This is a weird, in-between day for pastors, in particular, but for any church folk involved in the work of the congregation. We’ve laid Jesus in the tomb, but we know what’s going to happen tomorrow, and in the meantime, we have to get ready. There are flowers to arrange in the sanctuary, groceries to buy (or reservations to make), maybe even eggs to hide or last-minute additions to baskets for our little ones, and Lord knows, a word of witness to the Resurrection to polish, if not write from scratch.
When I lived in Portland, I always took whatever dogs I had for a walk at Evergreen Cemetery. It seemed like the right place to be, a resting place with markers and monuments going back hundreds of years, yet still in use for more recent losses.
And there is a duck pond.
I found it to be the perfect liminal space, where thoughts of the unthinkable – a literal victory over death – seemed somehow plausible.
Every year I did my work there, walking with my words, from the first year when I wondered if I really believed in a bodily resurrection, to the last, when I believed it wholeheartedly.
The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee followed Joseph. They saw the tomb and how Jesus’ body was laid in it, then they went away and prepared fragrant spices and perfumed oils. They rested on the Sabbath, in keeping with the commandment. (Luke 23:55-56, CEB)
I’ve often thought of them on that in-between day, not knowing what was to come, expecting the sad but obvious ending – a chance to perform a ritual of respect and love for their friend and teacher. Unlike the busy preacher, chorister, or flower arranger, they could not fill the day with tasks. They could not, like my mother, press the pleats into a tiny Easter dress; or as my friend Mary Ellen and I used to do, make fresh ravioli on my big dining room table; or walk the dog or go to the German bakery to choose an appropriate dessert for tomorrow or stop by the dry cleaners for the pastor’s robe that needed cleaning (for the Lord’s sake, get there before they close).
They just had to sit with it.
Let’s remember they were not at home, so picture them in a rented room in Jerusalem, maybe the same Upper Room where the apostles retreated, or maybe in their own 1st century Air BnB. They lack the comforts of familiar space. They are each other’s family now. Which stage of grief were they in that day? After witnessing the crucifixion, I suspect shock was primary, but I want to think some among them were angry, too, angry at the betrayal, denial, and cowardice of the men who should have known better.
It’s tempting to rush ahead to rejoicing, so tempting that many in our churches skip straight from Hosannas to Alleluias. Today, at least for a long moment, I’m trying to sit with the shock, the anger, the grief, even the helplessness, as if I didn’t know what comes next.
Thank you, Lord, for the women you gathered around you, for their stories, for their courage. Amen.
I’ve been reading and blogging about Luke for Lent. The full list of posts can be found here.