The Silence of Saturday
/Holy Week
We are at the end of a week focused on Jesus’ life, death, and suffering. I spent the week pondering and meditating on Jesus’ last days before His crucifixion.
Thursday marked the beginning of the end; the last supper, the washing of the disciple’s feet in an upper room, the breaking of bread and pouring out of wine, the betrayer identified. Jesus in the garden praying, pleading with God for another way, yet submitting His will to the Father’s. Then Judas, with his kiss of betrayal, the sting of abandonment, the illegal trials held under cover of darkness. As I watched the scenes unfold, I was struck by how wrong it was. It was unjust, unfair, a mockery of all that is true and right and good. And it was God’s plan.
And then Friday. The horrific flogging and crucifixion. Jesus’ willingness to shed pools of blood, to suffer prolonged and painful torture and humiliation in complete isolation. His friends fled. His Father turned His face away as Jesus became sin for us. He was (in the words of Isaiah) despised, rejected, stricken, smitten, put to grief, wounded, crushed, chastised, oppressed and afflicted. He poured out His soul to death – for us, for me.
The horror of Friday has left me breathless with anguish and loss. The pit-in-my-soul, gut- wrenching scenes of the crucifixion replay in my mind. On Sunday, this deep sorrow will be reversed as Jesus bursts from the grave, alive!
But what of Saturday?
The silence accompanying Saturday feels unbearable. I searched the scriptures for details. I found only two things: “On the Sabbath they rested, according to the commandment.” (Luke 23:56) And some Sabbath breaking by the council who were busy setting a guard to secure Jesus in the tomb. Otherwise, Saturday is silent.
I have an advantage, because I know what’s coming. But that Saturday, as the disciples huddled behind locked doors, fearing for their lives, they must have sat in deafening silence. They were not anticipating a Resurrection Sunday. They should have been. Jesus had promised He would be buried and would rise again on the third day. But they never got it.
A Silent Sabbath
Saturday was the Sabbath; a day of rest and contemplation, not a day to work or busy oneself with household tasks. I imagine the disciples were speechless from the horror of Friday as questions swirled through their minds. “When will I wake up from this nightmare? Why didn’t I fight for Him? Are they looking for me? What will they do when they find me? Why did Jesus promise so much, only to let it end this way? What now? ” Unanswered questions hung in the silence of Saturday.
The stench of death still lingered in the air. The loss was not simply a teacher and friend, but the one in whom they had placed all their hopes and dreams. They had left homes, families, and occupations to follow Jesus. The one whose body lay cold and lifeless in a garden tomb, sealed and guarded.
We all live with the silence of Saturday at times. In the post-op room, waiting to find out if all the cancer was removed. Watching a child make choices that plunge them deeper into destruction, and farther from the safety of home. Enduring a relationship that seems fractured beyond repair. The divorce that is pending, and with it, the death of a thousand dreams. The terminal disease which is slowly sucking the life from a loved one. Loss. Pain. Sorrow. Death. How did this happen? Why? What now? We live much of our lives with the crushing unanswered question of Saturday.
Resurrection Coming
But our Sunday is coming also, and with it, resurrection, life, peace, and the joy of hope realized. It is actually how every story will end if we are in that small band of Jesus-followers. The disciples had been told of the resurrection, yet they didn’t anticipate it. They cowered in fear. And don’t we often do the same? We know how the story will end. We believe that God will be victorious and work all things together for good. We know one day a glory will shine on us, which will drive away every shadow cast by this sin-cursed world. We have the option to consider our present suffering nothing in comparison with our future glory. Yet, regrettably, we often live with suffocating hopelessness.
The fact that Jesus’ disciples trembled through Saturday with faithless fear actually gives me great hope. Their lack of faith did not stop God from carrying out His plan. Jesus rose from the grave! He conquered death and with it, every rule and power and authority on the earth and in the heavens. He brought new and abundant life, despite the weak faith of His followers.
And God will do it again. He says to us, as He said to them, “O ye of little faith…” And then He fulfills His promises, because they depend, not on our faith, but on His faithfulness. God will fulfill every promise He has made. It may not be in our time, or in the way would expect. But He is God and we are not. The silence of Saturday is never the end of the story.