Grace and Peace to you.
“Look at my hands and my feet;
see that it is I myself.
Touch me and see;
for a ghost does not have flesh and bones
as you see that I have.”
The Romans tried tried to sever Jesus from his life,
to pry him from his own flesh,
to separate the spiritual from the physical.
Death, they reasoned, ought to do it well.
How daft of them to think
the One who made all things would fall for that,
the One who crafted earth and us from dust,
who fashioned smooth and rugged stones,
and lungs and lips and eyes and hands,
and bones that bear their burdens
with such elegance and grace,
and skin, its mounds and cups and curves
and plains and folds so eloquent,
alluring, and divine would let it go—
to think the Creating One would by their violence
forget pronouncing all things
in their concrete thingness good.
They didn’t know the one thing that God wants
is for all love to be made flesh.
So when they robbed poor Jesus of his breath
and blood, one thing God gave him, new
and holy, raising him from death, was this:
a body, flawed but breathing, flesh and bone.
And still that love’s embodied:
you, believer, are no ghost,
but the trembling, wounded hands of Christ,
imperfect, but bestowing blessing;
we together are his side, pierced by the world’s rage,
flowing with water and the blood.
Look at your hands, that God has made. This is
the glory in which resurrection comes.
Look around at us, that God has raised. We are
the flesh and bones of Christ,
that even death itself can’t kill.