I have continued writing "glimpses" -- little imagined moments before, during, or after each narrative from Jesus' ministry years -- and continue loving the experience and the feeling of encountering Him. Here's one that I really enjoyed from a couple weeks ago (with the scripture first) -
Jesus is resurrected
…There was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from Heaven, went forward and rolled back the stone and took his seat upon it. His appearance was dazzling like lightning and his clothes were white as snow. The guards shook with terror at the sight of him and collapsed like dead men…
* * * *
In the moment…
An old gray-haired shepherd is asleep at the mouth of a bramble-pen, built by his own hands, in which are sleeping his small herd of sheep. His body lies across the narrow opening. He sleeps on his side in the dirt. His heavier winter cloak is his pillow. The old man is firmly, fastly asleep. The sheep breathe quietly behind him. The flowers and trees drowse on this reverse slope of a garden hill. The dawn is considering breaking.
The earth begins to quake.
The shepherd is shaken awake; glances at his flock (who are just beginning to bleat wakingly); wincingly rises to his feet; holds himself steady amidst the shaking of the hillside. He reaches down to take up his staff. He pulls the bramble-pen closed at the mouth, whispering the name of the lead ewe to hand her authority; walks through the olive trees as the ground continues to shake.
Then, just as suddenly as starting, it stops.
He goes over the crest of the slope—in the direction of the city-view—and looks down to see how the city fares with the earthquake. Nothing appears to be happening down there, yet.
His eye is caught by a scene in the middle distance.
There are a group of Roman soldiers, dressed in the armor of the Governor’s Guard, lying—seemingly dead—on the ground at the mouth of a cave…
There is a giant--literally gigantic—figure perched atop the tombic sealing-rock, glowing with the pulsing warm glow of a sunset sun…
There is a man walking out of the tomb—his head stooped low with the inside ceiling’s height—and he enters the cool air of the garden; looks around…
The shepherd crouches low amidst some bushes. He is terrified; afraid of being seen above.
The man below, the one who exited the cave in the hillside, nods at the glowing giant and walks off into the trees.
The soldiers lie there, appearing dead.
From the city-side, women approach…
O Christ, my life, possess me utterly.
Take me and make a little Christ of me.
If I am anything but thy father’s son,
‘Tis something not yet from the darkness won.
Oh, give me light to live with open eyes.
Oh, give me life to hope above all skies.
Give me thy spirit to haunt the Father with my cries.
- George MacDonald
from The Diary of an Old Soul