Resurrection 2021
Guest Poem by Rev. Katy Shedlock
I wonder if his sense of smell
returned first
that before
any other
signs of life
his nose suddenly knew
the earth –
dirt, freshly turned and loamy.
Remember
you are dust
and to dust you shall
return.
Let this be a sign
unto you.
My clothes
don’t fit the same way
anymore.
Maybe that’s why
he took his off
rolled them up,
set them aside.
The body swells a bit
in death
after all.
Perhaps after the drama
the fanfare
the flashing lights from heaven
and the creak
of rolling stones
he sat up
looking out through the open tomb
and thought
I could stay here
where it’s safe.
I don’t have to go back
into the world
do I?
But someone was crying.
It’s hard to play dead
when someone else
is in real distress.
The awkwardness
of the body,
standing close together again.
the hug
he wasn’t ready for,
her total disregard
for his condition –
there are still
purification protocols, after all.
The grief
that lingers
in the midst of the miracle –
the lost time
that not even God
can bring back,
the scars of what we have been through
some still fresh enough
to bleed.
The future somehow
even more unknown-
all that building the kingdom
before
does it still matter
after?
This is not
starting over
but starting different,
Easter has never taken us
back to before
but always
somewhere new
we never imagined.
The resurrection
of the body
is not
a one-time event.
It comes in waves.
Like grief.
The first time he ate, again,
with people,
how he disappeared so quickly,
maybe
the anxiety got to him
after he felt
the bread and wine
in his mouth.
The first time
his bowels moved,
truly I tell
there is no surer sign
of life than that –
Bless God
from whom all blessings
flow,
Blessed are you, Lord
who heals all flesh.
The first time he breathed on them
without fear
while they sheltered at home,
and Thomas said no,
accept the facts people,
quit your delusions of hope.
The first time
they sang together
how he must have wept
to hear their voices
resonate
in his chest.
Not even the angels
can feel that.
Easter people,
let this year be a sign and a wonder:
we have always been
fresh from the grave.
Remember.
