Silent Saturday

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me. (John 14: 1 NIV)

For the second day, heavy clouds hovered over the lake. Silence just before dawn. Somberness after yesterday’s storm.

            Across the lake, a strip of light broke through the gray at the tree line. Gradually, the sun lightened the dark clouds to a light gray. Then a ring of blue defied the dreariness. 

            Though still bleak, the morning awoke with singing birds. An eagle flapped his impressive wings as he returned to his nest. 

            During yesterday’s pounding rain and gales, I searched for the new eagle’s nest. But in the storm, I couldn’t see it. I hoped it because of the rain. 

            In the calmness of Saturday morning, I heard the screeches of eagles. They were spared and the nest preserved. My wait was only overnight to find out their nest survived.

            After Jesus’ crucifixion, his disciples waited too. They tried to process his death.  Grief consumed them. They felt abandoned and lost. On silent Saturday, they wondered what to do. In their distress, they lost hope.

            The disciples had a longer time of despair and heartache. On Saturday after Good Friday, God was silent. A time of waiting and contemplation for His followers. They didn’t anticipate the celebration of Sunday. 

            Even though we know about the joy of Easter, we need to remember the times of abandonment, sadness and despair they endured. We also experience similar experiences but we are not alone. Silence doesn’t mean absence. 

Father, even in times of pain, you have not left us. Amen 

Remembering Good Friday

Dividing up his clothes, they threw dice for them. The people stood there staring at Jesus and the ringleaders made faces, taunting. “He saved others. Let’s see him save himself: The Messiah of God-ha!”  (Luke 23: 34-35 The Message)

A gray shroud of clouds blocked the sun. Wind whipped the trees. Waves churned the lake. The dismal morning expressed the day perfectly. 

            As I read the Gospel accounts of Good Friday, I imagined what it must have been like in Jerusalem that day over two thousand years ago.

            A beaten, bloody Jesus hung on a rough-hewn cross. Jeering spectators watched the execution of Him between two other men. 

            Romans placed death crosses along thoroughfares to deter crime and rebellion. To remind occupied residents of Roman control. 

            Soldiers taunted Jesus. Laughed at the sign King of the Jews near his head. They gambled for his clothes. Their laugher and scoffing added to the indignity. Satisfied Jewish leaders looked on from afar. 

            Multitudes of people, in the city for Passover, streamed past the dying men. Some stopped to watch. Perhaps they had become accustomed to the horrible killings. 

            Confusion reigned too. How could that happen to the one who taught and healed? Jesus preached to thousands. Healed and comforted countless people when they were sick, lonely, and dejected. Where were they? Though He saved them, they deserted Him. 

            Even most of those closest to Him hid. Pretended they never knew Him.  

            But a small group of mourners stood at the foot of the cross. Horrified as they watched the spectacle.  In disbelief, they saw life slowly drain from his body.  

            Hour after hour, the grieving followers remained. They ignored the callous soldiers and heartless Jewish leaders. Their love for Jesus kept them close even though they didn’t understand what was happening. Discouragement and heartache consumed them but love kept them at His feet. 

            My gloomy lake scene fit the sorrow of the day Jesus died.  It reminded me the despair of Good Friday came before the joy of Easter. 

Lord, as we prepare for the celebration of Easter, take us to the agony of the cross. Amen