Holy Saturday

Every day is Holy Saturday
When you're living with depression.
Hope came into the world,
But the weight of our sins crushed it,
Burying it beyond light or redemption
With no new gleam over the horizon.
No dawn coming to slay the dark.

Depression leaves us
Living between Good Friday and Easter.
We know the power and pain of our sins
But we haven't heard the Good News.
We live like those without hope
Yearning for the day it might return
Unaware that day is as soon as tomorrow.

But tomorrow never seems to come.
Hope stays buried,
And instead of waiting
On the power of resurrection
We try to force our own Lazarus moment.
The thing that comes out of that grave,
Half-formed and rotten,
Isn't really hope.
It's a weak and flawed approximation.

But we don't control the calendar.
We can't change the seasons.
So we wait on Holy Saturday,
Longing for an Easter
That feels like it might never come.

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