Lent

On Holy Saturday, the Church contemplates a silence that is not emptiness, but mystery.

This ancient homily, read by Fr. Michael Donahue, O.P., reflects on what Christ is doing in the hidden space between the Cross and the Resurrection. Far from being inactive in the tomb, Christ is portrayed as descending into death itself to seek out and rescue those who have gone before him.

The homily presents Holy Saturday as a moment of hidden victory: Christ breaks the power of death from within, calls Adam and all humanity to rise, and begins the work of restoration even before Easter dawns.

It is a meditation on the “harrowing of hell,” revealing that what appears to be silence is already the unfolding of salvation.

From an ancient homily on Holy Saturday
The Lord descends into hell

Something strange is happening—there is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and he has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear.

He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, he who is both God and the son of Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the cross, the weapon that had won him the victory. At the sight of him Adam, the first man he had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone: “My Lord be with you all.” Christ answered him: “And with your spirit.” He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.”

I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated.

For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden.

See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.

I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you.

Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity.

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This reflection is part of our Holy Week guide, designed to help you walk with Christ in prayer through these sacred days. View the full guide here.

How can St. Joseph help you this Lent?  I propose five ways. 

1. Simplicity

In John 6, when Jesus boldly declares, “I am the bread of life,” his hearers murmur among themselves and ask, “Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph?”  (Jn 6:41).  Apparently, they considered Joseph to be just a regular, law-abiding Jew—an average Joe, if you will. By implication, Joseph didn’t go around Nazareth working miracles and polishing his halo; rather, he lived his holiness wrapped in simplicity.

Every year on Ash Wednesday, we hear: “Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them” (Mt 6:1).  Our prayer, fasting, and almsgiving should be kept for God’s eyes only.  Yet we should also remember Jesus’ words earlier in the Sermon on the Mount: “Your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father” (Mt 5:16).

The key difference is simplicity.  When we act simply, we take no heed of our glory, but seek God’s alone.  Such simplicity is a modesty of soul, guarding the intimacy we have with God through prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. 

2. Work

On May 1, we celebrate the feast of St. Joseph the Worker.  He is a saint who knows how to roll up his sleeves and put in a hard day’s work.  Joseph reminds us of the dignity of work, beautifully captured in Gaudiem et Spes:

Through labor offered to God man is associated with the redemptive work of Jesus Christ, Who conferred an eminent dignity on labor when at Nazareth He worked with His own hands. (GS 67)

Lent is a good time to live out this dignity of work by imitating St. Joseph.  God draws us to Himself through the ordinary means of simply fulfilling our tasks.  We need not search for extraordinary acts of penance or lengthy prayers, especially if these detract from our normal duties.  So before we add on extra practices, we should redouble our attentiveness to the work already before us.

3. Rest

While Joseph shows us the dignity of work, he had some of his best moments as he slept.  It was here that God spoke to him repeatedly through dreams.

We can distinguish two types of rest: physical sleep and spiritual abandonment to God.  Both are critical for holiness.  Sleep renews us for another day of work and love.  Just ask the mother of a newborn about the importance of sleep.  Abandonment increases our hope in God’s loving providence, strengthening our faith in times of trials and creating room for love to grow.

By both sleep and abandonment, we recognize our limits: we need sleep and we need God.  We can see this pairing in the beginning of Psalm 127:

If the Lord does not build the house,
in vain do its builders labor;
if the Lord does not watch over the city,
in vain does the watchman keep vigil.

In vain is your earlier rising,
your going later to rest,
you who toil for the bread you eat,
when he pours gifts on his beloved while they slumber.

This psalm proclaims the futility of all-nighters and the emptiness of self-made saints.  Psalm 127 is a good reminder during Lent, as we up the ante with prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.  These are not exercises of our sheer will-power. Our practices on their own do not make us holy.  God makes us holy.  And sometimes, God bids us to rest.

Remember the words of Moses to the Israelites as Pharaoh pursued them: “The LORD will fight for you; you have only to keep still” (Ex 14:14), as well as the words of Isaiah: “By waiting and by calm you shall be saved; in quiet and in trust shall be your strength” (Is 30:15). 

4. Family

Joseph was a great man, but where would he be without his family, without Jesus and Mary? I doubt he would make many appearances in 21st-century blog posts—most 1st-century Jewish carpenters don’t.

Joseph’s holiness came through Jesus and Mary, by serving them and receiving from them.  Similarly, God draws us to Himself through those around us.  We do not become saints as isolated individuals, but as members of a family or community.

With their parents leading the way by example and family prayer, children and indeed everyone gathered around the family hearth will find a readier path to human maturity, salvation and holiness. (GS 48)

Lent is a good opportunity to examine our closest relationships.  Is there a need to forgive?  Is there love that needs rekindling?  Is there gratitude missing?  These are excellent ways of giving alms. 

5. Jesus and Mary

Of course, Joseph’s family isn’t your normal family.  There’s a special grace about Jesus and Mary (understatement of the year).  If we compare our families to the Holy Family, we might be tempted to discouragement.  But by God’s goodness, Jesus and Mary are not distant, but rather intimately close to us: Jesus is our savior and brother, and Mary is our tender mother.  Joseph, for his part, can help stay close to Jesus and Mary, just as he did.

In the end, all of our Lenten practices are simply saying “yes” to Jesus, just as Mary first did at the Annunciation.  May Mary pray for us, and may Jesus bring us to the Father.

This article was originally published on dominicanajournal.org and was written by Fr. Joseph Martin Hagan, O.P.

Today is the first of many Fridays during Lent. Our penances are perhaps being refined and hopefully refining us as well. I would like to propose another aspect of penance, focusing more exteriorly. Have you thought much about the clothes you wear during Lent? Likely not, but it may be more worthwhile than you think. By way of example, Saint Dominic demonstrates the value of religious garb in penitential exercises and, by extension, any apparel worn for religious purposes.

There are numerous testimonies to Dominic’s sanctity, which manifested itself in various forms: never sleeping on a bed (if he even slept), drastically diluting his wine at table, praying through the night, fasting, etc. These details are reported by many witnesses, but there is another detail that is repeatedly mentioned: his religious habit. It was an uncomfortable outfit, which he always slept in. Part of Dominic’s penitential life, which was so salutary for himself and many souls, was his attention to his clothing. By no means did he admit of any disordered concern for his appearance—his habit was reported to be rather tattered. But his clothing was an important part of his austerity because it was both a sign for others and for himself.

Today, the purpose of a religious habit is often defended with only one of these elements in mind: it is a sign to others of our separation from the world and our consecration to God. But we, even religious, often forget the secondary element of the habit: it is a sign for the religious himself. Wearing the habit can be a penitential source of discomfort—both physically and socially. The habit doesn’t breathe well. It is mocked by a world that rejects consecration and its signs. But when these kinds of discomfort quite literally weigh upon his shoulders, the religious is challenged by his habit to remember: “I still belong to the Lord. I have stretched out my hands and been dressed by someone else, and now I must continually be converted to him in my consecration.”

Wearing the religious habit more continuously and intentionally can thus be a significant aspect of a consecrated person’s Lenten practices. But what about everyone else? I suggest that even non-religious men and women can follow the example of St. Dominic. Perhaps you can consider modifying the way you dress during this Lenten season. This is not to say that you should wear sackcloth and ashes to draw undue attention to yourself. But just as the religious wears the habit to remind him of his consecration, so you can use your clothing to remind yourself that you have put on Christ in baptism. 

This Lent, let your clothing be a small penance that turns you away from the things of this world toward Christ crucified. At least for a season, reject what is vain and showy, and instead clothe yourself with a sign of Christ’s humble simplicity. If this sounds daunting, begin by carrying a sign perhaps no one else will see—whether a crucifix, a medal, or a rosary in your pocket—that reminds you alone of your conversion to Christ. By God’s grace, your external appearance will give way to the more noble clothing of the heart, and you will say with the prophet Isaiah: 

I will rejoice heartily in the Lord,
   my being exults in my God;
For he has clothed me with garments of salvation,
    and wrapped me in a robe of justice,
Like a bridegroom adorned with a diadem,
    as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.

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This article was originally published on dominicanajournal.org and was written by Br. Bertrand Hebert, O.P..