It’s Easter Sunday and I am surely thankful for the Resurrection.
But I’m thinking about Saturday. It takes a lot faith to get through Saturday.
On the Friday that Jesus was murdered there were probably lots of cheers, jeers and tears. The Pharisees cheered, the Roman guards mocked and Mary cried. I’m sure that the devil danced in victory.
And his victory party lasted into Saturday. He finally defeated God. But Saturday had to be an incredibly painful and confusing day for Jesus’ followers. They were likely still paralyzed with shock. A bomb had exploded their lives, hopes and plans and on Saturday the dust was settling and I’m sure that depression and hopelessness was moving in.
They didn’t understand anything about Sunday.
We all face Saturdays in our lives. We wake up to the wreckage of our mistakes, losses, tragedies and disappointments. Sometimes we think it’s the end of something, maybe our lives. We can’t imagine getting through it or over it. We can’t see a Sunday.
I’ve been there.
I learned through it that if I don’t quit on God, He won’t quit on me. I slowly pushed against the darkness remaining faithful to Him and my commitments. I guess to be honest, some days I didn’t push. The darkness consumed me. I felt lost, heavy and hopeless. It wasn’t a perfect walk of faith. Sometimes it was sloppy. But I didn’t lash out, react or respond to these feelings. Many times I did end the day as soon as possible by going to bed, but I knew that God had blessed me with too much to lose by giving up.
It was a long Saturday, but the break of day came and my hopes arose with the tender mercies of Sunday morning. The broken places healed with time by God’s grace.
Because He never quit on me.