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Steve Herrmann's avatar

Thanks for this, Father.

What you’ve written echoes something I’ve long wrestled with in Desert and Fire: the scandal of the Incarnation is not only that God became flesh, but that He did not flee from it. He entered not just the high places of human dignity but the broken marrow of it all—the sweat, the soil, the weeping, and yes, the corpse.

We are terrified of the body because we are terrified of God hidden in matter. So we sterilize death, tuck it behind cosmetic illusion, or cremate it into abstraction—hoping perhaps to avoid that final indignity which once baptized us into glory. But the Gospel, if it means anything, insists that God is not merely above matter but within it, transfiguring the dust from the inside out. We do not need to ascend—we must descend, with Him, into the clay.

The incarnation does not permit the comfort of escaping upward. It draws us deeper into the real, into what is—flesh, rot, sorrow, dirt—and dares us to find God there. Not in an idea of resurrection, but in the limp and perfumed weight of the crucified Christ, wrapped in linen, held in the hands of grieving women.

To be baptized into His death is to say yes to that descent. It is to look upon the corpse and whisper, “Even here, especially here, God is.” The Orthodox liturgy, in its refusal to flinch, preserves a truth that our modernity has entombed: that the body is not the enemy of the soul, but its cradle, its chalice, and—one day—its glory.

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Eileen Robbins's avatar

Dear Father Barnabas, THANK YOU for this beautiful meditation on Holy Saturday!

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