The Vigil light extinguished and the Aumbry door standing open have long symbolized for me how the whole world: time and eternity, hang by a thread on that Sabbath between Good Friday and the Day of Resurrection. About ten years ago I wrote a poem about this. It's a villanelle, and I've been tinkering with it ever since. Here it is in its present form.
Villanelle for the Easter Triduum
Easter, 2002 (revised 2012)
The aumbry door stands open, the Host gone,
The purple stoles, the books, gone, the Cross veiled
The dark night sighs, we wait, for God alone.
There stands our king, cross soon to be his throne,
In purple robe, brow thorn-crowned, bloody, flailed.
The aumbry doors stands open, the Host gone.
The blood is shed, spears stab flesh, don’t break bone,
The passion spent, life giv’n, David’s Son hailed.
The dark night sighs, souls wait, for God alone.
The body claimed, it lies in tomb of stone.
Forsaken (like their Lord!) the mourners wailed.
The aumbry door stands open, the Host gone.
We women leave, exhausted, burial work done,
Our sorrow raw, we ask, Has our God failed?
The dark night sighs, we wait, for God, alone.
Two nights have passed, it’s day. The tomb has drawn
Us women, missing him… Our faces paled!
The stone tomb’s door is open, Body gone.
The dawn-wind sighs, we wait, for God alone.
Mary Johnson
