Holy Saturday
We spend most of our lives in Holy Saturday.
For the most, part our daily lives are not moments of sheer, abject terror—like Good Friday. Nor are they moments of delirious exaltation—like Easter Sunday. Rather, we are often in the “middle time,” as the disciples were. Disappointed, confused, worried, sad, anxious about all sorts of things. Waiting.
I’ve always wanted to know more about what the disciples were doing behind those closed doors on Holy Saturday. What were they talking about? Could they even contain their worry? Certainly they were frightened of the Roman authorities. If they had killed our leader, they probably asked themselves, could we be far behind? If even Jesus of Nazareth, with all his powers and all his followers, could not escape the cross, what hope is there for us? . . .
Most of our lives are spent waiting and hoping. But we are in a different position than were the terrified disciples on Holy Saturday. We in the midst of our waiting know the end of the story. We know that our Redeemer lives. We know to expect Resurrections great and small in our lives. And we know that our waiting will never be in vain.
