SURMISES ON HOLY SATURDAY

Easter Saturday has fascinated me for some years. It is difficult to find yourself in that day without our 2000 years of hindsight. We can put up with such a horrific day because we know about the day after. 

I put it like this: 

The great idea is buried

We walk in the day between

What we watched on Friday

And a Sunday no one’s seen

 

On his first album, Life After Death, a collection of songs written about his father’s death, my friend Doug Gay has a song called Saturday Train and puts it like this:

 

I’m in a tunnel of grief 

On a Saturday train

Hurtling along 

In the echoing dark

 

Til it slams to a stop

And the train powers down

So they dim all the lights 

And I wait in the gloom

 

What if I never get out of here?

What if I never can reach the light?

What if this Saturday train never moves again?

 

My friend Alex Wimberly posted a prayer for Easter Saturday that begins to make sense of it. I am particularly taken by the lines

 

To rush from Friday to Sunday,

from death to resurrection,

wouldn’t do either justice.

Nor would it dignify the life of those

whose daily pain and grief

and constant pleas for justice

go unanswered in the world’s daily rhythm

 

This Easter weekend is missionally, pastorally and theologically full. Stopping, taking time, reflecting on it can be helpful in a plethora of ways. My companion in spiritual subversiveness  Fr Martin Magill sent me this:

 

The silence of Holy Saturday speaks to the mystery of death and the unknown. It reminds us that there are moments in life when we are forced to wait and trust in God’s plan, even when we don’t understand it. It also serves as a reminder that in the midst of life’s struggles and uncertainties, God is present, even if He seems hidden from our sight.

 

So, let us not rush right through. Oh it is so easy to start thinking about the empty tomb of tomorrow but we would miss something we need to hear on this cold dark day between. Tomorrow can wait. Often times it will have to.