Waiting Silence

At the Maundy Thursday service we put big signs on the doors instructing people to enter in silence. About 6:30, people started to arrive and they followed the instructions of the signs. As people filled the sanctuary, the silence was thick and almost oppressive. In our church, people like to talk. We like to gab and listen to what others have to say, but last night, nothing was said until the service started. Throughout the whole process, I was scurrying around like a church mouse...making sure that all my readers were in place, that Mike knew the deal for Communion, that my musicians were ready, but I, too, operated as quietly as possible, never speaking above a whisper. At 6:50, when I was sure that everyone and everything was ready, I walked to the front of the church and sat down. And waited. And waited. And waited. After what I thought had been an eternity and it must be time to start, I looked at the clock. It was only 6:53. Sitting in that silence was the longest ten minutes that I can remember.

As the service concluded, I asked people to leave in silence, and quietly people left the church. Although the service reminded us that we are people of Easter, our Scripture readings left Christ in the tomb. Although we were reminded of the coming promise, spoken by Jesus, that death would not hold Him in its' grasp, we left Christ in the desolation of the tomb. We left in silence, and now we wait. We wait throughout a day that was filled with devastation for the disciples. We wait throughout a day that was filled with horror and fear for those who knew Him best. We wait throughout a day that reminds us that Christ died. For us. Might we feel the devastation and horror and fear of true followers even as we wait. Darkness descended upon the Earth as The Light was crucified. It's uncomfortable to wait, even when we know the ending. The silence of the tomb is deafening. And now we wait in silence.