Are You Stuck On Saturday?
Dena Johnson MartinDena Johnson is a former single mom to three amazing kids: Blake, Cole, and Cassie and wife to her high school friend, Roy. She strives to follow Christ each day and to lead her children to do the same. She delights in taking the every day experiences of life and turning them into biblical lessons for her children. Dena's daily prayer is simple: Lord, my life is yours. Live through me. Love through me. Parent through me. Let me decrease that you might increase. Dena is the founder of Dena Johnson Ministries, a non-profit organization dedicated to helping people find beauty through the brokenness of this life. Her heart's desire is to use her own pain to point others to the power of God who redeems every hurt, every pain. You can contact Dena at Dena@denajohnson.com. You can also find her blog at Dena Johnson Ministries.
- 2016 Mar 26
It’s Saturday. The day between the crucifixion and the resurrection.
I woke up with the disciples on my mind, wondering what they must have been thinking, feeling, experiencing. They had watched their friend, their teacher—the one they believed to be their Savior—hang on a cross and breathe His last breath.
Dying with that last breath must have been their dreams, their hopes, their expectations. Everything they had believed was now dead, gone. And they had all scattered (Matthew 26:56). How quickly their faith died with Him.
And Peter. Bold, outspoken Peter. Zealous Peter who had cut off the ear of the high priest’s slave. Peter who vowed to never leave Jesus, to stay with Him to the end. The same Peter who a short time later denied ever knowing Jesus. Where was he on Saturday? Was he hiding in shame, humiliation? Was he alone, sulking? Was he reflecting on all of these events, his own actions? Was he wondering how he could have been so gullible as to believe that lunatic known as Jesus? Was he simply trying to make sense of everything that had happened?
As I walked outside early this morning, it was cloudy, dark, overcast. The silence was deafening. Much like what I imagine the disciples must have felt on Saturday. They had walked the streets of Jerusalem with Jesus for three years, sacrificing everything to follow Him. And now He was gone, dead, buried.
No more quiet dinners with Jesus sharing truths they longed to hear. No more stories with deeper hidden meanings. No more fellowship.
Only silence. Ear-piercing silence. Their Savior, their hope, buried in a tomb.
A heavy darkness must have engulfed them. The promises failed. Everything they had gambled now lost. Wondering how they could have been so foolish to give up everything for a man.
They didn’t know Sunday was coming.
You see, we have the benefit of knowing the rest of the story, the glorious resurrection. We know that Christ didn’t stay in that tomb. We know that He is risen!
The disciples didn’t know. They were locked in Saturday, wondering what was to come.
But I have to wonder, how many of us today are stuck on Saturday. We live our lives in the darkness, the gloom, of Saturday. We hear the deafening silence and wonder where our Savior has gone. Our lives crash. Our promises die. We feel as if He has deceived us, deserted us. We scatter at the slightest hint of failure from our Father. We deny Him by living life our way when things don’t go the way we think they should.
I’ve been there. I was there when my marriage failed. I ran away, denied Him. In some small way, I feel like I’m there again now. All of these promises He has made me. The days drag on without me seeing His promises fulfilled. Some days, darkness and sadness engulf me. Some days, I feel as if I’ve lost those sweet whispers, that intimacy that I once enjoyed.
Some days He is overwhelmingly silent.
And yet we, as believers, must cling to the hope that Sunday is coming. We have the benefit of knowing the rest of the story, that God kept His promises—He fulfilled every word He ever spoke. We must remember that our faith is built on the resurrection—the truth that nothing can stop God, not even the chains of death. We must cling to the hope the resurrection gives us—that God can restore every loss, every pain.
We must cling to the promise that there’s more to the story.
No matter where we are. No matter how much pain and loss we have experienced. No matter how silent He may seem. No matter how dark the days have become.
He’s not finished.
As long as we have breath in our lungs and our heart is still beating, God is working. You may not see it. You may not hear Him. But He is at work, arranging circumstances to fulfill His promises and His purposes, in your life and in mine.
One day soon, the earth will shake. The mountains will tremble. The stone will roll away. The darkness will give way to light, glorious light that can only come from our Savior. We will see the rest of the story unfold.
“Come, let us return to the Lord. He has torn us to pieces; now he will heal us. He has injured us; now he will bandage our wounds. In just a short time he will restore us, so that we may live in his presence. Oh, that we might know the Lord! Let us press on to know him. He will respond to us as surely as the arrival of dawn or the coming of rains in early spring.” Hosea 6:1-3