“Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice said, ‘Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!’ And having said this he breathed his last. Now when the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God, saying, ‘Certainly this man was innocent!’ And all the crowds that had assembled for this spectacle, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts. And all his acquaintances and the women who had followed him from Galilee stood at a distance watching these things.” Luke 23:46-49
Can you imagine standing at a distance to “watch these things” after following Jesus all the way from Galilee? What do you think the men and women felt watching Jesus cry out to the Father and sputter His last breath?
Hopelessness. Grief. Despair.
What are you feeling today after watching these things? Most of us left our Good Friday services last night to grab dinner out with friends or enjoy a home-cooked meal with family. Essentially we likely resumed our normal lives: put the kids to bed, cleaned up the dishes, hopped on Netflix, scrolled through Instagram for a few minutes, and drifted off to sleep.
Saturday we resume our weekend rituals: go to a ball game, tackle some overdue housework, maybe give a few thoughts here and there of when to iron and set out the Easter attire or when to thaw the ham. You know for the celebration that we’re having tomorrow–for the Resurrection–that we know is coming.
But what do you think the disciples did on Saturday? Can you, once again, imagine what they must have felt and thought the day after Jesus died? They were clueless of the hope and promise coming on Sunday.
Saturday is the day that Jesus, and all understanding, lay dead.
I’m not suggesting we walk around depressed today. But I do think we should pause because”so much of Christian faith is Saturday faith.” We have a lot more in common with these Saturday disciples than we think.
We live here every day: in the scared, in the waiting, in the not to sure hope is on its way moments. A.J. Swoboda says,
I call it “awkward Saturday,” that holy day to sit, wait, hope—unsure of what’s to come.
We don’t believe once we understand it; we believe in order to understand it. Saturday is like that: offering a day of waiting, a day of ambiguity, a day when God is sovereign even if our ideas and theologies and expectations about him are not.
May you take time today to sit, wait, and hope because Sunday is coming!