The 2020 Triduum is over. Holy Week and Easter have come and gone. This year’s festivities were remarkable and memorable in that they were probably the most privately, as opposed to publicly, celebrated in history, outside periods of Christian persecution.

While Easter is now passed, it’s as though we (and I mean people globally) continue to live Holy Saturday. Restrictions, isolation, social distancing and lock downs continue. We are in a liminal space between what was and what is to be. This is the night; the period before the dawn; the in-between time; the space between grief and peace. And it is a most uncomfortable space to inhabit. We know the quiet and sombreness of Holy Saturday. Scripturally, we all know the disappointment and disillusion that accompanied the disciples as they set out for Emmaus. They had no idea what was to come. We all know this place from our life experience. It’s those times when we are powerless – we know what we desire, but we’re uncertain about whether we can attain it. We have experienced loss and wonder if life will ever return to any semblance of equilibrium. We have no control over the circumstances or the outcome. We wait.

It is the space for hope.

Our faith has always embraced the paradox of grief and hope. Paul wrote: “We do not want you to … grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Th 4:13). This doesn’t mean that we don’t grieve, of course we do. But it means that our pain and grief is not the entire story. As John Shea has written: “Our hope does not wipe away our tears. It lives with them in the capaciousness of our hearts”.

Resurrection hope is captured beautifully and poetically by Joyce Rupp:

“Easter can’t happen without this waiting stage. Resurrection occurs only after the tomb encloses a resident. Renewal contains its own Holy Saturday when the darkness smells of death and shows no evidence of movement. Yet, unseen during this period life stirs, moves and changes into something surprising. The stirrings in the tomb of darkness are the whispers of the soul, urging us to move toward a place we have not been before. We must keep open in our darkness because we may learn something about our relationship with the holy one. The loving presence sits in a corner of our darkened room of pain. We are not left alone while we struggle, learn, grow and heal. We can count on this compassionate one to be with us.”

This is the Easter experience. This is our Christian faith. This is our hope.

We anticipate this will be the result of our long extended “Holy Saturday” that is the current crisis. With faith we can echo the words of Julian of Norwich: “All shall be well”.

Blessings

Peter

“There is a Force of love moving through the universe that holds us fast and will never let us go.”

Julian of Norwich