Today is Holy Saturday. You are too little to know what this weekend is all about, that today was the day the world fell silent as the grave. It is a busy weekend of worship and presentations and cleaning and reflection. But all that is on hold this afternoon as I take you in my arms. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you are inconsolable. Are you teething? Do you have a tummy ache? Are you getting sick? I try nursing, I try bouncing, I try distracting you with toys, I try a nap, I try cookies, I try funny faces, I try Tylenol, I try giving you to Daddy and leaving the room, but nothing works. You cry and contort in pain and discomfort.
Finally I scoop you up and take you to the kitchen, where the washing machine is spinning and the floors still haven’t been mopped. I turn on the little stereo and its glowing blue light grabs your attention. I put the iPod on the Passion week playlist and turn it up. The music begins – Come and Mourn with Me Awhile, How Deep the Father’s Love For Us, Sing to Jesus. I dance and sing and rock and your sobs turn to whimpers. You couldn’t possibly know what these words mean, yet as I sing the story of the cross over you, you soften in my arms. I sing them by heart and with all my heart, embracing these moments of broken worship, soothing you somehow with Christ’s sorrow. You settle into quiet rest, and still I sing, praying these words will find their way into your bones and blood, that they will grow with you till one Holy Saturday they will spill out of your own mouth like tears of praise.