The God Who Meets Us In The Middle - Day Four: Between Good Friday and Easter

“Hope begins in the dark.” — Anne Lamott

“It was the day of Preparation, and the sabbath was beginning.” — Luke 23:54

We know what happened on that Friday.

Jesus died.

We know what happened on Sunday.

The tomb was empty.

But what about Saturday?

We don't talk much about Saturday.

I mean, some traditions say Jesus went to Hades during that time and preached to the dead. 

It's called "the Harrowing of Hell" if you want to look it up. 

Honestly, that particular tradition is best left under the rug.  

Also, you're probably wondering why I am writing about Good Friday and Easter in October. 

I promise if you stick with me, it will all make sense. 

So, back to the whole idea of not talking that much about the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter.  

Maybe the reason we don't talk all that much about it is because nothing seems to happen.

Jesus has been buried.

The stone has been rolled into place.

The disciples are grieving.

The women are waiting.

No one knows Easter is coming.

That's important.

We know the ending.

They didn't.

For them, Saturday wasn't the day before resurrection.

It was simply the day after everything fell apart.

We've had Saturdays like that.

The diagnosis has come, but treatment hasn't started.

The relationship has ended, but healing hasn't begun.

The funeral is over, but we haven't learned how to live without the person we lost.

The job is gone, and we don't know what's next.

The old life has ended.

The new life hasn't appeared.

Saturday.

Something profoundly honest about Christianity is making room for a day like this.

Because sometimes nothing needs fixing.

Nothing to explain.

Nothing to celebrate yet.

There is simply grief.

And waiting.

And silence.

We are often tempted to rush ourselves—and other people—toward resurrection.

“Everything will work out.”

“God has a plan.”

“Something better is coming.”

Maybe.

But sometimes people don't need us to explain Sunday while they're still living through Saturday.

Sometimes they need someone willing to sit beside them in the dark.

Holy Saturday reminds us that God's silence does not mean God is finished.

That doesn't mean every painful situation gets wrapped up neatly.

Some losses remain losses.

Some wounds leave scars.

Resurrection doesn't undo Good Friday.

It declares that Good Friday does not get to write the ending.

So if you're living through a Saturday season, you don't have to manufacture hope.

You don't have to pretend everything is okay.

You can grieve.

You can wait.

You can sit quietly in the dark.

God is there too.

Sometimes faith is simply trusting that silence isn't the same as absence—and the story isn't over yet.

May it be so for you and for me, and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us all, now and forever. Amen. 

Prayer

God of Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Easter morning, stay with me in the places where I cannot yet see resurrection. Give me permission to grieve what has been lost and patience when nothing seems to be happening. When hope feels impossible, hold hope for me until I can hold it again. Amen.

Reflection Questions

1. Have you ever experienced a “Holy Saturday” season?
2. Why are we often uncomfortable simply sitting with grief or uncertainty?
3. Where in your life do you need to hear the words, “The story isn't over yet”?