We are living in an uncomfortable (liminal) space right now. In a matter of weeks, the insidious Coronavirus has reshaped our society, virtually bringing the powers of this world to their knees, crippling the global economy, and forcing us to abandon our “normal” routines, withdraw to our homes, and minimize contact with the outside world, all in hopes that we can “flatten the curve” and contain the spread of a virus that currently has no cure. While not lethal to most, it’s ten times more deadly to those at risk than the seasonal flu. It is a challenging and scary time for us all.
Telling the Story of COVID-19
As a writer, I wonder what kind of stories will emerge from these unprecedented times? As with any personal or corporate tragedy we live through, the story usually comes into focus with the passage of time. It may take years, or even decades, to adequately describe the radical change we are presently experiencing. When we reflect back on the Coronavirus pandemic, how will we describe it? How will future us say that we are different because of this tragedy? What will our children write about it—based on what their parents or grandparents tell them? How will people not even born today interpret this time when they read about it in history books? Will people ask us why we didn’t see it coming—as we do about the characters in the Holy Week drama followers of Jesus remember this week? (See Should the Disciples Have Seen it Coming, below.) Why wasn’t it more obvious to us? Didn’t people try to warn us this could happen, they might ask. If they didn’t, why not? If they did, why didn’t we listen?
As we try and find words to articulate this experience, both now and in years to come, we will inevitably look for analogous times in history. The COVID-19 pandemic is already being compared to the Bubonic Plague in Europe (1347–mid-1350s), and to the more recent Influenza Epidemic (1918/1920). But another, less obvious comparison has come to my mind this week. I think what we’re living through might be similar to what the first Holy Saturday was like for those who lived through it. While the first followers of Jesus “sheltered in place” to avoid execution for treason against Rome, we do it to prevent the spread of a virus, but both isolate us and cut us off from our normal routines in the world we knew before now. Also, in both cases, we are not sure when (or if) it will be safe to reenter the world again—nor how the world we reenter will be different than the one we left, though it surely will be different.
In light of this possible connection, maybe it’s helpful to look a bit closer at Holy Week this year—both what it is like now (in 2020) and what it would’ve been like then (in ~33 AD, when those first followers of Jesus lived through it.) We might discover that this year presents a unique opportunity for twenty-first century Christ followers to experience solidarity with how those first followers felt—and especially on Holy Saturday.
Should the Disciples Have Seen It Coming?
If you read the Gospel accounts of Holy Week, it seems Jesus had told his closest followers to expect precisely what happened to them when he was with them. For example, the Gospel of Mark (thought to be the oldest Gospel, and the easiest to follow the chronology of events of Holy Week) records three times when Jesus tries to tell them what was going to happen when they went to Jerusalem (Mark 8:31–33; 9:30–32; 10:32–34). Each time the disciples respond in ways that show they’ve failed to “hear” it. Sometimes we tend to think of the Disciples as dimwits who simply didn’t get it, no matter how hard Jesus tried to explain things to them. But, is that really a fair assessment? I mean, let’s be honest, those people we meet on the pages of the Gospels are you and me. I can’t help but think if I had been in their sandals, I’d probably have been just as unprepared as they were.
The fact is, no one living at that time would’ve expected resurrection?! It’s not like there’s a true precedent. Okay, maybe the rising of Lazarus (John 11:1–44) which presumably at least some of the disciples witnessed, should’ve clued them in. But that was at least death by natural causes. No one—and I mean, no one—came back from a Roman crucifixion. When Rome killed you, you were “really most extremely dead.” As far as we know, the resurrection (assuming you believe it literally happened) is a unique event in human history. It didn’t happen to anyone before Jesus, and it hasn’t happened again sense.
I think it’s easy to forget this when we read descriptions of Holy Week in the Gospels, where it almost seems like the people involved realized things instantly—especially in John’s Gospel. But keep in mind the stories of the life of Jesus and its meaning that we have recorded in the Bible were all written at least several decades after Jesus lived, when those who lived through it had time to reflect on what they experienced and then either wrote down stories about it themselves (e.g., Matthew and John), or told them to other storytellers (e.g., Mark and Luke) who did the writing.
What’s So Holy About Saturday?
As a follower of Christ in the year 2020, we aren’t really sure what to do with the day between Good Friday and Easter. I mean, Jesus died on the Cross yesterday, and the Tomb is empty tomorrow—but what do we do with the time in the Tomb? Not much to see here… Awkward!... We'll come back when "He is Risen!"?
The fact is, more than 2000 years of Church history affords us the privilege of ignoring Holy Saturday. After all, we already know the “full story” of Holy Week; if anything we are overfamiliar with it. We almost take it for granted. We can blithely say, “That Good Friday service was kind of a downer… I’m glad that’s over. I can’t wait for tomorrow!” No need to dwell on unpleasant topics like death in the year 2020 for too long. Onward to resurrection!
In fact, the majority skip Holy Thursday and Good Friday entirely and, if they show up for services at all, it’s only once the Tomb is empty. (Regular attenders like me call these folks Easter Lilies, since they fill the space and make it so pretty for a week, but then they fade away, leaving a barren and near-empty sanctuary the next Sunday.) Granted, some may attend Easter Vigils on Holy Saturday, but that’s more common in Eastern Orthodox churches. For most Western Protestants, it’s “business as usual” on Holy Saturday. [1] Baseball and soccer games, grocery store trips, Easter egg hunts, and other spring activities dominate our agenda, or perhaps rehearsal for some aspect of the Easter Sunday service, where we sing that, “Christ is risen,” even as (according to Scripture and tradition) he lays dead in the Tomb. In a typical year our Western culture tends to skip over Holy Saturday in our rush to Easter.
The First Holy Week: When Triumph Turned to Tragedy
The first followers of Jesus certainly couldn’t take Easter for granted as we do—because it hadn’t been invented yet! Whether they should’ve expected what happened can be debated (see above), but that they didn’t seems pretty clear, based on how they reacted to the events as they happened.
For example, when the Disciples receive the incredible news from the women about the Empty Tomb the next morning, their first thought is not: “He is risen!” It’s likely something more along the lines of: “Oh bloody marvelous! It’s not enough we had to watch our friend murdured by the Romans on Friday, now some common criminal has stolen his body!” Even once they see the Empty Tomb with their own eyes, they still struggle to understand what is going on. I don’t think it really dawns on them immediately—despite how some of the Gospel stories portray it. It’s not until the book of Acts (taking place weeks, if not months, later) that they really begin acting like people who truly believe: “He is risen indeed!.”
Such a delayed reaction is probably precisely what you would expect from a group of people who have had their world turned upside down by the events of Holy Week. Jesus was not only their Rabbi; he had become their friend. On Palm Sunday, when their ragtag band entered Jerusalem, and they were met with shouts of “Hosanna!” they must have felt on top of the Temple. They thought Jesus was about to establish himself as King, just like David did back in the “good old days.” Most of them were probably lobbying for “cabinet positions” in the new regime—we know James and John were (Mark 10:35–40) with their mother's help (Matthew 20:20–23).
But of course, that’s not what happened. Just five days later, a crowd—most likely not the same people—manipulated by the religious and political leaders, shouted, “Crucify him!”
The First Holy Saturday
It all unraveled so fast! He is betrayed by one of his closest followers, denied by another, and abandoned by all of them. By sundown on Friday night (when the Jewish Sabbath begins), Jesus has been executed by the Romans and his followers found themselves hiding away, trying to avoid being identified as an associate of the “rebel Jesus”—and likely facing the same fate as he. It was a sad Sabbath to be sure; all their hopes and dreams must seem as dead as their friend Jesus was.
Huddled away in hiding, I'm sure they felt trapped. I imagine it felt like an eerie place of death—a tomb—especially since it’s likely their “safehouse” was the same Upper Room where they had eaten their last meal with Jesus just a few nights earlier.
Holy Saturday 2020—Enduring Our Time in the “Tomb”
I relate to how those first followers felt on Holy Saturday more than ever this year. After several weeks of social isolation, my home at moments feels like a tomb—in the sense that the four walls limit my family’s movement. (Yes, I know I can go outside whenever I want, but indulge my hyperbole.) My family longs to be freer than we are; we want to be able to go and do what we would normally be doing this time of year. We long to worship at our church building on Easter this Sunday—but we can’t. We long just to eat a meal out at a favorite restaurant! My kids lament the loss of the activities they had planned this spring—e.g., baseball, softball, school plays, birthday parties with friends. (I must say I don’t miss the hour-each-way commute to my office a couple days a week.)
There are moments when the four bodies in our “temporary tomb” get a bit too close for comfort and we must retreat to our separate sepulchers. For the most part, though, we’re enduring—and even enjoying—one another and doing our best to get through the present inconvenience. We’re thankful that we’re healthy—and we are aware that many are in much more peril than us on a daily basis right now. We take our time in the tomb in stride and we try the make the best of it. What choice do we have? We’re resolved that it’s going to be a while before Easter truly comes this year. But, O, how we plan to celebrate when it does!
When we get the soil of a place under our fingernails, it’s hard not forge a connection with the place where we are. We become rooted and grounded in the place where we garden—even if we’re far from the place we call home.
