The writers of the Gospels don’t spend ink telling us how they felt on Saturday. It was the Sabbath and nothing could be done, the broken believers retired to their places of refuge and spent the day in grief and despair. Waiting. Waiting for the next day, waiting for the next breath, waiting for a sign to tell them what to do. Tears must have fallen in floods. The continual cycles of mutually shared grief and comfort must have moved repeatedly through the small company like storm clouds on a windy day.
Then the questions came. Where would they go? What would they do? Who would they be. As Peter had asked after proclaiming His faith in Jesus as the Christ, the Son of the Living God, Where else could they go? They believed Jesus carried the words of life, He was the Word of Life. It had been three years since they left everything to follow Him, jobs, families, homes…everything and now……now? Jesus had asked on the cross, “Eli, Eli lama sabachthani?” My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? The Eleven and all the believers with them must have felt that very question right to there bones.
We often find ourselves in the same place. We invest so much of our lives in things that are passing or imperfect or both, and when they pass away or let us down we are at a loss. A man pursues a career, he works at it his whole life and then one day, the economy falls to pieces or the company downsizes or he get’s crossed up with the wrong manager and hey, presto, it’s gone. A woman pours herself into a relationship, a marriage, a friendship. Years she works to establish the bonds of love and mutual respect. She places her entire heart into the matter and then one day, out of the deep blue, she is betrayed, she loses everything she worked so hard to create. Friends hurt us. People leave us. There are lies and disappointments and ultimately, even death the great divider of our lives. And we lose.
We may scream. We may ‘rage against the dying’ or our hopes. We may curl up into a ball and huddle in a corner. We may run away from everything as far and as fast as we can. But ultimately, when the reaction stops, the waiting begins. We wait. In despair and silence, usually, a very few of us take on the faithful demeanor of one who waits in peace.
Waiting. But now, for us, because of the long wait from Christ’s death on Friday night to His beautiful Resurrection on Sunday Morning, we don’t have to wait in vain. Hope was born on Easter Morning, making it possible for hope to be borne in you ever since. Tomorrow, o best beloved, tomorrow. Weeping only last for the night, but joy comes in the morning!