HOLY SATURDAY

Jesus’ disciples, his mother Mary, and the women who cared for him stood at the foot of the cross and sobbed. We know the story of what they did that Good Friday, when Jesus’ body was stripped and hung bloody - the gospels recount the moments those who loved Jesus witnessed his death.  I imagine they likely embraced and uttered psalms of comfort - providing strength and solace to one another as their eyes flooded with tears. Oh, the tears they must have shed at the sights and sounds of that horrible day.

And when it was finished, what did they do? 

They went home.  One of them took Jesus’ body to an empty tomb, where they wrapped His body and left it; because it was Sabbath.  

The story of Christ’s crucifixion and eventual resurrection picks up on Sunday in each of the gospels. Early Sunday morning, the women embarked to the tomb carrying spices that they had prepared for Jesus’ body.  Jewish custom would dictate precise methods for anointing and preparation of the deceased.

Two of the gospels say the women left in the dark of morning, the other two that they left at the break of dawn. In either account, there is a determined sense of urgency that prompts the women to leave as soon as Sabbath ends.

But what did they do Saturday?

I always ponder what we don’t know about the “in-between” of this story. 

What did the disciples, Mary, and the women who loved Jesus do on that Saturday?  It’s a question that is marked with silence in all four of the gospel accounts; we truly don’t know.  But, I do know what it is to wait and to mourn. I know what it is for minutes to feel like days; for hours to feel like years.

What do we do with Saturday?

I imagine the women had prepared the spices for Jesus’ body before the crucifixion took place, knowing they wouldn’t be able to work or purchase them after his last breath. Their homes were already filled with aromatics reserved for the flesh of the deceased; they returned back to their homes: to jars filled with perfumed powders and oils, in disbelief of what they had just witnessed.

What do you do with Saturday?

I imagine the women took out the foods that they had been preparing for Sabbath and served themselves and the disciples. They may have ate in silence, urging Jesus’ mother to eat and keep up her strength. Maybe they recounted the stories of Jesus and the time they had spent with him, smiling as they retold the marvelous story of his birth.  Remembering him as a child. Quoting words of comfort and of challenge that he had once spoke to them.

I don’t know what to do with Saturday. 

Sunday is coming. I imagine we as Christians are ready for Saturday to be over. To run to the empty tomb and declare what we already know and what those women saw for the first time.  

But today is Saturday.

We, who know the story of Jesus’ marvelous resurrection, get to live in the promise of Sunday. 

But, many among us, live in the Saturday. In the waiting, in the loss of hope, the fear of death, the terror of the grave.  

When we leave Saturday, Friends, let’s bring others into Sunday with us.

- Emily Thien