“The next day, the one after Preparation Day, the chief priests and the Pharisees went to Pilate. “Sir,” they said, “we remember that while he was still alive that deceiver said, ‘After three days I will rise again.’ So give the order for the tomb to be made secure until the third day. Otherwise, his disciples may come and steal the body and tell the people that he has been raised from the dead. This last deception will be worse than the first.” (Matthew 27:62-64)
Recently, I was joking with a friend who attends a mega-church. They were having two Saturday evening services and three services on Easter Sunday. I asked him if they changed the words to the Resurrection Sunday songs they sing for the Saturday services, like “He’s Almost Risen” and “He Lives…in a While.”
Actually, he and his wife are a part of a very good congregation that does a ton of service in the community. I’m just a stickler for tradition, like celebrating Jesus’ resurrection on the day of the week that the stone was rolled away and the tomb was empty.
Sorry to be such a “Debbie-downer”, but going deeper (or perhaps backing up), it seems that part of the death and resurrection of Jesus’ story, the part we tend to skate over, is the silence of Saturday after the agony of Friday. Holy Saturday was a day of waiting.
We don’t wait well. We don’t like silence. We don’t like uncertainty. Holy Saturday was a day of all three. It’s easy to skip ahead to the flowery, Easter-lily-ied, dress-up-in-our-Easter-suits-and-dresses day when the tomb was empty. Empty of the grief and full of expectation.
Saturday would make us think and consider the quiet of our room or, for the disciples, the quiet of the room they were locked inside of. Saturday is more about the misery and confusion of Job. It’s the day when we wrestle with the questions “Why?” and “What now?”
Holy Saturday, however, does not draw a crowd. Unlike the funeral of Pope Francis, people don’t flock to gatherings for contemplation and remembrance.
Pointing the finger back at myself, there have been a number of “Saturdays” in my life that I have tried to avoid. When a friend, ministry colleague, and mentor, Ben Dickerson, had a sudden heart attack and was on life support for several days, it was a “Saturday” journey. We prayed for his restoration. We wanted the tubes attached to his body to be gone and Ben to be back with us. We wanted to have a conversation with him and to have him share what God had been saying to him. The Saturday, however, stretched out into day after day of unfulfilled hope. When I spoke at his funeral, I had a difficult time keeping it together.
That loss is twenty years in the rearview mirror and I still remember it like it was yesterday. Yesterday, like a Saturday.
And yet, the Saturdays of our lives shape us and condition us for our Sundays. Loss is sometimes the prerequisite for gain. Holy silence precedes exultation and transformed lives.
oly SaturdayI’ll continue to razz my friend about the not-quite Easter Sunday services, but not too much. He knows I’m a Baptist. We have a history of making Mother’s Day the third holy holiday and singing eighty-nine verses of “Just As I Am,” after which we leave just as we have been.
Words from WW Blog 