I was thinking today about what it must have been like on Sabbath Saturday after Good Friday.
Yesterday, Jesus was killed.
Have you ever a very dramatic event occur in your life?
Remember the day immediately following?
You wake up, if you slept at all, and initially you are not ready to embrace reality.
You gravitate towards doing that which you normally would do.
And then it hits you.
Everything is different now.
The Sabbath would have been a day of rest.
Have you ever been anxious about something?
What do you do?
Anything to get your mind off of the one thing you are anxious about.
But in this case, there was nothing permissible to do.
Nothing left to do but stew.
Yesterday won't go away.
Tomorrow seems so far off.
Good Friday is memorable for its horror.
Easter Sunday is memorable for its hope.
But that Saturday in-between is largely forgotten.
It must have been marked with the sinking feeling of life without Jesus.
This day between seeing Him die and seeing Him alive again must have been mostly focused on the fact that He was not there with them.
Scripture records that Jesus' predictions of death and resurrection were not understood until afterwards when the Holy Spirit enlightened them.
That means Saturday was a extraordinarily difficult day.
The events that define us are often marked by powerful moments for better or for worse, but each of them is also yoked closely to that feeling of the morning after each when life goes on, but life is changed.
Today is spent reflecting upon the bruised heel.
Tomorrow will reveal the crushed skull.
And in the middle is this rest.
Nothing to do.
It's fitting that in-between you did nothing.
You didn't do anything Friday or Sunday either.