And where is Jesus, this strange Easter day? Not lost in our locked churches anymore Than he was sealed in that dark sepulchre. And he is up and risen, long before, The locks are loosed; the stone was rolled away, Alive, at large, and making his strong way Into the world he gave his life to save, No need to seek him in his empty grave. He might have been a wafer in the hands Of priests this day, or music from the lips Of red robed choristers, instead he slips Away from Church, shakes off our linen bands To don his apron with a nurse he grips And lifts a stretcher, soothes with gentle hands The frail flesh of the dying, gives them hope, Breathes with the breathless, lends them strength to cope. On Thursday we applauded, for he came And served us in a thousand names and faces Mopping our sickroom floors and catching traces Of that corona which was death to him: Good Friday happened in a thousand places Where Jesus held the helpless, died with them That they might share his Easter in their need, Now they are risen with him, risen indeed. You can hear Malcolm read his poem if you go to the blog page on his web site: www.malcolmguite.wordpress.com/blog Spotted in the Tablet this weekend
Malcolm Guite’s poem spoke to me:
Leave a reply