Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

Women will be there again and again. Every time the story is told.

They were there that Sunday morning when death rose like flames.

There was a tomb, they looked at it. They saw the earth quake. And a stone rolled away.

Pictures form and remain in my head. Of two women who looked on. Of men who trembled as if dead. The women still looked.

An angel spoke of the mystery surely present. He is not here. He has risen. See for yourselves. See for the world. But remember what you saw.

They left in a hurry, the two women, they left with their fears now mixed with joy. Their joy now mixed with peace.

The kind as endless as the skies like the never ending news we remember till today, which began with two women named Mary. He is risen.

We follow them to remember this mystery none of us can explain to anyone, that a cross, death and despair, can rise like flames and bring forth an indestructible light as sublime as the joy, peace and hope a death on a cross can bring to the life moving in us.

So how will you say it today. What will you say.

For me, I’ll remind you of how two women remembered that day, how they looked into a tomb, how they stood even when they earth quaked, how they left with fear, with joy, with peace as endless as the skies, remembering what they saw so we too can say say one day for ourselves that he is risen. Happy Easter Sunday