The following is an excerpt from a paper Stephanie Berbec wrote three years ago in grad school for the class: Beauty, Brokenness and the Cross: Atonement Theology Through the Arts. As we enter into the Triduum, I found it appropriate and necessary to revisit:
Holy Saturday. The epitome of the dark night of the soul. If any day has ever hindered one’s spiritual journey towards a relationship with God, it was this day. This is the day after—the day when pain is felt the greatest. When walking along with someone on their journey towards an expected death, it seems as though the world stops. After death, the next day, is when one realizes that the world has continued moving. Reality sets in and life must resume. But no one wants to get out of bed on Holy Saturday, for it is here that grief and loneliness begin. While it is okay to acknowledge the end of the story, “we are also invited to read the story from the inside, from the perspective of those who live through the shadows of Friday and Saturday without knowing the ending, for whom the Friday is a catastrophic finale to the would-be Messiah’s life, a day devoid of victory, a day of shredded hopes, drained of goodness.” Partaking in the story in such a way as the disciples, who didn’t know if Sunday would even happen, is best if one fully wants to grasp the meaning of this Holy Saturday.
Further, Lewis expresses the gravity of this day in declaring, “[that] we have not really listened to the gospel story of the cross and grave until we have construed this cold, dark Sabbath as the day of atheism.” Once again, it is only in knowing that Sunday comes that one can comprehend titling such day as “holy.” However, for the disciples, there was nothing about this day worthy of being considered holy. With Jesus of Nazareth dead, the liturgy became meaningless. The eucharist would not be consumed. If God was dead, to even pray seemed absurd. One can wonder if comfort was sought in the Psalms, “Meditate within your heart on your bed, and be still.”
With heavy hearts, those who loved Jesus most must now accept His death and acknowledge their pain. Both of which are necessary to begin the process of grieving. Chittister encourages, “[that] with or without our permission, with or without our understanding, eventually suffering comes. Then the question is only how to endure it, how to accept it, how to cope with it, how to turn it from dross to gleam.” The grief experienced on this day was not recorded, leaving the reader to assume that the biblical authors found the events (or lack thereof) on Holy Saturday unnecessary to document. Perhaps, however, “the nonevent of the second day could after all be a significant zero, a pregnant emptiness, a silent nothing which says everything.”
May you allow yourself to enter into the particularity of each day—slowly, patiently, not rushing toward Easter Sunday—experiencing the pace and emotions of what each day may hold.
wrote three years ago in grad school for the class: Beauty, Brokenness and the Cross: Atonement Theology Through the Arts. As we enter into the Triduum, I found it appropriate and necessary to revisit:
Holy Saturday. The epitome of the dark night of the soul. If any day has ever hindered one’s spiritual journey towards a relationship with God, it was this day. This is the day after—the day when pain is felt the greatest. When walking along with someone on their journey towards an expected death, it seems as though the world stops. After death, the next day, is when one realizes that the world has continued moving. Reality sets in and life must resume. But no one wants to get out of bed on Holy Saturday, for it is here that grief and loneliness begin. While it is okay to acknowledge the end of the story, “we are also invited to read the story from the inside, from the perspective of those who live through the shadows of Friday and Saturday without knowing the ending, for whom the Friday is a catastrophic finale to the would-be Messiah’s life, a day devoid of victory, a day of shredded hopes, drained of goodness.” Partaking in the story in such a way as the disciples, who didn’t know if Sunday would even happen, is best if one fully wants to grasp the meaning of this Holy Saturday.
Further, Lewis expresses the gravity of this day in declaring, “[that] we have not really listened to the gospel story of the cross and grave until we have construed this cold, dark Sabbath as the day of atheism.” Once again, it is only in knowing that Sunday comes that one can comprehend titling such day as “holy.” However, for the disciples, there was nothing about this day worthy of being considered holy. With Jesus of Nazareth dead, the liturgy became meaningless. The eucharist would not be consumed. If God was dead, to even pray seemed absurd. One can wonder if comfort was sought in the Psalms, “Meditate within your heart on your bed, and be still.”
With heavy hearts, those who loved Jesus most must now accept His death and acknowledge their pain. Both of which are necessary to begin the process of grieving. Chittister encourages, “[that] with or without our permission, with or without our understanding, eventually suffering comes. Then the question is only how to endure it, how to accept it, how to cope with it, how to turn it from dross to gleam.” The grief experienced on this day was not recorded, leaving the reader to assume that the biblical authors found the events (or lack thereof) on Holy Saturday unnecessary to document. Perhaps, however, “the nonevent of the second day could after all be a significant zero, a pregnant emptiness, a silent nothing which says everything.”
May you allow yourself to enter into the particularity of each day—slowly, patiently, not rushing toward Easter Sunday—experiencing the pace and emotions of what each day may hold.
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