Saturday is silent.
Scary. Isolated. And familiar.
Saturday is where we live.
In the tension.
In the in-between.
Waiting.
Saturday is where we live.
Past the darkness of Friday.
But often still stumbling in the dark.
Free from guilt and shame.
But often still struggling against the chains weighing down every step.
Victorious in the Cross.
But always still pressing on toward the prize we haven’t quite grasped.
Saturday is where we live.
Already made new, but not yet fully new.
Already made whole, but not yet fully whole.
Already made into a new family, but not yet united in love.
Already alive, but not yet fully exiting the tomb.
Saturday is where we live.
Waiting- in the already, but not yet.
Saturday may be where we live, but we know it is not our home.
Saturday may be where we live, but we know not yet is not final.
Saturday may be where we live, but we know waiting is not in vain.
Saturday is where we live.
But Sunday is coming.
Sunday, when what was finished on the Cross
is fully realized in the whole of the Cosmos.
Sunday is coming for us.
Already coming for us. Always coming for us.
Saturday is where we we live.
But we belong to Sunday morning, already and always.