It’s Holy Week, and while for many people it is a time of sacred reflection, I would describe it more as a time of sacred chaos. When you work in a church, Holy Week is full and the to-do lists are endless. So I’m choosing to take a few quiet moments as I sit in my office today to reflect on this season.
It has been silent around here, and all I can say about it is that this year has been hard. 2018—all three months of it—has felt long and heavy with burdens and grief. But as I sit here thinking about Holy week, I’m reminded of Saturday.
Holy Saturday, the day before Easter, is the time in between. Jesus has been crucified but not resurrected—he is simply dead. It is a silent space. There is no rejoicing, no hallelujahs. There are no cries of pain, either, but the quiet can be deafening.
I think there are moments in our lives that feel like Holy Saturday moments. The moments after the hurt when we feel broken and lost, the moments before resurrection comes. The Holy Saturday moments can leave us feeling even more alone and wounded than Good Friday.
But, of course, we know something that the disciples of Jesus may not have fully understood on that first Holy Saturday. We know that while the tomb is very real, it is not the most real thing. We are witnesses to a God who redeems, who brings life from death. We have seen that joy and tragedy don’t cancel each other out, and despite all evidence to the contrary there is hope and mercy for us all. We know that Easter Sunday is coming. And thank God for that.