He is dead now.
He was so alive,
Buried.
We are scattered,
Huddled in fear
In various haunts.
Will we ever be fishermen again?
Peacefully plying our nets.
Didn’t we see the miracles?
Drinking the hilarious wine at Cana.
Didn’t we see the healings?
So many unblinded.
The centurion’s daughter dancing.
Didn’t we see the demons
Come screaming out?
The startled eyes of pigs and peasants.
Didn’t He forgive our sins?
Stones refusing to kill a fallen woman.
The tax collector scrambling down the sycamore.
When will they hunt and kill us?
Remember the agony of the tree.
We remember the days of Glory.
His face shining for days off the mountain.
Will we always remember,
The sound of His voice?
You feed them! I AM…I AM…
That look He gave us
When we slept in the Garden.
Oh God, what will tomorrow be like?
What will tomorrow bring…
Originally published in Heart of Flesh