My heart is heavy that these Easter days are ending.
These all too few days tell of a joy unended.
The witnesses with Mary first, the hopeful message sending.
But they did not believe her. Do I, my every suspicion suspended?
They doubted too, the men on the road. Do I?
And then He stood before them and still they stood dumbfounded.
I too, like them, stand reproached for my incredulity and obstinacy, believing any doubting lie.
This table now, this pen, this chair say I am here, your doubt confounded.
And do I heed His words, “Go out”.
“Proclaim this good news to all creation.”
Do we creep about, our word in shy whisper or in confident shout.
That this news cannot be hidden. It stands in glorious citation.
But I sit alone in my gentle garden. Drop of rain, birds calling. Wind sighing.
And with muted thought, a quiet disciple, merely thinking.