Holy Saturday

Holy Saturday has particular resonance this year.

It is the day in the Easter story when everything stops, including the narrative of events. It is the day when church services pause and nothing seems to happen. A day of silence. A day of waiting.

Here are the disciples confined to an upper room: shut indoors, afraid to go out. Cut off from the rest of the world: grieving, afraid, confused, lost, wondering what will happen next.

The horror and tragedy of Good Friday has given way to the emptiness of Holy Saturday. Grief, disbelief, confusion: their lives turned upside down, their future uncertain.

The disciples do not know that Easter Sunday is coming.

Here are we, able, maybe, this year more than ever, to relate to them on this day. Confined to our homes: waiting for this strange in-between time to pass; grieving our separation from loved ones, the sudden loss of our old lives, our plans, our jobs and even the deaths of people close to us; wondering how long this will last; and what the future will hold. Afraid maybe of the virus, or of losing our livelihoods, or of the impact of all this on the wider economy, or on the mental health of our children. Asking, perhaps, as surely the disciples must have done: where is God in all this? What is he doing?

We share, with the disciples, in the confusion and fear of not knowing; in the uncertainty and emptiness of Holy Saturday.

But for us there is hope: we know that this season will end.

Wait. Rest. Hope.

Easter Sunday is coming, and with it will come resurrection life.