Holy Saturday

Dark is never as absolute as it seems.

I’ve spent some time today, reflecting on how the last few days of Holy Week have played out for my family. Before the glory of tomorrow, I wanted to think about how hope works in the darkness.

“Holy Saturday”

On Thursday,
After I had washed the feet of my son
And my own feet had been washed by
Both of my children,
We came home
And entered into the lengthy process
Of preparing for bedtime.

The service of the upper room
Is replaced by the drudgery of
Sleepy children who
Do not seem to want to help

In the midst of the rising stress
My wife calls out
And invites us out of the back doors
Onto the back deck
And back into nature

Be still, she urges
Echoing God’s own lines

When we are still
We see, through the darkened trees
The first blinking lights
Of lightning bugs
Flashing on and off as they search
For their mates

All anger and stress is lost
In the wonder of light in the darkness.

On Friday, we blow out candles
One by one as we remember
The true light blown out
By hatred, fear, and indifference

When we get home,
We hold one another close
As we do most Friday nights,
Curled up on the couch

It has been raining
On and off all day
And the air outside is thick

I stand outside for a moment
After the others have gone to bed
But I don’t see any lights
Blinking on and off
In the trees

All the light is gone
From the world tonight
The sorrow is too great
Not even promises heard can
Erase the pain and despair

On Saturday, we get up
And do the things that need be done
We are together, biding time
Keeping busy
Finding the joy in each other
We go about our day

The sun is shining today
And I know, though it is not dark yet,
That the darkness will not be empty tonight

Tonight, the tree line will hold the
Calls of a thousand wandering souls
Seeking to find love buried low to the ground

Darkness is not absolute,
And hope lies in the ground
Tomorrow, it yet may rise again
Bursting forth, to show that nothing
Is as final as it seems.
Not anymore.