No Name Saturday

For the church—the body of believers—the fellowship of Christians, the days of Easter march by……        

          On “Ash” Wednesday, the 40 day journey to the cross began.

          On “Maundy” Thursday, Jesus prepared the table for us and washed the feet of his disciples.
    Even the feet of Judas.

          On “Good” Friday, Jesus hung on the cross.

         

Then it is Saturday.

Today is “that” Saturday.

The one without a special name.

The in-between Saturday.
The nothing Saturday.

I've never like the unknown of waiting.

But today I wait.

The work on the Cross is finished.

The huge curtain in the temple is split from top to bottom.

Jesus is buried.

The work in the grave is silent.

To me, this No-Name-Saturday should be dark and gloomy and rainy and dreary.

And silent.

That’s how my soul feels.

Yet, on this No-Name-Saturday in Texas the weather is bright, sunny, and windy.

The cross down by our road is empty.

Our nephew came up and took down the purple drape for us but this year, I had no energy to dig out the black sack-cloth to cover the cross for this dead Saturday.

I have been strangely quiet on my blog over the past 40ish days. Only a note here and there. When the words don’t spill forth fast and eagerly from my fingers, my soul is dry.

For me, it has been like 40 days of the No-Name-Saturday.

Thankfully, I KNOW about Resurrection Sunday.

Fresh air will arrive.

Words will return.

Sleep will come.

Rain will fall.

Waiting is hard.

Hurry, Easter!