The air of Easter Saturday is heavy with the fog of doubt and confusion, grief and loss. Yet there is a tinge of the aroma of hope.
Just about everything we know about Easter Saturday can be summed up in one word: nothing. The silence is deafening. I can only imagine what's running through the individual and collective minds of the followers (and deserters) of Jesus.
"I guess we bet on the wrong horse here, didn't we?"
"All along I've been wrong. How can that be?"
"I thought He was someone else, someone special."
"What in the world am I going to do now?"
It strikes me that most of those thoughts and ponderings that I'm imagining have at their core how I am responding to what's happened. That's part of the problem I guess. Easter Saturday is not about how I'm feeling about what happened on Friday. It's about how God is at work even in the death, the grief, the loss, the devastation, the doubt, the silence.
There's a lot of patience required in those moments. And confidence that the One who promised is Faithful to see it through (1 Thes. 5.24).
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