On Holy Saturday, we are waiting.
Waiting for resurrection, for Easter, which we will begin celebrating tonight as the sky grows dark.
But during the day on Saturday, there is no resurrection yet. Just waiting.
On the first Holy Saturday, when Jesus was in the tomb, his followers were waiting, though perhaps they didn’t know what for, yet. Surely they were waiting, waiting to see if they too would be arrested, if any more would turn sides and betray them, if indeed it would be as Christ had said and he would be raised on the third day.
Today, I am waiting, too. I am in bed, waiting for my body to recover, waiting to get back to my usual pace of life.
With autoimmune disease, there are times of being healthier than usual, and times of being sicker than usual. Those sicker times are when the disease is more active. They’re called flares.
Lots of things can cause flares, and the triggers are different for every individual. But for most of us, times of excessive busy-ness and stress bring on flares. And guess what the busiest time is for most clergy? Holy Week.
The start of every flare feels like a little death. My life changes; I have to hit pause for a while. It’s frustrating and painful.
The end of every flare feels like a little resurrection. I get out of bed; I go out into the world with renewed vibrancy. It’s glorious and joy-filled.
But in between, there is a lot of waiting.
This Holy Saturday, I join with Christ’s first followers, and Christ’s followers through the centuries, in waiting for resurrection. I sit still in the cool quiet. I try not to worry. I remember that I am not alone.
Tonight, we celebrate resurrection. Today, we wait.