Updated: Sep 20
I went to see them this morning
These men who knew Jesus too
He’d ask me to go to them
They seemed like the obvious ones to share this amazing story with
They couldn’t hear it though
Wouldn’t hear it
I don’t know if it was me or the message they were choosing to reject
But they couldn’t take on board what I was trying to tell them
And that so crushed the joy that had surged in me.
They might have been more inclined to believe if it had been the witness of more than one
But, it wouldn’t have been the same
It was a such an intimate moment
One where he held me
And told me
He wasn’t sure what had happened to him
When he woke again that morning
He felt like he might be alive again
But feared he might be some kind of ghost
He only knew he was truly alive again
When he had been seen, held, touched
Whom he knew and loved,
And who knew him and loved him too
Perhaps most of all.
I wanted so much to stay there,
To hear him, hold him, talk to him,
Dance with him,
Be with him
He told me there would be time for that,
But for now
He needed me to be strong,
Not to cling
To go to the others
And tell them he would be going back to his Father and Our Father, to His God and Ours
Why would he trust me with this amazing good news?
Because of the connection between us,
I know that
That he’d come to me first bears that out…
But not when the questions spin in my head
Was I just imagining it?
Am I mad after all?
Do my demons really exist?
Was it a play on my mind?
Did it never happen?
Why would he come to me?
Why won’ they listen?
Where else can I go?
Who else can I go to?
What did he hope could happen by telling me first?
How can I be a witness to what I’ve seen and heard if no-one will listen
Not even those who first helped me hear?