Mary Magdalene woke that Saturday morning confused. Jesus was gone. How could the one who saved her from her demons not be able to save himself? How could the religious rulers who had been no help to her have felt so threatened by him that they manipulated Pilate into having him killed? It was the Sabbath so she couldn’t even go and tend to his body properly, which had been hastily thrown into a borrowed tomb. Anointing it would have to be tomorrow’s job. Today stretched before her like endless torment.
And yet, she was still free of her demons. Jesus had still changed her life. She knew she wasn’t going back. And so today was a strange halfway place for her. Free and yet fearful. Perhaps a glimmer of hope struggling to break through the despair. The disciples male and female were scattered and dare not meet together. There was a fear that they might be rounded up next. And yet, a small flicker in her told her that just maybe this was not the end. After all didn’t Jesus say something about the third day before his death?
Peter didn’t sleep that night. His pillow was soaked with tears. He was full of shame. He had been called the rock by Jesus, and yet he felt like a pebble being tossed around by the stormy sea. How could he have betrayed Jesus when hours before he had brazenly promised to die with him? He should have been hanging on a cross next to Jesus not shamefully saying he never knew him. How could he have failed the test. Jesus had said Satan wanted to sift him, and spoke of him turning back. But he couldn’t see a way back that Saturday. Jesus was gone. If he was still here, perhaps he could have spoken to him. Maybe Jesus would have forgiven him. But he was dead. He was buried. How could he ever shake this sense of failure and guilt? How could he ever find a way back to how things used to be now the center of his life was lifeless? What did Jesus mean when he said that he would rise again? Could it be that this wasn’t the end? But did it matter as even if something good would come out of this tragedy, how could he have any part in it as the one who had failed Jesus despite everything he had seen and heard these last three years? He had heard that Judas had killed himself, and that Saturday he wondered if perhaps he should do the same.
Matthew had been studying the Old Testament Scriptures that morning as he had every morning for the last three years. He was sure that the story of Jesus life and death still needed to be written down. And his account must show how Jesus had fulfilled the prophecies of Messiah. He had begun to understand in his recent studies that the idea of the messiah as a military figure to drive out the Romans was not what Jesus or the prophecies had planned. But this idea of the Suffering Servant, of the one who ewas crushed for our sins was hard to grasp. And what of the hints that death was not the end of the story? That was much harder to grab ahold of. And whilst Matthew wasn’t one for weeping, he was of course sad that his friend, the first person who had ever accepted and loved him had gone. Could this really be the end?
Easter Saturday in some way reflects some of our experiences today. We often feel despair. Jesus sometimes feels distant. Suffering casts us down, whether our own or of those we love. And yet we need not be hopeless as we live THIS side of Easter Sunday. This side of Jesus demonstrating to the Universe that he had conquered the grave. That there IS a hope that is there no matter how low we feel. It is ok to struggle, but we can turn to Jesus knowing that he has overcome the World. That he is on our side. That our story does not end in the middle of this time of suffering, but that Jesus will rescue us from it! What good news! What a savior!
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