Holy week is
fits and starts.
The rush to get all the information in, to choose the scripture, choose the hymns, update the publicity; Maundy Thursday prep: check; Good Fridayprep:check;SaturdayprepcheckEasterSundayprepcheckaretherenougheggsforthechildren’stalk dowehavenoughenvelopesfortheofferingwhenisthebrassrehearsingandwillthatconflictwiththe placementofflowersandwhowilldrapethecrossandwhowilltaketheddrapeoffandarethebatteriesworking
Yes to all. So we are ready.
The waiting for inspiration or the Spirit or my muse to show up and, you know, inspire
Waiting to set hands to keyboard, pen to paper, mouth to microphone
it’s the rush of accusations, arrest, trial
rush of adrenaline watching the agony
rush to get things done before the sabbath comes
waiting for the cold stone tomb to receive her most precious gift
waiting for the mystery, the light, life,
waiting for resurrection
Resurrection comes in fits and starts, too.
Too early in the morning, but they bring their spices anyway
No stone, no body, but angels
The women believe, the men do not
Then Peter looks in
and rushes home
Fits and starts
and endings and beginnings