Saturday Stillness

The day after the day of the day of the cross was a day unlike any other day that had ever dawned in Jerusalem.  As surely as Friday had been the most violent of days, Saturday was a day of the deepest silence.  It was as if the air had been sucked out of that place leaving nothing.  No clouds stirred in the endless blue sky.  No birds were seen soaring or heard singing.  And while any Sabbath was quieter than other days, this Sabbath the day after the day of the cross was as quiet as the tombs of those dead and mostly forgotten.

 

Of course, on the day after the day of the cross, few people of Jerusalem had forgotten the Death of the One said to be Son of God.  The One who some had thought should be King of all the Jews.  But, alas, the crowds no longer gathered and clamored for Him to ascend a throne.  No one even spoke His name aloud on that day for fear a fate like His might fall on them as well.  It was a heavy day filled with an awful silence.  No one spoke of Him, or called His name anymore for His voice was silent now as He laid lifeless in a tomb carved out of cold stone.

Indeed, the day after the day of the cross was the most different of all days ever visited upon the earth.  The One who brought all things into being, even the dirt of the earth itself, now lay silently within His creation.  It was the first and only day the One who had always been and would always be was not.  Silent, lifeless in the grave the Savior lay.  Silent, lifeless in the grave the Savior waited for the day after the day of the cross to end so that the next new day could begin.