Holy Saturday - An In-Between Time
Today is Holy Saturday, a strange in-between time, a liminal space that sits between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. As a child, I always felt like Holy Saturday was empty, simply a place-holder between the torture and death of the crucifixion of Good Friday, and the triumph of resurrection on Easter Sunday. There are no grand ceremonies to mark the day; no feet washing, no Last Supper re-enactments, no Requiem performances by grand choirs. Nothing. For most, this particular Saturday is about the grand sigh (admit it - of relief!) that the Lenten season is over, and all about the preparations for the Easter egg hunts and Easter baskets, and grand feasts of Easter. Saturday sits neutral, a ‘middle-child’ forgotten between the two greater days of the Easter weekend.
But there is much to be said for this liminal space, for this time when the world symbolically holds its breath between a torn temple and the renewed Promise; between pain and heartache and a resurrection that brought an assurance of life and love that is eternal and sure. There is much in this quiet day of “in-between-ness”.
What do I mean by saying Holy Saturday is a liminal space? The word liminal comes from the Latin word ‘limen’, which means threshold. Thus, a liminal space is the time between ‘what was’ and ‘what’s next.’ It is a place of transition, a time of waiting and not knowing the future. I don’t think there was another day in history when a liminal space was so filled with possibility, so pregnant with wonder, transformation and love. Of course, Jesus’ followers had no way of knowing what was to come; they couldn’t see beyond the betrayal, torture and death. That Sabbath day was one of loss and grief. They had no clue what was to come. They didn’t realize they were in a liminal space.
The problem with existing in a liminal space - no matter how temporary or fleeting - is the very being in that liminal space. It’s the not knowing, the not understanding, the not seeing what the future holds. The very meaning of liminality dictates that sense of discomfort when we feel adrift, abandoned, alone - with no way of knowing what’s to come. And I think Holy Saturday is an excellent symbol of that liminal space all of us experience throughout our lives, at one time or another - and often many times. We all have walked through times of transition. We all have had to bury a broken dream, or tend a broken heart. We all have sat in the upper room of our lives, waiting and wondering, praying and seeking, afraid for the future, angry, grieving, bereft. We all have sat in a liminal space, in the “in-between” times in our lives. And yes. It’s hard and scary.
The good news is that the very definition of ‘liminal space’ tells us that it is not a permanent space, it is not where we are meant to stay or exist. Being in our personal liminal space is merely the threshold place, the transition time. The Good News of Easter Sunday is that Jesus rose again, and returned to his disciples to assure them the promise of the Messiah was real and true. The Good News of Easter Sunday is that the pain and bloodshed of Good Friday was transformed into the victory of Easter morning. The Good News of Easter Sunday was that the liminal space of that Sabbath day was temporary, erased by the glory of the Resurrection.
And so it is with us: the good news of our own liminal times is that they are not permanent, but merely a transition time between “what was” and “what’s next”. We can be assured that our own liminal space is always transitory, and that God will always leads us into a place of victory. That has been the pattern for thousands of years, and we can be confident it’s not about to change.
So sit quiet on this Holy Saturday, and appreciate this liminal space of in-between-ness. Appreciate the journey, count the scars, appreciate the struggles and bury the detritus. These are the markers of your transition. And be assured that regardless of the struggle, there is always an Easter morning victory. You can count on it.