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There is no doubt that Friday of Holy Week, what we call Good Friday, was devastating for those who hoped in Jesus. His trial over, the chance of his release passed, the torturous death sentence carried out at Golgotha. Though sometimes I wonder if Saturday was even worse. It was absent the immediate devastation, and perhaps the actual moment of crucifixion was worse. But I can’t help but think waking up the next day, dawn’s consciousness that it wasn’t a dream, that Jesus was killed, would at the very least be a close second. A day of Sabbath, when religious practices are mixed with what felt like defeat, confusion, and intense grief. Maybe we don’t think about that because we can’t help but picture the promise of the next sunrise, of angels at a tomb where the stone has been rolled away. But for just another moment, stay with me, stay with them, here on Saturday, in-between Friday and its cross that holds a dying man and Sunday and its empty tomb. I wonder if they remembered the 13th Psalm? Praying, crying, screaming its words: How long, O Lord? Will you forget me for ever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I bear pain in my soul,
and have sorrow in my heart all day long?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
I sometimes think of that Psalm today. I read a Holy Saturday devotion years ago that quoted it, and offered that Sunday, Easter, resurrection would soon mean the latter verses of that Psalm would be on their lips: But I trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
because he has dealt bountifully with me.
I love that Psalm, and I like that idea, but not today. Today it feels weak. Running ahead to Sunday, even running ahead to resurrection, is to ignore the tears and screams of Friday night. The devastation of Saturday. We have hindsight, we’ve read the story, so of course resurrection is a part of our faith and narrative, but we must not miss the part of that same narrative when it wasn’t. When some of Jesus’ followers knew only that he had been killed. I doubt they felt like singing to the Lord, or much like rejoicing, but it seems to me they continued to trust. At least a little. Mary and the others keep the Sabbath; they don’t go to the tomb until Sunday as an act of faith, as an act of trust in God’s steadfast love before they discovered the tomb that was empty. We will have days like Holy Saturday, and we have the benefit of knowing on this Holy Saturday, and those days like it, that Easter Sunday, that resurrection is coming. But today I invite you to remember with me that there is no devastation, no dismay, no defeat, nor even death that God is not present in, at work in, even in the worst of times. We may not know what God is up to, and maybe the best we can do is try to trust, believe, and move forward, but we can do so with the promise that God’s steadfast love is at work, even in those in-between times. Rev. Ben Richards Ps. … and since Easter is coming, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning. Worship will begin at 11a, and don’t forget that beginning at 10a we will have donuts and coffee and tea in the parlor. If you’d like to bring a little something for this special day to share, you are invited to do so, or just come and grab a snack and a seat and catch up with one another.
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