Finding Ourselves in Holy Week: Part 2
In my new book, When Every Space is Sacred, I make the case that Holy Saturday, the quiet space between Good Friday and Easter, is perhaps one of the most sacred spaces in the church calendar. This often overlooked and holy day provides a much needed space both for those who suffer from the ongoing trauma of Friday and for those who are disconnected from reality through an over-realized hope of Easter that we have not yet fully experienced in our everyday lives.
Over these few days from Maundy Thursday through Easter Sunday, I am sharing in parts the chapter on our need for Holy Saturday. May these reflections open you to a fresh awareness of God’s presence in each day of this Holy Week. If you missed part 1, check it out here.
Chapter 5 - Continued:
Life in the In-Between of Holy Saturday
The Horror of Good Friday
…While Western Christians tend to live mostly in the protected and prosperous bubble of Easter, many still find themselves stuck on Good Friday. No matter how much faith we may have, if we are honest, life tends to feel more like Good Friday than Easter. When we look around at our world, it is easier to see more darkness than light, more hatred than peace, and more evil than good. As we noted earlier, the hope of resurrection often feels too far out of reach.
The world of Good Friday is traumatic and reactionary, much like our world today. In the United States alone we have spent over two decades in a state of perpetual war, not to mention the never-ending list of other calamities such as environmental concerns and natural disasters, increased violence and addictions, an epidemic of mental health concerns, racism, sexism, and poverty, to name a few. At the time of this writing, on top of everything else, we are living with the ongoing trauma and fallout of a global COVID-19 pandemic that we couldn’t have even imagined only a few years ago.
We typically associate trauma with soldiers returning from the frontlines, victims of abuse, or others who experience extreme circumstances. Yet when we consider a few of the most common symptoms of PTSD, a large percentage of the population may find themselves looking in a mirror.[i]
Negative thoughts about self, other people or the world
Hopelessness about the future
Difficulty maintaining close relationships
Feeling detached from family and friends
Lack of interest in activities you once enjoyed
Difficulty experiencing positive emotions
Feeling emotionally numb
Changes in physical and emotional reactions
Self-destructive behavior, such as drinking too much or driving too fast
Trouble sleeping
Trouble concentrating
Irritability, angry outbursts or aggressive behavior
Overwhelming guilt or shame
Whereas an Easter worldview is marked by hope and new life, a Good Friday worldview cultivates a sense of doom. People react to everything out of fear and anxiety, trying to survive with little hope of a better day. Such despair often leads to another dangerous theology in the church, “escapism.” While the prosperity gospel claims God will bless us richly on earth for our faith, escapist thinking holds fast to the hope that one day we will be transported out of here to some far-off place where the streets are made of gold and leave this world behind to burn. There is a form of hope inherent in this theology, but it is limited to those who see themselves as “true believers” in Jesus and it does not offer much for this earthly life. In a Good Friday world, it seems the only thing we can look forward to is death. Rather than the curse of sin found in the garden, death becomes the blessing by which we can leave behind this sin-ridden world. Without Good Friday, Easter hope denies reality and keeps us living in a protective bubble of faith which pretends that everything happens for a reason and therefore, everything must be OK.
The hope of Easter, however, is not merely a hope for life after death. If it were, the prayer that Jesus taught us for the Kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven, becomes nothing but empty words. Easter must offer hope for our earthly life as well.
The Possibility of a Third Way
Brendan Cox divides the world population into three groups.[ii] 25% are defined by hatred. These are people who have many compelling stories, often rooted in nostalgia, but they are dark and largely negative. For this group, every day is Good Friday. On Good Friday, the only way to hide from the angry mob is to become part of the angry mob, shouting “crucify” at whatever scapegoat comes our way to explain away our suffering.
Another 25% is generally content with life. He calls them “cosmopolitan.” They are not telling stories at all because there is no story to tell. Life is good. Easter has already come, and darkness has been defeated. This is the mindset of the privileged class who are often blind to the suffering of others.
The other 50% of the population falls into a category Cox calls “the anxious middle.” They long for a story to be part of, but they are drifting toward hatred and darkness because those are the only stories being told.
Easter people don’t tell compelling stories of hope because they take resurrection for granted, as if anyone with enough faith can be happy. Good Friday people tell plenty of stories. They relive the trauma of life over and over again and invite others into their pain.
Too often we live in the traumatic reactionary world of Good Friday while paying homage to the joy of Easter for an hour on Sunday mornings. Throughout the week we live like the family struggling to plan a funeral but on Sunday we become the ones who try to comfort the grieving, reminding them that their loved one is in a better place. We either keep reenacting our pain and trauma or we act as if it doesn’t matter and try to move on.
Whenever we find ourselves haunted by the darkness and evil of Good Friday, in whatever ways it may manifest itself in our lives, everything in us wants to shout, “Don’t worry, Sunday is coming!” Yes. Sunday is coming. But not without going through Saturday…
For further reflection…
What stories are you telling yourself and others about your life? Are they compellng stories of hope or honest stories of pain? If you find yourself without a compelling story to tell, why might that be?
Where in your own life experience do you find yourself haunted by the darkness?
Are there places you have experienced trauma that you have not yet recognized or acknowledged?
What next steps can you take this week toward allowing yourself to look honestly at your pain and truly grieve?
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For more on cultivating sacred space in your everyday life, check out my new book, When Every Space is Sacred, and open yourself to a deeper awareness of God’s presence in your life, in the church, and in every corner of this wondrous world.