No! Not an angry prophet, holy fire in his eyes,

whipping money changers from the temple.

Nor a gentle teacher sermonizing the multitude on The Mount.

Not a torn and bleeding itinerant hanging from a cross.

No! Not even an empty cross.

Rather an empty stone bed in some tomb near Jerusalem,

the grave clothes folded neatly.

The great round rock rolled away from the entrance

by a Divine finger tip.

Along the edges of the picture,

two panic-struck Roman legionaries

and a hysterical Mary babbling nonsense

to eleven frightened disciples hiding in some attic…

There!

That’s the picture!

The visual on the door of our eternity to come.