In the name of God ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Holy Saturday is unlike any other day in the Church Year – both liturgically and theologically. On both counts, the day is stark. The liturgy is simple, because what is there really to do on a day of waiting? And while there certainly are writings and reflections on what it means to proclaim that Christ descended to the dead, it’s hard to develop much theology on a topic that Scripture is mostly silent. There is a sort of emptiness to Holy Saturday that can lead to despair.
Despair is what burial feels like – a sense that all is finished, dead, and unrecoverable. More than sadness, despair is a conviction that our situation is insurmountable and permanent; it’s the feeling of being dead inside or at a complete dead end. Holy Saturday could be a day of death and despair. The atrocities and wailing of Good Friday have passed and the sunrise of Easter has not yet begun, and so we sit in the darkness of death today.
Despair is a dangerous emotion because from the depths of that pit, we can lose touch with reality and be overcome with depression. If you or anyone you know seems to be a place of despair, getting help really can save us. Like 911 is the number to call for medical, fire, and police emergencies, 988 is the number to call for mental health emergencies. Calling 988 will connect you to the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline and is a number worth knowing. Asking for help when in a place of despair can be difficult because it seems like nothing can help – but that’s the despair talking, not reality. Just as surely as the sun will rise on Easter, there is always hope, even in the most despairing of situations. If you ever need help for yourself or a friend, let me know or use that number.
While Holy Saturday does make us consider the depths of despair, that’s not the emotion for us to consider today. There is a similar, but very distinct, emotion for us to consider instead: lament. Despair really is a terrible place to be, but lament is a holy emotion. Both despair and lament are grounded in the pit of death, but lament has a sense of belligerent hope attached to it.
In the Biblical book called Lamentations, we hear the laments of Israel. This morning, we hear the testimony of lament, “I am one who has seen affliction under the rod of God’s wrath; he has driven and brought me into darkness without any light.” At the time of writing, Israel is dealing with the physical and theological rubble of Jerusalem. The city has been invaded by Babylon and lies in ruin. The promises that had been made to the people seem to be forgotten. But Israel does not despair, they lament.
We see this in the final bit we heard this morning, “The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” While despair is an emotion of utter desolation and hopelessness, lament trusts that love always has at least one more move to make.
Cole Arthur Riley is a spiritual author and poet, and in a book called “This Here Flesh,” she has a chapter about lament in which she says, “When we weep for the conditions of this world, we become truth-tellers in its defense.” Though it may sound oxymoronic, lament is actually one of the most hope-filled emotions there is. She writes further, “In lament, our task is never to convince someone of the brokenness of the world; it is to convince them of the world’s worth in the first place… True lament is not born from that trite sentiment that the world is bad but rather from a deep conviction that it is worthy of goodness.”
We lament when we recognize that something has gone bad instead of erroneously believing that good and bad are just made-up categories. Arthur Riley continues, “Our hope can be only as deep as our lament is. And our lament as deep as our hope.” In lament, we are so bold as to remind God of what has been promised to us, so defiant as to cling to a hope that we cannot yet imagine, so open as to receive God’s amazing and surprising grace when it comes in unexpected ways.
But how do we end up on the lament side of the Holy Saturday experiences of life instead of the despair side? The Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann has written extensively about the Psalms of Lament, as they are often called. He has two things to say about lament that are helpful. The first is a reminder that biblical faith is “uncompromisingly and unembarrassingly dialogic.” So keep talking. Yell at God. Curse at God. Shake your fist at God. That is what lament is all about and it is a good and holy.
On Good Friday, we recite Psalm 22, which Jesus quotes from in Matthew and Mark. That Psalm opens with what is known as the “cry of dereliction,” and is most certainly a lament – “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” That’s lament, not despair because it preserves the relationship in the address to God. Jesus does not opt out of the conversation and say, “I feel so forsaken.” No, he addresses his forsakenness to God. Even if we feel abandoned, even when we do not expect a response, even when we doubt that there is a God to hear our cries, we audaciously address God and practice the holy dialogue of lament. In those difficult moments this, I know, is a challenge – to speak to God even when we’re not sure we can believe in God, but that is one difference between despair and lament.
The other difference that Brueggemann suggests is that lament keeps the question of theodicy alive while despair stifles it. Theodicy is the technical way of saying “Why do bad things happen?” It’s a similar point to what Cole Arthur Riley says – lament is about complaint. Nihilism and despair go hand in hand, but lament clings to that sense of “this is not right and this is not fair.”
This is why St. Paul in his letters so often refers to Death as an enemy. We can’t just acquiesce to Death and say “well, that’s just how it is.” No! Death was not a part of God’s plan for Creation, it is a corruption of that plan, which is why God is working to undo death from the inside on Holy Saturday. When dictators do their worst, we can’t just resign ourselves to thinking, “Well, good things happen and bad things happen, that’s just life.” No, we cry out for justice and insist that compassion, mercy, and generosity are not values thought up by philosophers and ethicists, those are written into the very fabric of Creation by a God of compassion, mercy, and generosity.
Lament knows that certain things are not fair and compels us to complain, whereas despair is the defeatist position of indifference that says, “There’s no use in caring.” Again, I know that when people are in a deep depression, it can be difficult, if not impossible, to hang onto this sense of connection and justice. You all know that I always preach grace, so I don’t want to be heard saying that the difference between despair and lament is up to us, that our willpower is the difference.
However, I do want to point these two things out so that we can help another when we get into despair. If you know someone who might be despairing, what they likely need is connection and something worth complaining about – and you can help them with that. If you’re ever in a tough spot, if you’re able to complain to God about it, know that is a healthy form of lament.
Ultimately though, on Holy Saturday, Jesus does these things for us so that despair is not where Good Friday leads. Jesus descends to the Dead so that he can connect with any and all aspects of our lives that are dead. An early Church theologian said, “That which He has not assumed, he has not healed, but that which is joined to the Godhead is also saved.” Jesus connects with us – he knows our despairs, our laments, and our mortality. It’s still Holy Saturday, not yet Easter. Though death is not yet undone, Jesus comes into the pit with us. Our Good Shepherd is always with us in the valley of the shadow of death, and that makes all the difference. And Jesus also shows us that because love is the most excellent way, he is always working to undo what holds us back from abundant life in him. Not only is our Good Shepherd with us in the valley, but he has a rod and staff to guide and defend us.
Holy Saturday is a day of lament, but one of hope as well. In the trying and unfair times of life, we can expect that Jesus, by his love, is working to make all things well.
