I went to the garden tomb
I went with them early that morning
Down to the garden tomb.
Bereft of my hope for redemption,
To visit my friend, to mourn.
Through the crisp cold of morning
We walked, saying nothing at all.
Our feet crushed the grass beneath us,
Our souls the same; all hope eternally gone.
A mother’s heart crushed beyond bearing.
Friends who ran, now riddled with shame.
I scorned Him too as He gasped, dying,
My sin in that noble frame borne.
I had slept a night, as well, in a garden
As He cried aloud against the bitter cup.
I abandoned Him, as He has now me;
Is this the penalty for my shame?
I stooped to peer into His grave site,
My eyes expecting darkness and gloom.
My anguish punctured by blinding light,
The angel’s words dismissing my pain:
“Why do you look for the living
In this place reserved only for death?
He is not here, He is risen!”
Life for the living; resurrection, the dead.
- Steve Carter (May 2019)