Death and Easter
We forget, when we see the fresh garden,
that resurrection begins with death,
cold and harsh,
a piecing with thorns,
love itself, shattered and broken
emptied of life,
gray and broken,
every shred of life
taken,
ripped by violence from the earth,
or neglected into brokenness.
No matter the method,
the result is the same.
Only then, emptied and torn,
are we ready
to be filled with something more,
hopeful and bright,
Not life renewed or improved,
but fresh, a new thing,
bright with new color,
fresh with new love,
a chance finally to be gilded
by the master's hand
to resurrection
as real and certain as spring.
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The picture is of a lamp I bought at auction for a couple of bucks, that I am just beginning to restore. You can click on it for a larger version.
Tom
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