Easter Makes Me a Poet
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Somehow, writing poetry gets my heart more involved – it feels vulnerable and messy and grappling, but right when it comes to the topic of Easter.
The elements are the same every year: the angry mob and religious elite, the beatings, the Cross, Jesus’ death, and then His resurrection on the third day. I don’t want my brain to just understand the progression of events, I want my heart to feel it. I want to experience it all over again – even the darkness so that the dawning of hope – through Jesus’ Resurrection – can be more fully beheld by the starkness of contrast. Somehow, writing poetry gets my heart more involved – it feels vulnerable and messy and grappling, but right when it comes to the topic of Easter.
Here is something I wrote for Kensington’s Good Friday service a few years ago that I’ve been rereading often lately. It’s powerful, but it’s not complete. Because it was intended for Good Friday services, I didn’t ever reach the happy ending that is Easter. I’m going to add a final section now to include the Resurrection (and that is making my heart happy). Don’t gloss over this – it’s a very different sort of read. I invite you to take in the following lines “with your heart.”
Humanity
How did He come? He didn’t burst onto the scene in golden light, dressed in celestial white – He came in the flesh, bloodied and bawling
From his mother’s inner cradle into chilly night air
What is more human than blood, birth and pain?
Fully human – but without a single stain. Did he get splinters? Toothaches? Stubbed toes? Did he “grow like a weed”? Sneeze in threes and have achy knees?
And, how did He leave? He died human too:
body torn (to the bones and then deeper still to the soul);
His life-blood pooled beneath Him hanging – ebbing from Him and flowing to us.
Taking life, giving Life.
Did He know? How much and when? (That He was God incarnate and would die for men.)
Blood-Thirsty
The same people who had roared with praise
Turned around again and cried out in rage
(if their hearts grow cold, is the blood also chilled? Or does it race hotter through veins burning with destruction, corruption, and self-promotion?)
“We love you, we hate you.” His heart beats for them (and us) the same.
We, His created, called for this blood. (Treachery!)
Dry throated, thirsty for it. The ground cracked dry waiting for red rain –
all the earth calling in a twisted, strangled scream for the death of Perfection.
Death
None of His words could be true, His miracles too?
Death is taking Him – pulling Him to the grave (He, not even resisting the depraved!)
It was a sham, a hoax, a game, but I saw Him heal the lame…?
And, why is the air electric with things unseen? Will God somehow intervene
Brittle bones breaking
Sockets popping
Lungs sinking deep
Rattling, rasping final breaths….
Gathering breath to outloud bless
The weight of the world.
In a vast palm the blue marble easily spins but how could a man shoulder all sin?
(Is the world in God’s Hand, as they say, or was it all on Christ’s shoulders that day?)
Empty Grave
The grave stands deserted now,
yawning emptiness
& hope to the full
He didn’t cheat death, sneaking by
By the skin of His teeth
He didn’t reconsider,
change His mind,
throw in the towel on humankind,
He died all the way, to the extent of the law
that governs us – the dusty and mortal (or flawed)
And then He came back alive,
killing Death and robbing its prey:
What does this mean for us today?
It means decay can be reversed
(Even in your festering heart),
It means every time you slip into the darkness,
there is a real, living hand extended
It means the creatures formed from earth
won’t always hobble and huddle close to the ground,
dirty hands, feet, and faces
It means we – shabby and magnificent and numbered-of-days –
can live free and forever
in the Presence of the One who loves us
loves us to death
& back again
It means the end is a beginning
We’d love to have you join us for Good Friday and Easter services in person or online! Learn more at
https://www.kensingtonchurch.org/easter