The Darkness of Holy Saturday

Saturday was a quiet day of religious duties no one really felt like doing. Their minds were not filled with the things of God, but of the horror men were capable of inflicting on another.  The One who was dearest to them, the One who they loved so much, the One who had changed their lives was gone.  They had watched in the greatest of grief as they saw His body empty of life's breath being taken down from the terrible cross.  The grief felt on Friday had not lessened in the heart of the mother of Jesus, the other women who were with her, and those disciples who had been so afraid for themselves that they had stayed hidden in the shadows.   

The Sabbath which had begun at sunset on Friday and which would end at sunset on Saturday kept them away from their desire which was to give respect to the body of Jesus by properly preparing it for burial.  Sabbath law prohibited such a thing and so they waited in the lonely silence of their grief to finish what they would have chosen to do.  Saturday of Holy Week was such a long day, a day filled with flowing tears and attempts to bring comfort to one another.  But, nothing changed anything.  Jesus was gone.  He was dead.  Hope  was gone. This was the message of that long Saturday and all they could do was wait for the sunrise of Sunday so that they could go back to the tomb and complete the unfinished burial preparations.

It is the kind of day so many of us have lived in our own life.  Like those mourners, we have mourned and grieved in the deep places of our heart to the point that we lost hope.  What those mourners forgot is something we often forget ourselves and that is one of the promises of Jesus.  Sometimes the darkness is too great to remember anything which might bring light.  In moments like Holy Saturday it is easy to forget that Jesus said, "And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."  (Matthew 28:20)  Even on a day as dark as Holy Saturday, we must not forget that the promise is being kept.