The Place Between

I am fascinated with the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter. Why?

Because of Friday, Christ hung on a cross – dead.
Because on Sunday, the tomb stood – empty.
But what about Saturday?

It’s the moment between that seems to capture my heart. For followers of Christ, Friday was the worst day in the world. The One they loved was beaten, tortured, accused, found innocent (and yet guilty), nailed to a cross, and breathed his last breath. The One they followed went to a place where they could not go. They were scared and alone. They were heartbroken and lost. They were a people without purpose, without joy, without grace.

For the Pharisees and those opposing Him, Friday was a day of celebration. They had one. The heretic had been silenced. Life could go back to normal. The crowds would die down. God still fit neatly into their box.

For Jesus, His cup was there and His hour was upon Him. He felt sin, he felt anger, he felt hate – and he felt the moment that God closed His eyes and turned His back on His only son. Jesus felt the pain of the nails, the labored breath, the thirst and the humiliation. He saw his mother, his family, his friends. He felt death.

But, then what happened? The sun set on Friday. On Saturday, it rose again. Another day began, and the world slowly woke up. At that moment, who knows what was happening. Friends and family were still mourning, followers still desperately wanted to believe He was who He said He was, and the day kept on going. The Son of God had died, but the world did not stop. Instead, things probably felt strangely familiar.

It is Saturday that I identify with, because I feel like that’s where we live. We don’t live on that horrible Friday, and we long for the Son on Sunday, but our lives happen in the Saturdays. Between our Friday and Sunday, life happens. We make mistakes, we mourn, we cry and laugh. On the Saturdays of our lives we hurt and are hurt, we love and our loved, we carry burdens and have our burdens carried for us – we live in the middle of two momentous moments. Moments that change everything, to be sure, but still moments.

For me, it’s not the Friday I like to look back on. I try hard not to dwell on the past, good or bad. I try not to think hard on my mistakes, or the ways I’ve been wronged. Instead I look toward Sunday – that moment when the Light breaks through the dawn and the world looks a little different. Because, life here is temporary. Saturday is but a moment in time. And the Sunday of the Risen King is coming…

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