Rachel Allord

Oh it was bleak
Those days in between.
When hope was dead.
Not wounded or missing, ill or asleep
but dead.

Lamb followed freely
to the execution tree
And before their own eyes,
hope breathed his last.

Spear pierced in, evidence poured out
Body was lowered, wrapped-up, entombed.
Hope said it himself, with final exhale:
It is finished.

What was finished? Light? Life? Goodness? Hope?
Darkness cackled, death crowed
Evil cheered, despair rose.

But sun set and sun rose.
Sun set and sun rose.
Sun set and sun rose.

And then.

And then what was hidden rushed forth
What was humiliated became adored
What was impossible came to be
What was bound broke free.

Gentle Lamb burst forth as Lion
Principalities bowed to his will
Nature, time, science– jumped to his bidding,
Light blinded darkness, death couldn’t prevail.

But oh.

Oh it seems bleak, in this time in between.
Darkness spreading, breeding, boasting
Seeming to conquer, seeming to win
Light seems dimmer, good is thinner,
hope seems frailer, evil feels stronger
As we wait our three days of darkness.

We wait our time in between
The empty tomb but a prelude
of the glory we hope to see.
For death was defeated for always,
and darkness of soul can be lit.
He who drowns can be caught up and rescued
she who’s soiled can be washed and redeemed.

For Lamb laid down without struggle
burst forth as Lion from grave.
We hold this truth in these vessels.
Because Our Hope died
Because Our Hope lives.

© 2018 Rachel Allord