Once upon a time…
It was Saturday, the Eleventh Day of April, in The Year Of Our Lord Two Thousand Twenty, and the day before Easter Sunday. Known in many Christian traditions as Holy Saturday, this day was, for me, a bit different from the fifty-plus Holy Saturdays in my life that preceded it. Our world was in a quieter state than most of us had ever experienced before because of a viral pandemic called Coronavirus that ground much of our activity to a standstill.
It hit me even as I typed the word “standstill”…
Not moving, suspended, stationary.
But not inactive.
As with the first Holy Saturday, our world seemed on this day to be holding its breath, waiting for something. A change. A revolution.
As I found myself waiting on Holy Saturday in The Year Of Our Lord Two Thousand Twenty, I reflected on exactly what it was for which I was waiting…Easter Sunday celebrations, of course, even though I knew my church’s building would be nearly empty. But we would connect through the gift of technology for which we all gave thanks. The glory of Jesus and the hope of new life through Him would still be preached and revealed.
But I also waited for my world to return to “normal”, whatever that meant now. My suspicion was that my definition of normal would never be the same. Gone were the days of long-range planning for…anything, really. Life was now taking place in real time, one day at a time, heartbeat by heartbeat and breath by breath.
And I imagined the body of Jesus, lying in that small, dark space that was both tomb and womb, having experienced death, waiting to rise up and emerge into a world that would be changed forever. Good Friday was about Death. Easter Sunday was about New Life.
Holy Saturday was about Waiting.