God is dead. Saturday space is where I have spent more than a little time in the last years. A potentially liminal space, of not knowing, doubting, feeling lost, like I have lost my way, has been a majority space. Mostly full of darkness, lament and feeling like I do not understand where God has gone. This is hard space.
Today is hard space. The day after God died. The one who we thought would save us from our oppressor’s and rule with the certainty of presence and power seems to have abandoned himself and us to death. We are, uncertain of the future and doubt the reality of what we have seen and heard. The words, those promises, fall empty on hopeless ground.
The restoration of hope remains unknown, unseen, and unthought-of of in the midst of this dark space. The focus is on what has been lost. We do not even comprehend the loss to larger humanity, only to ourselves. This is a deep chasm of space where we can only feel sorry that we have personally lost something, someone. A few around us have held to hope, we think they are foolish and naïve. The darkness and the losses so profound, why don’t they see it? Faith in such circumstance seems childish, something like the denial of reality. Maybe sometimes, on some days, it feels easier to live here on Saturday. We are not even waiting, because we expect nothing and feel at angry with those who do.
From that night to this, there is only darkness. Saturday. A day for losses being felt and doubt being born within us. Where is God? Can God not see our brokenness, our fear, and our pain? Can God not hear the cries of those around us? Rescue was promised. Where has our rescuer gone? To death.
This space can transform us. It has transformed me. The liminal space between here and there. Between the darkest of night and the deepest of losses, there waits the unknown future. On many days, I have lain in the rut of Saturday. This grave with the sides kicked out. Hopeless, devastated, unbelieving. Who would not doubt on a day like this? Everything is lost. We are lost. A yet a tug comes. A remembrance, like a whisper tickles my brain and then my heart and I want to hold on.
And then dawn. Still full of doubt, anger and tears. A glimmer of something forces me to open my swollen eyes. Still unable to see clearly or comprehend I reach out. And I am surrounded by a host of witnesses. Women in Sari’s, revealing Jesus in Flesh, revealing resurrection to my Saturday stuck heart. This is not what I expected, it is better than I could have hoped, more than I could have imagined. The impossible has become possible.
And Saturday will come again. Maybe next time I will be one of the crazy foolish ones who can hold tight to hope. May it be so.