Wailing, mourning.
so young, so precious
a sweet little girl faded like a wisp of vapour
from life to death
tears, tears, tears
a mother torn with the fiercest of heartbreak
crushed and breathless as she sees her beloved child
so loved. so cherished.
Now no more.
Hopes left unlived.
songs left unsung.
a small, quiet voice of childhood innocence... gone
The daddy is a ruler.
He has power and control.
He fixes things
He always fixes things
but as the light fades from his child's cheeks
he knows this is not within his power.
man cannot fight his own mortality
and he could not defeat his daughter's.
He stands. Still. Forced to present the appearance of strength.
remembering his little girl, so tenderly adored.
He leaves as the others mourn
His daughter is dead
and yet he's heard...
It might not be possible...
but there is a man not far
A man of miracles
A teacher with power.
With anguish he hurries, his men close behind.
There is a large crowd.
He knows he must find the teacher.
As he sees him, his heart is burdened with sorrow and doubt
but as his eyes meet the teacher's
a glimer of trust
of hope
of faith arises tenderly
so small, but growing stronger
As the teacher finishes talking
the ruler finds himself humbled upon his knees
his men are dumbfounded!
What teacher is this? So simply clad, not even a horse on which to ride?
The ruler so finely attired in the dust, on his knees, practically begging!
"My daughter has just died" the father says, the words so painful and so dreaded that his lips can barely speak. Yet, he finds that the teacher creates in him a hope beyond what is possible.
"But, come and lay your hand on her, and she will live." This sounds so impossible as the words escape his lips, and yet he finds that his heart believes what he has spoken.
His men think he is mad.
He looks like a fool.
His garments are dirty.
He is at the foot of a stranger.
Yet, the teacher rises and follows the father as the crowd eagerly whispers
On their way a woman is healed.
"Take heart, daughter, for your faith has made you well."
the teacher says to her
as she touched his robes with faith
by his power
she was healed!
Would that the father's own daughter could have touched his cloak
her breath is no more
yet, the father has hope
They reach the ruler's home
the mourning is apparent
so fresh, so strong
like a heavy cloud of bitterness and sorrow.
Flutes play a mournful tune.
The crowd sobs.
"Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping" the teacher says.
The crowd laughs.
the ruler looks like a fool for who he's brought
his men look at each other
they know what the dead look like
and this child is dead.
What sort of teacher cannot tell sleep from death?
Yet, the father hopes. He believes that this singular man can do the impossible.
They send the crowd outside. The mother looks at the teacher as her tear-drenched eyes beg that something be done for her loved little one.
The teacher comes into the death-soaked room.
humid from the tears and wailing.
He comes to the child.
cold and lifeless
and he takes her hand into his own
he takes her hand into his own
A tender, gentle, powerful hand cupped over a weak, small and lifeless one
The father and mother don't breathe or speak.
They hope.
They trust.
They dare to believe.
Their beloved child
chest unmoving
suddenly gasps for air!
Summoned from the chains of death back to life
her eyes open, she sits up
the tamer of death is victorious!
Unknown and inexpressible the joy and wonder
death to life
a girl revived
the Lord of life glorified
The only man able to fight mortality
Bringing the dead to life
before he died and defeated his own death
defeated his own death
defeated his own death
His name is Jesus.
With tenderness He brings the dead to life
He holds my hand, he holds my hand
and with a mercy I can't understand
He fights death for me
and gave his life for me
I once was lost but now I see
Based on Matthew 9:18-26
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