Reflections for

Resurrection of the Lord, Apr 01, 2018

Acts 10:34-43 or Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11 or Acts 10:34-43; John 20:1-18 or Mark 16:1-8



Spring in the garden edge, a periwinkle maze—
O Lord of spill and swell.       I will not disappoint
you now, he says; I’ve honed your cell’s repairs.

The human ware is slippery in our hands; an ankle
twists, breaks on a granite ledge; joint
failure of a stone and heel, the puddled stairs . . .

And so, God digs into his resurrection—
a funny rib and tooth, a good and solid shoulder:
the hidden measure of largesse.

Imagine, in a yard, another bone to spare; imagine—
long and grassy. For grasses err in favor
of excess . . .       Ah, isn’t that the Word, excess?   

    Not just repaired: pampered, festooned, unspent.
    A risen body, Lord, our flesh has never dreamt.


Post-traumatic texts

David Carr rereads the familiar materials of the Bible in conversation with trauma theory. This opens the way for a fresh and suggestive interpretation.


Through a window

I read a poem each Sunday Our pastor calls this Ministry
of Verse I try to find a poem not just she but anyone
will get A short poem if I can for fear someone like Timmy
who isn’t all that into poems to begin with may complain

I try to select some lines that represent what I believe
and more or less what the people there believe I have friends too
outside the church who cannot believe that I in fact believe
say in miracles They ask can you really believe they’re true

exactly Poems cannot be exact I’m thinking how I’ll sound
My vanity lives on I don’t read my poems which grow shorter
as I grow old I once imagined I must go on and on
to get at things I thought I knew but I know more than ever

I know nothing now No my friends I don’t believe exactly
in miracles I believe inexactly I see Mary
Magdalene just for instance in that garden quite unclearly
Still I see her I see Tess as well who’s married to Timmy

and seems confused Well she is confused Dementia has her down
Her husband’s there He holds her hand Timmy holds things together
I’ve thought at times like anybody I couldn’t hold my own
yet I’m alive I hear a bird sing one small massive wonder


If God is mostly paradox

So that things contrary to common sense
Seem suddenly truth revealed
And some unappealing sight
Is clearly Imago Dei, devilishly alight
As though lit within at core
By the very darkness we abhor
And symbols of my soul’s best hope are cast
As models of betrayal, despair and death;
Then, Eve’s fruit tasted and offered to Adam
Becomes Mary’s Gift as First Fruit
Of a new covenant of pardon
And the abandoned Garden
Because of Him
Becomes the New Jerusalem;

So, let that mind be also in me,
The one that takes in my off-stage acts,
You know,
Those walk-the-walk naked facts,
Even my sneaky judas-pacts
And transforms them all
Into something nothing short of new,
Like being born,
Like out of any godforsaken Friday
Easter morn.


Revised Common Lectionary © 1992 the Consultation on Common Texts. Used by permission.