An Easter Message

by Louanne Robinson


Invisible fingers have rent the temple veil of bondage.

Humanity weeps, not knowing it has been set free.


I can almost visualize the funereal procession

as the beloved disciples bear his body to the tomb.


I can almost feel the white linen they used,

Their grief laden fingers,

Wrapping him endlessly,

round about....

round about....

round about.


And I can nearly taste the tears

as they run down their cheeks

and over their lips that uttered in lonely prayer.

"Dejected, empty souls, shuffle home"

"You look weary and lost"


The night engulfs them more swiftly than ever before.

Their beds and dreams that night,

Held no security, But only bitter memories and visions.

Agonizing visions,

of crosses

and blood

and his face.


But what is this expectant feeling that breathes in the wind

and procailms its self with the dawns birth?


An Angel's voice has rent the shrouds of their heart's bondage.

"Fear not ye, for I know that ye seek Jesus which was crucified,"

"He is not here, for he is risen!"



copyright 1977