New Life Starts in the Dark

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 19, 2025

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

New Life Starts in the Dark

Today is Holy Saturday, the most shadowy, the most unknowable, day of the Christian Year.

By now, the Palm Procession seems like a distant memory.

We have long since digested the Last Supper.

The horror and suffering of Good Friday is mercifully ended.

And Jesus, Jesus is dead – really dead – in the sealed and so very dark tomb.

We all know that even very faithful and devout Christians, even the ones who attend other Holy Week services, skip over this shadowy and unknowable in-between time.

No judgment at all – I get it.

Believe me, I know that there’s a lot to do to get ready for Easter.

And, maybe, for some, this day is just too uncomfortable, too unsettling, too sad – and so we look the other way, move on, and busy ourselves preparing for tomorrow’s most joyful feast.

So why are we here?

        Why is it important to be here?

Well, for one thing, today is a most powerful reminder that in and through Jesus, God has fully entered the human experience, from the helplessness of infancy to the heartbreak of rejection and now, even to death itself.

Something new for God, perhaps. To taste death.

How loved we are that the God of Life would endure  all of this for all of us.

And Holy Saturday also reminds us that no one witnessed the Resurrection itself, not even Mary Magdalene who, as we’ll hear again tomorrow morning, was the first to meet the Risen Lord in the garden.

No one witnessed the Resurrection.

That fact reminds me of a favorite quote from Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest and writer. 

She writes, “…new life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

“New life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

New life starts in the dark.

All of you gardeners know that already. 

And all of us Christians should know it, too.

It got very dark in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, when the Son of God was betrayed, rejected, tortured, and killed.

It was very dark in the tomb.

And, today, our world – and maybe our own life – seems very dark, too.

But, on this shadowy, unknowable, and overlooked day, we hope, and we trust.

We hope and we trust because, especially on Holy Saturday, we know that new life starts in the dark.

Amen.

When the Tomb is Full

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 30, 2024

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

When the Tomb is Full

This morning we arrive at the most mysterious, most unknowable, most in-between time of the Christian Year.

The Palm Parade seems a distant memory.

The tumult and suffering of Good Friday is mercifully ended.

Jesus has poured out his blood, his love, his life, and his hope for us.

And this morning we remember the hard fact that Jesus really died.

This morning we remember that, for a time, the tomb was not empty.

The tomb was full.

There are many who believe that the best way to observe this day is simply to be quiet.

There’s wisdom to that but the reality is that most, maybe all, of us, won’t be quiet today.

Instead, we’ll keep busy – maybe getting ready for tomorrow.

Or, maybe just doing our usual chores and activities.

So, that’s why I think it’s important to gather this morning and to remember, to face, this mysterious in-between time when Jesus was really dead.

When the tomb was not empty.

It was full.

Scripture is mostly silent on what was going on during this in-between time.

But that hasn’t stopped Christians from speculating, imagining, what it means that Jesus “descended to the dead.”

Some have described what’s called the “Harrowing of Hell,” that Jesus didn’t just descend to the dead but he liberated the dead, leading them out of hell, with Adam and Eve often pictured at the front of the line.

Or, as I like to think, maybe Judas was the first to be freed.

I don’t know. 

But if Jesus is who we say he is, then in some sense God has experienced death.

God knows what it’s like when the tomb is full.

And so, in those times when it feels like our tomb is full, when we are consumed by fear and grief, when we are confronted by betrayal and death, we can be sure that God knows what this is like, that God is beside us, enduring with us.

And, because we know what – we know who – Mary Magdalene will discover in the garden early tomorrow morning, we can be sure that God won’t leave us in our tombs forever.

After the tumult and suffering of yesterday and in this mysterious in-between time today, and with our own worries and the many troubles of the world, we may be feeling empty.

But remember:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, shared with and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

The tomb will not be full forever.

Soon.

In-Between Times

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 8, 2023

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 130

1 Peter 4: 1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

In-Between Times

This morning, we take a few minutes to prayerfully acknowledge the strange in-between time of Holy Saturday.

For the past week, many of us have been especially busy.

There have been lots of worship services, beginning with the palm parade and the reading of the Passion last Sunday.

On Thursday, we gathered around the table with Jesus the foot-washer and his disciples, gathered to remember some most important lessons.

Yesterday at noon, we faced the stark reality of Jesus’ death – the depth of his sacrifice – the hard fact that God came into the world in and through Jesus.

And human beings, not so different from us, killed him.

Meanwhile, in our lives both in and out of church, many of us have been busy getting ready for what we know is coming tomorrow – preparing for our joyful celebrations in church – and maybe preparing for time with family and friends.

But Holy Saturday – this morning’s simple and spare service – stops us for just a few minutes to prayerfully acknowledge this strange in-between time.

As I’ve reflected on Holy Saturday this year, I’m struck by the fact that the people in the gospel story seem unaware that they are living through an in-between time.

Oh, in today’s gospel lesson we’re told that some of the religious authorities remembered Jesus’ promise that he would rise again on the third day.

They remembered it, all right, but they certainly did not believe it, did not expect it. Instead, they’re concerned about the possibility of deception – so, it’s best to make the tomb extra secure.

But we’re given no hint that Jesus’ followers had any hope or expectation that the story of Jesus was going to continue.

As we’ll hear tomorrow and in the days ahead, the disciples will be quite surprised that Jesus kept his promise.

The disciples were totally unprepared for the new life of Easter. 

The disciples didn’t know it, but they were living through an in-between time, when Jesus the Son of God entered into the human experience in the most extreme way possible – enduring death.

Jesus really died.

As for us, we can try our best to stay in the moment, but we know that, as we speak, the Flower Guild is hard at work in church making everything beautiful for tomorrow.

We can try our best to stay in the moment but we know what’s coming. 

And that’s fine.

We’re not playing pretend here.

But, Holy Saturday is a reminder that we also live in an in-between time – a much longer in-between time, stretching from Easter to the last day.

Much like the first disciples, during our in-between time we grow frightened and we despair – and, sometimes, perhaps we think that God has abandoned us – that maybe suffering and death will get the last word.

Holy Saturday is an opportunity to simply acknowledge these in-between times for the disciples and for us – a time to reflect on the hard facts of Jesus’ suffering and death – and, most of all, a chance to ponder the bottomless depth of God’s love for us.

And so, for a few minutes, at least:

We pray.

And we wait.

In a Time of Turmoil, Jesus Descends to the Dead

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 16, 2022

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 130

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

In a Time of Turmoil, Jesus Descends to the Dead

This morning we arrive at an unsettling in-between time, this strange space after the horrors and sorrow of Good Friday, and before the joys and glory of Easter.

We tend to find in-between times uncomfortable.

We’re usually eager to just get on with it, to reach our destination, to cross items off our to-do list. 

And that’s especially true here in this holy in-between time.

So, the world certainly, and even most of the church, is already moving into Easter mode – getting the flowers ready, preparing meals, straightening up the house, selecting outfits, choosing hats, and all the rest.

But, here at this simple and spare service, for a few precious minutes, we pause and sit with the hard fact that Jesus died. 

The gospels are mostly silent about the events of the first Holy Saturday.

As we heard in today’s gospel lesson, we know that one of Jesus’ rich friends, Joseph of Arimathea, took custody of Jesus’ lifeless body, wrapped it, and placed it in his own tomb, newly hewn in the rock.

During their time of turmoil, after all the shock and pain of the past few days, I’m not sure Joseph of Arimathea and Jesus’ other friends and followers remembered his promise of resurrection on the third day.

Or maybe, after everything that had happened, they just could not bring themselves to hope again.

But Matthew tells us that, ironically enough, some of Jesus’ opponents remembered the promise of new life, and asked for some reinforcement of the tomb, just in case Jesus’ disciples tried to pull a fast one.

Some people invest a lot in death and the denial of hope.

We’re not told what the disciples were up to during this in-between time.

But, we know them well enough to know that they were probably hiding in fear. To be fair, we can’t really blame them for that, since it was quite possible that the Romans would be coming for them next.

And, behind the locked doors, I bet there was a fair amount of bickering and finger-pointing, lots of accusations flying, plenty of painful reminders of how they had all failed Jesus so miserably.

And, what about Jesus during this in-between time?

Since the early days, Christians have believed in what’s called the “Harrowing of Hell” – the idea that Jesus “descended to the dead,” entering through the gates of hell, where souls had been waiting so long for liberation.

Except for saying one line in the Creed, these days we don’t usually spend much time thinking or talking about the Harrowing of Hell.

But in the past lots of artists were inspired by this notion, depicting Jesus leading souls up out of hell and into new life.

Artists have often imagined Jesus leading Adam and Eve out of hell – the first man and woman representing all of humanity.

That’s a beautiful image, of course.

But, personally, I love an idea shared by the writer Gary Wills and others - that perhaps the first soul liberated from hell was Judas – a powerful sign that absolutely no one is beyond the reach of God’s love and forgiveness.

And that’s the thing about the Harrowing of Hell.

It’s not a onetime event.

Especially in our time of turmoil, there are plenty of people all around us whose hearts still beat but who are in hell – the people carrying the heavy burdens of fear, despair, anger, resentment, disappointment, greed, grief…

Especially in our time of turmoil, there are plenty of people all around us who are still breathing but who are already in hell, but they – we – are never beyond Jesus’ reach and care – never beyond forgiveness and liberation.

So, very soon we will turn the page to Easter.

It will be glorious, no doubt.

But, let’s not forget Holy Saturday.

Let’s not forget that Jesus really died.

Let’s not forget that Jesus descends to the dead, doing what Jesus does on Holy Saturday, Easter, and all the time: transforming death into new life.

Amen.

Even at the Grave, We Hope

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 3, 2021

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

Even at the Grave, We Hope

When someone dies, the immediate family and closest friends grieve, of course, but usually they also get caught up in the business – the busy-ness of death.

Even in the midst of grief, there’s lots of work to be done – which can be a kind of comfort.

There’s the meeting with the funeral director and the meeting with the clergy.

There’s picking out hymns and readings for the service.

There’s writing the obituary, choosing people to read or offer reflections at the service.

There’s greeting family and friends when they come to the funeral home, the church, or the repast – accepting condolences, somehow managing to make small talk with people who are sad and uncomfortable, not really knowing what to say.

In those first few days after a death, lots of people check in with calls and emails, maybe some drop off food, or send cards and flowers.

But, then, after not too long, most everybody else gets back to their normal lives. They soon stop checking in with us. But we who have suffered a terrible loss are not ready, just not able, to get back to normal – whatever normal will be without someone we love but see no more.

That’s what Holy Saturday morning always feels like to me.

Here we are up early on Holy Saturday morning, this strange time, this unsettling place, somewhere between Good Friday and Easter, between grief and joy, between death and new life.

You know, even people who take Holy Week and Easter seriously often skip over this moment – maybe eager to put yesterday’s sorrow behind us, maybe feeling time pressure because there’s always so much that needs to get done.

I’m sure it wasn’t so different back in Jerusalem two thousand years ago. 

The death of Jesus of Nazareth must have seemed to most people to be just another crucifixion in an occupied city punctured by crosses – another cautionary tale from Roman brutality - another tragedy in a world full of pain, suffering, and loss.

So, it’s better not to think about it too much – how all that hope that Jesus offered seemed to be extinguished on the cross – better to just mind our own business and get on with life. After all, there’s always plenty that needs doing to stay sheltered and fed, to survive.

So, most people moved on.

But, not everybody.

The grieving family and friends of Jesus could not move on so quickly.

We don’t know exactly what they were up to during this strange in-between time.

Maybe some ran off, frightened that the Romans would come for them next.

Maybe some gathered together, like the disciples in the locked room, also scared but maybe also trying to hold onto Jesus’ promise of the third day – not really believing it, but waiting around to see, just in case. 

And others, like Mary Magdalene and some of the other women, made preparations to do the only thing they could now do for Jesus, getting ready to visit Jesus’ grave and bathe his dead body with ointment – an act of love that seems pointless, an act of love that is, in fact, a sign of hope.

So, here we are.

Even people who were paying attention yesterday have already moved on, but here we are in this strange in-between time – grieving so much suffering, past and present, and looking ahead to an uncertain future.

Here we are, up early on Holy Saturday morning.

Because, even at the grave, we hope.

Lessons of an In-Between Time

The Church of St. Paul and Incarnation, Jersey City NJ

April 11, 2020

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 130

1 Peter 4:1-8

Mathew 27:57-66

Lessons of an In-Between Time

            This morning we arrive at this strange time, the time between Good Friday and Easter, a time between death and new life.

            The Church in the East has given a lot of thought to what was going on when the body of Jesus lay lifeless in the tomb, imagining Jesus descending to the dead, soon to lead yet another parade, unshackling the gates of hell, liberating the people who had been waiting there for so long.

            In art, often it’s Adam and Eve who are at the head of the parade, symbolizing humanity redeemed at last.

            But, I love the idea suggested by the writer Gary Wills, that maybe Judas was the first one freed from hell, reminding us that no sin is beyond God’s forgiveness.

            Here in the western church, we haven’t given as much thought to this strange in-between time.

            We offer only this simple and spare service, acknowledging that for a strange and terrible time Jesus really was dead, sitting for a little while with that strange and unsettling thought.

            Usually it feels like we are just barely able to squeeze in this service because waiting in the wings are the choirs and the altar guild and the cleaners and polishers and flower arrangers, everybody eager to get us ready for Easter.

            But, things are different this year – so very different – there’s no one here except Sue and me and not much needs to be done to get ready for Easter.

            And, in a strange way, as disappointing as it all is, as much as we’ll miss the flowers and the music and the crowds, the outfits and the hats, this in-between time feels exactly right for the in-between time in which we are all living.

            We are all living between Good Friday and Easter, between death and new life.

            Just like on that first Holy Saturday, it can look to us like nothing much is happening.

            And, yet, we know that out of our sight, people are hard at work, striving to heal and to comfort, to clean and to stock, to protect and to serve.

            And, God is right in the thick of it, descending into even the most hellish places, comforting and strengthening, unshackling from fear, and, as always, leading us upward and onward to new life.

            So, for now, we wait at the tomb, waiting for God to reveal God’s greatest lesson of all.