Holy Saturday

It is cold this morning. Good Friday had not rain, but a blizzard of snow. The tears have been shed, the darkness has come, now we wait. I teased a friend this morning that I wanted to get in a few little Alleluias in anticipation. We just don't like to wait.

But Saturday, this day of waiting, of holding our breath, of empty deserted sanctuaries, must be. I think of the darkest times in my own life, and in the lives of those I love. Never has the darkness been followed immediately by light. The problems that seem impossible to surmount are never solved overnight. There is always waiting; when the crushing sorrow, or fear, or anger has passed, and the darkness has turned to grey fog. Those days of waiting are, perhaps, the hardest and longest times of our lives.

Even as Christ hung on the cross yesterday those who loved him best, his mother, Mary Magdalene, and a few others stood nearby. But now, closed in the tomb he is alone, as they are alone. Wrapped in their grief, isolated by their confusion. How could this happen? How could this be? I imagine Mary, the Magdalene, slamming her fists against Peter's chest. She is angry, betrayed, and hurt. "How could you let them kill him?" She sobs, and Peter, lost in his own betrayal would have no reply.

Now in the waiting we are truly alone. In those long days and nights when we wait, helpless and powerless, we may feel utterly abandoned. But the truth is, we are not. Christ warned those who loved him that the road he walked was dangerous. That he had chosen to speak for the voiceless, to challenge the ways of the powerful, and that they would strike back. He warned those who loved him, but they did not understand. They continued to believe in the rosy utopia of their own creating and when their expectations were shattered, they fled.

We do the same, every day. We make little deals with God to get us the job we want, the house we lust after, to keep our family safe, and always to keep our lives on an even and balanced keel. But those things were never what God promised. Just like the disciples we don't see Good Friday coming, so when it does we scatter and from our dark hiding places we are sure that we have been left utterly alone, that we got it all wrong, that God isn't really with us.

Today, wherever you are in your own journey, remember and know you are not alone. Because unlike the Marys, or Peter, or the rest we have already seen the glory of Sunday morning. We know the rest of the story. God wins. And God waits here in the grey fog of the between times. The tomb today becomes a womb, waiting patiently, heavy with mystery to bring forth new life. Just so our own tombs of waiting, whether we wail without, or sleep within. God waits as well, God works while we stumble blindly, God is making creation new. Wait, here in the garden, and when He calls your name you will see.