Singing the Jubilate brings to mind
not so much of triumph as of puzzlement,
even of doubt ‘She thought he was the gardener’
and obdurate disbelief from Thomas.
The linen shroud that had been struggled out of
was evidence enough. He might have borrowed
the gardener’s coat to cover nakedness
to play a glorious joke on Mary, set her
laughing as well as crying out for joy.
Later the trick played on the way to Emmaus
pretending to be a stranger while he
probed their grief, their bitter lack of hope,
before he blessed and broke the familiar bread.
And then the seaside breakfast. How many times
after a night of fishing in the dark
had they been surprised to find a meal laid out,
a fire to dry them, warm them, welcome them?
How many times have we broken and torn
by loss or weariness glimpsed those flames
on a solitary beach? Have felt his presence
warm with laughter, teasing us out of self
and quietly offering us companionship?
Sylvia Read
After Easter
Sylvia Read