Mother Earth, Womb of God,
we thank you for the gift of life.

You love us as God: you create us of yourself,
and receive us into yourself.

You hold your children
even when we destroy you.

You feed us even when we are ungrateful;
you unfold us in beauty even when we refuse to see.

You teach us renewal, to give and receive,
the mystery of flow.

Even in our smallness you include us
in something great and beautiful.

O Generous One, whose law prevails forever,
O Divine Word, whose creating never ceases:

bless us that we may belong humbly,
that we may love beautifully, that we may live fruitfully.

O Earth, our Eden, our Heaven, our Hope,
may we be faithful Earthlings,
in loving harmony with you.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

           He breathed on them and said to them,
           “Receive the Holy Spirit.”
                           —John 20.22


In the beginning God formed a human
from the dust of the ground,
and breathed into its nostrils the breath of life;
and it became a living being.

In the valley of dry bones
Ezekiel prophesied to the breath
and it breathed life into the bones.

Jesus, once dead and buried,
came to us, entombed in an upper room,
and breathed his life into us, his spirit, his love.
Christ is the Spirit and we are the body, alive now.

           Breathe in me, Breath of Love.
           Live in me, that I may be
           a cell in the living, risen Body of Christ.

           Breathe in me, Breath of Love,
           that I may love the whole Body,
           and all Creation, in the Spirit of Christ.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net

           When it was evening on that day,
           the first day of the week,
           and the doors of the house where the disciples had met
           were locked for fear of the people,
           Jesus came and stood among them.
                           —John 20.19

Jesus, Startling One,
my heart is locked against other people
but it is you I shut out.

What am I afraid of?
That you might love me,
love us all equally?

The walls that keep out the danger
also keep me in.
A different kind of tomb.

The doors of my compassion
are locked in fear
and yet you come in.

Even inside the walls,
within my fear,
you are with me.

Clenched doors do not protect me.
It’s my own flesh on the other side.
The Body is real; the wall is imaginary.

Your x-ray love comes through my walls,
joins me with the rest of me,
makes me whole.

Your pierced hands pierce
these doors, roll away the stone,
and set me free.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

           “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands,
           and put my finger in the mark of the nails
           and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”
                           —John 20.25


Don’t look for resurrection in the happy places,
the rescued-at-the-last-minute places,
the unexpected successes.

No, look in the wounded places,
where death was not delayed,
suffering not averted,

that reek of the grave,
bear the stab wounds of abject failure,
the rotting dust of powerlessness.

Unless you see the marks it’s a near miss.
Not until the loss is irreversible
is it overturned.

Go ahead, touch the wounds,
hold the shaking body,
dry the tears. Wait the wait.

Only the actual grave, or actual
graveside, admits the light,
yields to resurrection—

no mere recovery, but life
full and miraculous granted
out of utter impossibility.

Reach for the wound, Thomas,
the abyss of God, where the Mystery speaks
“Let there be light.”

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

The women come to the tomb bearing jars heavy
with grief and despair, burdened with fear.
After all, Jesus didn’t die by accident,
or get murdered by a jealous opponent.
He was executed by the Roman Empire,
as an example, as crucifixion always was,
meant to terrorize subjects of the Empire:
If you follow this man you will meet the same fate.

His death was not just his, but
the end of his movement, his community—
enforced by fear.

Fear.
It’s what prevents us from loving deeply:
fear of pain, powerlessness, vulnerability,
not being in control, not belonging.
But when you pour yourself out in love
you enter God’s infinite life.

Standing here at the empty grave
the news sinks in: he is not here. He has risen.
The women’s hands fly up in wonder and joy—
and the jars fall and shatter, spilling out
all their grief and shame, all their fear.
The message of the empty tomb is clear:
If you follow this man you will meet the same fate.
In love you too shall be raised.
When you give yourself in love,
whatever it costs—even your life—
you will end up with more life, not less.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

           Mary stood weeping outside the tomb….
           Jesus said to her, “Mary!”
                           —John 20.1, 16


Beloved, heart of my heart,
spring of my life,
it was my tomb I wept at,
my death.

And then, Love, you called my name.
You called me out of my tomb, Love.
You are risen in me,
and I in you.
The God who sweeps away all suffering, death and fear
has done this.
I who was dead am alive again.
My grave is empty, and shall forever be.

Alleluia!
Christ is risen.
Alleluia!

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

           On the sabbath they rested according to the commandment.
                           —Luke 23.56

Mary, mother of Jesus,
mother of sorrow,
whose heart has bowed to God
from the beginning—
“May it be for me according to your word”—
you know the grace of waiting,
the abyss between the promise
and the light, between the word
and the birth,
that even rising
is slow work.
Mary, may it be for us
according to your faith.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

           “Jesus, remember me
           when you come into your kingdom.”
                           —Luke 23.42

Nails of our sin in your flesh,
shout of our blame in your ears,
thorns of our pain in your bleeding brow,
nailed to our crosses,
our cruelty your condemnation,
all we have pierced you with,
all the evil we have flogged you with—

still you love,
you who would not save yourself but us,
climbing up the cross of our utterest despair,
heaving your ruined flesh up close to us,
crawling, trembling, into our suffering—
nothing, nothing can defeat your love.

I have stolen
to be this close to you,
you who have stolen my unworthiness,
you who break into my absolute loneliness,
sovereign who treats me, a thief and a beggar,
as more worthy.

For only a morsel of that healing,
only a sip of that grace, I would die.
Your realm that endures, that conquers
all shame and fear, all realms and empires,
I seek, I trust, more than I know how.
Demolished One, still you love,
and that alone saves me.

Jesus, remember me
when you come into your kingdom.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

           As they led him away,
           they seized a man, Simon of Cyrene,
           who was coming from the country,
           and they laid the cross on him, and made him carry it.
                           —Luke 23.26

It was your pain first before it was mine.
All this life I have borne, all the shame and fear, yours.
I have only come late to your journey.

Fear of powerful men is a rope around my heart.
I enter the agony of the condemned only when forced to.
This is my torture: to assist you is to assist in your death.

You have taken on the pain of the world
as your own, even mine, before it was mine.
There is nothing that hurts that does not hurt you.

Bearing the weight, I walk with you, shoulder to shoulder,
your breath in mine, your blood. Your pain.
You thank me. You encourage. You bless. You raise me.

You bear the weight, not I. Yours the love. Yours the strength.
Burdened, I am lifted. Wounded, I am healed.
This is my treasure: to be with you in your pain is to be with you.


“Come to me, you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens,
take my yoke upon you. I will give you rest;
for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

           “Away with this fellow! Release Barabbas for us!”
                           —Luke 23.18

Ah, lucky me.
I escape once again.
Always, I get away.
I’m not the one they pick
to be executed.
Others suffer, but not me.
Others are enslaved, trafficked,
have dumps in their neighborhoods,
get incarcerated, work for crap wages.
Others are poor and outcast;
I am protected and privileged.

Jesus, I repent of my smug security.
I repent of my reliance on scapegoats,
on “acceptable” victims,
on others suffering while I benefit.
Teach me to stay.
Teach me not to run
but to stay by your side,
to stay in solidarity,
to carry my cross.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net