Waiting

Holy Saturday.

This is the long day of hopeful waiting for us. We dye eggs, we cook all our traditional foods, we can almost smell the lilies waiting in the wings with their distinctive perfume. We anticipate the new fire blazing and crackling dramatically on the Church steps and hearing the Exsultet - knowing we will undoubtedly weep once again at its beauty. And the weeping is good and clean and filled with joy! We are like children who know the end of the story but still beg “Again! Again!” And the Church, like a good Mother, never tires of telling it.

But for the apostles this day was just the long day after a tragedy. A day of bafflement.

There they all were. hidden in that upper room, perhaps with the lingering smell of Pascal bread still on the air. What did they do? Were they pacing, did they jump at every noise out in the street, did they sit hunched on a bench in that distinctive kind of despondency that is grief? Did they suddenly feel a gripping fear in their stomach they did not want to face - a fear that said He was no more? Did they shake the fear back down?

Did they whisper urgently to one another - anxious, pacing questions?

"What did He say about three days? I can't remember, I can't remember."

“He said He was going to the Father. Do you know what that means?"

He said we would all be scattered...he was right about that"

Do you think Simon Peter will ever be happy again? Will he ever be the same again? I have never seen him weep before. I feel undone by that.”

“Where is Judas? What happened to Judas?"

“Why, why, why did we run away?!"

“We will never see Him again. How will I ever be able to stand it?”

“John is with Mother Mary. Mary just holds his hand. She says not to worry. All will be as it should be. She made sure to tell Peter that. His mother, after all, knows Him best...so maybe, it shall truly be well. But how? How?”

And all the memories that bombarded them. On the boat, the mountains, on the shore by the fire, at that last supper that seemed like a lifetime ago. His looks, gestures, His touch, those eyes kind or sad or dancing with delight.

And on and on the long day went.....the day the Apostles were waiting and didn't know they were waiting. They thought it was over.

All that unrest, the questions, the despondency, the despair, the grief. How did they bear it? I know the end of the story. They did not. I will never know that kind of fear or emptiness without His physical presence. I have been spared that. They knew Him in the Flesh and then they knew the grief of His body dead in a tomb. The grief of even now beginning not to remember his face as clearly as they had before. He was gone. I will never know that particular ache of physical loss.

But then I also will never know their absolute giddy, overwhelming, sobbing relief on Easter Sunday when He appeared physically ALIVE in their midst and said His first, "Peace, it is I. Do not be afraid!" Oh, the wonder! Oh the relief! The relief of frightened, lost children who have suddenly spotted their mother’s face in a crowd. The day they found out that death had lost its sting. They were the first to know. I can't imagine the joy of it.

But for now, for this Holy Saturday, they wait and wonder in an upper room echoing with His words and the smell of bread that was so much more than bread lingering in the air.

And if we could, we would call across the years to them as they paced and wondered and grieved on this day, “Be not afraid! All will be well!”

And ALL manner of things shall be well. As He said.