I was there. Saw Him being crucified.
Looked at His pierced hand and His wounded side.
Heard Him cry out and take his final breath.
Watched His head bow as He succumbed to death.
Now you say, that He's risen from the dead
and expect me to believe what you've said!
I will need to see and to touch Him, for
I cannot, and will not believe any more.
Bitter bereavement and trauma of grief
quenches our faith discouraging belief.
We push aside the unbelievable,
thinking that it's too inconceivable.
For I too like Thomas began to doubt
and fears lurking within came bursting out.
It was then when Jesus called out my name,
forgave my unbelief and healed my shame.
Romans 8:39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
This poem was a finalist in the August 2020 poetry contest