You told me in Galilee this would happen to you.
Suffering, rejection, death … rising up?
Forgive the doubt which deafened me.
I did not want to know what bitter cup you had to drink.
You only spoke another parable, so I told myself.
Story became cruel truth when I saw you nailed to a cross,
your arms stretched taut in agony, never to embrace again.
I watched and wept distraught through midday gloom
As you were torn from me like a veil from my face.
Those many days I walked beside you,
prepared your food, sat with you by firelight,
I did not know your body held my own Messiah.
My deliverer from demons, discerner of my thoughts,
all I knew was that you loved me.
When I saw your lifeless body laid in a tomb, you were lost to me.
Myrrh and aloes imbued with tears, my last offering.
Death rolled its stone between us,
crushed all but memories of how you loved.
In mourning I came sleepless through gray dawn
to your empty grave awash in angel light.
“He is not here; he has risen!” they told me.
I cried until you said my name.
My heart knew, before my eyes beheld you.
I was the first to see your wounded feet walk again,,
once cold in death, now warm beneath my tears.
Behind me gaped your empty tomb.
Love stood before me, whole, alive.
I should have known, Rabboni, you would find a way.