He is risen indeed, and the children, certain of thisrecurrent event, rise at first opportunity of dawn, to greet a table laid for the event, the celebration of miniature chocolate tombs, lefthollow to declare, “He is not here! He has risen, justlike He said He would.” But we sleep-weary grown-ups rub eyes, ask,“Really?” in ourContinue reading “Christ is risen?”
Category Archives: Easter
Didymus: An Easter poem for the Doubting Thomas in us all
Having grown accustomed to my garden’sentropy, its law of diminishingreturns, I saw no reason why this morningshould be any different, less barren.For years this corner had yielded nothingsave failed rhubarb, withered silverbeet.This cycle of death, I reasoned, should repeatuntil soil should die and sun should shrink.My friends reported miracles; I smiledin vain solidarity – atContinue reading “Didymus: An Easter poem for the Doubting Thomas in us all”
Resurrection Bread: A Holy Week Poem
This week, in the lead-up to Easter, my personal thoughts about the Resurrection found themselves expressed in the form of a sourdough starter that I was growing from scratch. Each day I wrote a five-line reflection on the process. While Jesus’ death and resurrection is of a scale far bigger than anything growing in aContinue reading “Resurrection Bread: A Holy Week Poem”
Late Night Bread
Kneadingafter the kids are asleepand the day’s tidy-up’s done,kneadingunresolved jobs anddisappointment intopositive dispersal of yeast throughdough,kneading prayer,kneading thoughtof friend in need, kneadingthe lossof this or that hope,kneading hope.And pounding,pounding heaven’s door like a breadboard,pounding grace into slackand crumbling day,pounding the gateof coming kingdom,pounding the weight of the season,the wait of the harvest,the slowness of leaven,theContinue reading “Late Night Bread”
Rise (Easter Morning)
Joy (Lent 21)
Miracles of Grass
A devout gardener, my eldest comes out hereeach day, to inspect, to water.Sometimes he waters the concrete, sometimesthe soil. Most of itis sapped up by unseasonal sun,some soaks in. Butas we persist, he and I, we seethis transformation, likea renewing mind: creeper grassstretching outgreen tendrils into a former wastelandand I am mindful to watchthe miracleContinue reading “Miracles of Grass”
Unless I See: After Caravaggio’s “Incredulity of Saint Thomas”
No need to touch the scars; Caravaggio got that detail wrong. The sheer force of His presence made Thomas crumple, doubt ceasing where belief gained life, the parched taste, hesitant like salt, exultant like wine, as loosened lips croaked, My Lord and my God. Yet I am comforted to see both the outstretched hand andContinue reading “Unless I See: After Caravaggio’s “Incredulity of Saint Thomas””
They knew Him too at breakfast
where, on the shore, He hadalready assembled, as a table,prepared for expected guests,a charcoal fire, some fish laid out,and, being himself the bread,a loaf laid for good measure. No need, of course, for the fish they brought.No need, either, for that excess in their boats.To feed seven mouths plus His,that net-bursting horn of plenty was,asContinue reading “They knew Him too at breakfast”
Resurrection Day
Nothing should compare to this:our singularity that, with earthquake force,shakes stones, baffles Rome, turnsthe mourners from the tomb with lightning conviction. And day on day this truth remains,though I have dishes to washand the ever-turning of the presentmakes me more a sullen Peter returning to his net than a Mary, fleeing the dead, for dearContinue reading “Resurrection Day”
The Consolations of Writing 