Resurrection Clothes

I have seen and testified that this is the Son of God.   ~  John 1:29-34 Here he comes, cousin, kinsman, the one who even as a child gave me breath and hope to see beyond the stones and stars to a deeper, higher way. Playmate of my childhood those times of visitation of our mothers, starting even in the womb. I leapt at his approach. And here he comes again, walking, purposeful, his face, his gaze turned right on me. I rise from where I bend over the newly baptized and look him full in his shining face. I know why he has come. But can it be? Can he, the one who showed me grace now come and bend to these waters to be plunged and have his sins expunged? He knows no sin! I know! I see into his heart at last. How can he come to me to be cleansed? Oh no! But he walks on, says yes, I come to you. It must be so. And so we step together into that waiting pool. I see him sink, then rise. And now! The heaven

Lord, what were you wearing when you rose? What were your Resurrection clothes? A gardener’s rough attire? A traveler’s robe? The burial cloth aside (no longer suitable attire for one not dead). Aside, the strip of cloth that wound about your head. What did your Father give you then? What Resurrection garb was fitting for a Savior to be clothed in to walk among the not-yet-dead and not-yet-risen? You looked like us, I think. No one could tell the difference at first, but when you spoke, or broke the bread or walked through solid doors or roasted fish or let a loved one thrust his hand into your side— ah, then we saw and said, “My Lord, my God!” What are to be my Resurrection clothes? if I’m to play a part in this event, to share the rising that you’ve done? I’ll look like everyone, won’t I? My graveclothes gone, emerging from my tomb, I’ll walk, enrobed in you, among the not-yet throng. Will tend the garden, break the