Holy Saturday: What Now?

Imagine that you are a disciple the day after Jesus has died and been buried. It is the Sabbath, so you are resting and all you can do is think about the last two days. Your leader has been tried before the high priests and the governor of the Roman occupying force and been sentenced to death. The Son of God is lying in a tomb. It doesn't seem fair. Through the grief and the tears, can you believe that he died as a sacrifice for the sin of the whole world? Can you even begin to believe in a Resurrection?

None of the four Gospels tell us what the disciples did on Saturday, only that "they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment" (Luke 23:56) . We don't know what they talked about, or if the group was plunged into silence as they contemplated going on without their beloved Teacher.

I imagine I would've been terrified, sad, and angry at the same time. I probably would've been inconsolable. What a traumatic experience it must have been to see your friend die an agonizing death on a cross. The curtain of the temple had torn and an earthquake had rocked Jerusalem. What did it mean? There was no one to interpret the signs and Scriptures for them anymore. It must have felt hopeless.

We don't talk about Holy Saturday very much. We spend a lot of time on the build up to Jesus' arrest and on his death on Friday. Then, we skip straight to Sunday morning, when the three women came to bring spices to the tomb, only to find the stone rolled away and the tomb empty.

But today, Jesus has not risen from the dead. The tomb is sealed and Jesus' body is inside. I often find myself in this Holy Saturday mindset. It doesn't always feel like Jesus came back from the dead, even though I know he did. Sometimes, it feels like he's dead and I'm left to carry on alone. And yet, even when it seems like the story is over, we know that there's more. Death is not the end, but more of a beginning.

Tomorrow, we'll go to the tomb only to discover that someone has rolled away the stone right under the very noses of the Roman guards and the body of the Lord is gone. Logically, the tomb should be sealed, but it won't be, because the grave is no obstacle for God.

Today, it is dark and we must dwell on the sacrifice Jesus willingly made on our behalf. He took our punishment and today, he is dead. We should never forget how important that is. Before he rises, he makes the ultimate sacrifice out of selfless love for us — the people who least deserve it. That, in itself, is incredible.

Today, the tomb is sealed. Tomorrow, everything changes.

Grace to a Sinner

On that dark day at Calvary, Jesus was crucified alongside two criminals. In Luke 23:39-43, one of the criminals is indignant. He yells at Jesus, saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!"

The second criminal rebukes him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? ⁴¹And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong."

There are times when I wonder who I am in this account. Am I the bitter criminal hurling insults at God? Or am I the man who knows that I am rightfully condemned and have no one to blame but myself?

I will admit there are times when I am bitter. I get angry at God. I feel abandoned when things don't go right; when it feels the entire universe is conspiring against me. And so I scream to the heavens and demand an answer and compensation. I feel that God owes me something and is denying me the good that I deserve. After all, how many tests am I supposed to silently suffer through before I can ask when it will all pay off?

It's about this time that I remember how much I am like the second man on the cross that day. When I look at my life, I am often ashamed of what I see. I have the capacity to be a very un-Christian person. I am judgmental, lazy, cruel, selfish, hateful, lustful, and gluttonous. I don't consider others before myself. I put earthly gains over spiritual pursuits. I'm not just a sinner, I'm a repeat offender — taking forgiveness and then slipping back into my old ways. There is evidence to put me away. I'm guilty and I know it.

The criminal understands that he belongs up on a cross, dying slowly and painfully for his crimes. He takes a chance in what he says next: "Jesus, remember me when you come into^* your kingdom."

Surprisingly, Jesus' words to this man are not words of judgment or condemnation. He doesn't call down fire and brimstone, but instead offers words of comfort and grace. "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

We don't know what this man did to deserve his punishment. Jesus doesn't ask and it really doesn't matter whether he participated in a rebellion against the Empire or committed a murder — because he's us. Yet, Jesus is merciful to everyone, even those of us who count ourselves among the worst of sinners. That grace is something I don't fully understand. My sentence is just, yet Jesus says that I will be with him in Paradise.

I don't feel like I deserve it. I feel terrible, like I'm taking advantage of the system. But grace is a free gift, given to sinners like me. It's a promise that even when the world appears to be crashing down — when I'm condemned — God is with me, suffering with me. Even when I curse his name, he loves me. His grace truly is amazing.