All in a Day

Yesterday was Easter Day. After the lengthy season of Lent, the weekend held the tension and polarity of so much emotion. It is no wonder we call the week between Palm Sunday and Easter Holy Week. The days of that week move us through the story of the Passion of Christ. We walk with him into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday and then join him in Bethany at the home of Lazarus, Martha and Mary. We see the jostling for attention by the disciples, the questing for power and control by those who were closest to Jesus. And, as the story is told, throughout it all Jesus moves through the days calmly and with a patient demeanor in every encounter. The death, remembered on Good Friday is harrowing. It is gruesome in its detail. And then the long wait of Holy Saturday. It is the day we sit in grief. The day we face the darkness of loss and sorrow.

We live on this side of Easter so we know how the grim story takes a dramatic turn. We know that come Sunday we will celebrate and rejoice and gorge ourselves on sweets and dress our homes with flowers and dress ourselves in the bright colours of spring. Most of us like Easter Sunday more than Good Friday. Most of us want to move to the happy ending. And why not? Easter is the day that bouys us up. It is the story that makes the Christian message one of hope and promise, one of assurance and confidence.

This year, more than others, I have thought about Holy Saturday. That day in between. Holy Saturday seems to me such an important day that we often overlook. This year, more than ever, it feels like we are constantly living Holy Saturday. The continuing impact of covid, the violent war in Ukraine, which overshadows but does not delete the political unrest and oppression in many other countries, and the grinding reality of climate change makes it feel, some days, like we are locked into sorrow and grief. Stuck on Saturday. Messy, ugly Saturday.

I have been pondering, ever since Saturday, how to live as an Easter person, how to deeply live the resurrection, in a world where the pull of Saturday is so strong. Facile answers focusing on butterflies and empty egg shells don’t quite do it for me this year. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not depressed and I am not having a crisis of faith. I just think there is a deep truth to the resurrection, to the story of renewed life, that gets glossed over and ignored in the rush to get to Sunday.

I don’t have the answer. I am using this space to sort out the muddle of thought and feeling that I am exploring today on this Easter Monday. If you have some thoughts on how to grasp the resurrection truth in a Holy Saturday world I would love to hear from you.