Even at the Grave, We Hope

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 3, 2021

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

Even at the Grave, We Hope

When someone dies, the immediate family and closest friends grieve, of course, but usually they also get caught up in the business – the busy-ness of death.

Even in the midst of grief, there’s lots of work to be done – which can be a kind of comfort.

There’s the meeting with the funeral director and the meeting with the clergy.

There’s picking out hymns and readings for the service.

There’s writing the obituary, choosing people to read or offer reflections at the service.

There’s greeting family and friends when they come to the funeral home, the church, or the repast – accepting condolences, somehow managing to make small talk with people who are sad and uncomfortable, not really knowing what to say.

In those first few days after a death, lots of people check in with calls and emails, maybe some drop off food, or send cards and flowers.

But, then, after not too long, most everybody else gets back to their normal lives. They soon stop checking in with us. But we who have suffered a terrible loss are not ready, just not able, to get back to normal – whatever normal will be without someone we love but see no more.

That’s what Holy Saturday morning always feels like to me.

Here we are up early on Holy Saturday morning, this strange time, this unsettling place, somewhere between Good Friday and Easter, between grief and joy, between death and new life.

You know, even people who take Holy Week and Easter seriously often skip over this moment – maybe eager to put yesterday’s sorrow behind us, maybe feeling time pressure because there’s always so much that needs to get done.

I’m sure it wasn’t so different back in Jerusalem two thousand years ago. 

The death of Jesus of Nazareth must have seemed to most people to be just another crucifixion in an occupied city punctured by crosses – another cautionary tale from Roman brutality - another tragedy in a world full of pain, suffering, and loss.

So, it’s better not to think about it too much – how all that hope that Jesus offered seemed to be extinguished on the cross – better to just mind our own business and get on with life. After all, there’s always plenty that needs doing to stay sheltered and fed, to survive.

So, most people moved on.

But, not everybody.

The grieving family and friends of Jesus could not move on so quickly.

We don’t know exactly what they were up to during this strange in-between time.

Maybe some ran off, frightened that the Romans would come for them next.

Maybe some gathered together, like the disciples in the locked room, also scared but maybe also trying to hold onto Jesus’ promise of the third day – not really believing it, but waiting around to see, just in case. 

And others, like Mary Magdalene and some of the other women, made preparations to do the only thing they could now do for Jesus, getting ready to visit Jesus’ grave and bathe his dead body with ointment – an act of love that seems pointless, an act of love that is, in fact, a sign of hope.

So, here we are.

Even people who were paying attention yesterday have already moved on, but here we are in this strange in-between time – grieving so much suffering, past and present, and looking ahead to an uncertain future.

Here we are, up early on Holy Saturday morning.

Because, even at the grave, we hope.