It’s been an interesting Holy Saturday. Here a few hours out from the turn of Saturday into Sunday, I’m mindful of the strange silence of the day in the biblical story. On Thursday, before the break of Good Friday, my classes read through the passion narrative in Luke’s gospel from daybreak Friday morning to the quickened burial of Jesus. And as I listened to my students read, I was reminded of the sense of irreversible loss that Jesus’ disciples must have felt from midnight Friday on, how they probably forgot the three-day promise of Jesus in the midst of the chaos. And so a day of silence, one repeated a thousand different ways by a thousand different people each and every day. Even still . . .
Always grateful when a three-day weekend dovetails a camp weekend.
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