Holy Saturday: The Entombment of Christ

Stretched Christ from the Christ Series, Mike and Doug Starn, 1985–1986. Collaged gelatin silver prints with pressure-sensitive tape, glass, and painted wood, 114.3 × 360.7 × 71.1 cm. Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, New York.

Triple Christ from the Christ Series, Mike and Doug Starn, 1987. 250 ft. long, and ranges from 9 to 14 ft. in height, Toned and bleached silver gelatin photographic prints with Scotch tape and pins in handmade frame. Installed at the South Ferry Subway Terminal, Manhattan, New York.

Rose with Christ from the Christ Series, Mike and Doug Starn, 1982–1986. Toned silver photographic prints and Scotch tape, 167.6 x 264.2 cm. Rubell Museum, Miami, Florida, and Washington, D.C.

“Kleines Requiem fur eine Polka, Op. 66: IV. Adagio Cantabile” from the soundtrack to the film A Hidden Life. Composed by Henryk Mikolaj Górecki. Performed by I Fiamminghi, The Orchestra of Flanders and Rudolf Werthen, conductor.

Poetry:

“Repairwork”
by Dennis Hinrichsen

(Shroud of Turin)

They must have bled as they sang,
the needles so quick through

the linen, the frayed mesh,
the silvers must have stung them.

Pinpricks they must have stemmed
with their tongues, unembarrassed,

these brides of Christ-
like sewing patches of sunlight

to water--the ghost in the cloth
laid double across their laps.

These are the hips of Christ,
knees raw bone inking the linen;

this, the stain of a coin
that graced His eye, the image

as yet unpatterned, available only--
should they dare to look--

in random angles, stitches.
Terrible gash at a medial rib.

Imprint: sole of His foot,
the other merely heel, curve of

a branch at its one end blackened,
released to ash-their

fingers as furious as sparks
in the medieval dusk

repairing a fire . . . They must have
wept as they bled as they sang.

THE LIFELESS CHRIST ENTOMBED

When I first encountered today’s artwork—Stretched Christ—I shuddered at the claustrophobic way Jesus was enclosed into this antiqued tomb of a coffee table. I quickly realized, of course, that my startled response was issued from the fear of being enclosed alive in a small space, while here Christ is very much not alive. Phobia aside, it prompted me to consider our tendency to fixate on the resurrected living Christ, and I wondered: How often do we reflect on Jesus’ occupied tomb, when his lifeless body laid in repose?

It can be tempting to skip over Holy Saturday. Perhaps we are traumatized and exhausted from our Good Friday reflections on the violence our Lord suffered on the cross. Eager to get to the happy part, we can spend our Saturday energies anticipating Sunday, when all is put right by the resurrection.

But the Scriptures don’t let us move too quickly to the empty tomb. Those who tended to Jesus’ burial are faithful to God despite this lethal turn of events. Joseph boldly obtains Jesus’ body from Pilate, determined to honor him with a proper burial in Joseph’s very own tomb. He wraps Jesus in a linen cloth while the women observe, planning their return to anoint Jesus with the customary spices. But why must they wait? Because Luke tells us, it’s nearly Sabbath. These devout souls won’t miss observing this commandment, even if their hearts are broken.

I wonder if the timing of the Sabbath meets the disciples at a significant moment of utter exhaustion. Grief must hover among them while they walk through the funerary paces of tucking Jesus’ body into the tomb. When Sabbath arrives, their anguish finally has space to breathe, as they spend that day of rest without their beloved Jesus.

Today’s artwork and poetry invite us to linger on that Sabbath day. Stretched Christ joins Triple Christ and Rose with Christ in photographic display, re-presenting the seventeenth-century painting by Philippe de Champaigne entitled The Dead Christ. The Starn twins’ collage-technique presents the wounded, crucified Jesus with reverberating sorrow. Poet Hinrichsen’s poem “Repairwork”—to hear him tell it—imagines a circle of nuns repairing the Shroud of Turin. This ancient relic, believed to represent the cloth with which Joseph wrapped Jesus, bears the imprints of the bloodied Christ. Here “these brides of Christ” mend it “like sewing patches of sunlight to water—the ghost in the cloth laid double across their laps.” Perhaps pricking their fingers as they worked, “[t]hey must have wept as they bled as they sang.”

Soon we will celebrate the empty tomb—Sunday is coming. But for today, let’s resolve to rest in the aftermath of Jesus’ wounds. As we commemorate the lifeless Christ entombed, may His suffering extend empathy to you in yours. This life still doles out many griefs, after all. We still contend with death, innocent suffering, chaos, and uncertainty.

At the end of the day, when we have wiped our tears, may we remember that hope dances on the faint horizon of tomorrow: Jesus has overcome the world.

Prayer:
O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
­­––Book of Common Prayer

Dr. Jeannine Hanger
Associate Professor
Talbot School of Theology
Biola University

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