Saturday.
Jesus was dead, and hope seemed lost.
Here we are once again. The Saturday between the cross and the empty tomb. So much is remembered on Friday and celebrated on Sunday, but what of Saturday. Silence. I often wonder what it must have felt like for the various players in the Easter story.
I imagine many of the Jewish leaders were happy. Smug perhaps. Maybe the Roman leaders were a bit exhausted by all of it. Could be that they thought they would get a break from crowd control and all the chaos. Perhaps there were more like the centurion, who witnessed the crucifixion and surrounding events and began to believe.
I wonder about the disciples and the women, like Mary Magdalene, who followed so closely and were with Him frequently. I imagine they were afraid for their own lives. I wonder what they were thinking and how they felt on that Saturday. I wonder if they felt like they were part of a bait and switch. I mean the man who had performed numerous miracles, including raising people from the dead, had allowed himself to be tortured and killed.
I wonder if they prayed. Or if they argued with each other. Were they in disbelief? Were they just grieving? Did they collectively go over the details of their time with Jesus wondering what they missed? Or, did all the things that Jesus said begin to click into place? Were they coming up with a plan for what to do next?
The only thing we know about Saturday was a brief mention in Luke 23:56 (NIV), “Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.” Matthew shares that Saturday the chief priests and Pharisees asked Pilate to place a guard at the tomb.
It must have been an incredibly difficult day for them. The reality is that we can only imagine what that day was like for them. However, I can relate to days when I questioned my faith. I can relate to days of grief and fear. I can relate to days when it sure seemed like God was silent and nowhere to be found.
I’m so thankful that Saturday wasn’t the end of the story, but just for a minute I want us to sit there in those dark hours. I have grown the most from going through those dark days in my life because they stretched my faith. There is a purpose for Saturday, whether we realize it or not.
The soldiers broke the legs of the criminals and pierced Jesus’ side. Surely, in front of all those witnesses, in the process of getting Him down, stripping his clothing, and figuring out what to do with the body, people would have been convinced that He was good and dead. Would resurrection in that time not have worked?
No. Saturday matters.
Saturday matters to me today because I’m reminded that it isn’t the end. Saturday matters to me because even when I’m tempted to believe that God has left me, I know better. Saturday matters to me because even though I can’t see God working, He is. Saturday matters to me because even when He is silent in the moment, He isn’t silent for long. Saturday matters to me because sometimes I just need to rest and grieve and be with my people. Saturday matters to me because sometimes the goodness that God has for me takes longer than I want. Saturday matters to me because hope that is seen is no hope at all (Romans 8:24).
Saturday matters to me because Sunday happened. God was faithful to fulfill His promise. Jesus bore the punishment for my sins (and yours), defeated death, and walked out of that tomb alive. Glory.
Friends, if you are stuck in a Saturday feeling confused and defeated; if God seems silent, angry or distant, I want to encourage you to hang on. Sunday is coming. Go ahead and rest in the knowledge of Hebrews 10:23, “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.”
