Category Archives: Easter

The Empty Cross

The Empty Cross

Three crosses on a hill
Two occupied, bones picked clean
One stained only with blood
In death empty

Where is the body?
Wrapped in linen, incense, myrrh?
Hidden in a rock-hewn tomb?
Guarded by soldiers?

The Tomb stands open, vacant
Scattered stips of cloth
Left on a stone slab
The garden quiet, birds singing
In the distance

Where is the Man buried here?
Where is death’s victim?
Where is the crown of thorns?
Where are the tears shed here?

A crowd on a hill
A man glowing in light
A rising, shining glory
Clouds enclose the view
Christ is ascended..

c. Darlene Moore Berg

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The Paschal Lamb

The Paschal Lamb

God’s blood is on the doorpost of my heart,
salvation poured out into my life.

The angel of Death flies overhead,
and I am invisible in the night.

Standing I eat unleavened bread
sent from heaven,
drink the wine of remembrance—
a supper of lamb.

I am marked by His redemption.
I eat no bitter herbs.
I taste joy.

c. Darlene Moore Berg
IMG_0174

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Easter Communion

Dark as the blood that rolled down
Your brow
the cup I hold now

reflects Your savaged face
the thorn pricks of grace

c. Darlene Moore Berg

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Forgiveness

“Forgive One Another…”

That is the crux of the matter
— Christ
hanging out there with all my
ignominious sins, excuses,
quick judgments, bad-mouthing,
rotten attitudes— for all to see
— the power of His Love—
God’s mercy price
God’s inestimable sacrifice
— and how can I not accept
His forgiveness running red
beneath my very feet—
except there’s a catch,
a barb in the hook—
the cost of forgiveness
is to forgive, too—
you and you and you and—
just might as well nail me up there instead—
I’m already dead.

c. Darlene Moore Berg

This is written somewhat tongue in cheek but the message of the essentiality of forgiveness in the Christian life isn’t. http://wp.me/pKz2X-gT

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Stigmata

Stigmata

He bears the marks
still
the proof scored
for eternity
onto the incarnate
God

The scars of death,
the ransom of iniquity
the imprint of the tab
of Adam’s sin
the price of forgiveness
by the holiest of Holies

And if we but touch
His hands, his side
his pierced feet
in faith
and own the cost
He is our salvation, too.

c.Darlene Moore Berg

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On an Easter Morning

On an Easter Morning

Shame stays the fisherman’s hand
on the grey cold stone,
the rough-hewn opening of His tomb.

Eyes cannot pierce the darkness
cast by reluctance’s own shadow,
his broad-shouldered body occludes the entrance.

Guilt to meet His gaze.
Fear to find the form, still in death
wrapped tighter than a newborn
in his swaddling cloths.

Faith in women’s tales?
Swallow convulsively the taste of hope.
Pain to breathe, to dare belief—

Where are you Lord, brother, friend
— Father?
Plunge into the dark truth, the vacant reality.

Peter absently shreds, ties in knots
discarded linen strips.
Casts a net in search of deeper meanings.

c.Darlene Moore Berg

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A new Poem for Maundy Thursday

Behold the LambGospel of John 1:29, 36

Cherish the lamb
fuzzy, warm, wriggling
His nose butting against your chest,
the door of your heart.
White, soft, snow his fur
rough silk, catch
a strand curling around your fingers

Hold Him, closer
breathe in his essence
gaze into his clear bright eyes.
Feel the staccato of his heartbeat
pulse underneath your hand:
Tomorrow He dies for you
understand
He will make your Passover
— complete.

c. Darlene Moore Berg

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