The space in-between

They, and I’m not at all sure who they actually are, but it’s They who would have us believe that Easter is about chocolate, egg hunts, bunnies, heroes, the outdoors and the relaxation that comes with a stretched-out weekend. My church invites me to join its own Thems, offering three liturgies spread over four days, culminating in Easter Sunday. And I’m caught in a bind, because none of these invitations hit the spot.

It’s right-now relevance that  I long for in the church-based liturgies that mark Holy Week. I understand their symbolism, but they don’t touch my heart or move my spirit. I want to get beneath all the words, the Palm Sunday greenery, foot washing on Holy Thursday, lining up to kiss a crucifix on Good Friday and in the unfamiliar dark of Easter Eve craning my neck for a glimpse of a little fire in a barbecue pan, catching a Scriptural word here and there before taking my seat in the darkened church.

I long for a more tangible recognition that, like me, billions across the world are living out their own Good Friday and Easter Sunday stories. And like the Jesus story we read in the gospels, these two days are separated by Holy Saturday. Unlike the gospel story, however, our Holy Saturdays can last a long time.

The who, where and how of our lives can never be totally free from the pain, grief and loss that go accompany us. We long for it to abate, to go away, to ease. When we are made redundant, when our house builder declares bankruptcy, when a loved one is diagnosed with a terminal illness, when money becomes a problem and painful decisions need to be made our energy is eaten up in a search for neat answers. And we just want to get on with life.

People living with the fallout of tragedy hunger for something they call closure. A Ukrainian grandmother whose whole family died in a bomb attack, rocks to and fro in a sea of pain, longing for the touch and sound of her dead children and grandchildren. People along the Queensland coast pick through their muddy homes and workplaces, grieving the loss of possessions, longing for the clean-up to be over and life getting back into something they recognise as normal.

The followers of Jesus were plunged into grief and sorrow and a sense of betrayal after the horror of the Friday we call good. Peace and joy came slowly, Peter, shadowed by his denial of Jesus, Thomas escaping into silence, the past three years now one big question.  They needed time to come to terms with the fact that their lives had changed. The future kept see-sawing between the unbelievable fact that Jesus was still with them, but what would come next?  

The words and symbols of the Holy Week liturgy focus on the events of the days they commemorate. The commercial world ignores them all together. But all of us need more.  If we are to recognise the Easters of our life and discover the new life they hold, then we need to be reminded that God is always there, waiting with us as we face up to our own Good Fridays and struggle through our Holy Saturdays. Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr calls it Dadirri, a patient and prayerful waiting that brings us to the awareness of the Sacred in all the things around us.

However and wherever you spend Easter, keep a little space clear to sit with God in your own, personal Saturday space.

Judith   judith@judithscully.com.au