Sunday

Sunday morning has arrived
although its been with us 2000 years.

Sunday morning’s empty tomb
is as open as our hearts

rent wide by the quake of pain
which comes to everyone

But which roll the stones
we erect to protect us from suffering.

Sunday morning’s promise of life
we sometimes mistake for a future day

But it is with us right now
as close as the presence of the resurrected Christ.

Friday’s shroud of sorrow is not completely gone
while we wait for Sunday’s fulfilment.

But its lightened somehow
by the knowledge

that we already know the outcome,
that’s in part, already here.

Yes, Sunday morning does not
relieve us from our cross

but its empty tomb points to the
one whose cross became the means

of his resurrection,
and ours.

Sunday morning has arrived,
although its been here 2000 years.

And because of its eternal newness
we can always celebrate afresh.

No Friday will ever be bereft
of hope or the promise of new life

that his transfigured state
reveals to us as ours.

©Ana Lisa de Jong
Image Eugene Burnand, The Disciples, Peter and John running to the Sepulchre on the Morning of the Resurrection. (1898)