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.
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
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