Good Friday is somber. Easter Sunday is joyful. But what about Saturday?
Holy Saturday—the day between Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection—rarely gets the spotlight. There’s no big service, no grand tradition. Which sometimes makes it just another spring Saturday, but it’s supposed to be a quiet day. An awkward day. A day full of waiting. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly the point.
The Gospels don’t say much about that Saturday. After Jesus dies on Friday, we’re told his body is placed in the tomb, and then… silence. Luke 23:56 gives us one simple note: “On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.” That’s it. The women who followed Jesus wanted to tend to his body, but they had to wait. Sabbath rest was required. So they waited.
If you can imagine, it’s a heavy kind of rest, isn’t it? Not the kind where you take a nap after mowing the lawn (admittedly which is what I might be doing, depending on the weather). This is the kind of rest where the world feels like it’s holding its breath. The one you feel after a funeral, when the world keeps turning but you’re still trying to understand what just happened.
The early church didn’t ignore Holy Saturday. In fact, they reflected deeply on it. One of the most powerful ideas comes from what’s called the “Harrowing of Hell.” That’s the belief that, in death, Jesus descended into the realm of the dead—not to suffer further, but to liberate. 1 Peter 3:19 describes Jesus “proclaiming to the spirits in prison.” In other words, even in death, Christ was at work—breaking chains, opening doors, rescuing the lost.
That’s beautiful, isn’t it? While the disciples thought all hope was gone, Jesus was already moving. When it looked like nothing was happening… everything was. Holy Saturday, then, becomes a space of paradox: it’s both deep sorrow and quiet hope. It’s grief and grace. Waiting and wonder. It’s the in-between place we wish we didn’t know all too well—the space between diagnosis and healing, between breakdown and breakthrough, between Good Friday pain and Easter joy.
So what do we do with Holy Saturday?
We honor it by not rushing past it. In a culture addicted to immediate answers and quick turnarounds, Holy Saturday invites us to sit still. To wait. To trust that God is working even when we can’t see it.
Here are simple practices you might try on Holy Saturday:
- Find ten minutes of quiet.
- Light a candle.
- Read Psalm 130 aloud:
“Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord… I wait for the Lord, my soul waits…” - Sit in silence. Name the things in your life or the world that feel unresolved. The griefs. The questions. The longings.
- As you hold them, remind yourself: Even here, Jesus is at work.
This practice doesn’t tie everything up with a bow. But it helps us honor the truth that God is present even in the dark. That waiting isn’t wasted. That resurrection doesn’t skip over suffering—it comes through it.
And then, after the waiting… comes the dawn.
We invite you to join us in greeting the Risen Christ as the sun rises on Easter morning. Our 6:00 am Sunrise Service takes place rain or shine at Geneva’s Garden Club Park (Hamilton Street and the Fox River). It’s short, simple, and sacred. Just bring a chair if you want to sit, and dress for the weather. There’s something powerful about watching the light return to the world as we remember that Christ is risen.
Then, at 9:00 am, we’ll gather for Family-Friendly Easter Worship in our sanctuary—a celebration full of music, joy, and good news.
So don’t skip over Saturday. Let it teach us something.
Let it remind us that faith isn’t always sunshine and roses. Sometimes it’s just holding on. Sometimes it’s trusting that even when the tomb is sealed and the world is silent, God is not done.
Holy Saturday tells us the truth that is so often hidden:
God is still moving—even in the dark.
God is still saving—even when it looks like nothing is happening.
And Easter is coming.