The first time I celebrated Easter as something more than bunnies and colored eggs was in 1973. I’d become a Jesus Freak in the summer of ’72. That following spring, a friend and I attended the Easter Sunrise Service at Red Rocks Amphitheater. I watched in awe as the new born sun illuminated the Denver city skyline, shadows scurried away from the soft light, reflections glinted off tall glass buildings, golden beams fingered through bare tree branches, the ancient red rocks surrounding us were rebirthed in reds and golds. And my heart burst with hope. The purple, gold, and red thread cutting the jagged skyline stirred in me an assurance that no matter my pain over the loss of my father, my own health and addiction problems, my confusion about life, in Christ I had more before me than behind. I realized Jesus gave a damn about my pain and suffering.
Fifty some years later I glance back and see that there was truth in my first Easter Son Rise.
Later I read about what some call the scarlet thread of redemption that runs through so many stories in the Bible: The promise of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection is a red thread of hope from Genesis through Abraham, Ruth, David, Esther, Anna, and to me and you.
In life God Incarnate would have red blood course his veins, in death he would spill it for us, and in resurrection fulfill the Father’s promise to redeem us body, blood, and soul.
For Holy Week this year I wrote a Trilogy of poems, The Woman Who Touched Him: Life, Mary’s Loss: Death, and Mary Magdalene: Resurrection to show how that thread ran through and touched and transformed three remarkable but also ordinary women. Today’s is the story of the woman who suffered for twelve years. Until she met Jesus!
I’ve posted each poem below in two forms: As Spoken Word Poetry and a written version. Listen or read or listen and read.
Please let me know how the scarlet thread of redemption has run though your life!
The Woman Who Touched Him: Life
A rutted tear rivers down
My cheek
Trailing dirt and pain
In its wake.
A red thread quivers down
My thigh
Bearing death and dread
In its life.
Twelve years these two
Have traced.
Blood and tears
In deadly race.
Priest, doctor, rabbi all
Failed to dam
My bloody flow
Instead damned
Am I.
“Tumat niddah,” they wail.
“Unclean blood!” became
My name.
No husband, no children
Draw near.
No help, no hope
I fear.
Until he came.
Rumored
To bear the
Dred.
To heal,
Raise the dead.
I wait now
Hope in hand
Along prayer pocked
Road
To Jerusalem.
My eyes
Catch
Sandal dust
Flash in
Dying sun.
There he strode
The Chosen One.
Head bowed
Crowd bound.
Blood and
My heartbeat
Quickened.
Strength drained.
Hope waned.
At his
Tread
In awesome
Dread
I pressed
My tunic
Tight to
Thigh.
By faith
I draw
Into his
Stream.
“Tumat niddah,”
They scream.
And part like
Sea of Red
At Moses’
Command.
Again
I’m damned.
Clothed in
White and red
Tassel laden
Rabbi robe,
He yet
Raises hope.
I stretch out
Blood stained
Hand
For this
Holy man.
A blow to
My back
Drives me down.
Fingers swipe
Only his
Gown.
Air, hope,
A prayer
“Master, heal!”
Escapes
My gritted
Teeth.
The crowd flows on.
I rise alone
Tear
On cheek
Blood
On thigh
Miraculously
Run dry.
“Who touched me?”
The Master said.
“Surely you jest!”
One beside him
Chides.
The Master
Turns.
Brown eyes
Find mine.
“Twas me,”
I confess.
Fingers taut
As only faith
Can hold.
I proffer tassel
Torn from
His robe.
Bound with
One red
Thread.
“Daughter,
Your faith
Has healed you.
Go in peace,”
He said.
From Luke 8:43-56
L. S. Hawker is a good friend, fellow Jesus Freak, and bestselling thriller author.
Eugene—
You continue to amaze!
Happy Easter to you and yours,
Sandy
Thank you, Sandy. We will get to participate in an outdoor Easter service on Sunday! It will be Happy!
I loved hearing the poem read by your friend!
Love the new look of your website too.
Thanks, Julie. I pray your weekend is holy and restoring!