I am a deep sleeper, so it is rare for me to lie awake at night and agonize over things. Instead, the early morning, when I wake up, best reveals my joys and my fears. The day floods in; and with it, the memories, realities, promises and anxieties that will shape it. 

The anticipated visit of a grandchild or a good friend, the start of a vacation, the arrival of a new book, anticipated worship with a warm and welcoming church community – these all get me out of bed easily and full of hope. A morning like that is an invitation into joy.

Lately, my waking has been difficult. The world has changed. I thought I would always feel safe, free, and cared for in Canada, my country. But now its economy, and even its sovereignty, is threatened by the government of a country that, for as far back as I can remember, has been a good and trustworthy neighbour. 

On top of that, the Christian Reformed Church, the denomination that shaped my faith since my early teens, has become an angry and divided gathering that I now hardly recognize as a steward of the Reformed tradition I grew up to love.

Suddenly, hope is hard to come by. Others may experience the loss differently, but I know that for many it is so sudden and unexpected, so comprehensive and consequential, that it almost paralyses.  

On the Sabbath between Jesus’ death and the day of his resurrection, his disciples must have felt a similarly paralysing loss of hope. 

Holy Saturday is not much talked about in Reformed churches; nor, for that matter, in the gospels. Mark, Luke, and John mention the haste needed to complete Jesus’ burial before the start of Sabbath. Only Matthew adds that the chief priests and pharisees went to Pilate, on the Sabbath, to secure a Roman guard at the tomb. But for the disciples waking up that morning it must have felt like the end of their world. 

For three years they had followed Jesus as he healed and preached throughout the Jewish countryside and in Jerusalem. Jesus was mistrusted and eventually hated by the religious establishment, but the disciples came to recognize and love him as the Messiah, even if they were slow to understand what that meant.  They knew they were part of something new, something full of promise and hope.  Their lives had meaning. At sunrise they might not know exactly what the day would bring; it might be strange and surprising, but they knew it would be good. 

But on that Saturday morning all that joy was gone. Jesus had been crucified. The one who had been their hope was no more.  

We know of course that the crucifixion was not the end of the story, and that it should not have been entirely incomprehensible to the disciples. They soon learned that they had not been abandoned after all. Easter morning brought news of Jesus’ resurrection, first to some of the women, and then through Jesus’ appearances to the other disciples over the next 40 days. He encouraged them, reminded them of his teachings and, above all, told them to wait for the Holy Spirit.  

In the Bible the number 40 is often associated with preparation and transition. For the disciples, the transition from the old covenant to the new, from Israel to the world, and from the law to grace and the Holy Spirit, was a paradigm shift that took much longer, well into the missionary work of the apostle Paul. It opened up a completely new reality made possible by the crucifixion, powered by the resurrection, and led by the Holy Spirit to this day. But it took time for the disciples to adjust to the changes, and the adjustment was often painful. 

Perhaps today, too, we are entering such a time of radical change, both in our churches and in our countries – a time to reflect on what we have been doing wrong and what new thing God might be leading us to.  Did we allow the poor to become too poor, and the rich too rich?  Did we welcome the stranger the way we should have?  Have we diluted the biblical concept of the neighbour? Are we allowing selfish ambition and greed to destroy our world and undermine our ability to rest in God’s care? 

Could it be that God is preparing us for something that will be startlingly new, a new faithfulness for our time?  Is God growing a radically new Christian imagination for His Church and His creation?

Tomorrow we will celebrate the resurrection; and in 50 days, Pentecost. The Holy Spirit is still present and active; so, as we grieve our losses let’s do it with hope and courage, even in the midst of our disorientation.  Like the disciples during the days between Easter and Pentecost and into the development of the early church, let’s continue to gather and pray and speak truth to power. 

And, above all, let us not hold too tightly to our current assumptions about our institutions lest we hinder the Holy Spirit’s work.  Let’s be open to surprise as we are led into new understanding and fresh hope.

Header photo by Quin Stevenson on Unsplash