The chaos and horror of Good Friday are over; Jesus is buried in a borrowed tomb and the mourning now begins. Those who had gathered around the cross return to their homes wracked with tears and grief and trauma. It’s a Sabbath – no opportunity to distract themselves with work, just space to weep and to wonder where they go from here.
Traditionally Holy Saturday is a time of waiting, but we’re only waiting if we know what’s coming next. After all, Easter Sunday casts a long, bright shadow, a source of hope born from knowing how the story ends. But what about those who lacked the benefit of hindsight? To them, Holy Saturday must have been less of a pause and more of an end.
Something has to die before there can be a resurrection. But death feels so final, and if you’d seen the broken and bloody body of Jesus taken down from the cross, there may have been no question that death was permanent. To John or Mary or Peter, hope must have felt far away, absent even forever.
Maybe we need this time. Maybe there’s a reason that Jesus came back from the dead on Sunday rather than Saturday. Maybe there needs to be a time of hopelessness built into our calendars to provide some sort of solidarity with all those who struggle to see a tomorrow. Even if we know what happens in the morning it’s still easier to relate to Saturday rather than Sunday.
That’s not to deny the reality of the resurrection, but Holy Saturday gives us space to examine the places where death and grief and absence remain a present reality. Sunday is coming, yes, but after that faith is often an ongoing series of smaller resurrections. We have to work through doubt and despair and abandonment because they’re present realities in a fallen world.
So maybe the quiet of Holy Saturday gives us an opportunity to confront our doubts and fears, to be honest with ourselves in the quiet spaces before tomorrow’s celebrations. Maybe it’s a space of grace given to us to gather our thoughts and prayers, no matter how raw and primal they are, and take take them to the entrance of the the empty tomb, awaiting the dawn, awaiting resurrection.