& ALL SHALL BE WELL EVEN AFTER THE DARKEST NIGHT
a poem for the dark of Holy Saturday
/ birds sang merry & defiant while tears of rage & grief poured themselves down Mary’s face where she sat by the window in the upper room, waiting for night to fall. “I need to prepare the spices his body needs to be attended to, even if he is in that borrowed tomb. after all he did for us in life it’s the least that I can do.” but Sabbath had stopped her anxious work for the only man who’d ever truly seen her, so she’d been sitting still & silent by the window all morning, listening to birdsong as if the little creatures were saying; all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.[1] the next day arrived, in much the same way. all the springtime chirping & warm whistles serenaded Mary Magdalene & her friends along the rocky roads & through the dark garden paths— her heart was a stone in her chest as she walked in silence, the other women beside her. But, she couldn’t help but wonder just for a moment, if perhaps these little birds knew something she’d forgot. “what was it he used to say about the sparrows?” she asked the other Mary suddenly. her throat was tight as she tried to remember tried to see his face in her mind’s eye, without that cruel crown of thorns without the sky going dark as her heart as he died. suddenly, the ground began to shake & terror filled her heart as she ran the last few steps to that borrowed tomb, the spices in the satchel at her waist her only weapon against death. to her horror, the stone was rolled away the tomb—silent & empty. she stumbled out into the light of morning birds still singing as she reeled where have they taken him? where have they taken him? how could they do this to me? a voice behind her “Woman, why are you crying? who is it that you are seeking?” she thought maybe his steps belonged to the man in charge of tending to this garden & maybe the rich man had changed him mind about letting a crucified heretic use his tomb. “Sir, if you’ve carried him away, just tell me where you’ve put him & I will take care of him.” but then he said; “Mary—” & she would know that Voice anywhere. “Teacher!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck laughing into his chest as he told her, “you can hold on for a moment, but not forever, not yet. there is much to be done Daughter—in the meantime, go & tell my brothers that I am ascending to our Father, yours & mine.” —& all shall be well even after the darkest night [1] A quote from the mystic Julian of Norwich in her work “Revelations of Divine Love.”
If you like this poem, I think you’ll like my book Daughter of Breath (in which this poem appears). Click here to learn more and get your copy today.
And if for you, like for me, life feels heavy and scary right now—I hope you read this poem about Mary Magdalene and remember that Holy Saturday is for us—as is Easter.
The dark will give way to the dawn. It always does.
Warmly,
Grace E. Kelley