In the Triduum, the three final days of Holy Week beginning on the evening of Holy Thursday and ending on Easter Sunday, Christians around the world journey through Christ’s crucifixion, death, and resurrection. On Good Friday, Christ raises his arms to embrace the world in the new life born from his agony and death. And on Easter Sunday, Christ tramples down death as the first fruits of the restoration which all creation anticipates.

And yet, between the Suffering Servant and the triumphant Lord is the ambiguity of Holy Saturday, when Christ is hidden behind the veil of death, resting in the solemn quiet of the tomb. The liminal space of Holy Saturday asks us to experience – for a day – a world without the presence of Christ in it.

In the account of the road to Emmaus in Luke 24, we encounter a vision of Holy Saturday. We may know that Christ has triumphed over the grave; and yet, the eyes of Jesus’ disciples have not yet been opened to see that their Lord walks among them. They implore the stranger who has shared their journey to “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” Their hospitable words hold a deeper meaning as well, expressing the seemingly impossible desire for the accompaniment of the Lord who remains hidden away.

In a sense, all life is lived in Holy Saturday. Christ has come, and the wheels of salvation are already turning in every corner of the universe. And yet the joy which Christ’s resurrection promises us, of the time when God will be “all in all,” as 1 Corinthians 15 tells us, has not yet come. For now, we remain on the road to Emmaus, walking in faith through daily struggles, personal regrets, and unforeseen tragedies.

And yet, like those disciples, we too are met by a word which sets our hearts afire within us. Holy Saturday makes sacred our experiences of absence, affirming to us that such moments do not testify to abandonment, but to intimate accompaniment. And just as Christ revealed himself to his followers in the breaking of bread, he also abides with us eucharistically, offering himself to be broken, blessed, and given to us.

We are invited to enter the Emmaus story and see its transfigured meaning: we who remain in the Holy Saturday of this world ask the Lord to come and make all things complete. For in the new life made possible through Christ’s crucifixion, death, and resurrection, history has shifted toward its final hour, and he himself carries us toward our true home.

Josef Rheinberger’s radiant motet “Abendlied,” written in 1855 when the composer was only fifteen, sets Luke 24:29 from the Luther Bible, and captures the text’s strange juxtaposition of sorrow and joy.

German:

Bleib bei uns,
denn es will Abend werden,
und der Tag hat sich geneiget.

English:

Stay with us,
because evening is coming,
and the day has come to an end.

While the words themselves are elegiac, the music counterposes them with soaring melodies and shimmering harmonies.  In each phrase, two or three voices are layered with additional lines, gradually gathering into a rich outpouring of warmth and joy. It is as if the music wants us to know that even while we first experience these words as a plaintive cry for comfort, they are quickly transformed to unveil the eternal hope of Christ’s return, and the transfiguration we anticipate when the Holy Saturday of history gives way to the Easter of God’s final reign.

Here, John Rutter directs the Cambridge Singers.

YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/embed/foeigWaOLVE

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