The Exile of Christ

A SHORT REFLECTION ON HOLY SATURDAY

For forty days we fast and we pray and we sacrifice in preparation for the holiest time of the year and in commemoration of Christ's time in the dessert. The Triduum is my absolute favorite liturgical celebration; the symbols and ceremonies are so overwhelming that one can't help but to feel something. From Palm Sunday to the Vigil of Easter there is a feeling of tragedy and hope so intertwined that one cannot feel one without feeling the other. I sometimes think, though, that in the drama of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday and the Passion of Christ on Good Friday and the beauty of the Easter Vigil, the solemnity, somberness, and sorrow of Saturday are overlooked.

I think that Holy Saturday is the saddest day of the year. Yes, Good Friday is when we cause Christ's death. But it is on Saturday that we see the consequence of what we have done: we have banished Him from the earth. If you've never been in a chapel or a Church during the day on Holy Saturday, I encourage you to go this time. Walk in and you will see a bare altar, no sanctuary lamp, and an open and empty tabernacle. Christ is nowhere in there. The Church is barren. Then you realize- "this is my doing". The world is missing Jesus because I asked him to leave; He got on the Cross and he left the Earth because I rejected His love. It's a very lonely and grave feeling. The one place that is a sure comfort is now as miserable as the rest of the world because we made it be. We kicked Christ out. And sitting in that chapel looking at the empty tabernacle, you know something of what the apostles must have felt, and especially something like what Judas must have felt.

And yet, Holy Saturday is the most hopeful and happiest day of the year, too. If you stay long enough (or go late enough, whatever the case may be), you will inevitably see ladies bringing in tons of elaborate flower arrangements and replacing the cloths on the altar. This has always reminded me of the women going to the tomb with perfumes, only to find it empty. Watching this, you know that He didn't leave forever; you that He's coming back and that no matter how many times you reject His love- it will still be offered to you. You know that He's never going to leave you alone, that He'll always be ready for you when you decide that you are ready for Him. It is the day that those who are willing to accept His love are brought into His light. It is the day that ALLELUIA returns! All of the bells around are rung in joy for solid minutes as the Gloria makes its return. I once went to the cathedral in Birmingham for the Easter Vigil (where about 50 people were brought into the Church) and before the Gospel, an acolyte ran into the church and down the center aisle and brought the bishop a scroll and unrolled it, saying breathlessly "I bring you a joyful message" (I don't remember exactly what it is that is said before). And the bishop read an elaborate (musically) Alleluia out to his flock. And this should should be our joy. This is nothing less than the Holiest day of the year.

In all of our sorrow (and we should be sorrowful), in all of our loneliness, in all of our faults, even in the emptiness of the churches- when all is seemingly hopeless- that is when we have the most hope. That is when we physically and truly, truly realize the extent and consequence of our sins. And that is when we realize the extent and magnitude of Christ's love for us.

"O happy fault, O necessary sin of Adam that gained for us so great a Redeemer!"

"Do not give in to despair! We are an Easter people and Hallelujah is our song"