UNTITLED, 1999

The stone was chill. Cold as the rock
From which it was carved.
A boulder sat across the hole,
Solid, still, satisfactory,
Unmoving and unmovable,
To keep what was within
From all who sought to take
That pierced and still body.
With unseeing eyes,
The soldiers slept, believing their duty done.
No one now would dare to come,
Disobeying that same authority
Which kept them guarding on that night
So sadly following such a dark and awesome day
When thunder split the temple
And made all tremble and the crowd
Murmur, while some slipped away in fear.
What now could follow?
They woke, startled by the sound of women
Hurrying to pour their oils
Of blessing on that dead and wounded body.
Their waking minds could not grasp
What yet their eyes beheld.
The weighty boulder which had taken
All their well-trained strength
To move, no longer closed that tomb
But lay aside, and their bewildered eyes
Took in the weeping women
And the empty tomb.
Who was that man who lately lay,
Silent and dead, for dead he was.
And a hard time he had of it,
Borne like a soldier. What could they say
When their centurion came?
And what punishment would he mete out
After first sending them to find
Those who somehow crept along
To steal that body from the dark and sealed tomb?
But fear dispelled in the morning air
And they were glad that this man was gone
Whom Pilate called king of the Jews, for
What purpose they did not know,
Only that it was – satisfactory.
But who had moved the boulder
Silent in the night? What power,
They thought, could move that
Boulder as if a feather lifting?
Something indeed far stranger
Than any soldier could divine.
But yet their hears were glad, moved
By this moment of unknowing,
For this was a good man – man or god?

JEB

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