Holy Saturday (11 April 2020)
From an ancient homily for Holy Saturday
Today, we make a slight change and pray with what has to be one of my favourite readings from the Liturgy of the Hours or the Divine Office. This reading, an ancient homily written by an unknown preacher that’s placed as the 2nd reading for the Office of Readings, captures the spirit of Holy Saturday in ways I can’t fully describe. Its haunting beauty reminds us that Christ has descended to the dead and because of that, we feel this silence, this strange sense of emptiness after the intensity of the liturgies of the past days. But this silence doesn’t mean that nothing is being done. Christ too his cross, the instrument of our salvation, and journeyed to hell so that he could liberate those trapped there in death. The conversation between Christ and Adam is so moving because it’s also addressed to us, “I order you, O sleeper, to awake.”
For many of us these days, we’ve noticed an unnatural silence in the cities where we live. Roads are strangely clear, playgrounds are empty, and the only sounds we may hear could be commotion along supermarket aisles. This is something we’re not used to – some may like the silence but others may be discomfited by the eerie lack of life that is the reality of our cities now, emptied of the normal pedestrians and traffic. Perhaps that’s something that we can pray with, bringing the concrete reality of our discomfort and silence to bear on the reality of Christ also remains silent this day, body in the tomb but still continuing in the salvation of the world.
In the silence we can also reflect on what separation is doing to us. Many of us are called to observe social distance (the most overused word of the past month) and this enforced separation can take its toll on many of us. We don’t realise how much the little contact with have with each other means to us until we’re forced to stop that for the sake of everyone around. This separation can cause us pain and anxiety, and the silence that often comes with this separation can make it worse. What can we do?
I would say we need to look to the cross, embracing as I mentioned yesterday. I don’t want to over-spiritualise this sense of separation but there’s definitely a spiritual element there. Our separation from God through sin was removed by the death and resurrection of Christ on the cross. We could see the separation that we feel now as part of that very cross that Christ carried up to Calvary, that we’re not bearing that burden on our own but that it’s being borne by our Saviour. Embracing him and the cross during these days can help us recognise that the world continues to be created and protected by God’s love, so we do not lose hope by focusing only on that which separates. The Holy Week story did not end with death but with new life. That’s where our hope comes from and we know that we’re part of a larger story that also ends not with death but with new life.
So we enter into this silence, this separation, with a cautious hope, knowing that Easter is just around the corner. It’s not going be what Easter normally feels like externally but if we dig a little deeper, we can get in touch with the Lord who brings us the joy that the world cannot bring, to feel the hope that the resurrection brings to all of us. And we wait, with this hope for the Lord to extend his hand to us saying, “Arise, O Sleeper, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated.”
Prayer for today
- Our prayer for today will take a slightly different form. Read the ancient homily once or twice, taking note of the points which were particularly moving.
- Then sit in silence for a while. Savour the silence and moments of solitude that the prayer brings. Feel how the Lord is present but is also silent with us, enjoying our presence as we’re enjoying his.
- I pray with this silence and presence for as long as I feel comfortable. I don’t speak if I don’t feel the need to; I speak when I feel like I would like to have the same familiar conversations that I’ve been having with the Lord this past week.
- End with the Lord’s Prayer.
A little more…
I’m not a poet by any stretch but thought I’d share the fruits of prayer and reflection from Good Friday this year.
Watch, look. The gloom.
Nothing to be seen.
Dark calls from the depth,
we look, struggling,
not overwhelmed.
Hark, listen. Silence.
Nothing stirs, sound breaks not.
Silence calls form the depth,
we hear, not hearing,
grieve. Emptiness here.
But I await. I know.
After the storm, clouds part;
beyond the night, dawn.
Because hope remains,
the stone gets rolled away.
Good Friday, 10 April 2020
musings of a brush 