The days (and even the few years) preceding the first Easter morning, were filled with darkness, and evil scenarios. If it were a symphony, it would have all risen to a resounding yet horrific crescendo: the arrest and trial, the scourging and crucifixion, the agony on the cross, the death, the day turning to utter darkness, the ground shaking as if to split the earth, the veil tearing in two . . .
And then, just like the famous pause in Handel's Messiah, it all comes to a screeching halt. Jesus is buried—and it is all over.
With Jesus gone, the disciples were left with nothing but the memories and His words, neither of which seemed to be affecting them, for they huddled in fear on Saturday, having little faith in what He had promised. The disciples had painted their own picture of who Messiah was supposed to be—a narrative they wanted Him to fulfill.
How many of us believers live with a Saturday mindset—somewhere between the truth of Jesus' earthly life and the glorious resurrection that validated everything He said and did? It is easy to look at the disciples' fear and lack of faith on that day and shake our heads. But are we so different, really? Do we have our own plans for God? Do you and I conveniently believe that the best thing for us is that God and everyone else follow our script for the day? Do we get angry when it doesn't happen?
Do you find yourself speaking words that increasingly convey a lack of hope? Are they words of discouragement, gloom, doom—maybe even despair?
Two choices lie before those of us who live with such a mentality. Either we make the frustrating and futile attempt to get our own way, or we turn and revisit the truth of what God has told us: the truth about Himself and the truth about ourselves; the truth about what He has asked us to do in the disappointment of "Saturday."
The disciples had not yet received the Holy Spirit. We now have Him in full. They did not have the fullness of God's Word. We have all of it at ready access. They were living on the other side of the resurrection. We live in its reality.
Because the Truth, dear friends, is that the music will resume. Sunday's coming.