The Day No One Remembers...

So today is Saturday. Like you didn't know.

Saturdays are usually great for me. Like now, I have a cup of coffee, I'm hanging around in my PJ's, and just enjoying relaxing. But today is not any Saturday. It's the Saturday everyone forgets.

What I mean is this. Yesterday was Good Friday, where we traditionally assign Christ's crucifixion. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, where we traditionally assign the Resurrection. both are amazing foundational truths that we don't want to forget, and so we take time each year to recall the power and the significance of the Cross and the Empty Tomb. At our church, we remember the death, burial and resurrection of Christ every Sunday as we share in the communion of the Lord's Supper.

I could maybe pause here and talk about how the amazing power of the Cross and the Empty Tomb has become commonplace because we've grown up with it our whole lives, or whatever, but that's another blog post.

No, my thoughts are on today, because no one remembers today, really. We hit the Cross, and then skip straight to the Empty Tomb, and we miss the richness of The Silence.

A little more than 2000 years ago on a Saturday like this, there was utter Silence. Christ is dead. The apostles (just disciples then) are scattered and in hiding. The ride is over. The entry into Jerusalem just six days ago, where everyone was dancing and shouting, "Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord!" is like a distant memory. There is no celebration today. No party. No assurance, no relief.

Instead there is this real fear. And gnawing doubt. And unanswered questions.

"Was I wrong to trust in Jesus of Nazareth? Did I actually make the worst decision of my life when I decided to follow Him 3 and a half years ago? Should I have stayed mending my nets, or in my tax collector's booth?"

"Is this going to cost me my life? I thought we were going to rule everything! I thought we were establishing a new Kingdom of Heaven! How could this be part of God's plan? I just don't understand!"

"Did you hear about Judas? He was the betrayer! And now he's dead! Maybe he sold us all out? What are we going to do if they come for us?"

"What am I going to do? The last words He ever heard me say were 'I'm not with Him! I don't even know Him!' How am I supposed to take that back? How can I apologize now? How can I receive forgiveness from a dead man? How am I supposed to live with myself now?"

"What are we supposed to do now? He said He was the Way! Did He not have the Words of Life? Was He really not the Messiah we all thought He was?"

"Was I wrong to trust in Jesus of Nazareth?"

Nope, we totally miss today. We just move straight to the power of angels rolling stones back, Roman Praetorians fainting, fingers in nail holes, and hands in spear-wounds. We like it better that way.

I know in my heart why we forget this day so often. Because we don't like fear. We don't want to have doubts or unanswered questions. My life would be a whole lot simpler if I could read it like the New Testament and see the whole thing laid out, beginning to end, and KNOW for SURE that all the risks, all the suffering, all the sacrifice of submitting to God with my life was worth it.


But I don't.

And it's the not knowing that makes this life both difficult to follow at sometimes, and incomparably rich at other times.

If I miss Silent Saturday, then I can't really appreciate Easter Sunday. If we don't allow ourselves to appreciate the depth and the richness of not knowing everything, of knowing the principles but not always seeing the result, then we can't appreciate the answer. If we can't allow ourselves to savor the richness of doubt, of wondering "is this worth it, or did I make the biggest mistake of my life?" then we miss the incredible joy of the resurrection, the proclamation that Jesus and the Father both make when He rises; "I AM worthy of your trust. I AM faithful. I AM."

Because most of our life occurs in the Saturday of Silence.

We know what has happened. He rose, He appeared to the disciples, He spent a little more than a month with them, and then one day on top of another hill, He went away, ascending to Heaven.

We also have an idea how this all is supposed to end. He made another promise. That He was going away, but He was coming back, and He was going to get us to come be with Him forever. That the same thing God did with Him, overcoming death, He was going to do in you and me, day by day, bringing the death of our sin into the new life of Grace.

But we live in the space in between those two things. And here, lots of times, there is Silence. And where there is Silence, sometimes there is Fear, and Doubt, and Questions.

I guess for most of my life growing up I thought that having Faith meant that I should blatantly ignore fear, doubt, or questions. When they gnawed or nagged, I was supposed to push them down, ignore them, or scold myself for not having more Faith, and try to "believe harder". I guess I missed the gist of what the writer of Hebrews really meant when he (or she) :0) wrote

"now faith is having assurance in things that we can only hope for, and bringing certainty to things we are unable to see now."

Reassurance doesn't come in and blast doubt, or ignore questions. Reassurance comes alongside the one needing it and gives support and stability. It acknowledges the doubt and the fear, it doesn't try to hide it, and it doesn't chastise the one who doubts or fears or questions. Instead, it alleviates the need for those things by replacing them with assurance, lending certainty in uncertain times. In short, it works through Saturday to see that Sunday will indeed come to pass.
That is the Hope we posses. And that is why I wish you a blessed Easter, but also a rich Silent Saturday. May you know the richness of the Silence, that you may receive the fullness of the Joy of the Answer.