Holy Saturday

 This is from Kahlil Gibran's Jesus the son of man:

When Jesus spoke the whole world was hushed to listen. His words were not for our ears but rather for the elements of which God made this earth.
He spoke to the sea, our vast mother, that gave us birth. He spoke to the mountain, our elder brother whose summit is a promise.
And He spoke to the angels beyond the sea and the mountain to whom we entrusted our dreams ere the clay in us was made hard in the sun.
And still His speech slumbers within our breast like a love-song half forgotten, and sometimes it burns itself through to our memory.
His speech was simple and joyous, and the sound of His voice was like cool water in a land of drought.
Once He raised His hand against the sky, and His fingers were like the branches of a sycamore tree; and He said with a great voice:
“The prophets of old have spoken to you, and your ears are filled with their speech. But I say unto you, empty your ears of what you have heard.”
And these words of Jesus, “But I say unto you,” were not uttered by a man of our race nor of our world; but rather by a host of seraphim marching across the sky of Judea.
Again and yet again He would quote the law and the prophets, and then he would say, “But I say unto you.”
Oh, what burning words, what waves of seas unknown to the shores of our mind, “But I say unto you.”
What stars seeking the darkness of the soul, and what sleepless souls awaiting the dawn.

To tell of the speech of Jesus one must needs have His speech or the echo thereof.
I have neither the speech nor the echo.
I beg you to forgive me for beginning a story that I cannot end. But the end is not yet upon my lips. It is still a love song in the wind. 

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