bjustham

May 99 min read

Stand

It struck me this year that Holy Saturday is a bit of a strange one. On Friday, we solemnly reflect on the incredible love shown as Jesus suffered and died; on Sunday, we joyfully beam ‘Halleluias’ at each other at the victory he won; and even Easter Monday has a clearly defined role – eat any remaining chocolate, relish the day off work, moan that it’s raining on the bank holiday again. But Saturday?

I suspect for many of us Easter Saturday is Any Old Saturday, with the same routines of sport or brunch or housework or kids’ taxi driving or whatever it is we usually do. Plus perhaps a slight feeling of ‘Isn’t this Easter weekend and so shouldn’t I be thinking about something else?’

Part of the problem is that it’s not massively clear what Jesus was doing. The thing we do know is that he was dead. But there’s an enigmatic verse in the New Testament about him descending into the place of the dead – ‘he went and made proclamation to the imprisoned spirits’ (1 Peter 3:19) – and some translations suggest that Ephesians 4:9 implies he descended to ‘the depths of the earth’, or that Acts 2:24 means he loosed the agony of hell, not just of death. Was Jesus carrying out some kind of raid on the world of the dead? This idea, sometimes called the ‘harrowing of hell’, is really important in Eastern Orthodox and Catholic thinking, and has found its way into the Apostles’ Creed: ‘[Jesus…] was crucified, died and was buried; he descended into hell’.

Plenty of Protestant theologians think this is a mistake. And there are some fascinating arguments out there, though I warn you it’s easy to get lost in the rabbit holes… but for me a couple of things stand out.

Jesus was really, truly dead. That’s what ‘descended to the dead’ meant to the early church. His atoning work was done – but he wasn’t simply raised again within minutes. He actually experienced death. In other words, it was real. He was mortal, and when he died, he really died. No tricks. No resuscitations.

Jesus is really, truly Lord of all. His death was his triumph. It made a way back to God for all people – those before him, and his peers, and all of us who come after. He really died, but not even death, the great enemy, could hold him. He has conquered death. He has conquered evil. He has conquered Satan. Whether or not he performed a victory lap of the realm of the dead on Holy Saturday, he is the victor.

I’m OK with not knowing for sure where his soul was. Understanding the key passages seems to all depend on the exact meaning of the meaning of the various words used for the abode of the dead, both in Old Testament Hebrew and in New Testament Greek – and I am no scholar in these matters. It is enough for me to know that he really died, that he really paid for my sin, that he really rose, and that he really is King forever.

But still. Why Holy Saturday? Why is there this whole day of grief, of waiting, of shattered hope and tears that don’t stop flowing? Why does God leave his people hanging for what must have felt like the longest Sabbath of all time?

Maybe one answer is it’s because Holy Saturday is where so much of our lives are lived.

Hanh’s experience was Saturday: the Friday nightmare of being trafficked from his home, losing his family, leaving a culture and language and climate and food he knew to shiver in the back of a lorry across thousands of miles – this was over. And the Sunday he longed for – whatever that was – earning the money to send his sister to school? Working his way into a good job? Being reunited with those he loved? – Sunday was far off. He was stuck in Saturday: in uncertainty, in pain, in questions, in limbo.

Kayleigh’s experience was Saturday: the Friday traumas of a life in squalor, of repeatedly being rejected by her mum whenever the drugs shouted louder than she did, of being removed from her aunt’s abysmal ‘care’, was over. And the Sunday she dreamed of, the accolades as she won the high jump in front of packed stands, hearing no-one’s applause as loud as her mother, now clean and healthy, tears of pride streaming down her face – Sunday was barely discernible. She was stuck in Saturday: in fight-or-flight, in bitterness, in self-harm, in everything unresolved and messy.

Danny’s experience was Saturday: the Friday terror of the day he snapped, finally breaking under the endless taunting and going after another student with the scissors, the blood pooling as he looked down in shock at what his own hands had done – it was over. And the Sunday he barely dared to entertain, of friends who loved him, of acceptance, of finally wearing and saying and having the right things, of belonging – Sunday was the faintest haze. He was stuck in Saturday: in hearings, in whispers, in fear, in regret.

Aren’t we all there?

Our lives are so often lived in the muddle of Saturday.

Theologian Philip Plyming – now Dean of Durham Cathedral – has studied the stories Paul so often includes in his letters of his suffering, unanswered questions, and weakness. Amidst the glorious theology and songs of praise and impassioned prayers, time and again Paul returns to these ‘hardship narratives’. Why? Plyming’s conclusion is that the hard times are more than just the inevitable consequence of life in a fallen world; as he puts it, our lives are meant to continually embody both Good Friday and Easter Sunday. We live and rejoice in the power of the resurrection – but the cross is the still content of our preaching and the pattern of our lives. God is at work, in power, in cross-shaped places.

It's true. It’s profoundly comforting when we hit trouble. And yet I think this view is missing something.

It’s missing the mystery of Holy Saturday.

The same God who sent his son to die on Good Friday, knowing he would raise him in victory on Easter Sunday, also waited throughout Holy Saturday.

Nothing God does is random; so it was no accident that Jesus died the day before the Sabbath. In his wisdom, God ensured that there would be a day-long gap, enforced inactivity, a day of questions and not doing anything about any of it.

I want to howl, ‘but why???’, but I know the answer is beyond me. It’s in the wisdom of God, and that’s way beyond my capacity right now.

But we need to engage with this, because much of our lives is spent here.

We know there’s a final answer – but for now we only have the questions.

We know the stone will be rolled away – but for now the tomb lies silent.

We know we’ll see Jesus’ face again, hear his voice, watch him eat fish – but for now we feel utterly alone.

If we’re not meant to understand, then what are we meant to do?

I think we’re meant to stand.

Let’s go back to that first Holy Saturday and look at a few of the characters who yesterday were full of action. What are they up to?

Character sketch #1: The chief priests think they’ve won.

The itinerant, the blasphemer, the upstart from Nazareth – Nazareth! – is gone, finally taken care of, and we are safe in our cushy positions, safe to enjoy the seats of honour at feasts and the crowds parting to make way for us to pass through, safe to pronounce and denounce and rule the roost. It wasn’t a pleasant business, but it’s over with, and a little bit of careful planning and skilful manipulation has set the world to rights.

Ah… but this must have felt like a pleasant Sabbath.

There are plenty in their shoes today. Wherever power motivates, and jealousy rules, and lies are told to put me first and everyone else behind. In the gangs that trafficked Hanh. In the officials they bribed and the middlemen taking a cut. In the pushers who fed Kayleigh’s mum’s habit. In the smugglers and dealers. In the payday lenders who knew her aunt couldn’t repay. In the kids who ganged up on Danny. In the multigenerational chains of neglect and harshness and poverty and abuse that entangle so many lives. In all of us, when we choose to put ourselves first, just this once. When we choose not to care, not to fight for what’s right, to compromise.

And Holy Saturday says, Stand! Be warned, stand back… for the King is coming.

He may not come today, but he’s on his way. And when he comes, he will melt the excuses into wax, and we’ll stand before his blazing eyes, eyes on fire with love for those we scorned, those we chose not to see, those we decided could come second.

On the Holy Saturdays of our lives, where we are contented, living at ease, happy with our lot – we need to examine ourselves.

Character sketch #2: Jesus’ followers think they’ve lost – and lost everything.

This amazing man, a man like no-one we’ve known before, he won our hearts, he confused our heads, he drew us after him and we followed. And how our hearts warmed within us! This was the chosen one, the lamb of God, the Messiah, come to save and liberate, come to set all to rights. And we were there, called to be with him. And we loved him. And he’s gone. Without even a fight – meek and submissive, silent under accusation, wracked with pain, he’s gone. And our world has gone with him. How could we be so wrong? How could it all just end? And – terrifying thought! – will they come for us next?

Oh, but this was a Sabbath of pain, of crushing disappointment, of heart-rending grief. And of fear.

This is the reality for so many today too. Betrayal stings, abandonment crushes. Disappointments mount up until we can barely see the sky. Confusion reigns, spinning us dizzy and exhausted and oh so small in the eye of the storm. And grief… grief surrounds, cocoons, shuts out everything but its pain, the gaping loss that seems bigger than what’s left of us. And under all of it, the fear. How can I even face another day? What could be lurking around the corner? This was Hanh’s world. And Kayleigh’s. And Danny’s.

And Holy Saturday says, Stand! My beloved child, stand up… for the King is coming.

He may not come today, but he’s on his way. And when he comes, he will lift our heads, and look into our eyes, and dry our tears. And every pain will be tended to, every hurt made whole, and we will know ourselves utterly loved, held, protected.

On the Holy Saturdays of our lives, where we are exhausted, hurting, grieved, confused and full of fear – we need to remind our hearts to hope.

Character sketch #3: The Roman soldiers think they’re in control.

This bunch of trouble makers… they’ve had their day. Oh, they’ve enjoyed drawing the crowds, there was some fancy preaching and some impressive tricks… but when push comes to shove, all the Messiahs die the same way. No-one looks like anyone much once we’re done with them. Rome isn’t here for circuses, for claims and crowds and chanting. Rome is here for order, and control, and we’re not letting anyone pull a fast one on us. So here we’ll stay, keeping the living away from the dead, keeping order, keeping everything as it should be.

Just another day at the office. Routine stuff, doing the job, maintaining order, controlling those who otherwise would be running amuck.

This is probably the most familiar of all, right? Control is the weapon of choice for many of us facing the unpredictability of a world far bigger than we can comprehend. So we get our ducks in a row. Set the alarm, put our make up on, check we look presentable. Say, “Fine thanks!” with an airy smile and without quite making eye contact. Get through the day. Maybe we nail it – juggling a bursting calendar that feeds our need for self importance. Maybe we fake it – feeling overstretched, over worked, underqualified, underperforming. Maybe we play the joker, or the loner, or the socialite. One way or another, we control the story, the story we tell ourselves, the story we tell others, the story we let them see, the story we let ourselves see. Like Hanh with his head down, gaming, avoiding any contact that could form a bond between us. Or Kayleigh fighting her way through the school day, maintaining her untouchable hard girl image. Or Danny manipulating his teachers so he never had to face his classmates – being kept in, moved to sit by the teacher’s desk, sent out, isolated.

And Holy Saturday says, Stand! Weary soldier, stand down… for the King is coming.

He may not come today, but he’s on his way. And when he comes, he will take charge over all things, and all we tried to keep hidden will be revealed; the graves will open, the masks come off. And we will know we are finally safe. He’ll unclench our fists and hold our hands tight in his sovereign grip, and he will rule, and we will be glad.

On the Holy Saturdays of our lives, where we are fighting, masking, hiding and desperate for control – we need to remember that he is Lord.