Benjamin came home with a poem. Although he completed the assignment, he did it in such an unsuspecting way. Through blood. “Really, Benjamin? You wrote about blood?”
“Yes Papa. There was hurting and pain and it was everywhere. But don’t worry, it is finished now.”
After Friday’s blood was finished,
and Saturday’s journey completed,
the emptiness of Sunday rang forth.
His words echoed from our memories
our confusion dissipated to delight.
Death did not pass over, the bitter herbs and salt consumed,
the lamb was slain, the cup was passed, broken bread for everyone.
Promises remembered, hope held fast, the world took a collective breath.
Yet the tomb was empty and the world began to spin, it all made sense again,
Atonement had been made complete.
The hollowness of the cross, where our tainted blood was set free
The powerlessness of death, prisoners shouting forth in glee
The emptiness of a tomb, and joy unspeakably
Freedom so lasting, empowering, complete, for all eternity.
nehrely there 