“Most of human life is Holy Saturday. . .” ~Richard Rohr
It’s Eastertide. Christ is gloriously risen! Death has been dealt its deathblow. The ashes of Lent have given way to the lilies of Easter. For the Church, this, much more than Christmas, is the most wonderful time of the year.
The trouble is, I don’t feel it. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and I find myself in a funk, an emotional low that just won’t seem to lift. The cold/flu thing I’ve been battling for this past fortnight just won’t let go. In the face of rising costs and mounting bills, nagging doubts about God’s ability or will to provide still haunt me. The to-do list remains ever long. And my sense of futility, that no matter how much I accomplish, I still make no progress, clings like fungus on my soul.
It doesn’t feel like Easter. I don’t feel resurrected; I don’t feel hope of being resurrected. I don’t really feel anything, except a pervasive weariness. For me, it’s still Holy Saturday. Christ is still in the tomb; we are still in the period of anxious waiting, wondering what has happened to all our dreams, wondering what will happen next.
It’s comforting, to some degree, to know that I am not the only one who feels this way. As the modern contemplative Richard Rohr notes so astutely, life is mostly a waiting game, fervently anticipating the resurrection we know someday must come. Moreover, that resurrection is not something we can make for ourselves. God must raise us. And someday, God will.
I don’t feel it. I suppose I don’t have to. For me, as for so many, it still feels like Holy Saturday. But the Church’s celebrations today remind me that there was an Easter Sunday, once. By God’s grace, it can happen again.