The Silence of Saturday (by Cathe Laurie)
Early on Saturday morning, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and found that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance. She ran and found Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved. She said, “They have taken the Lord’s body out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” —John 20:1–2 NLT
Over this weekend, we experience the joy of Easter but also the in-between sadness of Holy Saturday. It marks the moment after the heartbreak of the Crucifixion and the promised ultimate dawn of a new Resurrection day.
It’s the kind of day we sometimes call the “already . . . but not yet”—the in-between when hope is shattered, and you are dangling by the thin thread of hope for a brighter future.
This year, Christopher’s birthday comes the day after Easter. In Earth time, we would be celebrating his 49th birthday, but all I had were 33 years with him.
There I was, looking at his grave, remembering how happy and bright the future was 16 years ago. The night we celebrated Christopher’s 33rd birthday we went to Fleming’s Steakhouse.
As we waited for our appetizers to arrive, he said he had a surprise for us. He and Brittany looked at each other, grinning ear to ear. We guessed immediately.
Our cheers echoed through the space: “Are you having another baby?! That is the best news ever! What a great birthday celebration!”
Christopher’s life was taken suddenly on July 24, 2008—just three months after that joyous April Fools’ Day. He never saw the birth of his second daughter named Lucy Christopher, and what followed for us were months and months of tears.
I don’t ask, “Why?” anymore because I never received an answer . . . But I do still ask the Lord, “What are you doing in this in-between?”
The things that anchored me were shaken when Christopher died. Everything was strange. I felt concussed, and for days I kept shaking my head as if to wake myself from a dream. Our future looked so scary.
Christopher was gone, and it felt like God was silent. The quiet was unbearable.
The Wait of Holy Saturday
I imagine that’s how Mary Magdalene must have felt that Saturday after the crucifixion of her Lord. It appeared to her that Jesus was defeated. His work—what she could see—was done. He was gone, and the world was silent as His body laid in the tomb.
But so much was happening she could not see . . . at least, not yet. She and the others had to spend that Saturday waiting in the quiet.
We are in the quiet. Maybe you’re feeling it, too. You may not have a vision for tomorrow, but for today, you must patiently wait in the in-between.
Maybe you have lost a family member. Maybe you have cancer. Maybe you are going through a divorce. Maybe you’ve lost your job. Maybe you are fighting worries and anxiety.
Friday has happened, but Sunday is coming. In this difficult time in the silence of Saturday, rest in the Lord and His promises. You don’t have to understand it all. But I assure you—if your faith is genuinely in Jesus, His work is being done in you. You are being transformed into beauty beyond imagining, into the new life He has waiting for you.
Take heart, my friend . . . your Easter morning is coming. He is with you, and you are not alone. His promises are true, and He will see them through.
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