That little word

After Luke 24:1-12 

That little word,

must,

as in he must

be handed over,

he must be

sacrificed,

he must rise

on the third day.

He must.

Not by the will

of men, not by

the force of

history, not by

fate. He must,

by necessity,

divine necessity,

necessity ordained

before creation

of the world,

a necessity 

known before

anything was,

because he knew.

 

Photograph by James via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

Poems by Australian poet Kevin Hart – D.S. Martin at Kingdom Poets.

 

“Draw Me Nearer (I Am Thine, O Lord),” hymn by Fanny Crosby – Anthony Esolen at Word & Song.

 

I’m Angry and Sad and I DO Know What I’M Going to Do About It – S.D. Smith.

 

Life Is Not for the Faint of Heart (But God Is) – Seth Lewis.

 

Walking with a Friend Through Chronic Illness – Staci Eastin. 

Two men, dazzling

After Luke 24:1-12 

The women stood

by the empty tomb,

perplexed that

the body was gone,

unsure what to do

next. Suddenly,

with no warning,

two men were

there, their clothes 

dazzling and blinding

in brilliance. Frightened,

the women gathered

together, bowing 

to the ground before

the men. The men speak:

do not seek the living

among the dead; remember

what he told you long

before, that he would be

betrayed, he would be

brought before sinful

men and judged, that

he would be condemned

and killed. But then 

there would be 

a third day.

This was

the third day.

This is 

the third day.

 

Photograph by Gavin Allenwood via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

The Power of Prayer Meetings – Paul Levy at Ligonier.

 

“Psalm 90,” poem by Mary Masters – D.S. Martin at Kingdom Poets.

 

“Jesus, Name All Names Above,” hymn by St. Theoctistus – Anthony Esolen at Word & Song.

 

Tender Feet – poem by Kimberly Beck at Rabbit Room Poetry.

 

When Death Draws Near – Greg Morse at Desiring God.

 

He's not there

After Luke 24:1-12 

A Sunday, the first day

of the new week, a new week,

and they walked in silence

to the tomb, taking the spices

they’d prepared for his body.

The stone covering the tomb

was rolled away, the guards

gone. Entering the tomb

to pour the spices, they saw

it was empty.

No one was there.

They stared at each other.

The tomb was empty.

The body was not there.

He was not there.

He was gone.

 

Photograph by Pisit Heng via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

Focus [in] the Family – Jonathan Shirk at Gentle Reformation.

 

An Empty Nest – Tessa Lind at Pursuing Perfection.

 

Let’s Get Medieval – Nathan Eshelman at Gentle Reformation.

Broadcast news

After Luke 24:1-12 

The women return, murmuring

among themselves, grappling

with the shock of the stone

rolled away, an empty tomb,

dazzling messengers saying

he was not there but risen.

They speak the news, meet

denial (what do women know?),

find accusations of idle talk,

fake news, ridiculed

in disbelief of what they say,

what they say they’ve seen.

Except for one, only one 

who runs to see, to prove

one way or the other, and

he finds the broadcast news

to be good.

 

Photograph by Kane Reinholdtsen via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Truth dazzles

After Luke 24:1-12 

The messengers dazzle 

in their brightness,

their message a meteor:

He is not here,

He is risen.

It is the first proclamation

of the billions to come,

a shooting star to remind

them of what they were

told, what they heard

before, what he would do,

that he would rise.

The living is not to be

found among the dead.

You knew this.

He said this, 

that he would die,

that three days pass,

that he would rise.

The messengers dazzle

in their brightness,

the message even more.

It’s early dawn.

 

Photograph by Wonderlane via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The stone rolled away

After Luke 24:1-12 

The stone, a barrier

a separation of life

and death, the stone

is rolled away, removing

the separation, the barrier,

revealing the emptiness

within, a slab, some cloths

of linen, an emptiness,

the death of death. The body

is not here, the tomb is empty,

death is revealed as destroyed,

swept into the ash bin, forever

gone, forever defeated, Yet

another parable, a contradiction:

life to be seen and symbolized 

by emptiness, a silent tomb,

death vanquished,

death destroyed.

 

Photograph by Krisjanis Mezulis via Unsplash. Used with permission.

An empty tomb

After Luke 24:1-12 

The first day of the week,

the women return to the tomb,

bringing their spices and

ointments to prepare the body.

The stone covering the tomb

has been rolled away, leaving

the space open. The tomb is

empty, Stunned, shocked,

perplexed, the women see

the men arrayed in clothes

that dazzle and shine, telling

them not to seek the living

among the dead, that 

he is not here, 

he is risen, 

he is living,

just as he told you he would.

He kept his word.

The women are the witnesses,

the first to see an empty tomb.

The one who denied him,

three times, runs to see

for himself. What he sees:

only the strips of linen

remain.

 

Photograph by Nicolas Hans via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The stone rolls away

After Luke 24:1-12

The stone rolls away

and there in the darkness

within are the cloths

lying on empty stone

no signs of life

no signs of death

The results: wonder

perplexity confusion

fear shock until

the two explain

what has happened

reminding not to look

for the dead among

the living

Peter runs

he doesn’t walk or

trot or jog he runs

(always a hothead)

as fast as his legs

can move until

he reaches the stone

rolled away and peers

into the darkness within

to see only white strips

of cloth that once

wrapped a body

Photograph by Linnaea Mallette via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.