And All Flesh Shall See It Together

Luca Signorelli, Orvieto Cathedral. "Resurrection of the Flesh." 1500.

Signorelli’s son died in the plague; one of these faces is his, an expression of his father’s hope.

Dad.

Arlington Cemetery. Easter Morn.

Hundreds. No, thousands, of tombstones.

The carillon rang out as we sang together

"Christ the Lord is ris’n today! Allelujia!"

First of the harvest.

More to follow.

Someday me.

Flesh replaces metal bar in my shoulder. Scars on hips and forehead morphed to pink skin. Or maybe celebrated as meals delivered, prayers offered, reminders that community hugged, brought casseroles, showed up.

Reunion with my body 2.0.

Naked I came. So did he.

Naked he returned. So will I.

Naked he will rise. I will too. Because...

Incarnation.

Resurrection.

Ascension.

All embodied.

Raised to new life. This time literally.

The communion of the saints and the holy catholic church

United in glory-flesh

In the new city.

Wall-less. Fortress-less. Police-less. Prison-less.

The redeemed finally seeing "earth and heav'n be one." On earth as it is in heaven,

Bouncing on toes when the trumpet sounds,

The carillon of heaven ringing.

Earth's cemeteries empty their contents.

And Dad and I, in new bodies, join our voices to sing of the risen Christ

Once again.