The Forgotten Day

Posted by DJL on Apr 11, 2020 in Faith | 4 comments

Most of us are familiar with the rhythm of Holy Week. Starting with the triumphal entry of Palm Sunday, continuing to the intimacy of the Lord’s Supper and the agony of Good Friday, and concluding with the triumph of Easter morning, we know the pattern of this week well. But amid all our services and reflections, we often forget Saturday, the day in between Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. Indeed, in my experience, we give it next to no thought whatsoever, and yet I think it is an important day in its own right.

Yes, we can imagine, even if insufficiently, the horror Jesus’ disciples experienced as they witnessed the torture and execution of their Lord. We can ponder their own self-doubt and personal despair as they find themselves not rushing to his defense but keeping a safe distance, abandoning him along with all their convictions. Similarly, the brass and orchestra and brave singing of our favorite Easter hymns attempt to create for us a sense of the surprise, wonder, and joy upon hearing the good news that death could not hold Jesus.

Yes, we can try to attempt to imagine the ultimate low of Good Friday and the commensurately glorious high of Easter. But it’s Saturday that speaks to me just now, the day in between, the day of dull numbness after the events of the previous twenty-four hours, the day when there is no hint that the pain and fear of the moment will ever abate. What did the disciples do? How did they comfort each other? Did they even try? Or might they have stumbled through that Sabbath completely oblivious to what was going on around them, fearful of a suddenly and frighteningly unknown future, and as yet unable to even imagine putting the pieces of their lives back together?

I think this day is important because the dull ache of pain and the stubborn wrench of deep longing that will likely never be satisfied is perhaps a more regular experience than the agony of Good Friday or the joy of Easter. When you lose a loved one, when your marriage implodes, when you fail to conceive, when your dream job evaporates, when you receive a devastating diagnosis, when your livelihood disappears, when…. Each of us has likely gone through moments of tremendous disappointment and so we know firsthand that, often, the true low point of those experiences is likely not the actual and concrete event, when the sheer shock of the catastrophe effectively mutes our feelings and offers odd shelter. No, the hardest days are usually the ones that come afterward. Days after the funeral, when the calls and visits stop. Weeks after the divorce, miscarriage, or loss of employment, when sympathetic friends no longer check in. The time in between the diagnosis and treatment, when there is absolutely nothing you can do.

These are the experiences that Holy Saturday speaks to, for they are the experiences of Jesus’ disciples ahead of Easter, struggling through the absolute uncertainty of what their future might possibly hold that is worth living for.

This Holy Saturday, that seems particularly to be the case, not simply in our community but across our nation and globe. We have adjusted to the immediate changes and restrictions required by the global pandemic, but live in the uncertainty of having no idea when life will return to normal, wondering what “normal” may even look like. We do not know how long we will shelter-in-place, how long we will suspend gathering in large numbers, but I suspect it will be longer than most of us imagined. And that leaves a dreadful and cold pit in my stomach. Until there is a vaccine, we cannot assure our safety and are at constant risk and cannot even imagine a future absent our current and constant anxiety. We, too, live in a time of waiting and longing.

Which is why it’s important, I think, to remember this day. Because while the disciples stumbled through their routines – and while we try to carry on with our lives – God is neither absent nor inactive. Indeed, God was preparing to raise Jesus from the dead and provide the turning point of all history, fashioning a new and open future that none on that Saturday could imagine. Perhaps at this time, when so many of us will likely encounter what feels like an ominous virus-induced quiet, we might remember the promise of Holy Saturday that, contrary to our experience of expectation, God is not finished yet. We might recall that, indeed, God’s favorite thing to do is to show up where we least expect God to be and to surprise those who have given up on God and so can no longer imagine what redemption and blessing and grace feel like.

Blessed Holy Saturday, then, as we take heart and encourage one another on this in-between day that simultaneously captures the painful rhythm of our lives just now as well as promises that God is still at work, eager to surprise and redeem us and the whole creation.