Holy Saturday has come to be the most meaningful day of our liturgical year. Each year this is the day of our faith that so distinctly speaks to grief. This is the day after Good Friday. This is the day after Jesus’ friends watched him die and carried his body from the cross to the tomb. This is the day when the world stood still. And… …this is the day that even with their hearts broken, and filled with despair, even when they really didn’t know what to do next or how to do it, this is the day they kept going. This is the day those the early believers kept going. As I’ve gone through my life and experienced deep, deep losses I’ve been amazed at how much it takes some days to get out of bed in the morning. I have realized that to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again can feel impossibly hard. I have come to know that in the deepest, darkest part of my soul, that doing the next thing, that emotional, if not physical "left foot, right foot" takes more courage and strength than just about anything else. And... …Holy Saturday is the day of not knowing. This is a day for listening. This is the day for not meeting any expectations, except, when you can pay attention to your next breath. This is the day of intentional gracing ourselves and those around us...and... this is the day, that even though we have witnessed Love dying, somehow a greater Love continues to hold us. I have no idea how this is possible; I only know that it is true. This morning the sun rose again. Many of us, for whatever reason, doubted that sunrise would come. It did. Against all odds, the sun rose this morning. In the midst of COVID-19's pandemic, it rose. In the midst of social distancing and mandated isolation, it rose. In the midst of economic uncertainty, it rose. In the midst of yesterday's re-membering Jesus' death on the cross, the sun rose again. Centuries ago the early friends and followers somehow found a way to get themselves out of bed and somehow made their way into a new day. Perhaps it only took was faith the size of a mustard seed after all. Just enough to hold on to this Love that has promised to be with us, always. Left foot, right foot. Leave a Reply. |
AuthorLesley is an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ. Her passions are listening to her sons, John Brogan and Sam sing; great conversations, long walks and baseball. Archives
April 2020
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