The risen Christ
remains a wounded Christ,
emerging from the tomb
as something other--
not a human as we know humans--
able to appear/disappear at will,
to walk through closed doors,
to be hidden even though present,
to be present even though hidden.
But in it all,
Christ remains wounded,
a gaping gash in his side,
hands and feet with holes
into which you can stick your fingers,
a ring of piercings across his forehead and scalp.
This is our reality.
We'd hoped for a resurrection
that closed the holes,
healed the gashes,
resulted in a pure, smooth, strong body,
but this, instead, is what we get--
a wounded, risen Christ.
Why, in my life,
would I ever expect
to escape my own bleeding brokenness?
Text and image © 2020 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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