Today is Holy Saturday.

Like a butterfly in its cocoon, waiting to emerge, Jesus spent Saturday in the grave.
Stone sealed.
Disciples mourning.
The rest of Jerusalem moving on with life, like nothing had happened.

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Like a butterfly, Jesus didn’t stay cocooned by death forever. He emerged victorious.
But that is what we celebrate tomorrow.

Today, is the day in the middle.

The day His followers thought it was all over.
The day of mourning and loss and waiting.

I’ve never thought much about this day, Holy Saturday, until this year. But this year, it resonates with me so deeply. This mourning and waiting. This longing for what we don’t have anymore…or don’t have yet.

But unlike the forgetful disciples, we know the hope of Sunday. And because of that day, because of Easter Sunday, we know the hope of heaven that we have waiting for us.

In many ways, we are in a prolonged Saturday, an extension of this Holy day.

But we mourn not as the disciples did that day. Not as Mary mourned. Not as His followers mourned. Not as those *”who have no hope”.

Rather, we mourn the pains and heartaches of this life, knowing that our tears will be wiped away. Knowing that, as Jesus said, we have the Holy Spirit with us always, which is even better than Jesus on earth with us.

We may live in Saturday, but because of the joy we celebrate tomorrow, on Sunday, we know the hope that is coming.

Today’s poem is about this day.
Holy Saturday
What it must have been like to wake up the day after the crucifixion.

Eyelids flutter open
Everything is hurting
Head throbbing
Throat burning
Eyes searing with the pain of yesterday’s tears
Mingled in that moment
With the first tears of today
The day after
The day after a nightmare
The day after it starts again
The bargaining, calculating
The begging for it all to be a dream
A nightmare
An awful nightmare
But no.
The events of yesterday
Begin to roll through
Flashback followed by horrible flashback
So many questions
This hurts so much
These years…
Are they just wasted?
Was I a fool?
But the miracles.
Couldn’t He have done
Just one more?
To save Himself?
Wouldn’t that have been better
For everyone?
Tears tracing their course down cheek and chin
How to face the day
The day after
With so many questions
With so much pain

Be blessed and Happy Easter

More Than One Right Answer
I Never Said

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