Death
Holy Saturday
Daily Reading: Luke 23:50 – 56
Focus Passage:
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. (Lk. 23:50 – 56)
Holy Saturday rests silently, darkly between Good Friday and Easter. Nestled between the crucifixion of Christ and the Resurrection, it is a somber day which 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. (Perhaps you’ll see what I mean when you get to the For Reflection section below.) Even remembering past grief for a loved one can be quite difficult for us.
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 doctrines, theories, and concepts that tell us what it means, as if our minds needed convincing that this is important.
Further, these theories are weighted heavily toward describing what we receive because of Jesus’ death on the cross. Sometimes it sounds as if the Crucifixion of the Son of God/Son of Humanity is a utilitarian gesture which is all about what we get from the deal.
“Jesus died for me.”
“Jesus’ death means my sins are forgiven.”
“Jesus’ sacrifice was for me.”
I’m not suggesting those things are untrue, nor that they are unimportant. But by so completely personalizing the death of Jesus, we lose touch with his 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 released his body for burial.
He was dead enough that a good man, Joseph of Arimathea, received permission to take his body for burial.
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, as some imply. The day after the Crucifixion, everything was uncertain. His disciples and friends were not predicting a happy outcome. They were not hiding eggs and cooking a feast in anticipation of Easter Sunday brunch. They were devastated by Jesus’ death, just as you are devastated when someone close to you dies.
I’m convinced that we cannot fully participate in the Resurrection of Easter morning if we have not fully entered into the death of Crucifixion. We are invited to witness Jesus in the tomb before we find him alive in the Garden.
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 others who love Jesus in grieving his death. At least for this day, I try to remember what it might have been like to have him taken from our midst. I set my intention to join Jesus on this day when he lay lifeless in a garden tomb.
For Reflection:
Spend some time this Holy Saturday remembering a time you felt devastated by the death of a loved one. The feeling of loss was real and devastating. All the pious platitudes meant to encourage you felt hollow and could not touch your grief.
This is the space where Holy Saturday resides in our devotion . . . in our emptiness, our waiting, our suffering, our questioning. As painful as it seems, you are not masochistic to feel these things today . . . these feelings simply make you human and your grief real.
Daily Reading: Luke 23:50 – 56
Focus Passage:
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. (Lk. 23:50 – 56)
Holy Saturday rests silently, darkly between Good Friday and Easter. Nestled between the crucifixion of Christ and the Resurrection, it is a somber day which 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. (Perhaps you’ll see what I mean when you get to the For Reflection section below.) Even remembering past grief for a loved one can be quite difficult for us.
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 doctrines, theories, and concepts that tell us what it means, as if our minds needed convincing that this is important.
Further, these theories are weighted heavily toward describing what we receive because of Jesus’ death on the cross. Sometimes it sounds as if the Crucifixion of the Son of God/Son of Humanity is a utilitarian gesture which is all about what we get from the deal.
“Jesus died for me.”
“Jesus’ death means my sins are forgiven.”
“Jesus’ sacrifice was for me.”
I’m not suggesting those things are untrue, nor that they are unimportant. But by so completely personalizing the death of Jesus, we lose touch with his 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 released his body for burial.
He was dead enough that a good man, Joseph of Arimathea, received permission to take his body for burial.
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, as some imply. The day after the Crucifixion, everything was uncertain. His disciples and friends were not predicting a happy outcome. They were not hiding eggs and cooking a feast in anticipation of Easter Sunday brunch. They were devastated by Jesus’ death, just as you are devastated when someone close to you dies.
I’m convinced that we cannot fully participate in the Resurrection of Easter morning if we have not fully entered into the death of Crucifixion. We are invited to witness Jesus in the tomb before we find him alive in the Garden.
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 others who love Jesus in grieving his death. At least for this day, I try to remember what it might have been like to have him taken from our midst. I set my intention to join Jesus on this day when he lay lifeless in a garden tomb.
For Reflection:
Spend some time this Holy Saturday remembering a time you felt devastated by the death of a loved one. The feeling of loss was real and devastating. All the pious platitudes meant to encourage you felt hollow and could not touch your grief.
This is the space where Holy Saturday resides in our devotion . . . in our emptiness, our waiting, our suffering, our questioning. As painful as it seems, you are not masochistic to feel these things today . . . these feelings simply make you human and your grief real.
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