I have been reflecting on the significance of Good Friday and Easter Sunday as Christians have commemorated over the last 20 centuries. For me, each day in Holy Week has its own reflection and ethos leading up to the incomparable events of Good Friday and Easter Sunday.
Good Friday is always a challenge for me. It breaks my heart to think how we humans often judge and treat someone who challenges the status quo and power structure, regardless of their message. We fear.
For several years I participated in walking the stations of the cross, sometimes ‘carrying’ a wooden pole or reading a passage from scripture. It was my way of coming to terms with the deep sadness I feel whenever I think of this time of the Christian year. Some people see this day with happiness because it represents Christ taking on the burden of human sin, no, becoming sin, for our redemption. They are blessed. I just haven’t gotten there yet.
And then, there is the joy of Easter Sunday. The day that represents so much for Christians, not only the resurrection and life, but the evidence that God was flesh, that this was the fulfilment of His plan to restore humankind to Himself. Wow! We could never do this on our own. So precious is this creation to God; He took this task on Himself.
This causes me to reflect on the Saturday in between – Holy Saturday. My very favourite service in the Christian year is the Easter Vigil, held late on Saturday evening. It celebrates the return of light into this world, the Light of Christ, which is Easter Sunday. It is a beautiful, hopeful, glorious service regardless of how much or how little regalia goes into the ritual. People are baptized and confirmed in their faith. I love getting spritzed with baptismal water as the bishop flicks a huge palm branch over the assembled congregation.
Also, I think about the followers of Jesus on that mournful day, that sorrowful Saturday, the day in between the brutal ending of Jesus’ physical being on Friday, and his first appearing to the two who were walking back to their village on Sunday. What must those followers have been thinking, feeling, talking about? We aren’t told much about that Saturday in scripture. It was Sabbath, a day when no work would be done, so it is likely they were gathered together in someone’s home, or in several homes. It must have been a heavy atmosphere. Would they be sitting quietly with each other, grieving over the loss of their friend and teacher. Would they have talked about their dashed hopes for the end of oppression? What did they think about Jesus’ teachings about the kingdom of this world and the kingdom of God now that Jesus’ was dead? Did they try to recapture all that they had seen and heard while in the company of Jesus? Were they worried that the authorities would now come after them? Would they think about returning to their homes, livelihoods, friends and family now?
The Gospel of Luke, chapter 24 gives us some insight. On the third day after the crucifixion (the Sunday), two are returning to the village of Emmaus, when a man joined them and asked what they were talking about. Amazed that he did not know, verse 19 shares “About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people.” Verse 21 continues, “but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel.”
Then we are told about the many appearances the Christ made to his followers in the days after Easter Sunday, the arrival of the Holy Spirit and the spreading the Gospel to Jews and Gentiles alike.
We are beneficiaries of the legacy of those followers, who witnessed Jesus’ teachings and works, who witnessed his death, who grieved on that sorrowful Saturday, whose doubts were dispelled by the appearance of the Christ and who were forever changed by the Holy Spirit.
Cathy Carphin, Certified Grief Educator, poet, writer and facilitator of healing conversations on grieving, trauma and loss. Member of the Anglican Diocese of BC / Islands and Inlets. More of Cathy’s articles can be read and listened to here: grieftalk.substack.com
