A TALE

On this Saturday morning, everyone woke with a head full of dread.

Many felt so weak and full of fear that they could not pull themselves out of bed. Many of those who did soon returned to bed. Those who remained awake, remained in fear.

For some, this Saturday was the Sabbath. For others, it was a day not meant for prayer or rest. But nothing was done. Not even by those who were skilled and willing to do.

Despair filled the hearts of all men, women and children. Animals were quiet. Dogs slunk through the streets with their tails between their hind legs, or they crawled whimpering under flooring and furniture.

Cats’ backs arched, their fur stood on end, a teetering tip-toe of stance and step throughout this Saturday.

Beasts of burden would do no work. Had anyone made an effort to remove them from their stables and pens, the animals would have simply slumped in the fields. But no one made any effort to work these animals. Not on this Saturday.

Shepherds sagged in their clothing and cast their eyes on the ground. Sheep could have wandered away, but none, not even the smallest lamb, moved.

Birds neither flew nor sang. They stayed in their nests. They did not seek the early worm, because the worms, beneath the earth, were as still as the birds.

Flowers did not bloom. Fish did not jump. Lions did not roar. Grass did not grow. Neither rain fell nor the sun shined. All was gray. Low thunder often rippled across the sky, but nothing to shatter that gray dread.

No one died. Many wished to draw their last breath. They wished to end the despair, but no one took his own life. No one committed murder. No one was assaulted. No one robbed. All wars stopped.

But there was no peace.

No one smiled. Children did not laugh or play. Brides canceled weddings or forgot about them. No babies were born that Saturday. None were conceived.

On that Saturday, time could have stopped. People wondered if there would ever be a tomorrow. They wondered if another day would come. Most feared this Saturday might last forever.

On that Saturday, there was no hope. Not even a memory of the concept of hope, or a future, or the faith that hope can instill in a future.

That Saturday was the only day, that day between Good Friday’s crucifixion and Easter Sunday’s resurrection, when the presence of God could not be found on earth.

That Saturday was the day when God left the world.

But a new day would come.

Dean Poling is an editor with The Valdosta Daily Times and editor of The Tifton Gazette.