Holy Saturday

Cryptically labyrinthine:

A much needed haven from the hell of the world,

For the trio at this point in time.

Their march was unto sanity as if from insanity.

This special group for the Lord’s workshop,

Needed a retreat to retreat from fishing,

To a more profitable fishing vocation.

For a quieter Saturday city than ours.

Than ours!

So, where is Peter

And where is James,

And where is John?

I can understand a bout of smallpox or chickenpox or cowpox

That can take one to a hide-out hospital

Beyond the knowledge of friends

Beyond the knowledge of the king

Beyond the knowledge even of one’s spouse

Where is Peter?

Peter went on sabbatical

To attend a short course on fishing:

Soon enough he should be able to use fishing boats,

Or become a fishing professor in a fishing college.

I don’t mean for fishing mobile phones

At PZ[1], no.

He will not take a PhD in fishing, no.

He is aware that the fishing business is into billions per year,

And he is going for that…

But will he last there?

Where is James?

He went to plan a coup.

No longer keen on sitting beside God

It is okay if he already has power here:

Power to command as Grand Commander of the Armed Forces;

Power to shout like thunder, the voice of God;

Power to kick people around like football;

And power to sleep through international conferences.

Jesus left a wrong notion of power:

Look at him parading in hell displaying power,

And yet his men are looking for power

That is neither in heaven nor in hell.

Rather than feed the hungry,

He is talking to demons.

Rather than heal the sick,

He is taking a lost and found key from the underworld.

But why should James not go for elections?

At least he died for his faith.

Oh Mother of God,

Pray for us sinners that we may honour our democracy,

And stand in elections when the people want us,

And resign from our posts when we become redundant,

Pray for us sinners, now and the hour of our demise.

            now and the hour of our downfall

            now and the hour of our termination

            now and the hour of our recreation

But we died before now a long time ago:

Remember the loss of the railway track;

Remember the Green Revolution that took place in hotels;

Remember the many coups d’état;

Remember the farce of the ABC[2] on our character;

Remember, remember, and remember!

Oh Mother of God,

Pray for us sinners,

Now and the hour of our new death.

Where is John?

He went in to master writing:

He wrote about everything

Including love,

Including warnings about hell,

And real kingdom matters.

He became a real journalist,

Preaching louder than John the Baptist his former master.

He so mastered the call of journalism

That Journalists after him, instead of Pastors,

Have their heads displayed on some platter

On King Herod’s birthday.

Including love—

            Love that a Pastor got wrong when he eloped with his catechist’s wife

            Love that a sportsman got wrong when he took performance enhancing drugs

And warnings about hell—

Hell that is misunderstood in daily conversations

Hell that is not known at the fireside

And real Kingdom matters—

            Not the kingdoms created by Bishops

            Not the Kingdom of empire builders

We should join the fasting squad,

On today

Today being Holy Saturday,

A day unto the Lord!

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[1] PZ: Paterson Zochonis

[2] ABC:  ‘Attitudinal and Behavioral Change,’ name of the office set up by President Ernest Bai Koroma after Sierra Leone’s  celebration of her Jubilee