the day when time stands still

When I left church after the service yesterday (Good Friday) I changed my shirt. I have done this very deliberately for a couple of years now changing out of a clerical shirt into a t-shirt. It is purely symbolic to me. My in-church clothes changed on Thursday evening, as the altar was stripped so I removed chasuble, stole and alb and remained in a more sombre black cassock. After the Good Friday service I removed all vestiges of being a priest.

Priests have little to do,at least formally, on Holy Saturday. We are not very useful in a Church where the altars stand empty and bare. Practically, of course, many of us will be doing our usual work and (even in my case) wearing our usual clothes today. But the Church as a whole stands silent and waiting. Our posture is one of expectation.

Flowers will be arranged, metals will be polished. Decorations will be returned to the Churches but secretly to most, because most never even saw them gone. The habit of jumping from Sunday to Sunday even in churches which maintain a liturgical calendar deprives many of the richness of the symbols of emptiness and starkness - we probably need to think through how we can make these more accessible in a busy world.
Tonight light begins to creep in around the vigil readings as we are reminded of God's endless purpose. And then, the great fire, the great shout of Easter. But I will not write that yet - now the grain is buried, sleeping in the dark earth.