For years, Holy Saturday was my every day. I knew all too well the death of Good Friday. Easter had not yet come.
Pain, loss and more pain and loss. Kicks in the gut. No obvious way out. No clear path about the future. Days when I didn't know how to get out of bed. I wondered if my life really matter to anyone or anything.
As much as I wanted to move on to the joy, to the hope to the shouts of affirmation of "The Lord is risen! The Lord in risen indeed!" I couldn't. (In 2013, I even wrote about my depression during Holy Week).
Actually during this time, I didn't like Easter Sunday at all.
Not because I didn't need its hope. Not because it wasn't a good story to preach. Not because it wasn't fun to see the big crowds the Sunday draws.
No, I didn't like Easter because it came too quick. I needed a longer Saturday.
If that. We do such a poor job in the church of teaching people to stay put on Saturday. To sit with the hopelessness of our world. To cry tears for the injustice. To mourn what the world must have felt like when Jesus was gone. And to remember that our world, even with risen Christ here doesn't always feel like it.
This world can really beat us down sometimes. And in life we're good at avoiding this kind of pain.
For most of us the Holy is taken out of the Saturday because we spend the day running around preparing for a big meal, shopping for new clothes or even dying eyes and hiding them in the backyard.
And for me, during my years of many Holy Saturdays, I just felt so lost at church-- no matter if I were the preacher in charge or not. I can imagine tomorrow there are countless people sitting in the pews of your resurrection celebration that might feel the same way.
They'll be struggling to sing "Christ the Lord is Risen Today."
They'll be crying tears for the loss of someone who is not sitting beside them this year.
They''ll not be able to shout about any good news in their life.
I think we start by remembering that as much as we are a people of the supper of Maundy Thursday and the "It is finished" of Good Friday and Easter to come, we also belong to Holy Saturday.
We belong to that yucky, in between, not sure how the story is going to ever get better club.
We belong to a God who doesn't answer prayers in a timely way (according to us at least).
We belong to a world of so many unanswered questions. And because our faith story includes Holy Saturdays, we must champion those who are stuck there.
As for me, today, I woke up with such gratitude for those who were companions for all of my Holy Saturdays.
I'm grateful for those who were never afraid of my tears, my questions or even my rants on hard days about "How I didn't believe in the resurrection" even as a pastor.
I'm grateful for the pulpit that gave me words to preach my way through these hard days.
I'm grateful, too, that I'm not there anymore. (I've got SO much to say about Easter that I can't wait to preach soon!)
Here's my word; if you're stuck, see it through. Take all the time you need. I promise you won't be there forever. Sunday is coming! It really is. So keep going. This is the best Holy Saturday prayer I know. Just keep going.
