Wounded garden

Even as the golden dust of the resurrection falls,
settling on our shoes like heaven’s pollen,
as we look up at angels receding,
as the exuberant news echoes in our hearts,
even now, stepping into new lives
of joy and gratitude,

our hearts are broken,
we lament… we are silent… we scream.
Injustice continues its hungry rounds,
death is granted permission to hunt on our grounds.
Another shot rings out.

We cry out. How long, O Lord?

But we don’t cry alone.
The song rises—the sorrowful, courageous song,
the hymn of gentle defiance,
still flows through the throats of the faithful.
this wounded garden, this is the very place of resurrection.
We who have died and been raised are not afraid
to cry out, to be silent, to listen, to act, to sing.
We will do justice, and love kindness, and walk humbly with God.
We will no longer be afraid
to do justice, to love kindness, to walk humbly with God.
Even in the lingering darkness we are not afraid.
For Christ is rising. Christ is rising indeed.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light

April 13, 2021

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