Holy Saturday You seem more ghost than God.
There’s an absence
I realize how much of this last year
has been like living
in a series of holy Saturdays.
It’s the day of betwixt and between,
and not yet.
over 2000 years ago
I have to believe
that even in the haze of grief
and the grip of fear,
You were there.
Your Holy Ghost God presence
filled the women’s lungs with air,
stirred them to risk life
to discover that which You had promised
and that which You hidden within them.
Even in days and seasons of Holy Saturdays,
the empty tomb waits to be discovered.
Your absence reminds us
You were never ours to hold on to in the first place.
Our fists are to be like the empty tomb
as we let You go.
It takes open hands for
Holy Saturday break to into Sunday morning.