Lindsay Loves

I would much rather post the Friday Five today. I would rather have posted it yesterday! But in keeping with the spirit of this holy season of the Triduum, I offer instead my reflections on Holy Saturday.

Although many Protestant churches have begun to observe Ash Wednesday, Good Friday, and Holy Thursday (which they tend to call “Maundy Thursday” in reference to Christ’s mandatum , the command of service given to the apostles at the Last Supper), they haven’t picked up Holy Saturday. I can’t say I blame them. Most Catholics I know who attend the Triduum liturgies faithfully still just do nothing for Holy Saturday. Most parishes are busy decorating the church and doing some brief meetings with the people who will come into the Church in the evening, so it’s rare that Morning Prayer is even offered as suggested by the GIRM.

When I started to renew my religious life, Holy Saturday was an early addition to my Triduum observances. In college, I could keep the Good Friday fast through Saturday, eating a full meal only after the Easter Vigil. I can’t do that anymore; I’m getting too old! I do, however, still make time for the Liturgy of the Hours on Holy Saturday. It’s one of my favorite prayer times of the entire year.

Since I missed Morning Prayer today when my cable guy came early (a welcome shift in my plans for the day), I combined the Invitatory, Midday Prayer, and the Office of Readings. I’m not sure I did it right, but my heart was in the right place even if my prayer structure wasn’t. The important part was that I did the Office of Readings, with its second reading, titled simply “From an ancient homily on Holy Saturday.” Of all the things the Church has known, discovered, and proclaimed, the author of this incredible reflection remains a mystery. I invite you to read this passage, preferably aloud, and to ponder what it means for this holy day, the day between Christ’s terrible death and his glorious resurrection.

Something strange is happening. There is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and he has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear.

He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the Cross, the weapon that had won him the victory. At the sight of him Adam, the first man he had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone: ‘My Lord be with you all.’ Christ answered him: ‘And with your spirit.’ He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: ‘Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.’

I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for you and your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in Hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I in you; together we form one person and cannot be separated.

For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden.

See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.

I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you.

Rise. Let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity.

It makes me cry every time. Be patient, my friends; he will rise very soon.