You don’t think I would’ve left you guys off with just a depressing poem did you? DID YOU??? Well, the best part of the Easter weekend includes the fact that Jesus is risen. WOOHOOO!!! So this here’s a poem continued off from the main story line.
And this time, I came up with a title. Yeahhh man.
A Singed Revival
It’s now Sunday.
A few days have passed
Since I was here Friday.
*** (again, this is the spacing b/w the stanzas)
I walk through the woods,
Against the wind blast
I pull up my hood.
Shame is washing over me
Drowning me, yet holding me fast
I wonder if I’ll ever be free
I come to the stake on the mound
Though it seems like centuries have passed
Since he was mercilessly bound
I turn away, I can’t stay a second more
Until all of a sudden, as I look with a gasp,
A figure rises out from the ashen floor.
The ashes crumble off as the figure stands up
I stand there frozen, utterly aghast
And become as meek as a shivering pup
“Why are you afraid?”
The ashen-clothed figure asks
“Don’t you know me? Have you not prayed?”
“But-” I helplessly stammer, “you perished,
I saw the flames devour even the grass
And then everyone fled, including your parish.”
The being smiles, then shows me his arms,
Just singes, but a stark contrast
Against his incandescent arms, and rope burns
“Come,” he gestures past the collapsed forest
And we walk, at last,
To join in the heavenly chorus.
The main point that we can take away from Jesus’ revival story is that He’s not only alive, but also risen with nail-scarred hands, making him even more holy and blameless to us. He arose, scarred, but arose just the same. He could have gone around to save us an easier way, or could have decided, “Nah, I don’t really like them that much anyway,” and zapped us right then and there.
But he didn’t. He chose to come down to our world, saved us by dying on the cross, and then returned to heaven with nail-scarred hands because he loves us.
His hands are still scarred to this day.