Walking in darkness - reflections on Holy Saturday

I know it's not quite Easter yet, but I like to be ahead of things occasionally.

Holy Saturday - the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday - is perhaps one of the most neglected days in the Christian calendar, which is strangely appropriate given what it represents - a gap or a void rather than anything positive. It is a troubling, confusing day, one which hardly seems part of the Christian experience at all and which therefore struggles to be represented in the church year. Yet I believe we need to rediscover it, to walk through it on our route to Easter.

Holy Saturday is a day of waiting, a day of darkness; a day of grief, doubt, disappointment and shattered dreams; even of despair. It is the day for all those struggling with loss, bereavement, uncertainty, chaos, chronic depression or other forms of inner darkness. It is a lightless day when the Sun refuses to rise - it is the Long Dark Night of the Soul; the Valley of the Shadow of Death. It is a day in which there seems to be no end in sight, no light at the end of the tunnel; a day when all the former certainties and supports on which life and faith were based have been snatched away. It is a day which for some - even some Christians - can last for months, even years. It is a day in which hope seems dead and God distant, absent or worse still an enemy.

The writer of Psalm 88, the bleakest and most desperate psalm, knew well this experience:

"You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths...

...my eyes are dim with grief... Why, O Lord, do you reject me and hide your face from me? 

...You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend."

Holy Saturday does not chime with our expectations of the victorious, joyous Christian life. Yet it is a valid - perhaps a vital - part of the Christian experience, and one that most of us will face at some time. We need to stand with our brothers and sisters who are going through this Holy Saturday experience; for Christ's sake we dare not shun them, blame them, tell them to pull themselves together, or insist that they should be happy in Jesus. Christ too has walked in the darkness and dread of Gethsemane and Good Friday; has waited in the tomb of Holy Saturday.

To those who have been in the dark for as long as they can remember, the hope of Easter may seem a distant, even a false and mocking one. Yet it is a certain, unshakeable truth that for all who cling to Jesus, the tomb of death will one day become the womb of new life; however long delayed, day will follow night. Then truly those who walk in darkness will see a great light; on those who live in the land of the shadow of death will the light shine.

I pray that for all who today stumble in the dark of Holy Saturday, the light of Easter will soon rise.