When we think of Easter, we think of the first day, Friday, when He died. We think of the third day, Sunday, when He rose to live again. But stop a moment on that Saturday, the day in between the death and resurrection, one of the darkest days in history. The one black day when people thought—God is dead. Death, the mighty conqueror.
The day before, One who knew no sin walked the way of the suffering, cloaked with the sin of the world. He was innocent, yet He voluntarily took on the guilt of the lost and the worst disease of humanity—sin. White lies. Stealing. Murder. Idol worship. Child pornography. Abuse. The list runs as far as the eyes can see, draped upon His shoulders. The most vile and disgusting list ever made…yet another list runs beside it; a list of names. It is a list of those who would enter into paradise, and spend eternity by His side. My name. Your name. He gives Himself up for that list, and He thinks of me as He walks that long path.
Yet we do not know about that list yet. At this point, on that dark Saturday, the sun has not risen and so the night is still dark. An entire day. A whole day where the world held its breath. Did the angels know yet what was in store? Or did they still grieve? Did the demons dance in the street, thinking the battle was won? Did they still only read half the verse—His heel will be bruised—but forget the other half? Where was the crushing blow? Evil felt it had conquered, and angels watched in anticipation for the next part of the ultimate story in history.
The darkness of living in that Saturday can be so very black. It can be so thick and so heavy, able to weigh you down until it suffocates, crushes. Sometimes, it can feel so long and stretched out that you forget what the light looks like. How did it feel to be happy, joyful, hopeful? The disciples and other followers of Jesus must have felt that utter empty feeling of being alone, abandoned.
But fast forward to sunrise. The joy, the excitement—promises fulfilled, angels worshipping and whooping, demons screeching and checking their watches—their time will be up soon. This was a twist no one saw coming. The ultimate twist, the ultimate climactic moment in a story. Our story—human story. No one is a better Author—who would have thought the reaper’s scythe could be broken? Who could have seen coming the reversal of the finality that death brings? Not even Satan. Not even the angels. And definitely not the humans, who had been told the prophecy all along. Who would dare hope such a triumphant ending?
That was indeed a very dark, hopeless day. Yet in the darkest moments, only light can break through. On our black Saturdays, only Sunday can follow.
