If you attended a Good Friday gathering last night, or have as many friends who observe this tradition as I do, it’s very likely you heard this phrase or saw it posted somewhere. I was first introduced to it by Tony Campolo, as he recounts a sermon his pastor once gave. It’s a good story and a powerful tool for hope when hope seems lost.
But today, on Holy Saturday, this gives me pause. We go from Friday to Sunday, but what about Saturday? Are we too quick to jump from loss to victory? Are we skipping Saturday? I wonder how those who experienced the first Holy Saturday would have experienced it.
It’s Friday, and you reckon with the fact that you have denied your mentor, rabbi, and dear friend three times, just like he said you would, to people you don’t even know. He’s gone. You couldn’t bear to stay as he breathed his last. And now it’s Saturday as you awake for Sabbath. How can you even rest with such guilt and shame? You can’t even look the other disciples in the eye. you don’t feel much like a “rock” today and you are uncharacteristically at a loss for words.
It’s Friday and you have watched your beloved son die a traitor’s death. As the spear pierces his side, a sword pierces your own heart. You hardly slept and now it’s Saturday. Whereas you could sing before about the blessing of his birth and the hope for his work to come, any words now catch in your throat; held back by sudden sobs and more tears than you knew were possible to cry. John has been so good to you, but you see he is hurting and confused as well. You sit in knowing silence together, wondering how God will fulfill the promises made to you. You open up your heart in search of treasured memories, each one bringing pangs of loss and doubt. What now?
Saturday is a day where our grief, disillusionment, and loss still hang in the air and cloud our view. It’s understandable why we would want to skip it. It’s uncomfortable and inefficient. Let’s get to Sunday already! After all, we know how this story ends up, don’t we?
Though it was a sabbath, Holy Saturday has work to do in us. It allows us to actually feel loss, to sit in the silence of uncertainty and pain, to entrust ourselves to God with all the doubts, anger, and resentment we may be feeling.
who also was and is his God.
May we leave the gaps open, our wounds open and felt. May we fully engage our suffering and loss today. May we feel the weight of how the world is not right. May we grieve. May we not skip Saturday. This will allow our celebration on Resurrection Sunday to meet us in our place of deepest need and allow for immeasurable joy and hope.
This Holy Saturday we watch and wait.
We simply have to wait.