Bethany Hang Out

Catholic contemplative life and devotion



Mary’s Day: Holy Saturday 2022

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Today, Holy Saturday, is traditionally Mary’s day. It was the loneliest Sabath she had ever spent. The sword Simeon had prophesied had pierced her heart through. Traumatized and grieving I don’t think she knew what God would do. Better than anyone she knew her Son’s Divinity as an indisputable fact. She would have known he allowed his own death. Im sure the implications of sacrifice didn’t escape her given the Passover. She didn’t know what God would do but she knew he would do something, that an inscrutable divine process was underway. I think she continued to offer her suffering and the sacrifice of her Son continually, even as she was crushed in a darkness we would find hard to fathom. I am sure she would have done her best to comfort her new family, the disciples, and offer her love, forgiveness and understanding to the ones who denied him or ran away. She let the holy women care for her and she held them when they cried. Sometimes none of them knew what to make of her. She seemed to be…. waiting for something.

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5Kristin Ventura, Sarah Louise and 3 others

Holy Saturday

For me Holy Saturday is usually a quiet, meditative day spent with Mary.

Normally the parish church would be open, but quiet and bare. Catechumen and Candidates would be gathering for Morning Prayer with their teacher, their sponsors perhaps, and the pastor. The feeling would be somber and expectant too, this last gathering before the class would be baptized and/ or confirmed at the Easter Vigil.

Mary seemed to sail through Great Silence like a sparrow released into a moonless night. The others watched her closely for signs of life and awareness, but her heart was fully awake.

“Mother, please,” Magdalene said, “Have something to drink. For me.” Her sisters had brought breakfast. Something hot and steaming was pressed gently into her hand. The cup warmed her fingers. She looked at the tear stained faces and worried eyes around her and took a small sip. She felt the weave of the mat she sat on, the movement of air, the stillness of earth.

The room filled with the others who also sat. As the strips of light from the shutters moved across the floor, no one spoke.

The cup grew cold.

At home I keep my little apartment quiet except for playing some Marian chant now and then. I pray the Hours too.

Our family altar is bare as well.

The door is open.

For you, my God, my soul in stillness waits. Truly my hope is in you.

(See Psalm 95/Catholic Hymn “My Soul in Stillness Waits” by Marty Haugin)

My Soul in Stilllness Waits

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