The Son of God has died.
The Body of Christ lies in the tomb. The world, for a moment, is still.
Holy Saturday is the forgotten day for many—a quiet pause between the grief of Good Friday and the glory of Easter. But it is a holy silence, rich with meaning.
This is the day the Church waits.
The apostles are hidden in fear. Mary holds her Son in her heart. The earth holds His Body in stillness. Creation pauses.
We call this day the Great Sabbath—the day Christ rests from His work. He has conquered sin. His Passion is complete. And now, He descends to the dead to proclaim freedom to those long held captive.
For us, this is a day of sacred quiet. The tabernacle remains empty. The altars are bare. There is no Mass—not until the Vigil. We are companions to Christ in the tomb, not rushing ahead, but waiting with hope.
There is sorrow still. But it is not the sorrow of despair. It is the sorrow of longing. Of a heart that believes the promise, even when it has not yet seen the dawn.
If you are carrying grief or loss, this day is yours. The Lord has entered into death itself. There is no suffering He has not known, no darkness He has not entered.
Tonight, the Easter fire will be lit. But not yet.
Today, we wait in hope in expectation by faith, keeping vigil with love.
With Mary. With the saints. With all the earth.
Because even in the silence of the tomb, the victory has already begun.
