All Souls’ Evensong
Sunday November 4th 2018
The Rev’d Jenny Wilson
I don’t get the resurrection, she said,
As she sat on the sand looking at the waves
Thinking of the one she loved who had died.
She sifted the sand through her fingers.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
How much ancient death is here in these grains of sand?
I don’t get the resurrection, she said.
I don’t get the resurrection, she said,
As she walked through the bushland blackened by fire.
They say that some seeds only germinate after fire has raged,
Life after death.
But what does that mean for we human ones?
I don’t get the resurrection, she said.
I don’t get the resurrection, she said,
As she sat in her winter garden staring at the bare branches of the oak tree
Remembering the one she loved who had died.
I know, God,
You tell me that if I look close
I’ll see tiny pale green leaves growing on those branches.
But what does this mean for we human ones?
I don’t get the resurrection, she said.
She put her head in her hands.
When she opened her eyes minutes later
she found herself in another garden.
It was dark and she was surrounded by olive trees.
He was beside her.
What are you most afraid of losing, he said.
She thought about her treasures.
There were the obvious ones like her earrings
She liked earrings,
little stones circled in gold that dangling caught the light.
Not that.
It wasn’t that that she was afraid of losing.
She thought about her books.
She loved books.
Stories in which to hide and strangely find oneself.
Books about God and praying.
Not those either.
She thought about meals.
She loved preparing food for family, friends.
Remembering their favourite food and gathering them for a meal.
Not even that she thought.
It’s not even that that I am most afraid of losing.
She looked at him.
This, she said.
This is what I am most afraid of losing.
What, fear, he said, smiling at her.
No.
No, not that, I’ll be glad to leave that behind.
You always say, don’t be afraid.
Even to those poor disciples terrified in the boat in that storm,
You said, don’t be afraid.
But you were afraid, in this garden, you were afraid.
Yes, I was, he said.
No it’s this, this is what I am most afraid of losing.
The company, the conversation.
With you most of all.
But with all the dear souls.
With all my dear souls.
Come on, he said.
We’re going for a walk.
Where, she said.
Along that road.
What road, she said.
Have I been with you all this time and you don’t know, he said.
Oh, she smiled at him, the Emmaus road.
Are you going to open the scriptures for me too?
They walked for a while.
After I had died, he said, when I came back, what of me remained ?
I don’t know, she said.
I’ve tried to work it out, but I don’t know.
Something, something of you remained.
When you fed them bread and fish, was it real bread, real fish?
Does it matter, he said.
I don’t know, but you fed them.
Yes, he said.
And Mary, when Mary saw you she didn’t recognise you
How could she not have recognised you,
I’m sure I would have recognised you,
Or maybe not,
She knew you when you spoke her name,
And you wouldn’t let her touch you
As if you knew she didn’t need that
Is it that what we can’t touch, death can’t take away?
But Thomas was sure he had to touch you
And you would have let him
But when you talked to him
He didn’t need to, talking to you was enough.
I know what remained of you when you came back after you died.
The company, the conversation.
That’s what remained of you.
Something like that, he said.
They walked on a little way and then they sat down beside the Emmaus road and she rested her head in her arms.
When she lifted her head and looked around she saw that she was back in her own garden.
She found herself remembering again the one she loved who had died.
I don’t get the resurrection, she said.
But she smiled to herself,
And for just a little while,
Her soul was calm.
(Published in “Winter” – Wild Goose Publications)
