What was it like, the day after God died? Easter Saturday is, for me, one of the most
interesting days of the year, theologically, pastorally, devotionally: for me,
for us, for us and God.
The four gospels – and the beginning chapters of the Book of
Acts in the Holy Bible tell us relatively little about it. Their concern is more with the crushing drama
of Good Friday and the world-changing events of Easter Sunday. In between there is an eerie silence – Saturday.
This Saturday is quiet like the grave,
dull as an overcast November, breathless, still, silent, like mourners beside a
coffin .
God has come to us – Emmanuel – the Christmas joy of all
things filled with light.
Then death, loss, unexpected horror, leaving us numb. Perhaps that is the word I am reaching for
to describe this day – numb. We are
still alive – but we just don’t feel it.
We go about our daily lives but there is death’s coldness growing like ivy
around the stone walls of our hearts.
We have pulled the curtains in the middle of the day, closed the doors
to become private in our emptiness.
Of course, we know how the story ends.
The grinding of the stone rolling away from the tomb as the fresh Sunday
morning air is stirred by the Risen Christ stepping out of His tomb, clothed
not in blood and torture, but in wholeness, radiance and love-filled life. But that is tomorrow. Today, there is … numbness of life.
One day a year we get to pause and become quiet. To feel the Spring sun on our faces and watch
our children play on the pale grass revealed by the melted snow. There are no flowers …yet. But they are coming. Today I feel the deep emptiness of my life
without God. Once, I had felt Him brush by me,
caught the aroma of His warm skin, I
remember the timbre of His voice, the warmth of His gaze and smile. Today He seems far away – a fading memory,
and I am empty because of it.
Tonight I will go to bed and pray to a distant God. Perhaps in the morning He will wake me with a
touch of His hand and call my name.
