Dear Friend and Brother

Dear friend and brother – can I still call you so?
I was thrilled to read of your escape from the tomb.
I suppose I should say, your escape from death;
that’s the real miracle, isn’t it?
And how lovely that the first person to meet you –
apart from those angels –
was one who knew you so well and loved you so much.
She will immediately have known how shaken,
bruised, clawed, vulnerable you still felt,
how slowly re-energising,
like a butterfly fresh from the chrysalis.
I’m quite sure she wasn’t dismayed for long
when you said, “Don’t touch me!”
She will have known why you flinched away.
She never needed that of you, did she?
You were the one she could trust not to demand it!
It was only her compassion that reached out to you, my lovely Lord,
to want to cradle you like a child that’s been hurt.
And I know you can understand her tears and mine,
as we think of your dear self
so broken, so abused.
For even though we know the ending now,
and even though we share your joy,
that’s hard to think upon!
Those blows.
That hatred.
That contempt.
A world of tears could not atone for all of that.
I almost feel – how could you ever forgive us?
I understand, you see, that all those sinful things
that you bore,
were my sins,
our sins,
your friends’ sins,
as well as all the world’s.
How could we do that to you, whom we loved?
I wish I’d been there by the Lake,
to be restored in your love,
as Peter was.
I wish I’d been at Emmaus, or the upper room,
to see your eyes,
and no reproach at all!
So I thank the Father for Mary your friend,
who stands for all flawed mortals,
a past so full of sin,
a now, so full of love.