I have been thinking about the old religious word ‘resurrection’. Like many of these words, it has layers of meaning. It also becomes a hermaneutic through which we understand other meanings. It shapes the way we see.

The raising of life from death. The coming of spring. The restart after failure. The hope that seems hopeless.

Then this phrase, which for some reason always breaks me open; Behold, I am making all things new.

Behold. I am making all things re-newed. It is not over, it is still becoming.

My faith flickers only, but… Amen.

Resurrection

.

I care not for carefully crafted theories of atonement

Make it myth or firmest fact, or just

Some old and cold convention

Don old bonnets or blue bunny suits

Cantata or carouse it

But me, I search the sky for hope

I long for resurrection

.

I long for greens at the tips of trees

For stirrings deep in soil

For a pulse aflutter under brand-new skin

Marking the end of unpotential, when

Spring is carried in by warm winds

And souls unfold, like leaves

Like lengthening days, reaching out

For resurrection

.

Roll away the stone

For behold, all things are made again, and

We all need second chances

.

After longest silence comes the song

Comes the knowing right from wrong

And the grace to make things better

Lets make messiah from our mud and blood

And practice resurrection