Holy Saturday--the Vigil, and another poem of mine--

Easter Vigil is usually observed at night, and it's a powerful, contemplative service. The readings recount stories from the life of Jesus; it's a lot like any other gathering to remember a loved one who has passed. For me, though, the whole day before Easter trends toward introspection. Maybe it's the tone set by Good Friday, with the solemn acknowledgment of all that it entails. The fulfillment of the prophecy that requires and end with death and yet longs for life is a sorrowful occasion. 

The symbolism is deep and rich, and many metaphors can be made: planting of seeds, the life cycle, the seasons, the ending of a day and turning again to dawn... for those of us who follow the faith tradition, it is the keystone of what we believe. 

Here's another poem of mine, one that recounts my childhood confusion and my adult understanding --or lack of full understanding. It appeared in The Henniker Review in a slightly different form.

I'm hoping today is a quiet one for you.

C

Sacred Heart

 

I know it to be false--this image--Godhead

with flowing blond locks--    

sad blue eyes, searching.

 

The face should be of a man I know is Semitic.    

I look around,

no one else seems troubled.

 

It’s not at all like the wan, somber, bearded face

of someone who is deeply disappointed, or

pained by a loss         

I didn’t cause. This face makes little sense.

It’s not historic, but

it’s the one I grew up with, framed,

burning heart

looking like it might burst. That open heart

surrounded by flames scared me.

 

When I first heard the phrase heartburn

all I could think of was this picture on the wall,           

electric blood glowing.

 

I wonder aloud: what do you see in me?  

There’s a silence,

a long pause. My own burning heart--

is it sacred too?