Holy Saturdays

“Perhaps it is no wonder that the women were first at the Cradle and last at the Cross. They had never known a man like this Man – there never has been such another. A prophet and teacher who never nagged at them, never flattered or coaxed or patronised; who never made arch jokes about them, never treated them either as “The women, God help us!” or “The ladies, God bless them!”; who rebuked without querulousness and praised without condescension; who took their questions and arguments seriously; who never mapped out their sphere for them, never urged them to be feminine or jeered at them for being female; who had no axe to grind and no uneasy male dignity to defend; who took them as he found them and was completely unself-conscious. There is no act, no sermon, no parable in the whole Gospel that borrows its pungency from female perversity; nobody could possibly guess from the words and deeds of Jesus that there was anything “funny” about woman’s nature.”
― Dorothy L. Sayers, Are Women Human? Penetrating, Sensible and Witty Essays on the Role of Women in Society

“When it was evening, there came a rich man from Arimathea named Joseph, who also was himself a disciple of Jesus. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus; then Pilate ordered it to be given to him. So Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth and laid it in his new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock. He then rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb and went away. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were there, sitting opposite the tomb.”—Matthew 27:57-61

The days after when before became after with no turning back
Tipping points, pivotal moments, thresholds crossed
Moments in our lives when grief kicked down the door down and plopped down
Moved in and became the loud neighbor
In our holy saturdays, the middle space between our own crosses and resurrections
Hope remains, faint, but remains
Wait, not yet, but soon
Soon, soon, soon

“Blessed are you, who feel undone,
too tired even for tears,
longing to be spoken back into being.

Blessed are you, who ache to remember
the bonds of love that formed you,
that hold you still, even now.
May they be as iron
that strengthen your soul.

Blessed are you,
who glimpse, however faintly,
that this present darkness
is not all there is.

And blessed are we who dare to say:
I am known.
I am loved.
I can love again.
Even—especially—here,
in this very moment.” – Kate Bowler & Jessica Richie