Easter Saturday can be a forgotten day, it sits uncomfortably between the feast of the Thursday, the Anguish of the Friday and the Celebration on Sunday. So, many of us turn it into a day of gardening, bon fires, reading and rest.
But for me, especially this week the provision of a day for grieving is a gift.
And, there’s something about grief that can bind us all, no matter your creed, faith or experience we will all grieve at some point. Perhaps we’ll grieve someone we love, a family member, a friend, a teacher, a pet or perhaps we’ll grieve the loss of lifestyle, employment…
But we all grieve.
And so Easter Saturday is the one day in all of this that we should be able to share with our neighbours, because grief is the one experience that we all share.
This week our family grieves the loss of a very close and beautiful friend, and so it’s today that I connect with the most out of all days. I know that tomorrow the church will be celebrating ressurection, but I might be taking a few more days to sit with my grief.
In this time of loss and isolation, please know that your grief is normal and, if you need to sit with someone, online or on the phone, or across the driveway please reach out.
And for those of you ready to share your final meal of the day, perhaps you might find the time to thank God for those you love, and to akcnowledge those you miss this year because they’re no longer with us.
Afterall, today is a gift from God, a silent space, a time to grieve and to sit in the darkness between the feast and the celebration… whenever that celebration might come for you.
A Prayer from the Corrymeela community
For Easter Saturday.
God of grieving,
God of silence,
there is a strange gift in having time,
one whole day this holy week,
to sit with questions of why and how long
and to hear no response at all.
To rush from Friday to Sunday,
from death to resurrection,
wouldn’t do either justice.
Nor would it dignify the life of those
whose daily pain and grief
and constant pleas for justice
go unanswered in the world’s daily rhythm.
Let your silence fill this silence,
until our empty noise dies out.
Amen.
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