Living Saturday

Slowly, they crept in under cover of night. One by one, making their way to the room. Barring the door tightly behind them. Feet, not long ago washed by Master’s hand, now soiled with the dust of their desertion. Weary and sweat-drenched from soul-deep fear. Exhausted, yet unable to sleep. None looked the other in the eye. All succumbed to the shame of their shallow loyalty. Each lost in his own thoughts of hopelessness, wondering how he had so completely misunderstood the Messiah’s message.

Saturday morning came, like every other week before, yet nothing was as is should be. Would anything ever be right again?

Let’s face it. Most of life is not lived in the hopelessness of a Good Friday, where crucifixion and death reign. Nor do we readily dwell in the death-defying, supernatural joy of resurrection Sunday. Most of life is lived on Saturday.

The day after this, but the day before that . . .

The day in-between . . .

In between hope and despair . . .

In between darkness and light . . .

The day when we may remember the horror of suffering but live in its aftermath, not the immediacy of its terror . . .

The day when the pain has dulled from a roar to a perpetual ache . . .

The day where nothing seems to be happening . . .

Where hope may be stagnant, or at best, vaguely anticipated. But not yet seen, and oh-so-hard-to-hold-onto.

Saturday is a waiting game of uncertainty grasping for credence beyond the numbness.

It is a time of many questions and few answers.

Living Saturday is a faith-stretcher. We recall Jesus’ promises even while the fulfillment of them seems unreasonable. After all, on Saturday, His body lies in a silent tomb. As surely as do our hopes.

On Saturday, we may see no signs of eternal life’s stirrings, but its undercurrents are rippling through the heavenly realm nonetheless. All of heaven is holding its breath in anticipation of Divine release waiting to be unleashed upon the earth. Eternity seems to hang in the balance of a holy pause.

This is living Saturday — Here in the unknown and uncertain and dare-I-risk-believing-a-faith-that-has-been-shaken-to- its-core questions.

A conviction rattled, yet mulling the promises of a Messiah who came and died, yet vows to return.

Living Saturday means living still, while still living.

Here in the nothing and the perhapses and the silence of a soul waiting.

On Saturday, we look beyond a bloodied cross toward the temple where a veil hangs torn, split asunder by Divine hand, inviting all to draw near to holy presence.

Within the shadow of one, solitary cross and a ripped veil pointing to Sunday’s first rays of resurrection glory— this is where we find our courage, dear friend. When we live the puzzling, paradoxical, and the taxing portions of life, yet still look for the One who has overcome all things.

In these moments, we step away from Calvary’s carnage and allow Father to lead us toward a hopeful future. From the horror of a Friday crucifixion to the triumphant dawn of Easter morn — and every single second of Saturday life in-between.

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FOR REFLECTION

Do you ever find yourself living those in-between moments when your faith has been tested and found lacking? When it seems you have more questions than answers?

Are you tempted to hide in isolation and shame, or do you seek out others to help you find your faith footing again?

There is strength in community. There is encouragement in togetherness and remembering the truth Jesus spoke, especially when we are wrestling to find it in a world gone mad. The Saturdays of life take on new meaning when we take to heart His promises of overcoming.

We have the hope of Resurrection Sunday, friends. Victory is assured . . . even when we are living in the waiting room of Saturday.