Why Easter Saturday is important…

Saturday has always had an interesting place in the Easter weekend. Thursday is the solemn preparation and remembrance of the last supper. The even more solemn and bewilderingly named ‘Good Friday’ is a day of sitting in acknowledgement of Jesus’ death, while Sunday is the actual ‘good’ day, celebrating the remarkable story of the resurrection.

In western Christianity, Saturday represents a lull in the calendar, a break from reflection. Sport (in any normal year) proceeds without controversy, shopping is done to replenish and prepare for Sunday. Perhaps the lawns get mowed. Emotionally, it seems to be something of a void. It is a place where we know that happy times are coming in place of the sad, but we are not there yet. And aside from left over hot cross buns, or the odd sneaky Easter egg, Saturday often passes without reference to the other days of the Easter weekend.

To me, Saturday represents an aspect of Christian faith which is as neglected as the day itself. Churches are really comfortable with the Friday language of sacrifice (how many songs do you know that mention ‘blood of Jesus’?). The Sunday language of resurrection and the ‘Christ who defeated death’ is frequently applied and well-worn. But Saturday remains unacknowledged. Some may call it uninspiring.

I think a better term is uncertain. I quite like it.

The stories between Jesus’ death and his appearances from the third day onward are filled with uncertainty. It is a time where the disciples of Jesus are left in a ‘what now?’ space. They are trying to deal with hopes, anticipations and expectations of Jesus which have met with a sudden, brutal conclusion. In this space are a whole range of figures who are trying to work out what the Jesus story means for them now.

In this space are Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea in the Gospel of John, who are left with the task of burying Jesus. The women from across the Gospels, who see it as their task to prepare his body properly. The disciples, who all believe that this was the end of Jesus’ story – and come to act with such disbelief and incredulity when Jesus reappears a day or two later. The Emmaus road disciples, who grieve as they head toward their village just prior to their encounter with the risen Jesus. The family of Jesus, who are probably still trying to work out how their son and brother got himself into so much trouble.

So many stories, of people wrestling with the disappointment and uncertainty of their expectations. It is a series of moments where every assumption about what God was doing, who Jesus was, and what Jesus meant are shaken. It tells us that there was a point in the story of Jesus, between two of Christianity’s most sacred days, where Jesus’ closest followers had no idea what is going on.

I take great comfort in that. In a chapter of life when nothing can really be taken for granted by so many in our community—health, relationships, finance, jobs, and even our regular religious practices—we are kind of forced to live with and embrace disruption. We have to look more closely at our surroundings, and find ourselves asking: what next?

This was done by our predecessors. Two thousand years ago, followers of Jesus found themselves on an otherwise ordinary Saturday, wondering: what next? Why this? Why God? Is there even a God? This did not represent a loss of faith—it was part of their very story of faith. The Saturday space represents that part of the Christian faith that some of us very much shy away from. Uncertainty. Doubt.

It’s a day without answers. A day without conclusion. A day without neat responses wrapping up our lingering dissatisfaction over what we believe to be true.

It gives permission to us to ponder. It gives permission to us to grieve. To question. To be angry. To be sad. To be confused.

Hope is coming. Sunday is coming.

But it is not a failure of faith or even a crisis to question, to doubt, or to feel uncertain about the future in faith or life. It is okay to feel loss. To feel the brokenness of relationship. To feel let down. That’s part of the human story – and part of the Christian story too.