THE GARDENER

When the Sun begins its journey
Across the heavens,
Will we jump to our feet and run,
Run to the tomb as we did last year?
Or will we rest in our fickle belief
That Jesus is risen?

I ask the question because I will never forget
Running to the tomb, how it changed my life.
I remember being afraid as I ran.
What would I say to the soldiers?
I remember wanting to make fun of them.
“Do you not feel ridiculous
Guarding a dead man?
Do you not feel ridiculous
Obeying a leader so filled with fear,
Fear of losing power...to a dead man?”

I remember thinking how
I would carefully peel away the linen cloth,
Wash him, annoint him the proper way,
Touch him for the last time,
Lay him to rest while wanting desperately
To take some part of him with me,
Perhaps a lock of hair.

I remember meeting Mary on the way.
I remember talking with John as we ran together.
I remember seeing the gardener
Whom I didn’t really see or recognize.

As I look back on this past year,
I see how much I have become one of the soldiers.
Fear runs my life, dominates my soul,
Blinds my vision, deafens my ears.

Yes, I will run to the tomb tomorrow
To wash fear from my life,
To heal my blindness,
To open my ears,
To feed my soul,
To once again recognize the gardener,
To recognize Jesus in all his surprising disguises.


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