There’s something hauntingly quiet about Holy Saturday.
The crowds are gone. The cross stands empty. The tomb is closed. And we’re left here in the in-between.
Holy Saturday doesn’t get much attention. It’s the space between sorrow and celebration, between the grief of Good Friday and the joy of Easter morning. It’s easy to overlook. But maybe that’s where its power lies.
This is the day of waiting.
Of not knowing.
Of not understanding.
Of wondering if the story really is over.
It’s a liminal space, neither here nor there. The kind of space where time feels stretched and strange. Where we’re not who we were, and not yet who we will become. A place of disorientation. A place of quiet transformation.
And maybe you know that space.
Maybe you’ve stood in a hospital hallway after hard news.
Maybe you’ve packed up the house you once called home.
Maybe you’ve left a job, or a relationship, or a version of yourself that no longer fits—and now you’re waiting, wondering what’s next.
Holy Saturday tells us that even God knows what it’s like to dwell in the unknown.
Jesus lies in the tomb. The disciples grieve. The world holds its breath.
But something is happening beneath the surface.
In the silence, in the stillness, in the dark, transformation begins.
The story isn’t over. Not yet. But resurrection doesn’t rush. It rises.
So if you find yourself in a Saturday space, in the tension between what was and what’s to come, take heart.
A Prayer for Holy Saturday
God of the in-between, we come to you in the quiet spaces where answers are few, where grief is real, and where hope feels just out of reach. Hold us in the stillness. Teach us to wait without rushing, to trust without knowing, to believe that even in the silence, you are near. As we sit in this holy pause, may we find you in the shadows, in the ache, in the mystery. And may we remember: resurrection doesn’t always come with trumpets.Sometimes, it begins in the dark. Amen.
A Question to Carry
Where are you right now in the story? Are you holding grief, lingering in uncertainty, or simply waiting for what’s next? Whatever your Holy Saturday looks like may you know that this space, too, is sacred.
You are not alone.
