Still, He Rises!
an Easter Poem
Still, He Rises
(John 20:1–18)
She came in the dark—
with grief folded tight in her chest
like a letter never sent.
She did not come looking for a miracle.
She came for the body.
For the silence.
For the tomb that would not move.
But even the stones know
they cannot hold Love forever.
She mistook him—
of course she did,
for the gardener.
He was dressed like earth.
He smelled like roots.
But when he said her name—
Mary…
the whole world shifted.
Not with quaking.
Nor might
But with memory and Love
Don’t tell me resurrection is a spectacle.
It’s not.
It’s not fireworks and fame,
polished pulpits or made-for-TV praise.
Resurrection is a name
spoken in the dark
by the One who knows your sorrow
and is not afraid to say it.
And still, he rises—
in the women who weep
but don’t turn back.
In the voices that tremble
but still speak truth.
In the brown-skinned Christ
mistaken for a stranger
because we forgot what God looks like
with dirt on his hands.
He rises—
in the whispers,
in the wounds,
in the names we forgot were ours.
So go on.
Say it now.
Say it strong:
I have seen the Lord!
Say it with the weight of your waiting.
Say it like the sun breaking open.
Say it like hope that will not die.
Because even in the dark—
especially in the dark—
still,
he rises.
Hear the poem spoken here: