• Rachael Prince

Holy Saturday

Updated: Feb 28


Rosemary,

I remember the emptiness, the absence, dejection and hopelessness felt by disciples. It was finished.

I remember the heady scent of spices blessing a body broken. I remember.


I remember their friend, their King who healed and blessed and reached out. Riding on a donkey then hung out to die on a cross. I remember.

I remember the emptiness because this year I feel it.

Streets are empty, parks silent, car parks deserted. Just a handful of people standing apart, queuing for essentials. A friend smiles a greeting, but I can’t approach. I realise how much

I miss normality.


Church buildings stand empty aching and sighing for absent friends. Remembering a time of joyous gathering. Shouts of ‘Christ is Risen, Alleluia!’

echo in its chambers and I remember.


But I also remember on this silent and Holy Saturday that we have a hope, the glimmer of a promise not present in those first followers.


We know that this will pass and there will be a new dawn.

Resurrection, Joy, Hope.

And I remember that today’s emptiness will also pass. This socially distant

tomb

will have its stone rolled away. And we will gather once more with friends.


And I remember that doors, once bolted, will be flung wide

to welcome us in to gather as a people. Raising our voices once more in praise. Voices released

from the shackles of isolation. Resurrected.


Rosemary, pungent, heady, purple and royal. In this strangest of times, Holy Saturday, I remember.



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