I find myself asking, what does it mean? The ritual celebration of this strange thing unseen Mysterious event, in history shrouded Somehow in popular imagination now clouded Those beatific images, glowing and pure Three painted crosses, pristine grave, I’m not sure Why, for such a frail thing, Christians give thanks In a world marred by guns, and brutality, and tanks What good’s ‘resurrection’ in the grime and the mud In a bomb-blighted landscape, killing fields of blood Till we remember that Jesus, before the faint-dawning light Fell foul as well of raw political might He too was cornered and ground down and crushed His goodness they tried hard to drown out and hush And yet Easter morning made it clear, made it plain A slow burning power that couldn’t be contained That burst every barrier, broke through every wall Filled hearts with joy and made timid men tall And I trust that in war zones, and each human heart This power still brings healing, and hope, a new start
Broadcast on BBC Radio Leeds & Premier Christian Radio
It’s not very long (unless I’ve got this wrong) Since Easter, that marks resurrection Which (let’s not be blind) to the scientific mind As a theory, seems far from perfection To hold in your head someone rose from the dead Stretches credulity at best Some are inclined to think we should find Ways to put this idea to the test. The problem right here, to be perfectly clear Is it’s not something easily repeated But to turn round and say that it’s bunkum, go away Is no way for the thing to be treated For a moment just think (it might make you blink) We once thought (cos we’re standing still) The idea this place, is now barrelling through space Would have made the average punter quite ill But when someone suggested (it was sorely contested) That we hurtle full pelt round the sun This novel solution sparked a revolution In our views (that must have been fun). In a similar way, I ask in our day When the notion of God is derided And pushed to the brink, maybe time to rethink Some ideas that we long ago decided I don’t mean to plod, but just think, if God Like the sun is what life goes around Then the thing that seems weird, that some bloke with a beard Came to life, might just get off the ground.
What a strange year for the world to endure For the trauma, the loss, there’s no quick easy cure Sadness and loneliness, trouble and grief Enough to test anyone’s faith – and belief Something to think on this Easter weekend In the midst of a trial that’s not yet at an end Something to muse on, to dig deep and ponder This traditional season of life, hope – and wonder Something that burns deep inside me this hour Is a hunger, a thirst now for resurrection power There may be a ‘road map’ to guide us through trial But where to find hope – that lasts more than a while? I long, yes I do, that every bruised battered heart That struggles and thirsts, could find a drop, yes a part A portion, a helping of this marvellous thing That like liquid gold fills the soul, makes it sing That doesn’t just endure for a short fleeting night But like the sun soars through the spring morning bright