Hello friends.
This is Mark Gladman,
Also known as Brother Frederick James,
Your friendly neighbourhood monk-in-docs.
Welcome to day 38 of our walk through John's Gospel towards Easter in the wilderness,
Still held.
As we begin today,
As always,
I invite you just to stop and be still.
Allow your body,
Mind and heart to come together in one space together in this time.
Take a deep breath in and out.
There's nowhere to hurry to in this reflection.
In fact,
The very focus of this particular day in the story,
Holy Saturday,
Invites us into stillness.
And today we're taking some time to reflect on this,
What I believe perhaps the most important and quietest day of the Christian story,
Which of course we'll be spending time on just before Easter Sunday.
And the scene as it plays out in John's Gospel is simple.
Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus take the body of Jesus and they wrap it carefully with linen and spices.
And then they place him in a tomb.
A stone is rolled across the entrance.
And that's where the story pauses,
In John chapter 19.
No angels,
No resurrection,
No flashing light,
Just a body in a tomb and silence.
This Saturday,
Which we call Holy Saturday,
May be the most human day of the year.
Because it's the day of unanswered grief.
The disciples don't know that resurrection's coming.
For them,
The story appears finished.
Their teacher has died.
The movements collapse.
The future they imagined has been dissolved.
We know how the story continues,
But they don't.
They sit inside that uncertainty.
Inside the silence,
The space where nothing for them in that moment seems to make any sense.
And maybe we rush through Holy Saturday because a lot of us know this space and place in our lives quite often.
There's seasons when life and clarity just disappear.
There's times when our prayers feel unanswered and meaning becomes difficult to see.
We sit with loss and confusion and waiting.
The silence can be incredibly unsettling.
And our instinct,
As we've said,
Is often to rush past it,
To solve it,
To force the hope to somehow appear.
But Holy Saturday doesn't rush.
The gospel allows the silence to remain.
It allows grief to breathe,
Allowing the unanswered space to just exist.
Times in the wilderness teach us something very important about this kind of silence.
Because in the wilderness,
Life doesn't move quickly.
Seeds grow underground long before anything appears above the soil.
Transformation happens quietly and quite often completely unseen.
And so technically,
While it feels it,
The silence isn't empty.
It's gestational.
Holy Saturday reminds us that faith includes these seasons of quietness.
Moments when God seems quiet.
Moments when the path forward is hidden and our questions on where we go next.
When we can find it,
Come back quiet.
When we feel like we're going through spiritual failure and our questions about why this is so,
Come back quiet.
But these are all part of the rhythm of transformation.
So for a moment,
Let's sit honestly with our own unanswered spaces.
Where in your life are you waiting right now?
Where does the story feel unresolved?
Where are you sitting in a place where nothing seems,
And I stress that word seems,
To be changing?
You might also notice what emotions arise when you think about these spaces.
Maybe it's grief or frustration or weariness.
Maybe even a quiet longing.
Just acknowledge those emotions.
Because Holy Saturday reminds us that faith doesn't require us to rush past them.
Even the disciples had to sit in the darkness for a while.
Now bring your attention again to your breathing.
Inhale slowly and exhale.
See if it's possible even briefly to trust the quiet.
To trust that silence doesn't mean abandonment.
To trust the unseen work that may still be unfolding beneath the surface.
For now,
It's not necessary even to try and manufacture hope.
Just allow yourself to wait.
Holy Saturday is the day between death and resurrection.
The day when the future has not yet appeared.
The day when faith looks like quiet presence.
Just waiting,
Breathing,
Remaining.
And perhaps waiting,
Breathing and remaining is all that's required.
For now.
As we close,
I invite you to join me in this simple prayer.
God of the quiet places,
Teach us the patience of Holy Saturday.
When the path ahead is unclear,
Help us rest in your hidden presence.
When silence surrounds us,
Remind us that you are still at work in ways that we can't yet see.
Give us the courage to wait,
The gentleness to trust and the peace to remain in your love.
Amen.
And may that love,
Grace and the peace of God that passes all understanding be with you today and always.
Amen.
Until tomorrow,
My friend,
Grace and peace be with you.
