Monday, April 25, 2011


Art, poetry, song - no matter what angle we take to understand and celebrate Christ's resurrection, the mystery remains beyond our view. Yet some attempts bring new understanding, or call forth deeper appreciation, or awaken us to greater gratitude. As my celebration, I've gathered some contemporary offerings, a reminder that the resurrection is real now, for us, as it is, and has been, for men and women around the globe.

Resurrection, Anna Kocher, US, 2006
“. . . for they shall see God”
Matthew 5.8

Christ risen was rarely
      recognized by sight.
They had to get beyond
     the way he looked.
Evidence stronger than his voice
     and face and footstep
waited to grow in them, to guide
their groping from despair,
their stretching beyond belief.

We are as blind as they
until the opening of our deeper eyes
shows us the hands that bless
and break our bread,
until we finger
wounds that tell our healing,
or witness a miracle of fish
dawn-caught after our long night
of empty nets.  Handling
his Word, we feel his flesh,
his bones, and hear his voice
calling our early-morning name.

Who will remove the stone?
Hanna Cheriyan Varghese, Malaysia

Now is the shining fabric
    of our day
Torn open, flung apart, 
     rent wide by love.
Never again the tight,
     enclosing sky,
The blue bowl
     or star-illumined tent.
We are laid open to infinity
For Easter love has burst
     his tomb and ours.
Now nothing shelters us 
      from God's desire -
Not flesh, not sky, not stars, 
      not even sin.
Now glory waits           
so He can enter in.                            Now does the dance begin.

He Is Not Here, He Qi, China
Descending Theology: The Resurrection
       ~Mary Karr 2006

From the far star points
     of his pinned extremities,
cold inched in—
     black ice and squid ink—
till the hung flesh was empty.
Lonely in that void even for pain,
he missed his splintered feet,
the human stare buried in his face.
He ached for two hands made of meat
he could reach to the end of.
In the corpse’s core, the stone fist
of his heart began to bang
on the stiff chest’s door,
     and breath spilled
back into that battered shape. Now
it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water
shatters at birth, rivering every way.

Please join the conversation. Your thoughts and experiences in this are welcome. Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments.