It's gray in London today. It's the sort of gray that I thought it might be all the time. Not symbolically, but it's been grayer since Amy left It is as if it just came out so we could enjoy the town and now when I should be productive it grays up. I feel bad for anyone trying to take "Easter pictures" though. Perhaps it will be better tomorrow.
Holy Saturday, the Saturday after Good Friday and before Easter has always perplexed me. What are you supposed to do? I'll be honest, I did not go to Good Friday service. I really thought about it, but-- well, the excuses don't matter. I really don't usually go to Good Friday services. To be quite frank, they intimidate me. I can only remember one in recent years and it was at my home church and I think it was good to go, but it left me a bit off. It was quite intense. It's important to play that in your mind, to know what sacrifice was given up for you (if you believe, that is. If you don't, sorry to hear my rambling) and what shame and hurt existed. But, I think it can be just as valuable to spend a bit of time in reflection. Back to Saturday... It's called Holy Saturday because it's before Easter, but in a way I feel like it was a bit of hopeless or hurting Saturday. Obviously that'd be no name to call it by now, but to watch someone who you believed was the Son of God, the Son of your Creator go through that pain and public humiliation. The next day must have been sorrowful.
Okay, so I realized before I went on and on about all the possible meanings of Holy Saturday maybe I should look it up and see what the ever-so-trustworthy internet says about it. I found this site. It may or may not be viable, but until skimming over it I think I had, for a moment, forgotten that Saturday was Sabbath. Of course it was Holy Saturday, everyone was quiet and in reflection, because it was the day of rest, just as every other week, but for many this Day of Rest was different. And that was why the women coming to the tomb with spices was such a big deal... it was not okay to do this on the Sabbath....
Today I went to see a show called Tusk Tusk by brilliant, established (her first show, which she wrote at 19 went to the West End) Polly Stenham. It was at the Royal Court Theatre (my favorite venue because of what they put on and how well they do it. It's highly subsidized, but they are able to put on magnificent pieces of work for small audiences as a result). It was about- It was about- It was about... okay. So I retyped that sentence a zillion times. It- it was about a lot of things. And if it wasn't sold out and if you were in London, I would tell you to go see it. You might be able to get some standing room tickets if you move fast-- and it'd be worth the standing. They have an intermission. Today, I didn't want an intermission. I didn't even have to pee. I just wanted the show to keep going. it was the story of 3 children alone in a house waiting for a phone call. They had each other. The characters had been forced to grow up (for the most part). Part of it made me think of the Boxcar Children, which took away from the intensity, but that was only once. They made numerous great references to Where the Wild Things Are that just hit home quickly. It is one of my favorite books.
The connection of the play to the Holy Saturday?
Needing something to believe in. Going through so much, but trusting, trusting in... And not always having as strong of a Faith as it'd be ideal to have... and when that faith goes out the window, what do you do? You keep going. You trust in something. We need that Something. It is greater than us. We are not enough without it. I mean, we can only be so much, but the rest of it is made up...
Ah, there is so much more to be said, but all in all, I hope you all have some peaceful time to reflect.
Go in Peace.