Thin Air, High Hope

Alex and I had an incredible opportunity to partake in a Seder Passover meal last night. The symbolism, the prayers, the community, it was a deeply impactful experience. I woke up this morning feeling ready for Easter morning, and then realized it was still a day away. It made me wonder, why is there a day between the awful crucifixion and the glorious resurrection?

God could have chosen to go through with the crucifixion and then quickly, the next morning, show Jesus healed and alive. All hope would be restored. Yes, it was the Sabbath, but Jesus was known for healing on the Sabbath. Wouldn’t that have supported his message of life over law?

And yet…there’s this space. This somber space. Anyone who has lost someone knows the feeling of waking up the day after, the reality you wish you could avoid. And not just with loss, but with any devastating news. That first day, when reality continues despite everything in you breaking, is beyond words I can capture here.

That is what those who loved Jesus experienced, a day after death and before the promise was fulfilled. I keep hearing this phrase, “But Sunday is coming!” It is a beautiful phrase, full of hope. And yet, I wonder if we sometimes move too quickly past Saturday.

I heard a speaker recently suggest that we have lost the art of lament, that our goal in suffering, or even in the midst of others’ suffering, is to move through it as quickly as possible. For those in the depths of pain, though, this can feel incredibly dismissive.

I believe we fear pain and suffering. This may be why we are quick to dismiss injustice, or to side with those who seem strong rather than the weak. We want to remove pain from our lives and from the lives around us. For some of us, opening the door to it feels more like breaching a dam, and so we keep it locked tight with platitudes and clichés, promises that whatever “this” is, it won’t last forever.

But God allowed a Saturday, a space for grief, for lament, for processing the loss. I don’t believe all of the platitudes and promises in the world would have been a comfort to Jesus’ mother on that Saturday. But I do believe that suffering and lament have a place, and so that Saturday was not wasted.

We have the promise of resurrection now. We, in a sense, know how the story ends. And yet, for so many, it still feels like Saturday. Injustice, oppression, hunger, grief, depression, addiction, loss, violence, and decay are all around us. How do we treat those in the midst of their Saturday?

Are we too quick to rush to Sunday, for ourselves or for those around us?

It makes me think of a proverb:
“Like one who takes away a garment on a cold day,
or like vinegar poured on a wound,
is one who sings songs to a heavy heart.”
Proverbs 25:20, NIV

Saturdays are not yet days to sing songs. Saturdays are days to offer another garment, or to gently tend a wound. Scripture does not rush through these moments. Lamentations even encourages us to sit quietly and wait through suffering, reminding us that even in grief, “no one is cast off by the Lord forever.”

Yes, Sunday is coming. And for many of us, we know this and we rejoice. But for others of us, we are very much sitting in a “Saturday”.

We don’t need to rush to Sunday. Sunday will come. “For no one is cast off by the Lord forever.”

But maybe today, we allow a little more quiet, a little more reflection, and make space for those who cannot yet imagine what Sunday might look like.