Lord, if you had been here when the cancer became untreatable, when the clot travelled the artery, when the mudslide left the mountain, when the airplane met the sea, And when the tired heart ceased its drumming When the virus came knocking. Lord, if you had been here in the hospital room, the bedroom, the shopping centre, the street, if you had been here when it happened in the evening, in the morning, in the afternoon, if you had been here when it was too soon, when it was too quick, when it was too late, when it took too long, Lord, if you had been here for our brother, sister, daughter, son, the loved one who passed beyond our reach would death have won? But you have been here. Here by the bedside, by the roadside, by the graveside, by our side in the dark caves of grief. You are here where tears remain wet on hurt faces. You are here where hearts remain shrouded by pain you feel with us, and for us as well. You were there at the grave of Lazarus, irretrievably lost to his family and friends, but not lost to you; gone beyond their loving reach but not yours. You were there and the stone was removed from the tomb. You were there with your shout and the air held its breath. You were there and burial cloths were unravelled and lost Lazarus opened his eyes to the sun. And you are here, Lord, in the hospital room, in the bedroom, the shopping centre, the street. You are here drying tears on hurt faces, setting free the bound ones from the shrouds of death, leading us out of whatever caves are holding us and reminding us that in you death will not triumph: your love that has no limits has already won.