You’re probably reading this after Easter has come and gone. That’s okay; I believe this is still a relevant reflection for us. Even before today (Holy Saturday), I’ve been thinking about the silence of God and attempting to ask better questions about it. Holy Saturday is all about that pause, that silence.
What do we do when God is silent? Or a better question, if we were to put ourselves in the sandals of the disciples, what do we do when God is dead?
The evening of Good Friday must have been an emotional mess for Jesus’ followers. Can you imagine? The Messiah was dead! God-with-us was dead and buried.
Can you imagine losing your hope in one fell swoop? Perhaps you can.
Then comes Holy Saturday, Sabbath, a day of rest where we pray things like “may no sorrow or pain find you on this Shabbat.” What is it like to live in the midst of absolute sorrow and pray something like that? Perhaps you know.
What must the prayers of the disciples have felt like on that Sabbath? Maybe they are similar to our prayers today on Holy Saturday. Perhaps they feel much like our prayers when we experience the silence of God.
As I have contemplated these things during Holy Week, something intriguing has happened to me. I have remembered the times where God has been silent in my own life, and yet I’ve noticed something else in those times. I realized that silence does not mean absence.
Perhaps the weight of the silence is the very weight of God’s presence. And maybe out of this weighty silence a truth begins to ripple. The breath in my lungs is the gift of God, the very Spirit of the One. The indefatigable ember burning at my core is the Christ, the spark of life placed there by the One. And the silent weight on my chest, clouding my mind, inhabiting my doubts is the One-in-three-three-in-one. The ripple of this realization spreads in my heart and soul.
Then Easter morning. There was no big bang on Easter morning. Instead, quietly – maybe sometime around sunrise – Jesus arose from the dead, sliding the stone aside and stepping into the soft light of a new morning. The women discovered the empty tomb and the word began to spread like a ripple across a lake.
This is how faith builds in me amidst the silence of God. Sure, I may know God is present or that “Easter is coming.” But it isn’t until I begin to feel the silence, to experience the seeming absence of God that I begin to feel the Weighty Presence.
My prayer for you: may you experience the very present Lord this Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday.