On Holy Saturday, the world pauses.
The noise of Good Friday has faded—the cries, the hammering of nails, the trembling earth. And yet, the joy of Easter morning has not yet arrived. We find ourselves in between, in the space of silence, sorrow, and waiting.
The tomb is sealed. Christ’s body rests. The disciples are scattered, their hearts heavy with grief and confusion. And Mary, His mother, holds onto the last thread of faith in the promises spoken.
This day is quiet, but it is not empty.
Holy Saturday is a day of holy waiting, when all of creation holds its breath. It invites us into the mystery of God’s silence—not abandonment, but the sacred stillness that comes before resurrection. In that stillness, God is working. In the hidden places, in the darkness of the tomb, love is preparing to rise.
Too often, we rush to Easter. We want the lilies and the alleluias. But there is something essential about Holy Saturday: it mirrors our own seasons of grief, uncertainty, and longing. We too experience times when God seems quiet, when hope feels buried, and when the future is unclear.
Yet Holy Saturday reminds us: even when we cannot see it, resurrection is coming.
Christ descends into the depths—to bring light to the dead, to break the chains of sin, and to redeem every moment of our own waiting. Today is the quiet triumph of love over death. A still victory that prepares the dawn.
So we wait. But not in despair. We wait with faith.
We sit beside the tomb, trusting that what appears lifeless will one day rise.
That every sorrow will one day be transfigured. And that even in silence, God is near.
As you go about your day waiting for the Easter dawn, consider
1. What areas of your life feel like “Holy Saturday”—quiet, uncertain, or buried in grief?
2. How can you hold onto hope and trust in God’s work even in the silence?
May the stillness of this Holy Saturday deepen your trust in the God who works wonders in the silence.
No comments:
Post a Comment