Showing posts with label Sunday poem poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sunday poem poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, April 20, 2025

The stone rolled away


After Mark 16:1-8
 

They came to anoint

the body, unsure exactly

how to do what they

needed to do: get past 

the guards, then roll

away the stone sealing

the tomb. What were

they but three women?

The guards would laugh

to see three women

struggle to move

the stone, assuming they

would be allowed

to get that close. They

discover the work

has been done for them:

the guards are gone,

the stone rolled away,

and no body to anoint.

Christ has risen.

He has risen,

indeed. 


Photograph by Kelly Sikkema via Unsplash. Used with permission.


Rise My Soul, The Lord is Risen – Matt Papa, Matt Boswell, & Kristyn Getty



Some Sunday Readings

 

The Awkwardness of Easter – Aaron Garriott at Ligonier.

 

John Berryman’s Eleven Addresses to the Lord – Critical Readings. 

 

The day that changed the world – Matthew Roberts at The Critic Magazine.

 

The Most Radical Thing You Can Bring to Easter Dinner – Chris Castaldo at Crossway.

 

The Women at the Tomb: Clarifying the Marys and the First Witnesses of the Resurrection – Justin Taylor at The Gospel Coalition.

Sunday, November 20, 2022

With the lions


After Daniel 6:10-23
 

The lions pace as he sits

on the rock in their den.

They come close and sniff;

He flinches a bit when

they roar their hunger

in his ear. But it is 

a muffled roar, as if it

seeks to escape a closed

mouth. The lions pace;

one comes close and 

pushed against him, 

seeking weakness and 

fear and finding only

surprise and wonder.

The lions rest and then

stand in their hunger

and pace. The man grows

sleepy and dozes until

nudged again. He leans

against a wall and

sleeps, believing

the promise 

of deliverance. 

 

Photograph by Bisakha Datta via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

We are not gods


After Acts 14:8-20

A simple thing, really
a man crippled
lame from birth
listening with faith
faith sufficient to be
healed, not the words
“stand up and walk”
but the faith, sufficient

They would make us gods
they would sacrifice bulls
with wreaths they would
sacrifice to us

a blasphemy

our shouting them down
barely preventing sacrifices
I am not Zeus
I am not Hermes

the crowd angry
they want their gods
to touch their gods
to be given their sign

instead of sacrificed bulls
they give us stones
proving we are not gods


Painting: Paul worshipped at Lystra by Raphael.