“The Place Where We Are Right”
by Yehuda AmichaiFrom the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow
In the spring.The place where we are right
Is hard and trampled
Like a yard.But doubts and loves
Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plow.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
Where the ruined
House once stood.
Holy Saturday is the day between crucifixion and resurrection. I think most of us live in Holy Saturday most of the time. Our own eyes have witnessed immense suffering inflicted on those who seem least equipped to absorb it, an intensifying climate crisis, and a callous disregard for our neighbors in need. Our own ears have heard how words cut others down, seeking to render them voiceless. Our own bodies and minds have experienced trauma so debilitating as to render us incapable of imagining a future worth living for. We have heard the promise of new life on the other side of suffering, but can we really believe it?
Those who mean well tell us, “This, too, shall pass.” Your pastor might even try to encourage you with hopeful words about “God’s promises,” muttering something about “resurrection” and “new life” after a season of hardship. But reason and experience suggest that these words are pious bullshit. On Holy Saturday, those promises seem certain to go unfulfilled.
When we allow reason and experience to limit our imagination about what could be possible, we find ourselves on hard, infertile ground. Certainty closes off new ideas and perspectives. It dulls our capacity to dream of new pathways forward. From the place where we are right, flowers will never grow in the spring.
Instead, doubts and loves can disrupt this fixed, lifeless state and cultivate something new. Doubt can be a mole, digging up the earth and exposing new possibilities, while love can be a plow that turns over the soil and makes it fertile again. On Holy Saturday, perhaps we can only crack open the door of imagination, letting in just a faint glimmer of an alternative reality. But it’s enough. A whisper will be heard. It’s a quiet voice that nonetheless captures our attention: what if? It’s just enough to make us question what we were so certain was true and nudge us beyond where we are right.
If you’re stuck in Holy Saturday today, here is your nudge: this is not the end of the story. The promise of new life does not guarantee that our suffering will end immediately or that it will never come our way again, but it is an invitation to imagine that something else is always possible. Let the doubts and loves that live within you be like the mole and plow that dig up the soil of your imagination, and don’t be afraid to crack the door open just a little bit. Who knows what whisper might find its way through? Hold onto the hope that even in the midst of suffering, something new and beautiful can grow.
Dear Javen,
This is perhaps the most profound message you've shared all this Lent (and there have been many!). This is, I think, why I continue to try to find my way back to spirituality. It's not to find "a church", but, rather, to find something good and hopeful within the suffering of all these Holy Saturdays. You and Oby have given so much of yourselves these past 40 days. What a blessing it is to have been a part of it. I will deeply miss our daily "meetings".
Happy Easter and much love to you both,
Richard
Javen, what a wonderful word. Resurrection not only from death to eternal life but also resurrection along the way. Stunningly beautiful ! Truly!