How much of my life is like Holy Saturday was for the apostles? Their hopes had been smashed, and the Lord they loved had been horribly murdered. They had put everything into following him and now he was gone. Did they have any residual hope? Perhaps they did, for Jesus had tried to prepare them by telling them he would die and rise. They had even seen Jesus raise people from the dead. But revolutionary ideas, ideas beyond anything conceived possible, are hard to grasp. So it was with them, I think.
They waited in sorrow and fear where they had last eaten with him. I picture that day as one where everything was still. Creation held its breath. The birds didn’t sing. The breeze was still. The light was preternaturally bright. Dogs didn’t bark. Voices were hushed, for everyone knew something profound had happened, but didn’t know what came next.
I have had moments like that in my life, where something dreadful had happened, and I didn’t know what would come next. My life was in sudden upheaval, I was in pain, and I couldn’t see a way forward. Indeed, I couldn’t predict or even imagine what could come next. A stone had been rolled across the tomb of my hopes, and I was incapable of moving it. All I could do was wait until God stepped in.
These times of waiting without knowing require faith in the goodness of God—that He has a reason for this THING, whatever it is. We can rail against Him, beg, plead, feel great anguish, but the THING remains until He steps in. Sometimes it never goes away in this life.
Two things bring peace. Acceptance and surrender. Your will be done. The Lord gives and He takes away. I do not understand, but I do not need to. All I need to do is trust in His goodness, and surrender. He offers me a chance to have faith, and be at peace until He acts again, and resurrects my life.