Holy Ghost


Holy Saturday You seem more ghost than God.

There’s an absence

and emptiness.

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.

That Saturday

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.





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