Matthew 27: 62-64

62 The next day, that is, after the day of Preparation, the chief priests and the Pharisees gathered before Pilate 63 and said, “Sir, we remember what that impostor said while he was still alive, ‘After three days I will rise again.’ 64 Therefore command the tomb to be made secure until the third day; otherwise, his disciples may go and steal him away and tell the people, ‘He has been raised from the dead,’ and the last deception would be worse than the first.”

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"The Waiting Place is for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go,

Or a bus to come, or a plane to go,

Or the mail to come, or the rain to go,

Or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow,

Or waiting around for a yes or no,

Or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting."

These lyrics penned by Dr. Seuss in the book “Oh, The Places You Will Go,” are the soundtrack of life on Holy Saturday. It is the morning after what was arguably the most controversial lynching anyone had ever witnessed. After pacing the floor all night, too exhausted to sleep yet too unsettled to sit still, the symptoms of vicarious trauma were all too real, as survivors searched for ways to expend their nervous energy. Their minds replayed the scenes of yesterday’s crucifixion, unable to mute the sounds of the guttural screams and the whips lashing—whoosh… crack… whoosh… crack… Some people gasped and wailed, while others laughed and mocked. The smell of a nearby campfire was overshadowed by the stench of pierced flesh as birds and wild animals began circling the crime scene, sniffing for their next meal. The people stood helplessly, waiting for it to end, yet afraid of what the end looked like.

Joseph of Arimathea: A Man in the Waiting Place

One of Jesus’ homeboys, Joseph of Arimathea, was rich and had access to everything money could buy, but the one thing he wanted most was outside of his reach. He couldn’t protect his friend. He couldn’t stop the pain. He couldn’t bear to witness the mutilation of his brother’s body, so he looked away, though his body flinched with every crack of the whip. Heart racing. Palms sweaty. Breaths so shallow they were almost nonexistent—until he gasped for air, jumping up to shake off the feeling of dread. In that moment, Joseph decided he couldn’t just sit still and wait any longer. He needed to do something. He needed someplace to go.

Joseph, “…you’re on your own. And you know what you know. And you are the guy who’ll decide where to go."

Joseph decided that the place to go was the palace to see Pilate. With dread and heaviness in every footstep, he traveled to meet the man who had signed the executive order for Jesus’ crucifixion. As he entered the Oval Office with a broken heart, he stood boldly yet respectfully before Pilate—the man who had murdered his friend, confidante, and mentor—to humbly ask for permission to do the thing he was called to do.

Permission to prepare Jesus’ body for burial was granted.

Returning to the Place of Trauma

Now, Joseph had to travel back to the site of the trauma. What do you do when your calling requires you to go back to the place that harmed you? How do you give God a full “yes” when your body is giving you a full stop? There are times when we can convince our minds that we are okay, but the body never lies. For Joseph, the trauma was still fresh. He had not made space for what had happened to him because he was focused on what had happened to Jesus. For some of us, our pain points are not only with the people or organizations that harmed us, but also with those who witnessed the injury and didn’t show up for us.

"Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win?"

After what seemed like hours, Joseph reached the foot of the cross, where the lifeless body of his friend hung. I wonder if that was the moment he yielded to that warm, buzzy feeling in his chest, as his eyes filled with grief and tears. Or did he swallow the lump in his throat and push through—because there’s no time for all that crying, son? With intentional care, Joseph gingerly peeled Jesus’ body off that old rugged cross, trying not to disturb his flesh any more than it already had been.

God, am I doing this right? Is this really Your will for my life?

Our bodies possess a natural defense mechanism: dissociation. When the pain is too much to bear, we separate our thoughts from our bodies and trick our minds into engaging in an alternate reality. Perhaps, instead of tending to his emotions in that moment, Joseph put on his business executive hat and focused on executing a task rather than engaging in the intimate details of preparing Jesus’ body for burial. Did he imagine someone else’s face? Was Jesus’ face even recognizable after all his body had endured?

"Everyone is just waiting."

The Emotional Toll of Holy Saturday

Many of us live in a perpetual state of Holy Saturdays, uncomfortably situated between trauma and triumph, wounds and wins, endings and beginnings. We are fully aware of Good Friday’s pain and the Resurrection’s promise. But Saturday? Saturday is silent. Saturday is The Waiting Place between the places we have been and the places we will go, and waiting requires a level of discipline that few of us possess.

Perhaps that is why so many of us skip over Holy Saturday. In my Black Baptist church tradition, a preacher hasn’t preached unless they take you to Calvary on any given Sunday. We’re anxious to get to the celebration so we don’t have to do the hard work of sitting still to heal. Sit still, and heal. As descendants of enslaved ancestors, we have been trained and conditioned to withhold our emotions and resist vulnerability as a survival technique.

An Invitation to the Pause

What happens when we explore new ways of surviving? What if we pause, breathe, and be? Notice your breath. Is it shallow? I wonder how it might feel for you to pause and take in a slow, intentional breath, hold it, and then release it ever-so-gently. Again. Breathe. This time, notice your belly expand with each inhale, and slowly retract with each exhale. Breathe. Notice the time and date. Notice where you are situated. Are you safe? What do you need? Breathe.

You’ve suffered tremendous losses—some of which nobody knows about but you and God. Perhaps your act of preparing Jesus’s body is simply making a list of those losses and giving them space to exist. That relationship ended, and it was for the best, but it still hurt, didn’t it? You fasted and prayed for their healing, and they still died. You earned the degree, but you’re still struggling. You raised that child to know and love God, but they grew up and chose a different path. You did your part, and still…

"I’m afraid that sometimes you’ll play lonely games, too. Games you can’t win, ‘cause you’re playing against you."

Beloved, grief can be a lonely space to be in. The Waiting Place is filled with people, yet they are alone. There was a crowd at the crucifixion, yet Joseph was initially alone in his grief. On this Holy Saturday, I invite you to slow down. Resist the temptation to be all things to all people. Push back against the expectation to show up beyond your human capacity. Take in the quietness. Feel your heart beating. Breathe. And wait.

Holy Saturday: Oh, The Places You Will Go

Feel All the Feels (even the uncomfortable ones)

The Eternally Broad Love of God