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Holy Saturday: Stillness, Scars, and the In-Between

Today is Holy Saturday—a sacred, quiet pause in the Christian calendar. It’s the day Jesus lay in a borrowed tomb, purchased by Joseph of Arimathea. According to the Nicene Creed, it was during this time that He descended into hell, entering the deepest places of human pain and separation so that we would never have to know that finality—if we accept Him as our Savior.

“He was put to death in the body but made alive in the Spirit. After being made alive, he went and made proclamation to the imprisoned spirits…”
—1 Peter 3:18–19

It’s also the day of the Easter Vigil, the most solemn and sacred liturgy in the Catholic Church. For many catechumens and candidates, this is the night of becoming Catholic.
And for me, that was supposed to be today.

As many of you know, I’ve been discerning Catholicism for quite some time. I love the Catholic liturgy—the beauty, the reverence, the rhythm of it. I’m active in the Church and genuinely enjoy being there. But the truth is, I haven’t discerned that this is where God wants me—not with the kind of clarity I’ve long prayed for. I haven't received that unmistakable whisper of, “This is it. This is home.”

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”
—Psalm 119:105

And that matters deeply to me. I’ve said for years that I would never join a church unless I knew—truly knew—that it was where God was calling me, 1000% without a shadow of doubt. That isn’t hesitation. That’s trauma-informed conviction.

The path to now has been littered with spiritual shrapnel:

  • I was hazed as a teenager in a Southern Baptist youth group.

  • I was grabbed and held by people speaking in tongues at my grandparents’ church.

  • I was asked to leave a church based on lies someone told about me.

  • And I lived through the pain of the Methodist schism—watching division unfold from within.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
—Psalm 34:18

Church, for me, has often been more triggering than healing, more a place of wounds than refuge. So the idea of committing—officially joining a church—terrifies me.
Even one I love.

Still, today... I feel kind of bummed.

I had expected to join the Catholic Church this Easter. I had imagined the moment, planned the white clothes. I even posted my excitement online last night.
But then came the comments this morning:

"Welcome home!"

With respect and love, I need to say this:
That phrase feels presumptive. It feels like a claim that this is the only home, the one true place to which all Christians must eventually return.

And that’s not my belief.

I don’t think the Catholic Church is the only true Church or the sole body Christ founded. The early Church was profoundly Jewish—rooted in the rhythms and rituals of a people longing for the Messiah. The idea of a single, universal institution came later.

And while I deeply value tradition and reverence, I also hold to the truth that all who follow Christ as Lord are part of His Body—Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox, or otherwise.

“There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.”
—Ephesians 4:4–6

My hope?

That someday we’ll lay down the titles—Catholic, Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal—and simply call ourselves what we are:
Christian.

One body, united by our faith in Jesus alone.
That, to me, is the Rock that Christ built His Church on.
That, to me, is the true Church.

“Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. … Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.”
—1 Corinthians 12:12, 27

“Whoever is not against us is for us.”
—Mark 9:40

So, where does that leave me?

Still discerning.
Still seeking.
Still loving the Church, but still scared of it.
Still in awe of the tomb and the silence of Holy Saturday.
And still believing that resurrection is coming—even if I’m not quite sure what it will look like for me.

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”
—Psalm 27:14

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
—Psalm 46:10

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.”
—2 Corinthians 5:7

If you’re here, reading this, and feeling the same in-between space, you are not alone.
Faith is rarely a straight line. It’s more like a slow walk in the dark, with occasional stars to guide the way.

Thanks for walking this path with me.

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