Holy Saturday

         He poured out himself to death.
                   —Isaiah 53.12

Before the rising green
the dark soil.
Still and black,
worked soil, fertile ground,
rife with loss and labor,
ground that’s wept and groaned,
and bled and given up.
Only love that’s given all,
and lost and lain in death
for long
may rise.

(O Mystery, that you, Beloved,
would deny yourself,
deny yourself,
and pour yourself out to death!)

In blackest dark,
in bleakest death,
the seed is planted.

And silent, waits. 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light

April 3, 2021

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