In my being,
Right there
In the centre,
In the darkness,
Lies a cold,
Hard, dead heart,
Which stands up
In weak defiance
And rebellion
Against the One
Who made me,
And loves me.
My lifeless heart
Confirming the truth
That I am dead
Through my
Insurrection.

The Father calls,
The Spirit breathes,
My heart awakens
To the beauty
Of the Son,
And as I believe
His grace moves
And that which is dead
Quickens to life,
And rises up
With strong conviction
And deep certainty.
My beating heart
Confirms the truth
That I am alive
Through His
Resurrection.

In the darkness
Eclipsing not just nature,
But drawing death
Like a cloak over
The Light of men,
Life is crushed,
Weighed down by
Hard, lifeless hearts.

Hanging there,
Hanging on, until
“It is finished”,
Life gives way
To the death
Which brings death –
The curse of ages
Which loves the darkness.

The lost call out,
Even in His dying hour,
“Jesus, remember me
when you come into your kingdom.”
The Life knowing that through His death,
He would have life and that life
Is life for all who believe;
As He had already spoken,
“Because I live, you also will live.”

Few gasps of life become fewer
As the darkness thickens,
The blood runs ceaselessly –
Draining the life of the one who is Life.
Ever trusting; “Father!”
“Into your hands I commit my spirit!”
If we share in His death, then
We share in His resurrection.