The Resurrection

A meditation

Look at the guards first. They were set to watch a tomb — armed men, armoured, with a crossbow and shields and spears — and look at them now. One asleep with his head on his hand. One flat on his back with his helmet rolled away. One with his arm thrown over his eyes. And one, on the right, awake — on his knees, hands together, staring. He has seen it.

Now look at what he has seen. A man stepping out of a stone box as if it were a doorway. Red cloak flying out behind him though there is no wind. A banner with a cross on it. One hand raised. The wounds are still there — look, in his hands, his side, his feet — and he is walking on them.

His face is very calm. He is not surprised. He said he would do this, and now he has done it, and he is looking at you the way you look at someone you told so.

Faith is the fruit of this mystery, and the picture shows you what it is. Not the sleeping guards — they saw nothing and believe nothing. Not the soldier hiding his eyes — he saw and could not bear it. The one on his knees: he saw, and it undid him, and he stayed on his knees and kept looking. That is faith. Seeing, and not looking away.

The tomb is open. The stone lid is pushed aside. Far off on the road behind him the women are coming — they do not know yet.

You know. Kneel with the soldier. Keep looking.