Holy Saturday waits
Like a patch of dirt in the lawn
Nothing happening
But shoots, then buds appear
Followed by tomatoes, squash and beans.
Holy Saturday looks dull
It’s the spring in a can
Just boring coils of gray metal
Doing nothing,
Worthless scrap
But waitingÂ
For the lid to come off.
Hope lost
And was buried.
Nothing to do but go home
And put one heavy foot in front of the other
Because it’s Holy Saturday
And nothing’s happening.
But then Mary shows up with funeral spices
And the gardener whispers her name
And she gets the surprise of her life.
It’s Holy Saturday
Like so many days
Nothing is happening
But the joy
Is in
How
Wrong
We are.
What a beautiful and powerful poem! Thank you Geoff Knowlton.
Geoff, I just love this poem and shared it at our adult religious education at Beacon Hill Meeting today. Thank you for your inspiring words.
I’m just seeing this now. Thanks very much for your kind words and I’m glad you found the poem to be meaningful.