I sort of wanted to post something about Holy Saturday, but haven't had time, so I'll link to this, from Sally Thomas, instead.
The thought I had, that I wanted to elaborate on, but which, now that I think about it, perhaps needs no elaboration, is this: in a sense most of our lives, at least the rest of our lives after we really learn the meaning of pain, is spent in Holy Saturday: the suspended time between death and the possibility of some kind of resurrection. I don't think that hope is entirely absent even in those who don't believe. It has a way of not being dead even when you think it is.
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