Reclaiming Easter 3: Holy Saturday

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(This is one post in four parts… Part 1, Part 2, Part 4.)

Part of reclaiming Easter, of following Jesus, of crucifying the sins of Christendom, is honesty.

Honesty about what’s going on in our lives, honesty about our weakness (and our strength), honesty about our failings (and our triumphs), honesty about where we stand with Jesus and his teachings. You can’t lie to the omniscient, so let’s imagine that’s a feature, not a bug.

Holy Saturday is a great place to start this. You’ve got to be honest on Holy Saturday. Liturgically, Jesus is in the tomb, Sunday hasn’t got here yet, we’re sitting with the grief and doubt and pain of Good Friday and sunrise over the garden seems so far away.

There are many people sitting in our congregations who have seen the light of Sunday, but right now it seems like Saturday. They’re suffering bereavement. They’re suffering depression. Their addictions or their debt or their stress is overwhelming. She’s punched on a regular basis but people are trying to keep them together. He’s putting on a brave face but he can see how easy it would be to start the car engine but not open the garage door. The bills keep piling up. The cancer is aggressive.

There is hope. Of course there is, we have to believe that Sunday’s coming. But sometimes starting with Sunday just reduces everything to platitudes. Sometimes it’s a disservice to do anything but sit with the grief and the pain for a while, to acknowledge it and cry out to God and walk with people in their suffering.

Job’s friends, in the midst of catastrophe, rock up with ‘answers’ and make the whole thing worse. It’s the honesty that leads to healing. There are times when we need to check our privilege, throw away the sanctified self-help books and be honest about those agonising pauses when it feels like Jesus is still in the tomb. We reclaim Easter when we’re honest about the pain rather than pretending it’s all chocolate and bunnies.

It’s a dead end to stay with Saturday though. There is hope. There is a future. And when we’re weeping in the graveyard, we might just hear a familiar whispered voice behind us….

(Continued tomorrow.)

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