in a week called Holy.
Not the intimacy of baring feet
or breaking bread
Nor even the stunning violence of the
hill of skulls, the bloody ground beneath too many crosses.
This is the hardest, this in-between day.
Feet are clean
Bread has been shared and eaten
The cries of battered, broken bodies are
stilled.
This Vigil. This Holy Waiting --
this is hardest, if we remember.
If we remember that we do not know what
resurrection will bring.
The One we wait for will not be what we expect.
Not then.
Not now.
Waiting for resurrection is harder
than remembering death.
