We often say that as Christians we are an Easter people. By this we mean that we seek to be ones who live into the hope of the resurrection. And while I definitely proclaim the good news of Easter, I also find that we sometimes move so quickly through Holy Week that we skip over one of the most important days of the Easter journey - Holy Saturday. If you are like me, you may have spent much of your life not knowing the importance of Holy Saturday - nestled between the dark irony of Good Friday and the eruption of celebration on Easter morning - or even that it has its own name and identity. In most Presbyterian churches we have no celebrations or commemorations of Holy Saturday in our liturgy. The liturgical silence, though, speaks volumes. Holy Saturday is a hinge moment for us in the church. As the sanctuary darkened to pitch black at the Good Friday Requiem service, no one could ignore the contrast with the adornment of flowers, white cloths, and shouts of “Chris is risen!" (and, of course, “Christ is risen, indeed!”) that would come on Easter with bonnets and pastel bowties.
When I reflect on the day leading us to the resurrection and the conquering of death and the transformation of creation I am more than ever drawn to the disciples of Jesus. I imagine their despair. The one they have followed has been killed. He is dead and buried. Their very purpose has disappeared behind the stone that sealed the crypt. Their calling has lost its purpose like a dinner table candle being snuffed at the end of a meal - the thin trail of final smoke, the only remnant of what had been a vibrant light in the darkness.
I think about the confusion that must have overwhelmed them. These followers had risked it all. They abandoned their fishing nets and families. They stood up to powerful religious leaders and turned their backs on tradition and expectations. In poker terms, they went "all in" on a hand that was now leaving them empty. They were stunned. So stunned that Peter, even though Jesus had warned him that he would do so, denies even knowing Jesus.
We step into Holy Saturday with the knowledge of what will come on Easter morning. We stepped into Lent with the knowledge of the glory of the empty tomb. Indeed, we cannot separate our experience as Christians from the knowledge of Easter. As Christians, we are, indeed, an Easter people, and we are an Easter people even on Holy Saturday and everyday.
For me, this means that the eyes through which I look at the disciples on Holy Saturday are loving and knowing eyes that want to hold and comfort these broken friends, knowing that even their pain will be gone in the morning. Sometimes, though, our Holy Saturday comes at other times in our lives.
Our Holy Saturday comes when we have a difficult diagnosis. It comes when we are in the midst of treatment. It comes when our job ends or our children are lost and confused or when the pressures and anxieties of our lives seem to overwhelm. Holy Saturday comes in our lives when all of the hopes and dreams and realities we have come to rely upon seem to come crashing down around us. And when our Holy Saturday comes, and when Holy Saturday seems to last for days and days or weeks or even for years, it is hard to see Easter. No matter how prepared we think we are, hope seems elusive and promises seem trite. No matter how long and how far we've walked with Jesus, his words fall silent.
And, yet, somehow, on Holy Saturday, experiencing the hinge moment where we've just mourned the death of Christ, and with full knowledge of Easter coming the next day, we mark it with no liturgy and no formal observances. Experiencing Holy Saturday might feel like the moment when you jump into a swimming pool, breath held, waiting to rise to the surface to take the deep intake of new air. The gift we have is that we know that Easter comes. But when you experience moments in your life when it can be difficult to see that Easter is coming, may you return to that hinge moment knowing that you are not alone and that the path of waiting is a path you walk in the tight embrace of our God as you wait for the risen Christ to leave the tomb empty.
