Day 46: Gathering Spaces

Thank you, God, for a gathering place.

(A whole other gratitude journal entry could be written about experiences in being lost and told by parents what to do if we are lost. Or times that we are on group outings, split up, and plan to gather back at a certain spot).

It is Holy Saturday—a quiet, often overlooked space between the grief of Good Friday and the joy of Easter morning. Many of us are weary from the journey of Holy Week: multiple services, deep emotions, and the anticipation of what’s to come. Some of us may already be tired just thinking about Easter and the festivities we’ve planned. And some of us are just... tired.

I imagine the disciples on that first Holy Saturday felt something different—not simply exhaustion, but confusion, grief, and disorientation. Bewildered by chaos. That phrase feels honest. Scripture doesn’t describe a clear gathering place for them during this in-between day. Jesus offers one to be shared after the resurrection—but in those hushed hours following the crucifixion, we don’t know where the faithful gathered. Maybe they were checking in on one another in small, quiet ways. Maybe they were just trying to breathe and stay out of trouble.

Isn’t that what we do, too? We seek each other out when we feel safe, when we are able. We gather in spirit, even when we are apart.

Today’s denominational devotion shared a song that mentions saying the Lord’s Prayer twice. It reminded me of how we ended our Good Friday service with that same prayer. When we don’t know what to say, we pray. And when we do know—still, we pray. When we can’t find the words, the prayer Jesus taught us becomes a sacred place to gather. A liturgy of presence. A spiritual home.

I am deeply grateful for all of the Holy Week services. But there is something uniquely raw about Holy Saturday. On Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, we sit in the sanctuary. We know the story. We walk the path while others are in our presence. Life is easier when we do it together. But Holy Saturday leaves us in a liminal space. We may feel alone, uncertain.

Some churches hold an Easter Vigil throughout Holy Saturday, and I see the beauty in that. But I also wonder if there is unexpected strength in the stillness, in the waiting—in the absence of one more thing to do. On this day, when we’re searching for a gathering place, perhaps our hearts are meant to echo the hearts of those early followers—longing, waiting, remembering. I wonder if anyone thought that Jesus, somehow and in some way, prepared us for this moment.

And we do remember. We remember that the story is not over. That Easter is coming.

So thank you, God, for every place where your people gather—churches, homes, whispered prayers, shared grief, shared hope. And thank you, too, for the in-between spaces. For Holy Saturday. For gathering in the quiet.

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The following is the devotional as shared by the denomination for Holy Saturday.

So say the Lord's Prayer twice, hold your babies tight / Surely someone will reach out a hand / And show you a safe place to land

Songwriters: Lori Mckenna and Sara Bareilles“A Safe Place to Land” lyrics © Tiny Bear Music, Creative Pulse Music, Maps And Records Music, Concord Copyrights

While you wait on this Holy Saturday, we suggest a song about hope. We’ve been falling throughout this Holy Week, stumbling over our own brokenness and losing our sense of balance as we confront our own sinfulness. We look toward Easter while we look for a safe place to land. Listen and ponder while we wait in hope for Resurrection.

“A Safe Place to Land” by Sara Bareilles

Holy Saturday is a day for waiting, sitting, pondering, and grieving…and hoping. We’ve been falling throughout Holy Week, stumbling over our brokenness and losing our sense of balance as we confront our sinfulness. Where will we find a safe place to land? As you listen to Sara Bareilles’ “A Safe Place to Land,” ponder and reflect on God as your safe place as we wait in hope for Resurrection.