Silent Saturday

It's Easter Week, the week between Jesus' triumphal entry and His resurrection, celebrated on Easter Sunday. It's a week filled with intrigue, betrayal, loyalty, and love. It is a week that offers hope in the midst of heartache and disappointment. Or at least it can. 

The challenge with Easter week, and especially “Silent Saturday,” is that it doesn't offer the kind of hope most of us are looking for. It is difficult because of the silence. It is easy to forget Saturday; we know Sunday is coming, at least with Easter. As the sun sets on Friday, we can quickly move from Jesus’ crucifixion to his resurrection with little thought or consideration for the agony this day of silence would have held for the men and women in shock, the setting sun and encroaching darkness dashing their hopes and dreams for a promised future. Though Jesus had explained what would happen, it brought little comfort in the face of his broken, lifeless body lying in a tomb, blocked by a huge boulder, guarded by Roman soldiers.

For many, this year’s holiday is marked by dashed hopes and dreams. Six families in Nashville will observe a different kind of holiday, their recently murdered family members in fresh graves as Easter dawns. The family of the person who intentionally snuffed out those lives will be wrestling with questions that have no easy answers. Tornadoes in the Midwest and South have left others not only grieving but homeless. The crises continue to mount as the days march on. 

My own family has been torn apart like the veil that separated the Holy of Holies from the Holy Place. My heart is crushed by the rejection of adult children choosing to define me by my biggest failures and greatest weaknesses.

I am with many others, preparing for Easter through a fog of grief, disappointment, and even despair. So many in our increasingly broken nation are living in the “silence of Saturday.” Do they know the real reason we celebrate? Do they know Sunday is coming? Do people appreciate the miracle behind the pastel baskets, candy-filled eggs, and shiny new shoes? I don’t know. And honestly, even though I do know the miracle that we will celebrate tomorrow, I see it through different lenses.

Like Narnia under the white witch, it is still winter in my heart, the crocuses and tulips in my yard notwithstanding. To be completely honest, it is difficult to get the energy and motivation to prepare for this holiest of holidays on the Christian calendar. I’d much rather hide in my room and cry instead. And I think that’s okay.

Sunday is coming, both figuratively and literally, regardless of what I do. God is not dependent on my faith (or yours) to work His miracles. He does not need my help to turn things around, to keep His promises, or to bring beauty out of brokenness.

This season of silence is hard. God is not meeting my expectations. His promises have not been kept the way I thought they would be. It could be easy to lose hope in His ability to do what He says. But then I remember what happened on the “first day of the week” two millennia ago and am reminded that Sunday really is coming. I don’t understand how God will keep His promises. I don’t know what the timeframe will be. I don’t even know if it will be in my lifetime. What I do know is, God is not undone by my heartache or disappointment. God is not threatened by my doubt or confusion.

As I wait in the silence of Saturday, I will wait expectantly, because I know Sunday is coming.