It takes a lot to believe

often there is nothing but

the desire to believe.

I know that the Teacher was

a man of God.

He healed, I saw it happen.

I could smell the festering lepers,

but after he touched them

I could see their flesh renewed,

revitalized. Pink and healthy.

I watched the paralyzed

man rise from his bed

and walk. It was impossible

to deny it. I didn’t need to believe

because all of the proof I needed

was in my memory.

But now you tell me that he somehow

just walked out of the tomb?

His body was broken! His blood

pooled through the wraps

and onto the slab even as we

laid him down.

I am ashamed of all of you for

lying! Ashamed.

Unless I see the nail holes in his hands

(his beautiful hands, the long fingers

that restored the eyes of the blind)

unless I can put my finger through the mark

and my hand through the gash in his side,

then and only then will I believe.

Who is there?

“Peace be with you”