Holy Saturday
“I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope. My whole being waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning…” ~ Psalm 130:5–6
Yesterday, everything came to a stop.
The cross.
The final cry.
The stillness that followed.
And today—silence.
Holy Saturday is the day we rarely know what to do with. There is no action, no movement, no clear next step. Jesus is in the tomb. The disciples are scattered. Grief is fresh, and hope feels uncertain.
All through Lent, we have been asking: Are we there yet?
And again and again, the answer has been no.
But today, the question shifts.
Now it feels like: Was that it?
This is the space in between—between what has happened and what has not yet been revealed. And if we are honest, this space is not unfamiliar.
We know what it is to wait.
To sit with unanswered prayers.
To carry grief that does not lift overnight.
To live in moments where nothing seems to be happening, and yet everything feels different.
Holy Saturday reminds us that faith is not only lived in moments of clarity or breakthrough. Sometimes faith is simply staying.
Staying when there is nothing to fix.
Staying when there is no clear direction.
Staying when God feels quiet.
Because silence is not the same as absence.
There are no recorded words from Jesus on this day. No miracles. No explanations. And yet, the story is not over.
God is still present—even in the silence.
That may be the quiet invitation of this day: not to rush ahead, not to force meaning, but to remain. To trust that even when we cannot see movement, God is still at work in ways we do not yet understand.
We know what comes next. But today is not about arriving there early.
Today is about honoring the in-between.
So if this day feels heavy, or uncertain, or unfinished—that may be exactly where you are meant to be.
Not at the end.
Not yet at the beginning again.
But held in the silence in between.
Pieces of the Puzzle 