Holy Saturday

“At least he didn’t suffer,”
no one whispered, nor
“Now he is at peace.”
All those consolations
were denied them.

His eyes had been wild with pain.
In the grave who gives G–d praise?

The only miracle, so to speak,
was that death had come so quickly.

In that restless Sabbath darkness
(even as Sheol was sundered)
they huddled, shuddered,
watched, and wondered.

Andy Crouch

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