On Holy Saturday, you don’t know how it ends.

It’s Saturday today:
We want to believe in Sunday,
To know of the new world in the morning.
But we cannot see it
Because it’s Saturday.

It’s Saturday today:
We want to pray to the living God,
But the living God is cold and dead in the ground.
He doesn’t hear
Because it’s Saturday.

It’s Saturday today:
And this is no noble death,
No long life full spent.
And we cannot hope
Because it’s Saturday.

We cry empty Saturday tears.
And wonder whether God is big enough.
Whether he is not at the last
defeated by human choice.
Whether love can conquer all.
Whether love can ever smile under the colours of the sun
or must it forever tarry in the grim half-light?
Can love ever, in the end, be more than longing, aching loss?

On Holy Saturday, you don’t know how it ends.
But fleshy God dies with us fleshy men
in the fallen Saturday world.

Copyright 2012 Tom Brazier