Monday, April 9, 2012

Waiting for the Son to rise

Some thoughts I was having on the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday....

Holy Saturday. A day of reflecting on what happened and what will happen. A day of anticipation.

I can't help but think what that first Holy Saturday was like. I wonder what the disciples must have felt. They had just seen their very best friend and their Lord, brutally murdered before their very eyes. The shock and despair had to overwhelm them. They believed nothing could stop Him but He was laid dead in a tomb. He left them with a promise that He would rise and it was to this they had to be desperately clinging too. His promise. His Word.

I wonder if any of them faced doubt. Death looked like death. Death looked very final. They knew that they had targets on their backs. They were afraid, they were deathly scared so they hid in the Upper Room. They mourning, hiding....They had to wonder if the sun would ever shine again. I imagine that they didn't want to talk to each other much. Sifting through their thoughts, re-playing over and over their final conversation with Jesus. Looking for some hint of hope. I imagine them trying to fight off the guilt that laid so heavily on their hearts, because when Jesus faced death alone, they abandoned Him.  They ran. They hid for their own safety.

Where would they go from here? How did they approach that first day of waiting? I think maybe some were doubtful, some were afraid, but I bet they all had broken hearts. Maybe they wanted to full-heartily look towards Sunday and believe without a doubt that Jesus was coming. But maybe the questions hung too closely to see much else.

Can you imagine as they went to sleep that night before the most beautiful morning? They fell asleep with questions, despair hung close, but the sun rose in the morning; bringing with it hope. Bringing back their best friend.

The new day dawned, and the Savior was risen. 

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