On one of their early albums, Simon and Garfunkel sang “Silent Night” while a recording of the Seven O’Clock News played at the same time. (You can hear it here.) The song began playing in my head as I sat down to write, I think, because of the way my day went. My Holy Saturday was an active one, with little quiet. And so I wrote the following poem to this soundtrack. Click on this link and read on.
The Women
They didn’t know Sunday was coming
in the way we take for granted
the Cross is not final punctuation.
What I know as expectancy they knew
as uncertainty; what I know for sure
they took on faith, as best they could.
I wonder how late into the night the three
women sat talking about whether or not
to go to the tomb at sunrise.
No matter how dark we make the room,
we weren’t there. We were spared that pain
and can only know their joy secondhand.
Peace,
Milton
What I know as expectancy they knew
as uncertainty; what I know for sure
they took on faith, as best they could.
Your whole poem is absolutely right on. I can particularly relate with your second stanza.
I wonder how we would deal with the uncertainty they had to go through for probably days before what had happened started to dawn on them…
They may have understood when they saw the fruit of his death and resurrection in their own lives.
Blessings.