On this Holy Saturday, we wait in darkness with the women and disciples. We have the privilege of knowing what’s next, but image that we don’t. Sit with them in the finality of the death of the one who preached peace and freedom, who spoke of salvation from the darkness and is now dead in a dark tomb. Sit with them in the questions of despair, in the silence of not knowing.
“Nicodemus, who had first come to Jesus at night, came now in broad daylight carrying a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds. They took Jesus’ body and, following the Jewish burial custom, wrapped it in linen with the spices. There was a garden near the place he was crucified, and in the garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been placed. So, because it was Sabbath preparation for the Jews and the tomb was convenient, they placed Jesus in it. After all this, Joseph of Arimathea (he was a disciple of Jesus, but secretly, because he was intimidated by the Jews) petitioned Pilate to take the body of Jesus. Pilate gave permission. So Joseph came and took the body.”
(John 19:38-42 The Message)
Today we spend in liminal space, a holy place of dependence on the hope we only have with God. What we know is no longer and what’s is to come we know not. It is a time to just be, of letting go and not grasping for what’s next. Just be.