I think the connection between this song and Holy Saturday is obvious from the title. Holy Saturday is, after all, the day of waiting. The disciples were waiting to find out what happened next. Even though Jesus told them he was coming back several times, those of us who work with humans know they are terrible listeners.
I've always been fascinated by Holy Saturday, mostly because it gets overlooked and I'm a sucker for the underdog. In terms of Johnson's mission, being in Holy Saturday is that liminal space between your suffering and your resurrection. Between being hurt and being free. You could think of it like physical therapy after an injury - you're well, but not yet completely back on your feet. Johnson told the story of this sculptor and his piece "Shattered but Still Whole." That is a Holy Saturday sculpture.
The image of the tomb comes to my mind. There you are, back to life, but not yet ready to roll the stone away and step outside. You could be waiting for someone to roll that stone away for you, or you could be working up the courage to push it back yourself. I find myself living in this space pretty often. It takes a lot of bravery to step into the sun. If you find yourself in this space, ask yourself why you are there. Are you afraid of what's out there? Or are you waiting patiently until you are healthy enough to move on?
Murdoch's song has a beautiful litany of why he is in this space: "And If I stumble, and if I stall / And if I slip now, and if I should fall / And if I can't be, all that I could be..." Aren't we often afraid to step out of the tomb for fear that we can't be all that we can be? Or, all that we were before? After all, going through a Good Friday changes, transforms you. It can be scary accepting that you might be different. Jesus was very different after the resurrection. He had a functioning, human body like before but he was different enough his disciples did not recognize him on the road to Emmaus. Different enough to retain holes in his hands and appear in locked rooms. I imagine this transformation was bittersweet for Jesus. He had conquered death and saved all of humanity in a matter of hours, but maybe he sat in the tomb wondering if his friends would still love him this way. If they would still be able to joke around a campfire. If children would still want to run to him.
If you haven't noticed in these reflections, I keep pushing the idea of community. I am Catholic, after all - community is the basis of most of our theology. Holy Saturday can't be alone. Being alone in that space has to be unbearable; the disciples waited with each other. Jesus waited with his Father, who was closer to him than ever. We wait with close friends, family, spouses, the people we don't lie to on the internet. The end of Murdoch's song is a plea for community: "Will you wait for me?" Will you wait with me?
Tonight is liturgically the best night of the whole calendar. All the best things about ritual are brought together: movement, sights, sounds, smells, textures. We get the huge Easter candle dipped in the water, the marriage of fire and water, the passing of light and fire to each other, processing around the church, welcoming new brothers and sisters to the community. Oil, water, fire, smoke, fragrance, music, light, high drama - opening the tomb. We wait together, in anticipation, feeling "on the verge of some great truth."
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