Easter Sunday
“Weeping may last for a night.
Weeping may last for a thousand nights.
But joy comes in the morning.
That morning we went to our beloved teacher’s tomb.
We went to anoint his body.
We carried oil and cloths.
We came to the tomb in sorrow, heads bowed low.
But hope does not die so easily.
It flickers inside, buried somewhere deep.
Hope grows, blossoms like a rose
even through stone,
even in hearts frozen by grief.
When we arrived at the place where he lay
We dropped all that we carried, in wonder, in fear,
to see the tomb laid open, and our beloved gone.
Do not weep, said the man.
This morning we rejoice.
Love lives. Hope lives.
Jesus is not here, he said.
Come and see.
He is risen.
Our beloved is risen. Our hope is risen.
Can it be?
Can it be?”
At the Tomb by Molly Housh Gordon
Chorlton Unitarians 