Holy Saturday has always to me been a day of quiet reservation from many activities and happenings, spiritual or otherwise. As a child with tent-making parents, the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday was one where we entertained ourselves, mainly in or around the house, with few friends over and no expectation for a fantastic dinner or much family-bonding opportunity. It was the one day in the week when there wasn't any church services, special prayer times or visiting pastors.
I remember as a youngster asking my Dad, 'so what happens on Easter Saturday?' (in the context of church, faith development or Christian practices), to which he replied 'nothing', and for years, this was a true and accurate statement of our diary. It's somewhat different now that I go to a more Catholic church, where there are lots more services and study groups on Holy Saturday, but for a reserved, charismatic girl like myself, the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday will always be one where the lentern vows are relaxed and nothing much crops up to take their place.
So like several years that have gone before, Holy Saturday is one of absence of spirituality, a time of silent reflection, a stillness at the tomb. I didn't try any new ways to pray today, instead, spending my time taking in the sights and sounds around me and enjoying my holiday in a land where English language church services were practically non-existent.
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