Holy Saturday—The Dark Between

Holy Saturday: The Dark Between

Yesterday was tragedy.

Tomorrow is celebration.

And somewhere between the two—

there is dark.

There is the cool stillness of a cave.

A place without breeze.

Without light.

Where everything feels lifeless.

Why is that the place of transition?

Why must we pass through the silence,

the heaviness, the absence?

Why is it there—in the dark—

that transformation begins?

We’re told that on this middle day,

Jesus descended to hell

and shattered its gates,

setting the captives free.

But what does that mean for us,

when we’re the ones caught

between loss and joy,

between despair and promise?

In that space, we are forced to face our own hells.

What keeps us in the dark?

What holds us prisoner?

Is it the pain of the past?

The fear of the future?

Our own demons,

tucked away where we hope never to look?

But to move from death to life—

from Good Friday to Easter—

we must go through the dark.

We must confront the shadows.

Not run from them but sit with them.

Let them speak.

Because here is the truth:

We create our own monsters.

We build the walls of our own prison.

And the only way out is through.

So on this day of waiting—

this holy pause—

we turn inward.

We acknowledge the grief, the loss,

whatever has died within us.

And we let it go.

We unlock the doors to all that we’ve hidden,

all we’ve feared was too wicked, too broken,

too painful to be seen.

And we set it free.

Only then can the stone be rolled away.

Only then can the morning sun break through.

Only then can life be born again.