Washed in Gold

I always wanted to have a place I could preach Holy Saturday.   

Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. 

                                                                                         1 Peter 4:8 (NRSV)

The sky slowly lightens again.

All is quiet except for birds singing

In the backyard,

In the garden,

A slight wash of forsythia

Begins the chant of gold

In sprays.

This is the empty time the Church Fathers

Seek to fill,

The time left in between.

After He Rose

They knew Jesus must have done

Something huge,

Fecund even in the tomb.

Not content to rest

He yanks the Gates of Hell

Off their hinges

Hauls up Everyman

Everywoman.

We have ancient church pictures

Of events underground,

They are washed in gold.

In the emptiness

They proclaim

Love covers the multitude

Of sins.

Love wins

Love wins

Love wins.

New light catches the wash of gold.

In the garden the forsythia

Sprays bright gold

In the name of Love.