I think I’ve written about this before, but it’s something I’ve come to believe.

I don’t know if there’s an official, ecclesiastical name for the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. But I call it Bad Saturday.

It doesn’t have a name (or not a well-known one, anyway) because it’s a kind of a nothing. The bad thing happened yesterday. The good thing hasn’t happened yet. It’s the day of disappointment, of shock, of depression. The day when the scattered disciples hole up and try to figure out the safest way out of the province. The day when everything has fallen apart, and you don’t know what’s coming next.

The day when all you’ve got to go on is a promise. And that promise that doesn’t look very promising, in the wake of what happened yesterday.

In other words, it’s the day in which we live most of our lives. True, Easter has happened, but Easter isn’t finished yet. We seem to be in the third act of God’s great drama, and we can’t see the climax from here. So we wait, and we say our lines, and we follow our stage directions, but the Happy Ending is still waiting in the wings, behind a curtain.

We’re trying to get through Bad Saturday as well as we can.

Easter is our hope. It’s a thing that has already happened, and has not yet happened, for us as individuals.

It’s a question of perseverance. Today might be called the Day of Perseverance. Hang on. The Feast comes tomorrow.