+This morning of course is a liturgically bare and solemn morning. We gather today in a church stripped to its barest bones. The Presence of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament is gone—the aumbry’s door lies open, the sanctuary light is extinguished and is gone. The crosses are veiled in black shrouds of mourning. It is a bleak and colorless place.
It is a time of mourning. It is a time of loss. This liturgy purposely has the feel of a burial service. And liturgically we ponder the fact that Jesus’ murdered and tortured body this morning lies in a tomb.
I truly do love to participate in the liturgy this morning. I love to preach about Holy Saturday. I love to talk about it. I love to mediate on it throughout the year. And I guess I do because it’s kind of an ignored day.
For the most part, Holy Saturday is not given a lot of attention by a majority of churches, at least here in the
There have been a few traditions about what happened to his body. One says that he was the first one buried in the Potter’s Field that was used by the money he returned to the Priests. It is also said, to this day, that any body buried in that Potter’s Field decomposes within twenty-four hours. So, like that, Judas—the symbol of deceit—disappears completely, without a trace. It’s a sad end to a sad man.
But there is a little glimmer of hope in all of this. Today, on this Holy Saturday, we also think about a popular tradition in the Church that I really have come to love. The Harrowing of Hell, of course, is the event in which we imagine Jesus, on this Holy Saturday, descending among the dead in hell and bringing them back.
Last year on Holy Saturday I preached about the Harrowing of Hell and referenced the famous icon of Jesus standing over the broken-open tombs pulling out Adam from one tomb and Eve from the other. In fact, I have placed that icon on the votive candle stand in the Narthex. But there is another image I would like to draw your attention to—a more interactive image. That image is, of course, the image of the labyrinth.
One of the many images used in walking the labyrinth is, of course, the Harrowing of Hell. When you think of the labyrinth, you can almost imagine Jesus trekking his way down to the very bowels of hell. There, he takes those waiting for him and gently and lovingly leads them back through the winding path to heaven. On this Holy Saturday, I also like imagine that one person Jesus greets and leads back is, of course, the new-arrived Judas. Judas was, after all, one of the closest of the apostles. And Jesus knew from the beginning what Judas was going to do. In a sense, Jesus needed Judas to fulfill his destiny on that cross. I can imagine, then, that Jesus, upon reaching the bowels of hell on this day, sought Judas out especially, embraced him and quietly led him out, along with the others. It’s lovely to imagine and, whether it’s true or not, I like to cling to that image.
I do, because, I will confess, of all the apostles, I sometimes identify with Judas. I think we all do at times. I have betrayed Jesus at times in my life. I have betrayed him both as his follower when I have doubted who he is and what he is. And I have betrayed Jesus when I have betrayed loved ones and friends and colleagues. I have, like Judas, betrayed Jesus when I have grumbled about people behind their backs, and complained and been less than loving of others. I have failed Jesus in those instances when I have allowed the spirit of deception to come upon me and lead me in a dark direction. And there have been times when I have regretting that betrayal—when my betrayal has caused pain in people’s lives.
The image of the Harrowing of Hell—the image of the labyrinth—never becomes more real for me than when I imagine myself as Judas, at that very center—shivering there in the dark, bracing myself for an eternity of separation from others and from Jesus. I imagine myself as the Judas who deserves to have his effigy burned, who deserves to be maligned and shown as the epitome of treason.
And in that dark, cold, lonely place, I, like Judas, am amazed when I see that glimmer of light in the darkness. I, like Judas, am filled with a steadily-growing joy as the light grows larger and bolder and I realize that within that light is Jesus. I, like Judas, am overwhelmed in that moment when Jesus comes to me in my desolation and my isolation and reaches out to me to embrace me and lead me away from that prison that I have made for myself by my foolish actions and cold-hearted ways.
This is what Holy Saturday is all about. Even dead and lying in a tomb, Jesus still manages to make a difference—to do good. Even when it seems like the ultimate defeat has occurred, the ultimate victory is going on, right under the surface. Holy Saturday is that glimmer of light in the darkest places of our souls. And that light that is about to dawn on us tomorrow morning—that light of ultimate and unending joy and gladness—is more glorious than anything we can even begin to fathom in this moment.
So let us this morning, strain into the dark. Let us look with hope and joy toward that light that is approaching us. And when we see him, there, in that light, coming toward us with his arms outstretched, let us run to him with that Easter joy.