No Rest for the Blessèd
“And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent; And the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, And came out of the graves after his resurrection, and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many.”
Matthew, chapter 27, verses 51-53
And the very earth shook beneath us,
And the sky came dark and the veil of the temple was rent –
As the Son at last came to leave us,
So the tombs where slept the saints were breached as He went.
And there they sat, arisen yet still,
Since so long dead, they patiently waited
For a night and a day and a night until
On Sunday morn, they arrived belated.
Zombies on the loose, they come !
Zombies in Jerusalum !
And yet not a word was spoken,
As He was interred by Joseph of Arimathea,
Of other tombs that were broken –
For surely he witnessed the quaking’s rough aftermath here ?
For there they sat, arisen yet still,
Awaiting the one who had yet to be buried –
So lay Him within the sepulchre’s chill
And roll up the stone, his soul long ferried.
Zombies yet procrastinate,
Zombies lurk and zombies wait.
And lo, not a word was spoken
By the Marys on Sunday making their way to His tomb,
As they passed all the saints newly woken,
As another earth-tremor gave sanction to auto-exhume.
No more they sat – unprisoned, unstill –
Now great was their stagg’ring and groaning as any –
As stumbling and jerking, they lurched down the hill
To Jerusalem, to the marvel of many.
Zombies, rotten of complexion !
Zombies join the Resurrection !
And never a word was spoken
By the Twelve at the Pentecost, just a few weeks on –
When their voices were no longer choken,
But gabbled in tongues – yet not asking where had the dead gone ?
Where now they sat ? Or risen they still ?
Where went their mission, so silent of news ?
What is the purpose they mean to fulfil ?
Is this what is meant by Wandering Jews ?
Zombies, born again through Christ !
Zombies, torn from Paradise !
And still not a word is spoken,
And the puzzling verse is never read out in church.
No statue or stained-glass token
Celebrate animate saints as they stumble and lurch.
And those who are sat in the pews quite still
And pretend that the verse is a metaphor or test –
I guess they haven’t the need or the will
To admit to themselves that it might be a jest.
Zombies, clinging to their mask,
Zombies, too afraid to ask.
No Rest for the Blessèd