Making Our Lives Holy

Wednesday, April 16, 2025
written by Rev. Erik Khoobyarian

So much of what we do as a church is prepare ourselves for the “real world” where we spend most of our lives. We come to church only a small percentage of our lives, even if you’re involved with many programs. Even in the brief moments we spend with one another, the hope is that we’d experience God and then take something of that experience into our daily lives. I talk about this a lot with the passing of the peace in particular. We practice peace so that when we’re frustrated with a driver at a stoplight, we might think twice before reacting. This is a mundane example, but also a practical one to pay attention to.

Holy Week provides a condensed opportunity to reflect on how we might be influenced in our daily lives by recounting the last week of the life of Jesus. For different people, there might be different holy connections. For some it will happen on Maundy Thursday when we hear Jesus’s final instructions to his disciples. For some it will come on Good Friday, stepping close to the threshold of death. Others might catch themselves walking the guided prayer/meditation stations for the first or fifth time and realize that there’s some connection that surprises them.

For me, one of the most important and impactful days of the church year is Holy Saturday. If you are like me, you may not have known that this day - nestled between the dark irony of Good Friday and the eruption of celebration on Easter morning - even has its own name and identity. In most Presbyterian churches we have no celebrations or commemorations of this day in our liturgy. The liturgical silence, though, speaks volumes.

Holy Saturday is a hinge moment for us in the church. As the sanctuary darkened to pitch black on Good Friday, no one can ignore the contrast with the flood of flowers and shouts of "Christ is risen!" (and, of course, "Christ is risen, indeed!"). The dark mourning shrouds will be replaced with Easter bonnets and pastel bowties. 

On Holy Saturday, leading us to the resurrection and the conquering of death and the transformation of creation I am more than ever drawn to the disciples of Jesus. I imagine their despair. The one they have followed has been killed. He is dead and buried. Their very purpose has disappeared behind the stone that sealed the crypt. Their calling has lost its purpose like a dinner table candle being snuffed at the end of a meal - the thin trail of final smoke, the only remnant of what had been a vibrant light in the darkness. 

I think about the confusion that must have overwhelmed them. These followers had risked it all. They abandoned their fishing nets and families. They stood up to powerful religious leaders and turned their backs on tradition and expectations. In poker terms, they went "all in" on a hand that was now leaving them empty. They were stunned. So stunned that Peter, even though Jesus had warned him that he would do so, denies even knowing Jesus. 

We step into Holy Saturday with the knowledge of what will come on Easter. We stepped into Lent with the knowledge of the glory of the empty tomb. Indeed, we cannot separate our experience as Christians from the knowledge of Easter. As Christians, we are an Easter people, and we are an Easter people even on Holy Saturday.

For me, this means that the eyes through which I look at the disciples on Holy Saturday are loving and knowing eyes that want to hold and comfort these broken men, knowing that even their pain will be gone in the morning. Sometimes, though, our Holy Saturday comes at other times in our lives, and this is why it is so important for me.

Holy Saturday comes when we have a difficult diagnosis. It comes when we are in the midst of treatment. It comes when our job ends or our children are lost and confused or when the pressures and anxieties of our lives seem to overwhelm. Holy Saturday comes in our lives when all of the hopes and dreams and realities we have come to rely upon seem to come crashing down around us. And when our Holy Saturday comes, and when Holy Saturday seems to last for days and days or weeks or even for years, it is hard to see Easter. No matter how prepared we think we are, hope seems elusive and promises seem trite. No matter how long and how far we've walked with Jesus, his words fall silent. 

And, yet, somehow, on Holy Saturday, this hinge moment where we've just mourned the death of Christ, and with full knowledge of Easter coming the next day, we mark with no liturgy and no formal observances. Experiencing this Holy Saturday might feel like the moment when you jump into a swimming pool, breath held, waiting to rise to the surface to take the deep intake of new air. The gift we have is that we know that Easter comes. But for one day, may we remember the hinge moment of despair before Easter so that when our Holy Saturdays beset us we might be reassured, comforted and held in the tight embrace of our God as we wait for the risen Christ to leave the tomb empty. 

Where will you find your holy moment this week? Take a deep breath today. Take a walk or find yourself in a place of peace. Take some time to consider this moment of in-between time. Acknowledge that Easter is coming and see how you hold the tension of the mysterious death and promised resurrection of Jesus. Try to hold onto the memory of this week so that Sunday you can feel the reality of the risen Christ. Try to hold onto the memory of this day to sustain you when your Holy Saturdays come in your life.