here later this week.
Here's the poem -- the fruit of my meditation and prayer -- perhaps fruitful for yours.
Walking, I follow
The path along the woodland’s edge
Out into open meadow and a gravel road
I do not know where it will lead
I walk. I follow.
Walking, I think of the disciples, following
Walking with Jesus back to Bethany.
Danger awaits him.
He knows it: but the death
of his beloved friend, and sisters to console
call him back. He walks on
Toward the place that threatened him
Following the road.
Let us go with him,” Thomas mutters, grim
Let us go, that we may die with him.
Walking, they follow
Their beloved friend,
They walk. They love. They follow.
Close to Bethany
Martha meets them on the road
Wanting him alone
Away from those who fill her house
Mourners, friends and spies.
To her he speaks the words
That sound through all our grieving:
Resurrection. I am
Life, he says
Do you believe this? Can you trust?
(Do I believe this?) She answered quickly: “Yes”.
Thomas and the others: what about them?
I imagine, as I walk, all of them mourning
Sunk in his grief as he weeps with Mary’s tears.
And what comes next: beyond imagining:
Trembling, weeping at his friends’ distress,
Out of depths of human grief he calls out in a passion:
Roll away the stone!
And what comes next? I walk and wonder
Imagining his voice bursting out of him
like the thunderclap of timpani on Easter morning,
Opening the tomb.
Lazarus! he calls Come forth,
And the man steps out,
Tentative and wondering:
Out of the tomb into life.
“I am Resurrection: I am life” he said and says.
It is the claim that gets him killed. It changes everything
It breaks open the heart of history, and still he asks
“Do you believe, can you trust
I carry the rhythm of his question in my walking:
I walk. I love. I follow.