There is a heaviness to Easter Saturday.
I feel the parallels this year as we are in the mire of this pandemic with no real end in sight.
We don’t know when we will see the light.
There is uncertainty. Uneasiness. I’m wondering if on that first Saturday, the Saturday in between Good Friday and Easter, the feelings were the same.
There seems a breaking point for many, that I’ve observed lately in others and in myself. Enough already! What was a “normal” life a mere month or so ago seems a distant memory. There is a weariness to it all, one I recognize as grief. There is a longing for what we knew. We miss our freedom.
Perhaps the holiday time which is usually family time makes us sadder. We want to wrap our family up in real time hugs and gather. And for their sake and for all of us, we have retreated into our homes.
in the midst of this I purchased seeds. Pumpkin and cucumbers, lettuce, kohlrabi, kale. Into the dark soil the seeds were placed and the time of awaiting begun. There is no getting around the waiting. The seeds do it in the dark.
It is always such a miracle to me. Out of the brown husk of a seed bursts a sliver of green. Which reaches up. How does it know which direction in the dark?
I ponder the mystery of what the Creator does in the dark. And I wonder… in this darkness of Saturday, a Saturday that seems endless, what is growing in me, even in the dark? Can I reach up, with expectation to the Giver of Life?
i’ve always just wanted to skip to Easter Sunday, to new life and resurrection and hope. And yes, we do have hope! But for now, can I sit in this long Saturday, still in the dark, experiencing the journey of what is? Can I allow myself to be broken, so I can reach for the light?
Life has changed for all of us, in varying ways. For some who are our elders, those who are lonely, those who are marginalized, those who are sick, it is especially difficult.
Perhaps it is time to plant seeds of hope. Seeds of gratitude. Seeds of charity and love. And then to wait, tending our weary spirits with compassion and prayer.
Saturday won’t last forever. For now, we wait. With hope.
Plant the seeds of Hope
art by Grace Wulff
