that day; “Messiah”—recognized—

at last! I would have shouted hallelujahs,

beat the drums, called all to sing the kingdom

come, joined hands with twelve brave

lads, paraded into town, our banners

streaming in the Galilean winds.

*

But no; instead…

he solemn spoke of death, his death, in soil cold

and raw, descending there to plant our dust

and ashes, plant the closings of our lives

in silence of a rock tomb dark with questions,

sealed with heavy stone; three midnight days,

tender holding every mote of all our earthiness.

*

Rising then to roll away forbidding stones

that oft imprison hearts and minds; to open

doors shut tight against the light;

to someday raise our dust to dance with him

among the stars, beneath sky banners

stitched with golden threads spooling

from the sun in never-ending hallelujah joy.

 

My Easter Breakfast Rose

006

So quiet you sit on my breakfast table,

mystery unfolding in your

tender petals shining stardust in the

silence of this Easter rising morn.

Christ is risen; you, too, are rising, inner

secrets densely wrapped and bursting

energy inscrutable, profoundly beautiful;

I sip your gentle pink assuredness of

life’s ongoing stirrings and arisings;

taste the fragrance of the secrets hidden

in the layers of your folds, whispering

the mystery of life to come, when you, and I,

and every blossom I have ever known, unfold to

shine beyond all time at God’s high breakfast board.

 

 

 

 

Joseph of the Tomb

011 - Copy

Luke 23:50-53

50 Now there was a good and righteous man named Joseph, who, though a member of the council, 51 had not agreed to their plan and action. He came from the Jewish town of Arimathea, and he was waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God. 52 This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. 53 Then he took it down, wrapped it in a linen cloth, and laid it in a rock-hewn tomb where no one had ever been laid.

*****

He asked for the kingdom of God.

He received instead a lifeless, bloodied, soiled body;  

but a body, nonetheless, so, good man that he was,

he took that body and wrapped it in fresh linen;

sprinkled spices of disappointment across the

shroud, then laid the bitter remains of his dreams on a

shelf in the dank darkness of his new rock tomb. 

He had been tempted, yes he had, tempted to

simply walk away and leave that corpse on the cross

for others to dispose of, but, surely, he reasoned,

surely this man, disappointing as he turned out to be,

surely he deserved—simply as a human being—a final,

quiet dignity.  One more caress for the shrouded

remnants of his dream; one more sigh, and then he left to

close the tomb and seal away forever all his kingdom hopes.

 

But then…that curious rumor in the air that sent him back to

tidy up his now strange-emptied tomb; and there the lingering

scent of myrrh and aloes, mixed with something

new and strange, ethereal, it seemed, almost like

angel breath; and, too, that mystifying luster

glimmering ever just beyond his sight; those

linen wrappings, stained and stretched across the shelf…

 

Could it possibly be?  Could his cave have been the

womb in which the costly kingdom pearl had been

laid to rest and then had birthed new life beyond this life?  

And were his muted actions somehow part of all of that—

his futile disagreement with the Council? his binding of that

mangled body in his linen winding sheet?  He hoped, but

sureness hovered just beyond mind’s reach; so quietly he

folded all his questions into the empty creases of the

shroud, and quietly he left his silent tomb.

 

Yet heart emboldened by that hushed and holy emptiness,

mysterious Presence filling gaps and pauses nestled in the

restless aching of his soul, he asked for rising faith to

live—wrapped once again—

in kingdom hope,

in kingdom love,

in kingdom joy and peace.