Reflections for Holy Week:
Holy Saturday
By Jacob McRae
Holy Saturday can often be easily overlooked amidst the many observances in Holy Week. It sits quietly between the agony of the cross on Good Friday and the triumph of the resurrection on Easter Sunday. Holy Saturday is wholly unlike the other days of the week: there are no triumphal parades to cries of “Hosanna!,” no intimately shared meals, or powerful declarations of “It is finished!” There is no empty tomb (at least not yet).
Instead, the observance of Holy Saturday is a reminder that the Church finds itself in a strange and uncomfortable place between promise and fulfillment, between death and resurrection, between despair and hope. If Good Friday is marked by suffering, and Easter by celebration, Holy Saturday is marked by silence.
The Silence of the Tomb
After the brutality of the cross, the Gospel accounts present an eerily quiet scene. Jesus’ body has been taken down, wrapped in linen, and laid in a borrowed tomb by his friends and followers (Matt. 27:57-61; Mark 15:42-47; Luke 23:50-56; John 19:38-42). The Romans have rolled a stone across the entrance and set guards to watch--adding a great weight of finality to the death of this supposed “Messiah.” And overall, the movement that once gathered crowds just a few days earlier now appears to have come to an abrupt and devastating end.
Unlike modern observances of Holy Saturday, for the disciples, this was not a day of quiet reflection--it was a day of confusion, fear, and grief. After all, the one whom they believed to be the Messiah had died a horrific, humiliating, and seemingly hopeless death. The kingdom they hoped for and talked about with their friend and Rabbi now seemed lost, and the promises that Jesus once spoke to them felt untrustworthy at best.
We cannot help but read this story with the benefit of hindsight, knowing that resurrection is coming. But for those who lived it, Holy Saturday was a day without a resolution or hopeful tomorrow. It was a day where God seemed absent, and heaven, silent.
A Day of Waiting
What then are we to do with this day of loss, mourning, and silence? Holy Saturday teaches us something that we are not naturally inclined to embrace: the art of waiting. When things in life are going well, waiting can be an overall passive experience. But for those who are suffering the pain of unanswered prayers, the loss of a loved one or dream, or a period in life where the promises of God seem too distant to grasp--waiting becomes an experience that deeply aches.
However, when we are forced to live in the tension of experiencing a story with an unseen ending, we are actually participating in a rich and longstanding tradition of God’s people. Throughout Scripture, God’s people have certainly been no strangers to the art and ache of waiting. The book of Genesis recounts the story of Abraham, who waited 25 years for God to fulfill the promise of a child (see Gen. 12 & 21). In Exodus, the people of Israel experienced 400 years of slavery, waiting for the perfect timing of God’s rescue. The Psalms are filled with cries of, “How long, O Lord?” (Psalm 13:1). And the list goes on. In one form or another, the experience of following God is universally marked by the experience of waiting.
Holy Saturday gathers all of that longing into a single day--a day where it appears that death has the final word and salvation has failed.
The Hidden Work of God
And yet, Holy Saturday also confronts us with a deeper truth: When God’s “silence” feels like absence or inaction, it is likely signaling work that is unseen or unexpected. This too is a hallmark of Biblical testimony.
When Daniel cries out for God to make good on His promises and redeem His people from exile, (amidst a seeming lack of evidence that God has any plans of doing so), God responds by revealing to Daniel that not only have his prayers been heard, but that a great battle is taking place in the unseen and spiritual realm. Through the apparent silence, God was at work (see Daniel 9-10).
Similarly, when Jesus was prompted to explain what the Kingdom of God is like, He uses unexpected imagery that spoke to small, unexpected, or hidden beginnings: an unassuming seed that grows into a large tree, an unimpressive amount of leaven that transforms a whole loaf, a destitute field that hides treasures beyond imagining (see Matthew 13).
What all these examples have in common is that there’s little observable evidence of transformation amidst the process of change from beginning to end. Holy Saturday embraces this tension. Christ’s body had entered the earth as a seed, leaving little else to do but wait and see what would happen. Holy Saturday reminds us that God’s work is not always loud, visible, or immediate--but it is always happening.
Living in the “In-Between”
The truth is that, in many ways, Holy Saturday is where we live most of our lives. Between the more exciting days like Christmas and Easter, the overwhelming majority of the Church calendar year is dominated by what is called “ordinary time.” And yet, the Church has historically refused to discount these “in between” days, knowing that it is precisely in these times of “silence” and ordinary rhythms that true discipleship is shaped and tested. When Jesus gave one of His final lessons to His disciples (recorded in Matthew 24-25), He spoke about what it would look like to live through a period of waiting (speaking about His second coming). Only, Jesus frames it more as a time of preparation for what is to come: it is like a bride awaiting the arrival of the groom, or a servant who is left in charge of the master’s finances until his return. There is an expectation of faith-filled, trust-filled, action.
We live after the cross, knowing what Christ has accomplished, but before the final restoration of all things and the consummation of all God’s promises. It is the tension we commonly term the “already but not yet” and it is a tension we may experience viscerally every day:
We know that death has been defeated, and yet we still experience loss.
We know that sin has been conquered, and yet we still battle it daily.
We know that Christ has been given all authority, and yet we wage war on spiritual powers.
We know that Christ is risen, and yet we still wait for Him to come again.
Holy Saturday gives language to this experience, reminding us that faith is not only found in moments of clarity, celebration, and provision--but also in seasons of uncertainty, silence, loss, and waiting.
Continuing in the Footsteps of Our Savior
If Good Friday calls us to take up our cross, and lay down our lives in obedience like our Savior-- Holy Saturday calls us to trust our Savior in the dark where only He can see. It calls us to believe that God is still at work, even if all we can see is a tomb blocked by solid stone and enemy guards. The disciples did not yet understand what God was doing that day when Jesus’ body was placed in a tomb, but He certainly had not stopped working.
As for us, there will be seasons where we feel buried beneath disappointment, grief, or unanswered questions, and seasons where God seems quiet. But amidst the Bible’s testimony of ache-filled waiting, the overwhelming conclusion is hope: the Child of promise is born, the enslaved are set free, God hears the cries of the afflicted. I once heard it said that throughout Scripture, there are two things God is said to collect: the tears of our sorrows (Psalm 56:8) and the prayers of His people (Rev. 5:8). So while there is much good in the practice of silent reflection on Holy Saturday, I would contend that perhaps a more hopeful practice would be to let our aches in the waiting be known--for God will not forget them.
Conclusion
Holy Saturday invites us to sit in the tension of holding onto hope while still in the ache-filled waiting. It invites us to trust that silence is not the same as absence, waiting is not the same as defeat, and that death is not the end of the story. It invites us to embrace the kind of discomfort that reminds us we have a better hope ahead. So let us resist the urge to rush too quickly to Easter morning; instead acknowledging the weight of silence and trusting that--especially here--God is at work. Because what might feel like an ending, may in fact just be the beginning of a resurrection.
To learn more about Jacob and his family follow his blog: https://jacobandsamantha.org/