Imagine yourself heading to Jesus’ tomb the day after [Jewish] Sabbath, very early in the morning. The birds might be singing or all may be quiet. You’re bearing spices to leave at the tomb. A special friend like none other—who healed sick people and even brought the dead back to life. One who taught with authority, sharing stories that made you think about life in a new way. And now he’s dead and you’re doing the last thing you can to honour him.
Imagine coming close to the tomb that had been sealed and seeing the large stone that once blocked the entrance. It’s been rolled away. And suddenly the things you brought don’t seem adequate. The gift intended is not what’s being asked now.  Suddenly that cross has a new meaning and you’re not sure what’s expected now.
 
Empty Tomb
 
In the gray dawn
I say goodbye to one
whose hands brought life from death
whose words confounded kings and priests
The cave is shadowed and dark
a boulder rests unneeded, but not unheeded
rising light exposes
folded cloth in an empty cave
confounding
compounding yesterday’s drama
 
footsteps
i turn
 
in a voice as soft as morning
He calls my name
 
© Carolyn R. Wilker, 2007 Esprit
 
Jesus is risen! He is risen indeed.

Sanctuary dressed for Easter morning,  photo © C. R. Wilker