It’s Easter weekend. Resurrection Sunday is tomorrow. There’s a saying we’ve all heard. They said it last night at the Good Friday service I attended.
It may be Friday, but Sunday’s coming!
Friday. The crucifixion. The darkest day in the history of history. The blessed hope of deliverance from the tyranny of Rome hung between earth and sky. Battered. Beaten. Bruised. Crucified.
Sunday. The resurrection. The stone was rolled away. The empty tomb. Hope was restored and all was made new. He is alive!
But there’s a day between Friday and Sunday. It’s called Saturday.
What happened Saturday?
All we see in Scripture is Jesus said He would have to spend three days and three nights in the heart of the earth. There are some educated guesses out there for what that means, but I don’t think we’ll fully understand it until we get to heaven.
We know what was accomplished on the cross and through the resurrection. Among other things, He who knew no sin became sin for us so we could be righteous. By His stripes we are healed. He destroyed the works of the devil. He took back the keys to death and hell and the grave and transferred His authority to His church.
But I digress.
What happened Saturday? That’s the thought that was reverberating through my mind as I woke up this morning. Not what happened to Jesus but to the disciples. They had no idea what Sunday would bring.
But Saturday? It looked hopeless.
It was the second day of Passover, so we know they didn’t work. They had nothing at all to keep their minds and hands occupied. It was a day of rest for them. A day to celebrate deliverance from Egypt.
Celebrate? I highly doubt they wanted to celebrate. Their best friend had just died a horrific death. Their day probably consisted more of grieving. Mourning. Crying. Talking. Grieving some more.
I’m sure they were trying to wrap their minds around, “What just happened here?” Because it all happened so fast.
One minute they were eating dinner with Jesus as they had done hundreds of times before, probably fighting over who got to sit next to Him, and the next they were in the garden, Judas was kissing Him, and soldiers took Him away to die.
“But He hasn’t done anything wrong! What are you doing?”
This didn’t look good or right to the disciples. Or to His faithful followers. Or to His mother. Or to anyone who loved Him.
I can only imagine the torrent of emotions coursing through their souls on Saturday, tearing their hearts apart.
Anger. Confusion. Pain. Loss. Grief. Agony. Loneliness.
Fear? Was their fear? I think so. When Jesus came to them after the resurrection, He found them locked inside a house. Were they afraid they’d be next?
We know Friday He died and Sunday He arose.
But what happened Saturday?
What happened that awful day in the middle where everything hurt and nothing made sense?
We don’t know everything, but we do know this. They survived. They made it through.
And so will you.
Maybe it feels like Saturday and darkness has descended on your life, hovering there like a blanket. Everything hurts and nothing makes sense.
“God! What just happened here?”
We don’t always understand the why’s and the what’s. But of this we can be sure. He will hold your hand through it all and you will survive. You’ll make it through.
Trust me. I’ve been there. More than once. Sometimes we’re just in survival mode, and that’s okay.
Grieve. Hurt. Feel angry. Be sad. Gather with your people and mourn. Go to Him with your confusion and devastation.
The disciples did all that. They felt all those emotions to the core. But they didn’t stay there. Sunday came for them, and it will come for you.
His Word is still true. He has good plans for you. He’s with you and He’ll make sure you walk all the way through. He’s still good. Don’t let go of hope.
Friday may be dark. Saturday feels awful. But Sunday’s coming and bringing with it new life.