Holy Saturday-Triduum: Three Days, One Love: Poured Out, Laid Down, Raised UpPart V: Grave and Great Expectation

Saturday is the day of rest in the Great Three Days of Death, Rest, and

Resurrection. Though we may rest, Christ did not. He descended into Hell

and worked wonders as is testified in the Ancient Homily for this day.

Something strange is happening –

there is a great silence on earth today,

a great silence and stillness.

The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth

trembled and is still

because God has fallen asleep in the flesh

and he has raised up all

who have slept ever since the world began.

God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear.

He has gone to search for our first parent,

as for a lost sheep.

Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness

and in the shadow of death,

he has gone to free from sorrow

the captives Adam and Eve,

he who is both God and the son of Eve.

The Lord approached them bearing the cross,

the weapon that had won him the victory.

At the sight of him, Adam, the first man he had created, struck his breast in

terror and cried out to everyone:

“My Lord be with you all.”

Christ answered him: “And with your spirit.”

He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: “Awake, O sleeper,

and rise from the dead,

and Christ will give you light.”

I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for

you and for your descendants

I now by my own authority command all

who are held in bondage to come forth,

all who are in darkness to be enlightened,

all who are sleeping to arise.

I order you, O sleeper, to awake.

I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell.

Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead.

Rise up, work of my hands,

you who were created in my image.

Rise, let us leave this place,

for you are in me and I am in you;

together we form only one person

and we cannot be separated.

For your sake I, your God, became your son;

I, the Lord, took the form of a slave;

I, whose home is above the heavens,

descended to the earth and beneath the earth.

For your sake, for the sake of all,

I became like a man without help, free among the dead.

For the sake of you, who left a garden,

I was betrayed in a garden,

and I was crucified in a garden.

See on my face the spittle I received

in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the

marks of the blows I received

in order to refashion your warped nature in my image.

On my back see the marks of the scourging

I endured to remove the burden of sin

that weighs upon your back.

See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree,

for you who once wickedly

stretched out your hand to a tree.

 I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you

who slept in paradise

and brought forth Eve from your side.

My side has healed the pain in yours.

My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell.

The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword

that was turned against you.

Rise, let us leave this place.

The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise.

I will not restore you to that paradise,

but I will enthrone you in heaven.

I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life,

but see, I who am life itself am now one with you.

I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make

them worship you as God.

The throne formed by cherubim awaits you,

its bearers swift and eager.

The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready,

the eternal dwelling places are prepared,

the treasure houses of all good things lie open.

The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you

from all eternity.

Ain’t-a That Good News!

In the current Vigil liturgy, we celebrate Death and Resurrection first in the

mystery of light: the drama of dark and light, of chaos and feast, of the

genesis of light and morning star that will know not setting, of an assembly

that is transformed into a communion in Christ’s light (Margaret Mary

Kelleher, “The Easter Vigil” in The New Dictionary of Sacramental Worship,

ed. Peter E. Fink [Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 1990]), as it

passes the light to shouts of thanks. We celebrate this rite with the Exsultet.

The Exsultet, the great Easter Proclamation sung at the Vigil, is a

breathtaking burst of praise that gathers heaven and earth into one song of

salvation. In soaring poetry and solemn cadence, it summons angels,

earth, and Church to rejoice as darkness is undone by the light of Christ. It

blesses the night, exalts the candle, and dares to proclaim the “happy fault”

of Adam that won for us so great a Redeemer. Lyrical yet theological,

ancient yet ever new, the Exsultet is not merely sung—it is experienced as

a rising flame of faith, illuminating the mystery of a God whose mercy turns

loss into glory and night into radiant day.

Ain’t-a That Good News!

We celebrate Death and Resurrection then in the mystery of the Word.

Creation — “a God who created us in God’s own image” Genesis 1:1–2:2

(or 1:1, 26–31a); Abraham and Isaac — covenant, trust, and promise

Genesis 22:1–18 (or 22:1–2, 9a, 10–13, 15–18); Exodus — “who

transforms water to dry land and leads captives to freedom”;

Exodus 14:15–15:1 New Jerusalem — redemption in faithful love;

Isaiah 54:5–14 Invitation to grace — “come to the water even if you have

no money”; Isaiah 55:1–11 Wisdom — the call to walk in God’s ways;

Baruch 3:9–15, 32–4:4 New heart — “hearts of stone into hearts of flesh”;

Ezekiel 36:16–17a, 18–28; Resurrection — “a God who raised Jesus from

the dead” (Epistle) Romans 6:3–1; Gospel — the proclamation of the

Resurrection Gospel of Luke 24:1–12 (or the corresponding Resurrection

Gospel from Gospel of Matthew 28:1–10 or Gospel of Mark 16:1–7,

depending on the year). Together, these readings form a sweeping arc:

from creation to covenant, from captivity to covenantal love, from promise

to prophecy, from transformation to triumph—culminating in the

Resurrection, where all the earlier words are fulfilled.

Ain’t-a That Good News!

After hearing God’s Word, we celebrate Death and Resurrection in the

mystery of Water: we invoke the festal waters of Eden and the fearful

waters of the flood, the liberating waters of the Red Sea and the hallowed

waters of the Jordan, the bloodied waters flowing from Christ’s side and the

Spirit-filled waters of Baptism.

Font and flood, river and rain, wound and wellspring—all converge in this

saving stream. Here the catechumen descends, stripped and surrendered,

naked in need and named in grace, plunged into death and raised into life;

here oil is poured and water washes, here the night gives way as new light

is born. And here the whole assembly remembers and renews, renouncing

sin and renewing faith, rejecting darkness and reclaiming dignity,

professing with voice and vow the promises once made and now made

new—standing deep in these living waters, clothed not in cloth but in

Christ, as night turns to day and Death gives way to Resurrection.

Ain’t-a That Good News!

We then celebrate the mystery of Death and Resurrection in the mystery of

the Table: the Banquet table of the Lamb where we dine on our Pasch,

Christ who is risen from the dead. The festal table where wheat crushed to

flour is the bread of life, grapes pressed the cup of salvation in order that

we might be transformed ever more so into the precious body of Christ on

whom we dine.

This unitive piety is reflected in the words of Augustine of Hippo in North

Africa, “Let us . . . in solemn commemoration, keep vigil in memory of his

death and rejoice in celebration of his resurrection” [221,1]. This unitive

approach is echoed in the Norms for the calendar: “Dying [Christ]

destroyed our death, rising he restored our Life,. Therefore, the paschal

triduum of the passion and resurrection of Christ is the culmination of the

entire year” (18).

Thus the Easter Vigil unfolds as one great movement of mystery and

mercy: from darkness to dawning light, from promise proclaimed to promise

fulfilled, from water poured to life reborn, from bread broken to communion

restored. In word and flame, in font and feast, the Church keeps watch at

the threshold of a new creation, remembering all that God has done and

rejoicing in what God now does. Here the scattered stories become a

single song, the ancient covenants find their living center, and the

faithful—renewed in promise and radiant with light—rise with Christ into the

unending day.

Ain’t-a That Good News!

Justin Mercy!