Easter Sunday

Another quiet Sunday afternoon.
Still filled with fears and questions, but I know
Your stories take their time, so maybe soon
The way will be revealed, and I will go.
Till then, I wait and think about that morn
That guaranteed our hope, the end of night
At his rekindled light, when all the scorn
Seemed scant as those two Marys caught the sight
Of resurrection, life born out of death.
Their hope and joy once buried was renewed.
Their Jesus breathed with deep undying breath.
Forevermore, the darkness is subdued.
At last, the weight of ages finds release.
After the darkest day, unending peace.

Photo by J Lee on Unsplash

Holy Saturday

Another day, another coffee shop,
Longing for resurrection, wondering
If they knew they were waiting, that the stop
Was long expected, that the thundering
Was temporary. Could they fathom hope
Persisting past the ending of the dream?
Was life from death a long-forgotten trope?
Was this beyond God’s power to redeem?
Or worse, was this his will? Could they not see,
Deceived by words so many had refused,
Tricked by the man—for man he seemed to be?
Others were healed, but he died bloodied, bruised.
The silent tomb was sealed. What would they do?
Was anything they once believed still true?

Photo by Anandu Vinod on Unsplash

Good Friday

Another Friday, overcast and grey.
I sit alone to study but reflect
On that dark Friday years ago, the day
The light went out, when we failed to detect
The purpose through the pain that grew so great
All comforts were eclipsed, and in the ache
Of ignorance and fear, the hour grew late
Then passed for hope of rescue. Then the break
Of heart when his heart stopped and he grew still
And death remained what it had always been.
Perhaps one day the Lord would still fulfill
His word, but not this day. This day, our sin
And shame were at their height, and we below
The storm clouds wondered, “Where else shall we go?”

Photo by Dylan McLeod on Unsplash