A time to
be born and a time to die.
In
the days to come, we shall celebrate the One in whom the merest breath of our
common human experience, and the untameable wind/life-breath of God, come
together without striving.
John,
the Baptiser, came weeping and mourning; and his departure, his removal through
death, birthed Jesus, come laughing and dancing. And dying — and rising;
ascended — and coming again.
When
he first came, the men who presiding over his execution could not bring themselves
to tear his robe; instead, they threw dice, gambled against death. But even the
great curtain in the Temple was torn, from top to bottom; as the Father rent
his garments at the news of the death of his only Son. Yet it is neither robe
nor shroud nor Temple curtain that has been repaired in his rising, but the very
fabric of the universe, of space and time. For, truly,
Everything
has a season, and a time for every
matter
under the heavens.
and
all are fulfilled in him.
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