Holy Saturday – April 3, 2010
Luke 23:50 – 56
Now there was a man named Joseph, a member of the Council, a good and upright man, who had not consented to their decision and action. He came from the Judean town of Arimathea, and he himself was waiting for the kingdom of God. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus' body. Then he took it down, wrapped it in linen cloth and placed it in a tomb cut in the rock, one in which no one had yet been laid. It was Preparation Day, and the Sabbath was about to begin.
The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee followed Joseph and saw the tomb and how his body was laid in it. Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.
Holy Saturday rests silently, darkly between Good Friday and Easter. Nestled between the crucifixion of Christ and his resurrection, it is a somber day that remembers the hours Jesus spent in the tomb.
Frankly, it is a day that puts off many Christians. Modern persons are not comfortable talking about nor dealing with death, even the death of Jesus. We talk in broad, general terms about Jesus’ death for us, careful to keep his death at an abstract level. The Church has traditionally given us all sorts of things to think about the death of Jesus. We’re up to our necks in theories and concepts that tell us what it means, as if we all needed to be convinced in our heads that this is important.
Further, these theories are weighted heavily toward describing what we get because of Jesus’ death on the cross. We’ve made the crucifixion of the Son of God/Son of Humanity a utilitarian gesture in which it’s all about what we get in the deal.
“Jesus died for me.”
“Jesus’ death means my sins are forgiven.”
“Jesus’ sacrifice was for me.”
I’m not suggesting that those things are not true, nor that they are not utterly important. But by so completely personalizing the death of Jesus, we lose touch with the actual death. We gloss over the agony he felt from the betrayal of friends and the utter desolation and abandonment of the cross. We treat Saturday’s tomb as a mere prelude to Sunday’s resurrection.
On Saturday, Jesus was dead. Dead dead. He was dead enough that the Roman soldiers agreed that Jesus was ready to be buried and released him for burial.
He was dead enough that a good man, Joseph of Arimathea, received permission to take his body for burial in a tomb.
He was dead enough that women followers of Jesus saw his body in the tomb and began making preparations to wrap his body with spices and perfumes.
He was not in a temporary holding pattern. That day after the crucifixion, everything was uncertain. His disciples and his friends were not predicting a happy outcome. They were not making merry in anticipation of resurrection. They were devastated by Jesus’ death, just as you are devastated when someone close to you dies.
I’m convinced that most of us cannot fully participate in the resurrection of Easter morning because we have not fully entered into the death of crucifixion. We have not witnessed Jesus in the tomb.
For myself, I have to discover deliberate ways to join in the spirit of the day. I find that Holy Saturday is a day for quietness, a day to be still. Sometimes I’ll fast a couple of meals, or perhaps the entire day, just to remember Jesus’ death. I try not to get preoccupied with what it means for me. I simply intend to join other lovers of Jesus in grieving this One who gave his life completely, and who at least for this day, has been taken from our midst. And I fix my intention to join Jesus on this day when his finished life lay still in a garden tomb.
Now there was a man named Joseph, a member of the Council, a good and upright man, who had not consented to their decision and action. He came from the Judean town of Arimathea, and he himself was waiting for the kingdom of God. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus' body. Then he took it down, wrapped it in linen cloth and placed it in a tomb cut in the rock, one in which no one had yet been laid. It was Preparation Day, and the Sabbath was about to begin.
The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee followed Joseph and saw the tomb and how his body was laid in it. Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.
Holy Saturday rests silently, darkly between Good Friday and Easter. Nestled between the crucifixion of Christ and his resurrection, it is a somber day that remembers the hours Jesus spent in the tomb.
Frankly, it is a day that puts off many Christians. Modern persons are not comfortable talking about nor dealing with death, even the death of Jesus. We talk in broad, general terms about Jesus’ death for us, careful to keep his death at an abstract level. The Church has traditionally given us all sorts of things to think about the death of Jesus. We’re up to our necks in theories and concepts that tell us what it means, as if we all needed to be convinced in our heads that this is important.
Further, these theories are weighted heavily toward describing what we get because of Jesus’ death on the cross. We’ve made the crucifixion of the Son of God/Son of Humanity a utilitarian gesture in which it’s all about what we get in the deal.
“Jesus died for me.”
“Jesus’ death means my sins are forgiven.”
“Jesus’ sacrifice was for me.”
I’m not suggesting that those things are not true, nor that they are not utterly important. But by so completely personalizing the death of Jesus, we lose touch with the actual death. We gloss over the agony he felt from the betrayal of friends and the utter desolation and abandonment of the cross. We treat Saturday’s tomb as a mere prelude to Sunday’s resurrection.
On Saturday, Jesus was dead. Dead dead. He was dead enough that the Roman soldiers agreed that Jesus was ready to be buried and released him for burial.
He was dead enough that a good man, Joseph of Arimathea, received permission to take his body for burial in a tomb.
He was dead enough that women followers of Jesus saw his body in the tomb and began making preparations to wrap his body with spices and perfumes.
He was not in a temporary holding pattern. That day after the crucifixion, everything was uncertain. His disciples and his friends were not predicting a happy outcome. They were not making merry in anticipation of resurrection. They were devastated by Jesus’ death, just as you are devastated when someone close to you dies.
I’m convinced that most of us cannot fully participate in the resurrection of Easter morning because we have not fully entered into the death of crucifixion. We have not witnessed Jesus in the tomb.
For myself, I have to discover deliberate ways to join in the spirit of the day. I find that Holy Saturday is a day for quietness, a day to be still. Sometimes I’ll fast a couple of meals, or perhaps the entire day, just to remember Jesus’ death. I try not to get preoccupied with what it means for me. I simply intend to join other lovers of Jesus in grieving this One who gave his life completely, and who at least for this day, has been taken from our midst. And I fix my intention to join Jesus on this day when his finished life lay still in a garden tomb.
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