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How It All Ends: A Poem for Holy Saturday

I have to admit… Christmas is everyone’s favorite holiday (mine too), but something about the Lenten and Easter season feels deeper, more profound as I get older. Yet what do you do with Holy Saturday, that single dark day in between despair and hope? Last year, I did my best to capture the tiniest glimpse of what it might have been like for those left behind who didn’t yet know for sure how the story would end…

She used to say she loved those TV movies about Jesus, but hated the crucifixion scene

even though it was toned down in the grains of 1970s film, palatable to the eyes of those eating dinner in front of a flickering screen.

This is us, now, knowing how it all ends, knowing in three days the lungs of God would reinflate.

Knowing the ending, could I ever comprehend the blackness, ever imagine the darkest Saturday in history?

A King’s body shrouded in spices and linen lay withering behind stone,

The budding bloom of salvation, crushed careless trod by His creation.

Oh my God

today the sun scatters clouds the sun that once turned away at your final earthly breath as the lion lay shorn and still.

May I never forget the darkest day of history, spring stopped, waiting, pressing her face at the tomb’s door.


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