Dawn

(For two female voices)

We meet in the early morning, in the darkness.
Before the sunrise has returned colour to the world.

There is no colour in our dark world.

We walk through the grey streets to the dark garden.

For two days, all has seemed grey.

Yesterday, it seemed the sun didn't rise.

We simply sat limply.

We walk through the shadows under the grey trees.
We come to the corner before the cold stone tomb.

We brace ourselves to face the stern, burly stonefaced men.

"Let us pass," We will say, "We have come to tend to our fallen king."

All that is left now is the arrangement of the dead,

like making a bouquet from dry lifeless flowers.

The Earth moves sideways under our feet and we stumble,

And ahead there is a light in the darkness.

Unsure, we walk forward ...

And we see astonishing strangeness!

There is the tomb, but all changed!
A man, all aglow, as if the sun lit him from within,
Sits smiling atop the heavy entrance stone,
And the stone, strangely, sits beside the dark empty entrance!

The soldiers sit silently slumped, their grey faces slack.

Then the sun rises.
The rays reach through the branches
And they fall through the hole in the rock

Light spills into the hole that holds our Lord.

The shining man,

The flashing angel,

Yes, he is clearly an angel,
He smiles and speaks to us.

To us!

We stand transfixed, our mouths open, our feet frozen.
"You're looking for the crucified Jesus, but he's gone!"

"He said he would rise, and he has!"

"The tomb is empty! Go look!"

We can't move but we see, through the empty hole,

We see the sun's yellow rays falling across the vacancy,

The sunlight warming the empty yellow sandstone,

The place where our Lord lay, now with only empty white linen.

"Now go!" That strange voice shocks us again,
"Go and tell his fearful followers, cowering in their dark hole,
Tell them to shake off their sadness and get to Galilee,
And he will meet them there! Now go!"

And with that, we turn, our heads spinning, and run.

We are terrified, but alive, alive and awake like never before!

The garden glows and shimmers with rich colours,

And the news fills us to bursting.

We run!

And then we stumble to a stop as if the earth had moved again.

There stands, smiling, all impossibly,

The man that minutes ago we wept for!

"Good morning, ladies!" He says.

We fall forward, each grabbing an ankle as if drowning.

"Lord, you're alive!"

"Hallelujah!"

"How is this possible?"

"You're everything you said you were!""

We gush embarrassingly, weeping, this time for joy, but still,

Still, we are also filled with fear.

"Relax," He smiles, touching our shoulders, "Loosen your grip; don't be upset.
Go and tell my brothers to get to Galilee and I'll meet you there."

Next thing we know, we're on our feet and running again,

Running through the glowing garden,

Grins splitting our faces, tears streaking our cheeks.

And glancing over our shoulders we see only an empty shadow-streaked path.

Onwards we rush, our skirts flapping around us, to find the followers

Hiding fearfully in the shadowy rooms.

We're running now to them with our news,

To chase away the dusty shadows,

To throw open the shutters,

To let the sun's light stream in.

Matt 28:1-10
CC-BY-SA license, attribute to "Alan Bruce"

A Familiar Story, Retold

The sun sets over the rough rooftops, the dirty crowded streets. The weary couple push through milling multitudes, past patrolling soldiers. The pregnant girl is pushed by passers-by. She grimaces as another contraction wracks her small body. But still, she thinks, the journey was worth it. This distant city is the perfect place to escape the shame of small-town gossip.

The innkeeper can smell the scandal, but he softens, wipes his hands on his apron, and takes them out back, to the straw-strewn stables. He sends a boy running for the midwife and lights a lamp. You can use this pile of hay. No forget it, you don't have to pay.

The place hangs heavy with the thick earthy smell of animals. A damp chill rises from the stone floor. The lamps sputter in the random drafts from the open doorway.

The father stands helplessly by, listening to her cries, her tears, her animal-like sounds, watching her face clenched and furrowed by pain. I don’t understand, this can’t be right, he thinks, why did we have to hide here? Maybe that angel was just a dream. Well, I’ll know for sure if it’s a girl, or if he has a Roman nose, or if he looks like Eli from down the street.

Push, the old midwife says, push.

The mother barely thinks beyond the next contraction; they come so quickly now, she is barely coherent. I don’t understand, this can’t be right, she thinks, I was highly favoured, I was blessed – why does it hurt so much? And it hurts – so – much! Where is Gabriel now? My God, why have you abandoned me?

But no angels appear to her, and she is not comforted.

There, in the pungent dimness, a squalling baby boy spills into the world and history hinges, the universe upends, a donkey defecates and a horse kicks the door of its stall.

A group of ragged men lie around a tiny flickering fire. One, without even a blanket, looks into the fire and says, my uncle has land up north, he's going to send for me one of these days, and I'll be sleeping in a real bed. Another man, lying on his back, scorns, yeah and my sheep shit gold denarii. The men all laugh. The fire dies down. And then, the sky opens like a white rose blooming, and these scarred, ragged men with their yellowed broken teeth become heaven's only audience, lonely witnesses to the immense glory of God's paternal rejoicing. Their cold journey to the dingy stable is the only pilgrimage this chilly night.

Who understands the mind of God? Who comprehends the willful humiliation of his beloved Son? Why hide His Glory in dirty obscurity? Who knows? But he still does it. His Spirit still chooses the most unlikely places to take up residence. Now, he comes to dwell in the muddy messes of our lives.

(Copyright 2009, Creative Commons Attribution Only licensed, Alan Bruce. Please link to this post in attribution)

Night Garden

In this dark place of cool night
The leaves shine dully in the moonlight
And the morning never comes
And the cup is never taken

The gnarled trees, the shining leaves
Stand silent, impassive, in the dark
And I find no comfort
And I sweat no blood

The grass gathers glistening dew
The air cools to a sharp edge
And I find I cannot pray
And I find I cannot stand

The crickets make monotonous music
The garden waits for the distant dawn
And I think, "why have you abandoned me?"
And I cannot say, "Your will, not mine"

Or maybe that's not me kneeling

Maybe that's me drowsing over there
With a full belly and a dull mind
Having just promised to never betray

Or is that me coming through the dew
Clutching my paltry silver
Leading the grim silent soldiers?