The Silence of Saturday

We're right in the middle of Easter weekend. I've heard friends say they enjoy the Good Friday service as much as Easter Sunday and obviously, Sunday is what the whole thing is about... but honestly, I enjoy Easter Saturday the most. Maybe that seems random -- it's the day of nothing, no special events, no big hurrah.

Exactly.

Easter Saturday is the most down-to-earth, realistic view of what it's like to live as a Christian. I love it because I can identify with it 364 other days of the year. Easter Sunday is the high point and causes us to celebrate the good things, and Good Friday's deep sorrow walks with us in the low points. But Saturday is a whole lot of "Now what?" It's really quiet. And it's up to us to handle it. The way we handle silence and uncertainty reveals a lot about our beliefs and our character. (Just look at how our world is handling the COVID-19 crisis. Uncertainty is revealing a LOT of both character flaws and personal resilience, depending on who you're watching.)

I want you to put yourself in the shoes of those who witnessed the crucifixion or who were following Jesus' ministry up until that point. For three years, Jesus had been traveling and teaching, turning the spiritual customs and religious practices completely on their heads under the claim that He was the Messiah. He asked people to forsake what they knew and follow Him -- which was costly, especially for His disciples. And even though He predicted His death and prepared His followers for the crucifixion, they had a hard time wrapping their minds around the Messiah dying. How can the one who is supposed to bring life to all who believe DIE!? It won't work! Some did not believe He was, others believed but wouldn't accept His death sentence. Peter tried to 'correct' Jesus at one point saying that if a group of people was going to hurt Him, He would be foolish to go. Jesus had some words with Peter (this was a common occurrence), and then rebuked Him. He HAD to go.

The faithful few who went with Him knew He had to die, saw the horror of His betrayal and death, and still did not leave His side even after He had died. Joseph of Arimethea, Mary and Martha, and Jesus' disciples all had to face the reality of Easter Saturday. The straight facts were: He came, we are convinced He is the Messiah, the Messiah had to die to glorify God, and He will come again. In that moment, all they knew was that Jesus was dead. This is the point in most major superhero movies when we think the writers may actually have killed off the good guy and we begin to mount our complaints of how terrible a plot line that was. What a waste of emotional energy (and $12)!

I have to wonder how they spent that Saturday.
Were they confident?
Or were they guarded... hopeful, but realistic: we saw the evidence of death.
Were they tempted to despair?
Were they angry?
Were they some combination of all of those things? I would be...

When I lived in the Philippines, Easter weekend is one of the only times you can actually drive the speed limit in the metro Manila area. On a normal day, the roads are so filled with cars, there's really no such thing as a lane or "traffic flow." But from about midnight on Good Friday until late Sunday night, the roads are eerily empty. This is because the superstition abounds that "if your savior is on the cross or dead, you best not tempt fate and leave your house." People stay home because the only One who could save you is dead, buried, not able to rescue you. This mindset is entirely fear-based. I don't think this is how Jesus' followers lived their Easter Saturday... but I'd bet a few people who knew about Him did.

I would also presume there would be those followers who saw His crucifixion or heard that He died and then waited only a little while before giving up the idea that He ever really was the Messiah. When life gets tough, some of us are fighters, but some of us take flight -- we ditch whatever hurts because we can't bear to hold on anymore. I bet a few people's hope died that day. Even now, I've known more than a few people who claimed to follow Jesus, but the moment life got difficult or their resources of Christian cliches ran low and they couldn't explain their suffering, they forsook the whole idea of faith in Christ. If all we want is for Jesus to make our lives easier, He will let you down. He didn't die to make us happy, comfortable, safe, or rich. He died to give us access to the One who makes us whole, and it's only in the wholeness of knowing God that we will find deep joy EVEN AS we suffer in this life. He died so that we could know life to the full both here and eternally with God. His death was entirely necessary, but it was hard to watch.

I would guess more than a few of those who persecuted Jesus and hated Him from the start felt a little bit of victory or dominance when they heard the "king of the Jews" was dead and buried. Many in our world today are still making equally as harsh claims about Christians. "Religion is just a crutch for weak people" is a common refrain of the faith-less. Staunch atheists love to debate facts and science against elements of faith and while their intellectual fervor is admirable, I've often wondered why they feel so compelled to fight against the idea of a God if they genuinely don't believe there is one. It seems the equivalent of one child continually and angrily arguing with a child who has an imaginary friend. Why the anger? Why the intensity? If it's actually imaginary, it is not a threat, it's just an annoyance... So why do atheists act like Christianity is such a threat? Why can't they dismiss a mere annoyance? Ponder that...

But we knew His disciples were holding out "hope against hope." They'd given up everything to be with Jesus. And while most would admit, odds weren't looking good in that moment, their hearts and spirits knew what was true: this is not the end. Death does not get the final word for the source of Life. Darkness cannot absorb the Light, but all it takes is one spark of light to expose the impermanence of darkness.  They had a long-range perspective that most of us lack without the Spirit of God living inside us. So they waited. They endured the uncertainty and the deafening silence of Saturday. What other choice was their but to forsake Christ or wait?

When I was taking Driver's Ed, our behind-the-wheel instructor was relentless about keeping our eyes up. What he meant was that we would be more aware of the larger picture if we chose to focus farther ahead of us, like near the horizon, instead of watching all the little yellow rectangles buzz by right in front of us. The other day I was reminded of this while driving home. It began to rain a little and typically, I'm quick to activate the wipers. But that day, my mind was chewing on something and my eyes were fixed way ahead. With little traffic on the road, I had few distractions, so it was a few miles before I even realized how hard it was raining and that my field of vision was less-than-ideal. I put on the wipers and could see the details better, but noticed that it was harder for me to focus on the horizon once I had the clarity from the wipers. The motion of the wipers distracted me from the anchored horizon. For the remainder of my drive, I had to consciously choose to fix my vision PAST the immediate and to trust the horizon.

I think the same is true physically and spiritually for us today. In the same way that the disciples had to face the silent rainstorm of Saturday, we are facing the very distracting storm and windshield wiper combination of COVID-19 and the fallout economically from it. Just like that storm, we were so busy with other things that it kind of snuck up on us and now that a few large sweeping statistics have swiped across our field of vision, we have to choose where we will refocus our vision: on the next raindrop to fall, on the wiper blades of news feeds that range from one extreme to the other in order to "clear the air" or on the unchanging horizon.

This year, more than ever, I choose the horizon. Not because the rain isn't real, not because the wipers are useless (we do need facts and we need to be able to see), but because I refuse to tie my hope and sense of security to something that is here today and gone tomorrow. This rainstorm is not the end. COVID-19 will not have the final say. The silence of Easter Saturday is only revealing our hearts. If you're tempted to turn from Jesus' tomb and go home to wait for the next sensational thing, don't. Stay. Hold out hope just a little longer, friend. He's coming back. Not just for Easter Sunday, but someday Jesus Himself will return to bring us to Heaven forever. Easter is the reminder that we have a retirement plan so much better than any 401(k) ever could offer. But it comes with a few rainstorms, a few silent nights, a few days of wondering if you've invested in the right market. If you've invested your heart into the level-set truth of Christ's death and resurrection, your horizon is fixed and your hope is secure. This is just a passing shower. We will not be shaken.

So sit in the silence and allow it to reveal your heart. Are you fearful? If so, of what? Are you angry? Why? Are you disappointed? It's okay -- spill it out, God can handle it. We prepare ourselves for Sunday better when we fully participate in the Silent Saturdays.
This is not the end. It's only the beginning.