Reflections On Holy Saturday
FROM THE DESK OF IELA GALIANO-WILLIAMS
Over years of writing reflections with PAX, I have somehow never written one about Holy Saturday. Yet, while rereading Lent by Esau McCaulley, this year it truly captured my attention.
Two aspects of this day stood out to me. The first came when McCaulley writes,
“At this point in the Gospel story, there is no work left for the disciples to do. There are no more great deeds to perform. All that remains is waiting.”
He explains that this reveals how “our hope is not in the things we accomplish” but often in the quiet, unseen work of God. Sometimes, we are called simply to trust God in the waiting. This is not easy—I doubt it felt easy for the disciples either. Yet, on this day, there was nothing left for them to do except grieve the loss of a loved one and try to hold onto the hope that Jesus’ promises still stood.
The second reflection came when McCaulley pointed out that in moments of deep anxiety, we often question the extent of God's power. He writes,
"God may have been sufficient when we were younger, but what can he do when our marriage is in trouble or the loneliness of another year stretches before us? What will God do about the darkness in our heart that we just can't shake? When will he do something about the pain we see all around? The disciples must have considered these questions on Holy Saturday. They hid for a reason.”
I love this because it humanizes the disciples’ experience, showing them wrestling with doubt about whether all they had been promised would truly come to pass. This is why I’ve always felt compassion for doubting Thomas. In my imagination Jesus gently allows Thomas to touch his hands and feet with love, helping him find his bearings and anchor back to faith—much like a child half-asleep seeking reassurance that they are still safe.
Yet, I’m getting ahead of myself already, as Holy Saturday embodies the “not yet.” In this season of life, might you find yourself in a similar “not yet” with God—waiting, questioning, perhaps filled with hope and expectation, or maybe with grief and doubt? If so, how might God meet you in this Holy Saturday space? What do you need to feel comforted or to be granted permission to ask?
Joy did come with the morning, and though the disciples hid for a reason, they also emerged for one even greater.