This morning, I got up early after a late night. There is always an emotional and physical hangover from Good Friday for me, and this morning was no different. I can hit the sheets and turn out the light the second I get home from Church, but it still doesn't matter. I always feel as if I have had hardly any sleep.
So, I make my way over to the chapel for the morning liturgy. Just some scripture, an anthem and a prayer. Nothing much. It is over in fifteen minutes, but it does start the day.
Every year, I make it a point to try to get that liturgy off the ground. It is the most powerful moment of "un-worship" I can perceive as a follower of Jesus-because if I am going to hew to the narrative, this is the one day without him. He is gone. Dead. Not just almost, or even mostly dead. Really dead. Quiet. In the tomb, and his body has cooled and his heart is still.
I know in my heart this is just us remembering the story, but this one moment, Holy Saturday, helps me to perceive what the world might be like without Jesus in it, in me and revealed to me in the mercy and love of my neighbor. It is a cold, wet place. Not just because it is New Jersey in mid-spring. But because it is a bit too easy to imagine a world without the joy of God loving us into a new creation in Jesus, resurrected.
So, I spend today in a sort of suspension. I knit, I read, I do a few errands. I bond with the dog, who right now is snoring away with her head tucked into a fold of her mat.
I wait for the moment when, as the sun sets and we start to move in true preparation for the Paschal Feast of the Rising Christ, that the dance will begin again after this voluntary respite. We will light the new fire. We will remember, and re-member, what it means to be the Body of Christ. We will baptize and we will celebrate Eucharist. It will be Easter.
But, for now...
"If mortals die, will they live again? All the days of my service I would wait until my release should come." Job 14:14