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Shhhhhh… Here, we sit, in a liminal space. I almost feel as if we should whisper. This is the moment when Silent Saturday gives way to Easter Sunday. Today is called Silent Saturday because of the quiet of the tomb.
At the very powerful Good Friday service last night, we remembered Christ’s death upon the cross. Doyt talked about the importance of courage—Jesus’ courage and the need for our own courage in the face of a harsh world.
He said, on “Good Friday, we hear the clarion call of divine courage. Jesus does not flinch in Gethsemane—He wrestles, but He does not run. He does not flee the cross—He walks toward it. Not because He has no fear, but because He knows love is greater than fear.”
As the large wooden cross stood here last night, we came face to face with mortality. In Christ’s death, we are reminded of our own death, the impermanence of this life, and the profound grief when someone we love dies.
But wait, there’s more… As we know, the bad thing is never the last thing. The story doesn’t end with Good Friday. It continues…
Holy Saturday is a day for stillness. As we sit outside the tomb, waiting, we feel the silence of God. For those who actually sat outside the tomb on that day, I can’t imagine their grief. They had known Jesus’ love, warmth, tenderness, and healing spirit in the flesh. And then, He was gone.
Their shock and sadness are feelings we can understand, as we experience the same thing when someone we love is here, then gone.
Most of you knew Bob Barnes. He served at this altar just last Sunday, bearing the incense he loved so much at the 11:00 a.m. service. Bob was a pillar of our community, someone who loved God and loved this church, and his sudden death weighs heavy this Holy Week.
And he should have been here tonight, serving as thurifer and bearing the incense at this most sacred service. Just this past Wednesday, the death before his death, Bob was in this room, talking with God and practicing swinging the thurible for tonight’s service. Tonight, the incense wafts up to him. The smoke is for Bob and for us to remember our eternal ascent.
The Old Testament reading for Holy Saturday, observed this morning, includes these words from Job:
“For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last He will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. My heart faints within me!”
This is the power of the resurrection and what it means to be Easter people. We know that death doesn’t have the last word because Jesus triumphs over death.
These moments in the dark of the Easter Vigil are my favorite moments of the entire year. It is in this darkness that we sit on the precipice of resurrection. We know what is coming, but we aren’t there just yet.
It is like being in the womb with its safety and comfort before emerging into a new reality. We need divine courage to sit in this uncertainty, knowing that the bad thing is never the last thing—AND that doesn’t mean we get to escape the harsh realities of this world.
We will suffer and grieve. We will endure unimaginable sadness. And it is in our suffering that we have the capacity to connect most deeply with one another.
The stories we have heard tonight in this holy darkness tell of our salvation history. They recount the innumerable ways in which God never gives up. Even when humanity chooses to ignore God, God never chooses to ignore us. God continually calls us into relationship because God loves us.
God refuses to give up on us, and my hope is that God’s steadfastness inspires us to do likewise. We cannot give up on one another. We must remain hopeful that love will prevail, faith will be renewed, and that we will recognize the coming of the Holy Spirit.
In the quiet of this night, the absence of God from the past 24 hours melts into God’s presence in the new fire of Easter. We don’t rush—rather, we savor this transition from holy darkness to light, from sadness to joy, from grief into love.
When Job says, “For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last He will stand upon the earth,” he is leading us toward the greatest leap of faith.
This is the night when God invites us into the cosmic moment of Easter.
I have an icon by Kelly Latimore hanging on my office wall called Mary: Love Forever Being Born. In this image, Mary is depicted in a deep blue headscarf with her hands in a position of embrace. We are used to seeing her holding the Christ child, but instead of a baby, this image has her holding the cosmos. Across her chest are stars and the Milky Way. Behind her head is a soft white halo resembling the moon. Mary’s feminine power is on full display.
This particular image was inspired by a poem written by theologian Sister Ilia Delio a few years ago. In the final few lines of the poem, she writes:
“We are forming, forming, forming and nothing can stop us.
There is a palpable power of attraction, pulling us toward we-know-not-where.
Love alone is the guide of the universe
and the whole universe is in the human heart.
Tend to the heart and the power of love will name itself as God.”
The power of love will name itself as God…
The Cosmic Christ refers to the understanding of Christ as not only a historical figure but also a universal presence that permeates all of creation.
This idea suggests that Christ is the Eternal Word, the divine Logos, who is present in all things and through whom all things were made. The Cosmic Christ is seen as the unifying force that holds all creation together and is present in the spiritual realities of the universe. This understanding emphasizes the connection between the divine and the cosmos, highlighting the spiritual nature of the universe as infused with Christ’s presence.
Easter is a cosmic moment as Silent Saturday gives way to Easter resurrection. The mystery of Easter enfolds this idea of Christ in all aspects of creation in which we recognize the interconnectedness of all life through the presence of the resurrected and Cosmic Christ.
Much like the Eucharist, I don’t think we can ever fully comprehend the meaning of resurrection—the greatest leap of faith.
And still, we are here, sitting in the soft glow of candlelight, waiting together for the silence of this Saturday to give way to glorious shouts of Easter.
Even in his suffering, Job knew the bad thing is never the last thing.
He said, “As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives and that at the last He will stand upon the earth. After my awaking, He will raise me up; and in my body I shall see God. I myself shall see, and my eyes behold Him who is my friend and not a stranger.”
This is eternal life. This is resurrection.
My kids have grown up knowing that death is not something to be feared, but rather a transitioning from this life into eternal glory with God. Upon hearing the news of Bob’s death, my oldest son said, “Wow, Bob is with God and Charley Bush and all the saints.” And indeed, he is.
The cosmic moment of Easter proclaims that love is greater than fear. Hope drives out despair. And Jesus’ resurrection ushers in eternal life.
Tonight, let us hold onto the profound truth that has been revealed in this holy darkness. We have journeyed through the stories of creation, liberation, and promise, each one a testament to God’s unwavering love and commitment to us. In the silence of this holy night, we have awaited the dawn of resurrection, knowing that the darkness of the tomb is not the end, but the beginning of new life.
Let the light of the Paschal candle be a symbol of the light of Christ that fills our hearts with the hope of resurrection. Let us carry this light into the world, proclaiming with joy that Christ is risen, and in His rising, we too are raised to newness of life.
May the peace of the risen Christ be with you, and may you go forth from this place with renewed courage and faith, knowing that the love of God is ever-present and ever-faithful.