The women followed, and they saw the tomb
         and how his body was laid.
         Then they returned, and prepared spices and ointments.
         On the sabbath they rested according to the commandment.
                       —Luke 23.55-56

The grave, how anguished a stillness.
A seed not moving. Not even trying.
The actual weight of zero,
the mass of absence.
Too late now for watches
in the watches of mourning’s
unhurried gestation.
Soil slowly draws the flesh
into its loving embrace,
its soft, dark bed.
Those remaining do not remain
but are changed
no less than the remains.
If there is a birth canal
might this be death’s?
Grief gradually becomes
not a road but a landscape,
and then a road,
a wanting become waiting
for what is
but is not yet revealed.
The stone not yet rolled
from the womb,
not knowing what,
only that
something that is still shall be,
the mystery unveiled
only by losing the veil.
Waiting but only for this moment.
The quiet leaves coming to,
and the weeping of the women
under the small-birded sky.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

April 11, 2020

Gentle One,
forgiving to the end,
you climb the cross of my making,
bear my judgment,
receive my evil,
returning none.

Man of sorrows,
acquainted with grief,
you suffer my wounds,
utter my cry,
descend into my tomb.

Risen One,
un-flesh-bounded,
you surrender wholly to me.
Christ in me,
unfearful of my cross,
I surrender to you.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

April 10, 2020

         “This is my body… this is my blood” 
                 —Matthew 26.26

You pour the cup,
your heart;
I take and drink.
Your blood
becomes my blood,
my lintel sign
to bid the angel pass over
this night of plague,
that all be free.
You break the bread,
my heart;
I take and eat.
The Word made flesh
becomes my flesh.
Now I am moved
not by my will
but your unleavened
will to love.
You take the basin,
wash our feet;
the water swirls,
and in your pierced
divine humility
in you I pass
through the great Red Sea,
free from the Pharaoh
of my fears and wants,
free to serve—
by which miracle
does justice come,
and we are saved.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

April 9, 2020

          Jesus went with them
         to a place called Gethsemane;
         and he said to his disciples,
         “Sit here while I go over there and pray.”
                  —Matthew 26.36
 
While we self-isolate,
fear-stupefied,
he prays.
Not for himself,
but for love of us.

Soldiers arm up and move out.
But he prays.
Not for safety but for love.

Death walks quietly,
jingling its keys,
but he kneels, still,
praying not for life
but for love,
for you.

Sit here while he prays,
while he pours out his heart
for you and your life
and death and life again.
Let his prayer wrap itself around you,
hold you to his heart,
still praying for you,
bearing you like a cross
through the dark valley
and beyond.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

April 8, 2020

                  Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard,
         anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair.
         The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.
                           —John 12.3 

Mary pours out her ointment―
as Jesus, not clinging,
out-poured himself―
pours out herself,
fragrance of love and sorrow,
no second-hand words to borrow,
only kindness and loveliness
for his kindness and loveliness,
washing with such fierce love
feet before they’re pierced,
her perfume poured out
of a broken open soul
in love made whole
that confounds the others,
befuddled brothers,
her world-healing salve
simply this: in the face of death
to offer tenderness.

Mary, pouring out yourself,
your flask now empty
as a grave,
your sweet baptismal bath
so gently drowning death:
pour out your holy oil
on me
and from my jar of fear
and self
pour me all out
and set me free.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

April 7, 2020

Inside the world’s noise,
beneath its tangled silence,
a solitude unfolds. Be still.

Unreachable by the fearful future,
hidden in the city of this moment,
come to the garden.

Here in this place of no one else
kneel on the soft ground
with the one who is with you,

who though haunted, though hunted,
was here before you and will abide
and hold your place forever,

who, though you mean to stay and pray,
but fail and sleep instead,
still is earnestly praying for you.

Here, though troubles await,
there is one who listens.
There is peace. Listen:

the Beloved, breathing in you.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

April 6, 2020

          If the foot would say, “Because I am not a hand,
         I do not belong to the body,”
         that would not make it any less a part of the body.
                    —1 Corinthians 12.15         

Now we are beginning to understand
we are one body.
We are all dependent and intertwined
with so many, even far away.
A stranger’s hand-washing is my health,
a worker’s delivery is my life.
The well-being of my neighbor
is my well being.
I love my neighbor as myself—
not just as much as myself but
as the rest of of myself.

Blessed Oneness, Divine Wholeness,
bless our unity, that in it
as readily as we spread disease
we may spread love.
Give us your compassion to
care for the least,
for what we do to them we do to you,
and to ourselves.
May we trust the global impact
of our individual actions.
May your one Spirit bring together
our one humanity.
You who are the One, may we be one.
Bless our one, holy, ailing body
with your mercy and your grace.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

April 3, 2020

We wave our palms,
our cheers made dark
with tears unbidden,
crying “Save us, please,”
our cruelty barely hidden.
Soon enough we will betray.
Behind our walls
we wail, we wait
we dig graves
where no one
will congregate.
We watch the future
shrouded, we lament:
this is not
what we meant,
this pain
we long to avoid.
Inside our hollow “Hosannas”
there is no sound. A void.
We gaze at the ground,
at the grave,
at our fears, the sharp edges
of our tears. Who might save,
might touch that wound?
Amid our sorrow,
our hate,
in our doomed Jerusalem
we wait.

And the little man
of God, of grace,
unafraid to enter,
to embrace
in love
as we wait
rides
toward the gate.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

April 2, 2020

         Save us, we beseech you, O Love!
         O Love, we beg of you, give us success!
                  —Psalm 118.25

This is our praise.Hosanna does not mean Hooray!
It means Help!
We offer no flattering words,
but confess our dependence
and confidence in you, O God.

Our praise is our trust,
our turning to you: the One
who can save, none other, no less.

That we throw ourselves in your arms,
the we expect grace and mercy from you,
this is our praise.

From our sin and our sorrow,
from our our greed and our graves,
rescue us, O Holy One.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

April 1, 2020

         The stone the builders rejected
         has become the chief cornerstone .
                 —Psalm 118.22

Not popular. Misunderstood. Scorned.
Loyalists to the Emperor shout him down.
You’ll have to decide to stand
with him, this improper sovereign.

Even then don’t set yourself too high.
The emperor in your head also
looks down on him. You sometimes
hide inside, safe, a flag in your window.

Even what saves is most strange, slips away,
repels even. Behind your love a wariness,
a weariness, a will to turn away.
On the tip of your tongue, the word “crucify.”

The emperor of your mind remains
in office. But unnoticed, on the other side
of the city, the Humble One with nothing
but love enters the gate.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

March 31, 2020