A day of darkness, of silence, of dreadful uninvited death. Today, I wait. A waiting, I hope, is not filled with expectations, and duties. Neither is preparing for Easter, nor is busy thinking for a hopeful tomorrow. A waiting that is not busy with activities that distract me from the dreadful death, and silence of Holy Saturday.
Rather, this is a waiting that waits. Where I enter the suffering silence of death itself. Only then am I able to acknowledge that I cannot carry myself into Easter. Only then I recognize that only Christ Himself can carry me to Easter morning in every Holy Saturday of my life. Indeed today, I allow my waiting to Sabbath.
Perhaps I might encounter Grace.