Editor’s Note: The following is based on a precious text of the Triduum, read as the second reading in the Office of Readings for Holy Saturday: an ancient homily for Holy Saturday (which we strongly recommend reading), recounting the Lord’s descent into hell. While the King still sleeps, may this piece help you to contemplate the great things worked for man on this day of profound silence.
Bathed in darkness and pierced by cold, I have been weeping. Weeping, unceasingly weeping for me and my children. I am alone amid the crowd of my poor family; weeping. Weeping for what I lost! The warmth of the garden, the beauty of my wife, the gentle breeze of the evening—all sacrificed for a fleeting flirt with self-sufficiency. And what has this brought me? Pain, misery, sorrow, loneliness—rotten fruits of my own choosing! Deceived by the serpent, I deceived myself and chose to be my own pitiful god. Grasping for forbidden fruit, I spoiled my only chance at happiness.
The moaning never stops here. The pain, the loneliness—what a sorry lot we are! My sin has infected my whole family. This unbearable weight crushes me, and I yearn to be no more. O God, why did you make me? I wish that—
A KNOCK!
The moaning stops as all attend in silence. Who has come to visit us? Who would ever stoop to such a miserable—
A KNOCK!
Old, unused voices begin to awaken: “O gates lift high your heads! Grow higher ancient doors! Let him enter, the king of glory!”
A KNOCK!
Growing stronger, they shout: “Who is he, the king of glory? He, the Lord of armies, he is the king of glory!”
The door opens.
O Lord my God is it you? I hid from you in the garden; now I will run to you! Can it be you? Can you really have come for us? Lord, please let it be you. Lord, please forgive me.
Blinding light surrounds me. My eyes, grown old from endlessly straining in vain for light, begin to adjust. As they open, I see a man bearing a staff.
“AWAKE O SLEEPER! ARISE FROM THE DEAD!”
O Lord my God it is you—please help me, I cannot stand, I am too cold and afraid—
“I command you: Awake, sleeper, I have not made you to be held a prisoner in the underworld. Arise from the dead; I am the life of the dead.”
O Lord, I am standing! I can breathe! You approach me, and life begins to return to me. I can again feel the warmth of the garden, the gentle breeze.
“Arise, O man, work of my hands, arise, you who were fashioned in my image. Rise, let us go hence; for you in me and I in you, together we are one undivided person.”
You take me by the hand, and I follow you. My family follows. The damp, cold past is now a distant memory as we follow you, enraptured by you. We approach Eden, my old home. I say to you, “Lord, thank you for bringing me back home! Let us walk again in the garden!”
“Arise, let us go hence. The enemy brought you out of the land of paradise; I will reinstate you, no longer in paradise, but on the throne of heaven. I denied you the tree of life, which was a figure, but now I myself am united to you, I who am life. I posted the cherubim to guard you as they would slaves; now I make the cherubim worship you as they would God.”
I stop, staring at you in disbelief. “Lord, have you forgotten what I have done? Me, poor dust that I am, worshiped by the cherubim? Eden is enough for me—”
“The cherubim throne has been prepared, the bearers are ready and waiting, the bridal chamber is in order, the food is provided, the everlasting houses and rooms are in readiness; the treasures of good things have been opened; the kingdom of heaven has been prepared before the ages.”
A pang of fear pulses through me: this is too good to be true! I must be dreaming. O Lord, if I could only see your face, then I would know for sure. I cry out, “Lord, show me your face! Hide not your face from me!”
Then you turn, and—smiling—say,
“Adam!”
I understand and cry out, “My Lord and my God!”
✠
Image: Gustave Doré, The Vale of Tears
