And so, we wait. Yesterday we mourned and tomorrow we celebrate, but today we wait. God is strangely silent on Holy Saturday. In the midst of a week of the church’s most elaborate liturgies, our prayer book offers just a short liturgy of the word. We do not celebrate the Eucharist today. What more can be said? What more can we do? What is done is done. The seeds of new life have been sown. We have fed them with water and fertilizer through the practice of our Lenten disciplines. Perhaps we have been faithful in our spiritual disciplines during the past 40 days, or perhaps we have been more sporadic. None of that matters now, because there is nothing we can or cannot do that will take away the gift of new life that is on the verge of bursting forth from an empty tomb. It is hard to be in this in-between place, teetering on the edge of the mystery of death turned into life. It is hard to wait for God to do God’s work, as we so often want to do the work ourselves. It is tempting to continue the work of preparation, and of course, some preparation for tomorrow’s celebration must be done. But today, if you can, find a moment to rest and allow God to be with you wherever you are, whether it is in a place of grief or joyful anticipation. Job is a good companion today, as he gives voice to the varied thoughts and feelings that may arise for us. Job laments, “All my intimate friends abhor me, and those whom I loved have turned against me.” Yet from his place of grief, Job has a vision: “For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last day He will stand upon the earth.” God is with us today in our grief, our hope, and our waiting.