Last night’s full moon gleamed so brightly it was as if it had been plucked out of the sky and polished right along with the silver and brass I’ve been busy polishing in the sacristy. It’s brilliant halo, though seemingly out of character for the somber tone of Good Friday and Holy Saturday, reminds us that luminosity somehow still inhabits these silent Triduum days, these days in which we fall mute in the presence of absence. It hides, perhaps, under the cover of night. Or perhaps it is made visible through acts of love and service. There is always, somewhere, a Joseph of Arimathea silently purchasing a linen cloth. There are always, somewhere, women quietly preparing their spices and perfumes.
On this Holy Saturday, in the presence of absence, let us reverently tend to the tasks set before us – polishing, preparing, serving – illuminating the darkness with the quiet luminosity of God’s love, trusting that within the darkness, the stone of night will roll away as the moon rolls across the night sky. From within that darkness, absence will become Presence.
