Poetry
Sunday
Friday evening, the shadows lengthened. The sun went down behind horizon’s edge. The shroud of night triumphed over all things. That night the sky was starless and shivered. Darkness extends her fingers as they reach And enter my house through every crevice. Saturday, the disciples grew silent. Each sought refuge within their own closet. As they wept, they covered their trembling mouths. None of them slept throughout that clouded night. In the deep blackness of my own cold night, I long for sleep, but grief keeps me awake. Sunday, the dawn broke to a cloudless sky. The women went down to the sepulcher. They returned the bearers of light-filled news: He is not there, for lo He is risen! I light a candle and watch its white flame Proclaim that for me too Sunday will come.
On Mary
You see, I’ve been through this before. We took him to the pale, busy temple, days away walking towards the pass over, and he, beautiful, perfect, twelve, beloved, walking and walking towards Zion, back with his friends. We left, later, exhausted in the quiet visitation of men and angels and prophecy, and, frankly, figured our kind, good, obedient son was back walking, walking with his friends, chatting about whatever it is young people speak about these days. But he was not. It took us three full days, mourning, asking, searching within searching, hoping beyond hoping that he was neither trafficked, nor enslaved in the bustle of the massive city. When we found him, our exhaustion, the pinched places around our eyes, his siblings’ cries, that frustration bordering upon exasperation mingled with relief must have been evident, even to him, sitting placidly, teaching teachers, preaching calmly to the preachers and confused gently at our consternation. Three days we mourned our son lost, our firstborn dying or dead, to find him fine. A mother would never stop searching, her heart wandering outside of her trembling ribcage, until it finally returns, safe, to where it belongs. So, this time, while we wait, I remember those three days after passover in the temple at Jerusalem. I cannot help but search my wandered heart, and will but wait to witness what next my obedient son might do to surprise the whited sepulchre, as he goes about (and beyond) to work in his Father’s business.
After the Quiet
After the quake, after the rain, the pierced heart; after the offering: Behold your mother; after the sword is wiped clean, after the descent— the weight on the ground, the oil and shroud. After the hill: everything is lost; nothing is lost in darkness, in the cave and silence. Outside the tomb, barn swallows and doves sing. In the morning all the women make leavened bread.
Music
Melancholy. Anxious. Waiting. The music moves through these moods with a wandering, unresolved quality. Who knows where this music will take us. We encounter unexpected harmonies along the way, we make forays into a musical chaos. But we can’t forget the brimming beat. It draws us back. Back to life? Back to our memory of what we have lost?
Yet
God Don't give up on me yet I know I'm not your best bet But I'm trying So don't give up on me yet And God (God, God) Don't leave me here alone I know I need to grow, still And I'm trying Don't leave me here alone I know I've come so far But got so far to go And with these brand-new scars And this broken heart It's hard to really know If there's a reason And if I'll ever see it But I wanna believe it So, don't give up on me yet God (God, God) I know it makes no sense You love me time and time again But I still need reminding Yeah, I know it makes no sense I know I've come so far But got so far to go And with these brand-new scars And this broken heart It's hard to really know If there's a reason And if I'll ever see it But I wanna believe it So, don't give up on me yet don't give up on me Don't give up (give up on me) Don't give up on me (don't give up) (Don't give up on me) Don't give up on me (don't give up) (Don't give up) don't give up on me (Don't give up) don't give up on me God I know I'm not the same But you knew that I would change And I think that you're trying To tell me it's okay I know I've come so far But got so far to go And with these brand-new scars And this broken heart It's hard to really know If there's a reason And if I'll ever see it But, I wanna believe it So don't give up on me yet Don't give up on me yet Don't give up on me
Activity Ideas
Visit the temple grounds to remember Christ ministering among the dead.
Scripture
“In the beginning… the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters...” —Genesis 1:1-2
Resurrection is always announced with Easter lilies, the sound of trumpets, bright streaming light. But it did not happen that way. If it happened in a cave, it happened in complete silence, in absolute darkness, with the smell of damp stone and dug earth in the air… I let this sink in: new life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.
—Barbara Brown Taylor, Learning to Walk in the Dark