Good Friday Poem

I wrote this last year. I was driving to church to rehease the music before the 3 PM Good Friday Service. I was still thinking about the Maundy Thursday Mass of the Lord's Supper the previous evening. After the Mass was completed, we processed out of the church, following the Blessed Sacrament to the Chapel of Repose. The combination of the chants and the time spent in prayer and adoration were truly moving. Equally moving was going back into the Chapel to retrieve my purse and seeing the open, empty tabernacle.

He was not here...He was not yet risen.

Even though He was across the courtyard, His absence from the Chapel made me anticipate Easter all the more.

So, driving to choir practice through a neighborhood filled with azaleas and dogwoods in bloom, I wasn't thinking about the horror that Christ experienced on Good Friday. Those recollections would come later as we recited the Passion for the 2nd time that week. I was aware of my longing for the return of Christ to our Chapel, for the resumption of Masses, for Easter. I found a few words running through my head as I rounded a corner past a wall of wisteria. I shared the lines with Isidore later, and was honored when he immediately adopted them as his sig.

The earth, who could not hold Him,
bursts forth every spring
celebrating her failure.

If you use it, please add some sort of attribution.

St. Elizabeth of Cayce.