We are the first witnesses to his rising, the women
At the tomb overcome with gladness stop to worship
At his feet, overjoyed but not believed when they tell
All what has happened, who would quit believe such.

We are the first witness, walking a road, sharing the
Story, baffled the stranger does not know what has
Happened here, yet he shares the story, our story
And reveals all when he stays and breaks the bread.

We are witnesses scared, troubled, huddled against
The storm of hate from our own in an upper room
Waiting for things to calm and in turmoil at his
Appearing right among us, don't be afraid, see.

We are witnesses each of us to the power of being
Risen, being made free from the things which would
Bind us, seeing new life in the midst of apparent death,
Seeing Christ in bread, in others, all around, look see, tell.