This title has been bouncing around in my mind since Easter weekend…So much talk and significance about Good Friday and Easter morning, but what about that Saturday? Then, at church last weekend, our pastor reiterated this phrase. Time to write. And, it just happens to be a rainy Saturday morning…
That weekend, the weekend Jesus was betrayed, beaten, laughed at, and nailed to a cross. That weekend.
That Friday, I can only imagine. The confusion, the pain, the despair, the unbelief, that his disciples and mother felt. I can only imagine. Even though He told them over and over again what would happen. Even though He cried out for any other way. Even though He went through with it. Even though He knew it would happen. Even though…I can’t imagine the overwhelming darkness of that day for those who loved Him.
That Sunday, I can only imagine. The surprise, the excitement, the elation, the relief, the unbelief that the Marys must have felt seeing that tomb empty. Seeing that stone rolled away. Seeing Him dead before their eyes two days before and then seeing Him risen, hearing Him speak, and bolting back to tell His friends and disciples….I can only imagine the thrill of that day to those who loved Him.
What about the day between? What about the day that they were all processing what just happened? He was there, healthy and alive, and then beaten and killed. Gone. The shock was there, the grief was taking hold, the despair was still setting in. It felt over.
Just like it does for us when something awful happens. Someone was here today and gone tomorrow. The pink slip comes in and the bills are due. The diagnosis you never expected. The betrayal you didn’t see coming. The truth comes out. That day.
What about the day after? When nothing has changed. That was Saturday. All they knew was that nothing had changed. Only the difficulty of accepting something they didn’t want to accept.
Help us, Lord. Where are you, Lord? How could you allow this, Lord? That day. Saturday was more hurt, more despair, more darkness. They didn’t know what would happen Sunday morning. They didn’t know…
One thing I find comforting about that Saturday and I hope we can grasp onto in our own lives is that Jesus was sleeping and feeling no pain that day. He was resting in His Father’s will. He cried out that it wasn’t His will, but had accepted that it was and was resting in that. His pain had subsided. He was resting while the rest were hurting. May we find some rest in our Father’s love the day after, the week after, the life after…
Because when we find our rest in Jesus (like He rested that particular Saturday) we WILL see Him again. We will see our loved ones, we will have complete healing of that illness, that injury, that loss, that hurt. Our bodies and hearts will be made whole again. Our hearts will leap with an everlasting joy and relief.
That day is coming. Our “Sunday” is coming. We will be with Him forever. And being with Him is the heaven we have all cried out for. No more sad tears, no more emotional or physical pain. No more death. No more loss.
May we rest in our “Saturdays”, the days after…that we are all currently in until our Sunday arrives.
He thought of you that Friday, and that hasn’t changed.
He died for you. He rose for you. That despair and victory was for you, and that hasn’t changed.
May we rest in that (like He did that Saturday). His rest and relief from pain the day after makes Saturday pretty significant too.
Today, the rain is falling outside. I have questions. I have concerns. But, I also have Jesus. So, I will rest in them all. I’m writing on a literal Saturday. But, we are all in our figurative ones.
The answers will come, the truth will come out. It always does. And so does He. He is bigger and stronger than them all. He proved that.
May we rest in Him, like He did, on all of our Saturdays (next days) too.