What was it like for the first disciples?
What was it like to live on that first Holy Saturday
when all hope is gone,
when all that we love is lost,
when God is dead?
We know the end of the story.
We know of resurrection,
so we do not wish to dwell in this dark place,
we want to rush on to Easter Sunday,
when life returns.
It is too hard to live on Holy Saturday,
to spend our time in the dark and conflicted places
of Golgotha and Gethsemane,
the place where despair has all the best answers
to our questions.
But what of the people who have no choice?
What of the people who always live on Holy Saturday.
The child beaten and abused at home
whose only hope is to run away?
The child living with alcohol misusing parents,
Trapped, too young, into adult responsibilities.
The disabled child,
never given the chance to join in.
The refugee child,
always a problem,
never simply a person.
What must it be like to live on Holy Saturday,
when we do not know how the story ends?
When hope is absent
who will be there to look after them?
Who will be there for the children
on their Holy Saturday?
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