HOLY SATURDAY MOMENTS
Holy Saturday -- the day after -- the day in between -- the day after the death.
Holy Saturday -- the only words to describe it are waiting, watching, and quiet, lots of quiet.
Holy Saturday -- waiting.
Like waiting as a family in a waiting room outside the intensive care center in a hospital.
Like waiting for 9:00 P.M. in a funeral home after a long, long day of standing, greeting relatives and friends who have come to say a prayer and pay their respects and voice their sorrow and sympathy to us -- when we have lost a loved one.
Like waiting for spring after the winter -- to see buds and birds once again -- new life -- the resurrection of the earth.
Like waiting for the birth of a child -- a mother about to give birth has great pain, but all that changes to joy when she sees her new child born into this world.
Like the father of the Prodigal Son waiting, waiting for his wayward son to come home -- and then waiting, waiting for the stubborn older brother to come into the house and welcome his younger brother back into the family.
Like Jesus waiting and looking with one last glance from the cross before he dies hoping to see Judas coming home, coming up the hill of Calvary.
Like Peter, not knowing resurrection, scratching his mistakes like picking at a freshly formed scab on a cut on the skin of his soul.
Like Mary, hurting, another sword -- pondering all this in her heart.
Like waiting for tomorrow: Easter Sunday.
Holy Saturday: watching.
Like watching others and how they deal with a loss.
Like watching the eastern sky for dawn.
Like watching our watch and then a clock and then the phone and then our watch again when another promised to give us a call that they arrived home safely on an icy night.
Like the disciples in the upper room huddled in worry and fear, wondering what’s going to happen next.
Holy Saturday: quiet.
Quiet like the quiet after experiencing a dream that has become a nightmare -- when all our plans and all our expectations have totally unraveled.
Quiet like the quiet we feel when someone we loved has died -- feeling the gulping hole in our conversations and our thoughts and our prayers.
Quiet like seeing an empty space in a bed.
Quiet like seeing an empty cross.
Quiet like the quiet we feel when someone has hurt us badly.
Quiet like the quiet we feel when we were wrong and can’t admit it.
Quiet like the flowers of spring ready to burst -- tulips trumpeting the spring.
Holy Saturday: an off day -- a day in between -- a day you have to have -- to slow us down before the big day -- the day of we’re waiting for, watching for, then the quiet, then the burst of the Easter Christ.
Come Lord Jesus, come. Come Risen Son of God
Holy Saturday a time to come here to church for quiet prayer together, waiting and watching for Jesus’ return -- for resurrection -- for new beginnings and new life. Amen
Come Lord Jesus, come.
Come Resurrection and Life.
Come “Amen” of the Father.
Amen, Jesus always rising within us all days, even to the end of the world.
Amen. Maranatha.*
Come, Lord Jesus, come.
Like waiting as a family in a waiting room outside the intensive care center in a hospital.
Like waiting for 9:00 P.M. in a funeral home after a long, long day of standing, greeting relatives and friends who have come to say a prayer and pay their respects and voice their sorrow and sympathy to us -- when we have lost a loved one.
Like waiting for spring after the winter -- to see buds and birds once again -- new life -- the resurrection of the earth.
Like waiting for the birth of a child -- a mother about to give birth has great pain, but all that changes to joy when she sees her new child born into this world.
Like the father of the Prodigal Son waiting, waiting for his wayward son to come home -- and then waiting, waiting for the stubborn older brother to come into the house and welcome his younger brother back into the family.
Like Jesus waiting and looking with one last glance from the cross before he dies hoping to see Judas coming home, coming up the hill of Calvary.
Like Peter, not knowing resurrection, scratching his mistakes like picking at a freshly formed scab on a cut on the skin of his soul.
Like Mary, hurting, another sword -- pondering all this in her heart.
Like waiting for tomorrow: Easter Sunday.
Holy Saturday: watching.
Like watching others and how they deal with a loss.
Like watching the eastern sky for dawn.
Like watching our watch and then a clock and then the phone and then our watch again when another promised to give us a call that they arrived home safely on an icy night.
Like the disciples in the upper room huddled in worry and fear, wondering what’s going to happen next.
Holy Saturday: quiet.
Quiet like the quiet after experiencing a dream that has become a nightmare -- when all our plans and all our expectations have totally unraveled.
Quiet like the quiet we feel when someone we loved has died -- feeling the gulping hole in our conversations and our thoughts and our prayers.
Quiet like seeing an empty space in a bed.
Quiet like seeing an empty cross.
Quiet like the quiet we feel when someone has hurt us badly.
Quiet like the quiet we feel when we were wrong and can’t admit it.
Quiet like the flowers of spring ready to burst -- tulips trumpeting the spring.
Holy Saturday: an off day -- a day in between -- a day you have to have -- to slow us down before the big day -- the day of we’re waiting for, watching for, then the quiet, then the burst of the Easter Christ.
Come Lord Jesus, come. Come Risen Son of God
Holy Saturday a time to come here to church for quiet prayer together, waiting and watching for Jesus’ return -- for resurrection -- for new beginnings and new life. Amen
Come Lord Jesus, come.
Come Resurrection and Life.
Come “Amen” of the Father.
Amen, Jesus always rising within us all days, even to the end of the world.
Amen. Maranatha.*
Come, Lord Jesus, come.
*Cf. Book of
Revelation 22:16-21)
© Andy Costello
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