Fr. Ryan Lerner, Chaplain
It is Holy Saturday. The tomb is sealed. There is silence, stillness, and waiting.
Throughout Lent and Easter, the Roman Missal gives us the option to substitute the Nicene Creed with the Apostles’ Creed, the baptismal symbol of the Roman Church. When we profess that Jesus “suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried,” I am arrested by the words: “he descended into hell.” This haunting phrase from our profession of faith captures the mystery of Holy Saturday—that Christ fully enters the realm of death. He goes where we fear to go.
An ancient homily included in today’s Office of Readings reflects on the drama of this hour: “Something strange is happening—there is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness because the King is asleep.” Christ does not merely brush past death; He inhabits it. And yet, even here, “bearing the cross,” He is victorious. He searches for Adam and Eve, lost in the darkness. He calls out: “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light!”
The late Pope Benedict XVI once observed that “humanity has become particularly sensitive to the mystery of Holy Saturday” because the hiddenness of God feels so real to us. We live in a world where evil seems powerful, where suffering raises questions we cannot answer. Holy Saturday confronts believers and skeptics alike, asking: “What do we do when it seems God is absent?”
But the Church, in her silence, teaches us to wait. Holy Saturday is not the end. Even in the depths of death, love is at work. As Pope Benedict also said, “Even in the darkest of times, we can hear a voice that calls us and find a hand that takes ours and leads us out.” Christ’s descent into hell is not a defeat—it is a rescue mission.
As the ancient homily affirms, Christ does not leave us imprisoned by death and sin. He breaks open the gates. He binds the enemy. He calls, saying: “Rise up, work of my hands, you were created in my image… rise, let us leave this place,” and He leads us forth from captivity to freedom.
Today’s darkness is real. But so is the light that has already begun to dawn. Tonight, at the Easter Vigil, we will light the new fire and process into the darkened Chapel, raising the Easter flame high, symbolizing Christ rising from the tomb. We will bear witness to the truth that the light of Christ shines in the deepest night, and the darkness has not overcome it. We will proclaim that Christ is risen! But first, we sit with this silence, this stillness, and listen for the quiet stirring of hope.
