Notice that resurrection happens while it is still dark,

Though at first no one sees it
even now in the dark corners
of war and denial and despair
there are soft risen footfalls outside the places where death has been laid,

Even now in ragged places, the risen One walks softly
calling us to pay attention.  

This is not to downplay the weight of loss or anguish/

There is nothing erased in Resurrection . . .

Jesus rises still bruised and marked

There is nothing wiped away in resurrection
but there is everything held differently
everything made new.

And aren’t we glad it is not sterile, this rising?

It does not avert its eyes.
It holds the doubts and questions,
the joys and hopes of us all

It rises out of our secrets and betrayals
It lays our lives bare and shines on them
so we too, in each moment of dying.
can rise again, whole

We can begin again.

Notice too that Mary, her burial herbs and ointments
fallen from her arms in astonishment
at her  name on the Risen One’s lips,
is sent to share this experience with the others.

How might we say resurrection in these days?

How might we look for it?

This light in the still shadowed morning,
how might we receive it?

How might we live this story?

How might we hear our name,
imagine our name on the lips of the Risen One?

How might we become thanks?

Alleluia, we say, Christ is risen. 

Alleluia, we live —
Risen indeed.

 

Image:  Grand Tetons by Alexandra Mills