Saturday, April 11, 2009
Good Friday is so raw, so full of vivid suffering. But Holy Saturday is the tomb, the waiting. We sit in the stillness and wring our hands. We know in our hearts that Sunday morning will dawn before we know it, but the hours pass by so slowly.
Holy Saturday is an empty church. I can barely stand to visit there on this day, when Jesus is gone. The tabernacle candle is extinguished; the altar bare. I know He is coming back, but the golden promise of Easter is just that, a promise. For today I sit in the shadow of the sun, hoping and longing. The cross is ever-present, too fresh to be forgotten. My eyes are dry now, but remain swollen and red. I am too tired for more tears, too frightened to stand by the grave, too weak to stand at all. So I sit in the darkness, waiting, knowing He did not lie to me. But I am sad, and scared, and weary.
Of course, I am not alone.
We all wait together, anxious and trusting, looking at each other with both anguish and hope in our eyes. If we can just hold on for one more day. Yes, we can, certainly we can. We will hold tight to one another, dry one another's tears, and wait. He did not lie to us.
Soon Easter will come, and the sun will be so glorious and bright that we will forget our sorrow. The stone will be rolled away, the tomb will be empty, and we will run to one another with only tears of joy upon our cheeks.
But for now, we wait.