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. 

Spreading the news

After Like 24:1-12

 

Stunned. Overwhelmed.

The three women were

the first to hear the news.

Then they remembered

his words, but was he

really serious? He would

rise on the third day?

They hurried to tell

the others, the eleven and

the rest, with a not

entirely unexpected 

response: skepticism, 

doubts, perhaps a trace

of ridicule, surly this was

idle talk and speculative

rumor. A story, in other

words, a tale, and it was

somewhat cruel of them

to repeat it. But the one

called the rock listened;

something struck him

as true, and he raced

to the tomb, finding it

just as the women had

said. It was empty.

He was gone.

 

Photograph by Logan Weaver via Unsplash. Used with permission. 

Some Sunday Readings

 

Reading as Rebellion – Trevin Wax at The Gospel Coalition.

Christianity in China – Ndrew Wilson at Tabletalk.

Field of Bounty and of Grief – Steven Searcy at Mere Orthodoxy. Related: Four Poems from The Locust Years by Paul Pastor – Rabbit Room Poetry.

“On Shakespeare. 1630,” poem by John Milton – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern.

How Adam Zagajewski “Accidentally” Wrote the Definitive 9/11 Poem – Elaine Wang at Literary Hub.

How the West Lost Its Soul – Paul Kingsnorth at The Free Press.

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.

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.

The one who escaped

After Matthew 28:1-20 

The one who escaped

the life from before,

the one who wiped

his feet with her hair,

the one scorned and

reviled, is the one

who goes to the tomb

that day. The earth 

shakes with a roar;

she stops and holds

on to her companion.

The guards at the tomb

are terrified, trembling

in fear, frozen like

statues at what they

all can see: the one

in glowing white. 

Like so many times

before, the angel

says do not be afraid.

The one you seek is

not here. The one

you seek has risen.

See the empty shroud.

Go, tell.

 

The one who escaped

the life before sees,

and believes, and runs

to obey. As they run,

another stops them,

and greets them, and

says do not be afraid,

go and tell them

to find me in Galilee.

 

Photograph by Pisit Heng via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

How eggs became the symbol of Easter – Jane Stannus at The Spectator.

 

Kierkegaard on Easter Weekend – Rod Dreher at Rod Dreher’s Diary.

 

Britain will not be a “Christian country” without Christians – Ben Sixsmith at The Critic Magazine.

 

Who Believes in Easter Anymore? – poem by James Tweedie at Society of Classical Poets.

A Sonnet for Easter Dawn - Malcolm Guite.

Things Worth Remembering: John Donne's Sermon on the Resurrection of the Body and the Immortality of the Soul - Douglas Murray at The Free Press. 

She remains

After John 20:1-18 

She finds the tomb empty,

the stone rolled away,

and she runs to tell

the others. They run

to the tomb and see

the cloths of linen,

wrappings of the body,

but the body gone.

They leave, but

she remains.

 

She remains, weeping,

until she sees the figures

in white, sitting

in the tomb. She speaks,

they respond. And she 

turns to see a man, 

perhaps the gardener;

she sees them, and then

she sees him.

 

Her first words after:

“I have seen Him,

I have seen the Lord.”

Because she remained.

 

Photograph by Kiwi Thompson via Unsplash. Used with permission.

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.

 

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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.

When in doubt

After Luke 24: 36-43 

When he appears

among them, without

sign or warning,

not there one moment

and there the next,

and says peace,

they feel anything but.

Peace? Are you serious?

You died, and here

you are. Peace? How

about fear, and shock?

No, he offers peace:

set aside the questions

in your hearts, and 

consider: does a ghost

have flesh and bone?

Can a ghost let you

see and feel the wounds

in his hands and feet?

And by the way, is

there anything to eat?

 

When in doubt, touch,

and eat fish.

 

Photograph by Jonathan Borba via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Suddenly

After Luke 24:36-43 

Disconcerting, yes,

to see what appears

to be a spirit

suddenly

standing there, 

the spirit of the man

recently deceased,

the man whose life

and death you were

actually discussing

at the very moment,

as if words summoned

a spirit.

Startling, yes,

frightening, no question.

They’d been hearing

the reports of life

after death, but it’s

easy to doubt what

you yourself haven’t

seen. And then,

suddenly, there he is,

smiling, speaking

words of calm. And

they see another

reality: their doubt

evaporating,

suddenly.

 

Photograph by Luke Richardson via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Is, was written

After Luke 24:44-49

It is written, just

as it was written,

the entire story,

the entire point

and explanation

and purpose,

mine and yours:

I suffer and die.

Then the gamechanger:

On the third day,

the rising.

What follows:

the proclamation,

the good news

of repentance

for forgiveness

of sins,

a proclamation

to all, all nations,

all peoples,

beginning in the city

of death and the city

of the rising from

the death.

And the clincher:

You are the witnesses,

and you will be sent

on the mission

you’ve already accepted.

Photograph by Daniel Burka via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Open, mind

After Luke 24:44-49

It didn’t begin

with an open mind,

plural; the open minds

weren’t the first impulse

or prime mover.

Instead,

the open mind, plural,

required an act,

a command, as in 

“Open, mind(s),”

a deliberate move,

full of purpose 

and import, a cranking

open of the door, replete

with shrieking creaks,

so that understanding

was possible. The door

was opened to allow

the light to enter,

to enable the dispelling

of confusion,

of darkness.

Photograph by Roan Lavery via Unsplash. Used with permission.

My words

After Luke 24:44-49

A reminder and

an instruction:

you heard this 

before, during

those three years

we walked the land

and talked the land,

the geography of faith,

so what you hear now

is nothing novel,

nothing new, it was

all written before,

in the law,

in the prophets,

in the psalms,

and it must all

be fulfilled. And

you were there,

you saw it,

you lived it:

the word, my words,

the words that

became flesh and

walked the land and

talked the land and

it happened right here,

right now, my words

I spoke to you

while I was

still here.

Photograph by Julia Joppien via Unsplash. Used with permission.