If I had just one thing to pray, “Let the living die and the dead be raised,” And at the sight of empty graves, “Lay all lies to rest in their rightful place.” If I could just one truth proclaim, "Death is a lie. Death is a lie!" And though this cask oft be a casket, When the spirit is willing the flesh doesn't mean a thing. Should those in the grave think to pray, let them ask from within their shame, “Who has called us out by name, that to him we would give all praise?” They will hear an angel say, “Behold, the LORD!”

Beloved brothers and sisters, what simple truths are betrayed for the shadows of shadows and such a tired narrative; Is it our portion to be cast down into the pit, or given over, flesh consumed, in grace misunderstood? I tell you no. Brothers, be not afraid; sisters, do not despair; Beloved, do not forget (don’t you forget about this): Christ said he’s coming back so He’s coming back -- there’s no doubt about that. O saints, I’m talking to you! Beloved brothers and sisters what idle profits are sought in the silence of statues and all such vainglorious shapes; Is it our portion to be impressed with images, in rumination, out of breath, ears keen, without repose? I tell you no. Wood, I say awake; stone, I say arise; idols, I say teach; Behold, there is no breath in them at all! O children of the Most High, are we not exiles for life, why then develop a taste for stale amenities? Is it our portion to be mere flesh upon the bone, prone to pleasures counterfeit, fossils of good intent? I assure you no. O that today you would hearken to his for voice for “blessed are the ears that hear the pulses of the Divine whisper, and give no heed to the many whisperings of the world.” Beloved brothers and sisters, wake and rouse you well, give glory to God our Lord, and though your flesh and heart may fail, remember that He is our strength and our portion forever; So wait for the Lord, be strong, and let your heart take courage. Wait for the Lord holding fast to the mystery of our faith: Christ died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.

Scattered on the ground the petals of the roses cry out like drops of blood, while spectres dressed as men gambol on the bed; though it much resembles death, I hear them laugh like little children. The tactless soldiers dance, marionettes in suspense dangling from the cords of Sheol; weightless though they are the Powers press them down to deal their crushing blows (though they could never truly destroy us). So when they hear us call them friend with their spit still on our chins, you better believe they feel a spell of life! As the cords slightly loose for a moment they conclude: He is LORD, and the last word is His. “Execute justice in the morning and deliver from the hand of the oppressor him who has been robbed,” lest your wrath go forth like fire and burn with none to quench it, because of their evil deeds, O Lord. And help our unbelief, as we patiently wait and sing: “You Are, LORD, and the last word is Yours; You are LORD, and the last word is Yours.

God shall add God shall increase God shall add to the least of these God shall add God shall increase God shall increase in harmony I am in love, but only love what vanishes; My heart wraps tightly around what would be solid had it ever been conceived, though only grasps air: the product of a life asleep; And I can’t believe our sleep, we really are as good as dead when for all our living we close the front door and turn to dreams instead. How weary; how restless; how hopeless; how already dead! O Lord, grow my soul for the body will age at it’s pace. Let me leave this prescribed way, for love is merely an answer in vogue and every story has been told. By your wisdom make me a man, for the world knows few but many children. (Help me to embrace the imperative of knowing)*