Holy Saturday, Night

We walked together, Jinx and I. At dawn and in the warmth of the day and at its close. We marveled at the same colors and listened to the same songs. And now we are with Mrs. Orr and Dixee, all of us in the same room, a fire’s flames curling up behind the stove’s glass on the night of the day known as 4-3-21. A countdown day.

The dogwoods will not blossom tomorrow after all. Perhaps later in the week. The buds are larger and fuller, but they are not ready for Easter. They have their own timetable, they listen to their own music, singing in the sap that runs up from the cold ground to the highest, sun-flecked branches.

And JInx listens to his own music, too. He moves through this life, through his days, without self-consciousness, without guile, without sin. He benefits as much from a grassy field as he would from a wealthy owner. Everything he does, he does whole-heartedly. Everything he enjoys, he enjoys as if he will never experience it again. He has no regrets, no ulterior motives, no guilty secrets. He is complete and entire, and he loves. This dog loves.

Tomorrow we will walk together again, if we are both alive when the hours roll round again. It will be Easter, and the churches that are allowing their members to gather will say, “He is risen!” and the response will come, “He is risen, indeed!” No one in this house will be inside a church tomorrow. But we will have an honest day, and God will be honored by our hours, by our conversations, by the meals we eat, and by the ground across which we walk. We will walk together again tomorrow.

~ S.K. Orr