Holy Saturday is here again as it does every year. It is the day between Good Friday's pain and agony, the remembrance of the crucifixion, and the joy and celebration of the resurrection on Easter Sunday. Holy Saturday is a kind of day that feels like things are in suspension, spiritually, anyway. People go on with their daily lives – shopping, cleaning, taking the kids to sporting practice or events, and the like. But to some, it is like being in the middle of a bridge, somewhere between one bit of land and another, with a lot of nothingness between them and the land or water the bridge crosses.
It is the day when we prepare for Easter. We think of the
quiet of Sabbath and the women preparing to go to the tomb as early as possible
the next morning to do the cleansing and preparation of the body of their Lord.
It was too close to sunset when he was taken down from the cross, and his body was
moved to the tomb. Sabbath had to be observed, and no work was undertaken, not
even a duty such as preparing the corpse for its eternal rest.
This year, though, my thoughts are with the disciples,
huddled out of sight and hopefully out of mind of those searching for Jesus’s
followers. I usually put them out of my mind or perhaps give a slight nod to
them as either total cowards fearful for their own lives or as men deep in mourning
and wondering what will happen next. This year, though, my thoughts have done a
180° turn, and I identify with them more closely than ever.
I sit in my home, figuratively keeping my head down, fearful
of those in power who might find me through my thoughts, station in life, or
some other means. No, they cannot read my mind, but they can read my words and,
as a result, decide I am not one with their programs of slashing jobs, taking
away lifelines, or condemning people to death either in foreign prisons or in
understaffed hospitals. I fear for the lives of people about whom I care: the
aged, the disabled, the neurodivergent, the veterans, the Indigenous folk, the LGBTQ+,
the undocumented, and even the documented who find themselves scooped up
physically and end up in a foreign jail not too different from the camps of the
Holocaust but without the ovens, or, at least, not yet.
I also mourn the uncertainty of whether people like me can
afford food, transportation, or housing. Can I vote for the candidate I think
is best suited for whatever position? Will I be safe from lawless people with
guns, shooting without regard for life or limb? Will I be able to have the
freedom of speech to say I disagree with this or that and not be penalized or,
perhaps, injured, imprisoned, publicly berated, or, heaven help us, even killed
for my words and thoughts?
I have been looking at t-shirts, lawn signs, and bumper
stickers, thinking, I would love to have this, but would I dare display it in
public? Could I wear it if I were going to ___’s house? Would that make my home
a target? Would it isolate me further from the neighborhood and people who may
or may not share my beliefs? Would it
signal to those in power that I am vulnerable to any of those? Would it encourage the government to single
me out as someone to check up on, audit my taxes, investigate my friends and
contacts, seize my medical records, and bug my phone?
The disciples were afraid of the authorities. They were
undoubtedly worried about what was next, who they could trust, and where they
would go. They had lost the person who
was the focus of their existence, their purpose in life, and their master and
guide. Having lost many family members and dear friends, I can identify with the
disciples in their grief and fear. We all can, at some time or other in our lives.
None of us can escape that, even in the most secure and tight-knit of families
and social circles.
Just as in the time of the day after the crucifixion, this
is a time of uncertainty for so many of us in this country and world. Our iconic
documents, such as the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, are
under attack, as are those who openly differ in interpretation from the current
party in power. Our veterans, disabled, Indigenous, aged, homeless, children,
LGBTQIA2+, and immigrants, whether legal or not, and even those who stand up
for the rights of any or all of these groups, are under attack. Our universities
and colleges are being forced to teach a one-sided curriculum. International
students are being told to get out of our country. Asylum seekers are put in
jeopardy of death because our country is telling them they have no right to be
here and will be sent back to their country of origin, or even to some foreign
country with which they have no commonality.
In a time of mass communication and electronic recording and
tracking, we are worse off than the disciples, yet our alternatives are almost
as limited as theirs were. Yet many are reacting the same way as the disciples
did; we are hunkering down in what we hope will be a safe place, trying to think
of ways to stay safe and survive.
What bothers me most are those who claim to follow the same
Christ the disciples followed. Jesus was not afraid of diversity. He preached the love of neighbors, care for
widows and orphans, and healed gentiles and Jews. He was friends with women and
treated them as people rather than second-class or unclean objects. Crowds
attending his teaching were not screened or kept out by their gender, station
in life, or place of origin. For all that DEI has become a dirty phrase, Jesus
exemplified the principles of Diversity, Equality, and Inclusion.
We are in a time where we are frog-marching back to a time when
only a portion of the total population is considered wise enough to make decisions
for everybody, rich enough to say which social programs are valuable and which
are not, who can vote and who cannot, and even who can live here and who must
be disrespected, deprived of rights, and deported. I have seen those things slowly
dismantled and, even imperfectly, changed toward the hope and freedom of
diversity, equality, and inclusion. Yet now I see the old ways being rebuilt
and reinforced.
Please think of the disciples today and look at where our
discipleship is being eroded, willingly or not. I think I will be contemplating
this for days, weeks, and maybe years. How far will things go, and what can or
will we do about that? What will it mean for our nation and world? What would
Jesus do?
Have a blessed Easter.
