In Advance of Holy Saturday: Caught in the in Between

Growing up in an Evangelic church, I've never been quite sure what to do with Holy Week.  I mean, I get Lent (at least as a concept, if not in practice) and the days preceding Easter.  And I understand Good Friday: Our Saviour, crucified. Church. Communion. This is Christ's blood, poured out for us.  Eat fish.

And then there's Easter Sunday: The resurrection. Church. Christ's body, risen from the grave. Throw in some chocolate bunnies and painted eggs for good measure.

But what about the in between?  What about Holy Saturday? Because not even scripture tells us what to do on this day.  The only direction we find is that His followers buried the body of Christ in another man's grave and then observed the Sabbath.  And three of four accounts don't even mention the day at all, they skip straight from burial to resurrection.  One chapter ends and the next begins.

But that's not how it really happened.  There was a whole day.  An entire day when the followers of Jesus didn't know what would happen next.  They had thought the Messiah had come. And now this. They gave everything to follow the Son of Man and now this.  Where was God's purpose for His people in this?  

See, when you read the accounts in the gospels you can turn the page, skip right ahead to the next chapter.  The triumph over the grave.  The victory over death.  But there is a pause in between.  A collective holding of breath.  A poignant, painful pause.

How many of us find ourselves in this space?  Caught in the in between.  We were so full of hope, only to have it pulled out from beneath us.  We gave it our all.   And we are left broken and empty.  God.  You promised.  We thought this was it.

And we don't yet know that Sunday's coming.

We don't yet know that God will redeem even this.

Holy Saturday is for us.  For those of us forced to sit in the stillness.  Holy Saturday is for us who are grieving.  Who feel abandoned.  For the ones buried in other people's graves.  For those of us who haven't yet seen an empty tomb.  Who have had the rock rolled into place and it. will. not. move.

In our anticipation of redemption, we fail to acknowledge the holy weight of this day.  We are too eager to rush ahead to the triumph of the resurrection.  But this matters, too.  This observing of the Sabbath.  This learning of stillness.

And it hurts.

And I want to press fast forward.

Skip ahead to the happy ending.

But Lord, teach me to sit in the stillness.  May I mourn with those who mourn.  Add my tears to their grief.  Teach me the act of waiting.  May I acknowledge my own powerlessness and trust in Your sovereignty, even when I find no purpose in the pain.  May I find peace in the in between.

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