bright monday

let’s take this outside 

keep the singing going 

repeat the songs 

wave the flags 

throw the flowers 

take the day 

take two days 

take the week 

repeat the songs 

invite someone 

join the dance 

wave your arms 

stomp your feet 

raise joyous shouts 

open your eyes 

everything is singing 

repeat the songs

easter sunday

you never asked 
us to do this
you only asked 
we break bread 

we hold the vigils 
we fill the baskets 
with eggs 
we buy lilies 
because of 
the beauty 
 
this moment 
that is only 
a moment 

now we take 
the next steps: 
the tomb is empty, 
He is risen! 
echoes mouth to mouth 
everywhere we go 
we keep meeting you 
in gardens
                 on the road
                                    in our rooms 
sharing meals 

you bring us up to the mountain 
and leave us 
to walk back down alone 

you make us promises 
and we wrap ourselves inside them 
until they become our skin

black saturday

i’m not yet ready 
for any hallelujahs. 
i am preparing 
for burial. 
we are still 
entombed. 

we hold our breath. 
there are still songs 
but they hold 
no celebration. 

each day is 
always a day of 
lamentation 
or watchful 
expectation. 

we are told 
good tidings 
proclaimed 
to the dead. 

we bring our 
offerings, 
prepare 
our ways. 
take time 
for blessing, 
baskets full: 
bread, eggs, 
lamb, salt. 

the floors 
covered:
laurel leaves, 
flower petals.

our hands empty. 
and then we wait. 

victory today 
though not yet 
risen.

black friday

1. bookended by gardens, each hour of this day is the new suffering* 
2. bound by the promise of a new horizon, the different ways we kiss each other: 
3. blessing or judgement, even betrayal. we mouth our authority in silence 
4. banded together by despair or indifference. we know what we ought to do 
5. but we wash our hands of it, gather distractions and pass them off as gifts. 
6. buffeted, we storm forward. we mistake stumbling for dancing. 
7. bearing the weight of others, we lose our sense of direction. just choose a path. 
8. brothers and sisters will find you in this press of people and bear you along. 
9. breathe. you may yet find the words. you may yet find comfort. you may yet find righteous anger 
10. beyond this emptiness. find a way to clothe it and bring it into the light. 
11. bring it into the light. position yourself in the center of grief and hope. 
12. bind yourself to another body, soul, spirit – find fathers and mothers to father and mother. 
13. bury everything. it’s really not about you. do you know what you have lost? 
14. blanket yourself in the questions. the quaking heart. this tomb of not knowing the end.

* Bulgakov, Sergei V. Handbook for Church Servants. (1900).

maundy thursday

the empty seats surround 
the empty table fills
the empty room

i would invite you
i would ring the bells
i would wash your feet

let’s pretend you won’t deny me
let’s pretend i’m not easily offended
let’s pretend we still know how to recover

we can try to put new words together
we can try to write them on the skin
we can find new ways to sing the songs

there will always be betrayals
there is always something veiled
there are always silences

some would say it’s not worth the effort
some would find reasons to explain it away
some would choose to wait without intent

i am not willing to allow your slumber
i am not able to accept your fear
I am not willing to fill your pockets with stones

let there be another forgiveness
let there be close embraces
let everything be laid bare