Between the cross and the empty tomb
Are the hours
Of a strange Sabbath,
A brutal pause,
A death-filled rest,
A peace-less peace.
This is where we live our lives:
One long Holy Saturday,
Where all of the anguish of death
And futility
And unfulfilled dreams
Threaten to breed cynicism,
Where pain and failure are too real
To ignore,
Doubled over
And gasping for breath.
But resurrection looms,
Coming with the surety of the dawn.
Still afar,
Hope is in the air
Like the scent of baking bread,
Intangible yet unmistakable.
This beautiful grief-life
Grimaces
Between sorrow and joy,
Ready to weep,
Ready to burst into laughter
As we hold on to hope
For dear life.