It's very quiet in our house today... VERY QUIET... Last night we attended Calvary's Service of Shadows, in which we heard and relived in a small way the words of the Bible recounting the last few hours leading up to the resurrection. It was a haunting service with sorrowful music and Bible passages, as one by one the lights in the sanctuary went out and we were finally left in the dark to bear the truth that for at least some time on this earth, Christ was not yet resurrected.
Even though we know the ending of the story, in our house today we do our best to live into the sorrow and grief of the death of the Son of God. We surround ourselves in darkness and silence, and not a word is spoken between us. And in the silence of these 36 hours, we yearn towards the glory of Easter morning.
It seems somehow important to me, someone who is always happy and always talking, to intentionally quiet myself in order to in some way comprehend what Christ's death means. It's very hard for me, depressing and frustrating, to be so quiet. Perhaps that is why I continue to do it each year. Just like I freely immerse myself in the anticipation of Christmas, the repentance of Lent, and the "Hallelujah!"s of Easter, I must allow myself to fully enter into the grief and sorrow of Holy Saturday. And from the silence, from the death of noise, I will grow to appreciate the gifts of life we have that we celebrate on Easter morning, when at sunrise I can rejoice and proclaim "He is risen, indeed!"
