On the third day, when the dark clouds of the two just passed had succeeded, and the scars, passed out by violent men in the parade, had started to heal, but their freshness was held in forehead and hands and feet, wrapped in cloth and lain down on a stone bed, so hard, there could be no comfort, except for One who had carried the lives of the living upon His back.
The sleeping guards had felt the morning, covering their souls with with the bastion of the horror just ending, and slept heavily, and not hearing, the stone cover of the gravesite moving open, with no hands or backs pressed in effort.
Arise He did, quietly, without harm, without the fear of someone so torn that the blood and water had poured from His body, His brow covered with the holes of the crown of thorns, but who stepped away from death and those who impended it on Him, and walked, and still walks about among us.
Years ago, yesterday, this moment shall or should remain one in all our hearts, as He was raised by his Father, set free from the torment, and left with scars, only scars with memories of the ones He tried to save, and feelings of those He would save, from His heavenly throne.
Arise. Christ walked it, and continues to move throughout our lives, with those scars still visible in those hands that hold us.
Ralph Peck
Photography by Belva Shelton
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