Oh, sorrow, dread, the Son of God is dead!
The church echoes with the closing of the book. It. Is. Finished.
Darkness drapes it now, silence wrapping it like a shroud. Unadorned, the altar bare and empty, it waits.
It waits, through the long night and following day. It waits, until life stirs yet again.
They bring the lilies, bring the white cloth. The ugly cross, once robed in black and sorrow, now stands clothed in white. The sign of death becomes the sign of life.
The church echoes with the shout: “He is risen!”
He is risen indeed. Alleluia!