I can’t imagine a more wilder swing of emotions.
I’ve had some depressing days. I’ve had depressing periods. I’ve spent days and weeks wondering what God could possibly be doing that is “good”.
I heard his promise that all things do work together for good. I heard his promise that the present sufferings are temporary and light compared to the glory of going home one day. I heard that in all things I can be strong because of His strength.
I’ve been through some really hard times. Times that make you wonder…times that swing your emotions like a fearless kid on a swing set.
But…NOTHING like what happened this weekend in history.
The intensity of Friday followed by the still quiet of Saturday. Friday wasn’t nearly as hard as Saturday in my opinion. Friday is the day when everyone is together and they are consoling and caring and…together. Saturday, everyone is disbursed.
Saturday is the day after the funeral.
People I know have been wrestling with that lately. Jackson Zinn’s family. A young boy taken too soon. Now the service is over…and the quiet sets in…and all are disbursed. THAT’S when it’s hard.
The disciples felt that. It was Saturday. Quiet. The Sabbath. No one doing anything. No movement. No gathering. Walls closing in.
Their hope was in a tomb.
Ever had your hope be killed? I have. We all have. The day it happens is shocking. You lose your job you thought was secure. You find out you’ve been betrayed by someone you trust. You hear the news of “cancer” and it’s hard to breathe. The day after it happens is devastating. Quiet. Lonely. It’s the time in the desert where all you see is sand and no hope of the “promised land”. It’s June of 2020 when the “excitement” of the buzz of a pandemic gives way to the reality that the government just told you to “stay at home” and to leave is a crime. Quiet, still, can’t gather.
What do you do on the day after your hope is killed? What do you do in the desert?
Psalm 40 came to mind on Saturday for me. “I waited patiently for the Lord, He inclined and heard my cry. He lifted me up out of the pit, out of the miry clay”
Then came Sunday. Sunday…hope walked out of a tomb. Sunday is the day that depression turns to unmitigated joy and…well…hope!
Hope is the key. If there is hope, we can endure anything. When hope gets buried in a tomb, we can endure nothing. The Pharisees wanted to kill the Jews hope. So they could control them once again. The Romans wanted to kill the Jews hope so they could continue to enslave them. The Germans tried also to kill hope so that people wouldn’t fight back. I find it VERY interesting that the Pharisees that had Jesus killed were the ONLY ones that remembered his promise to rise again after 3 days. His own disciples did NOT remember that promise. How do I know? The Pharisees asked for the tomb to be sealed and guards around the tomb because they didn’t want the body stolen and a lie propagated that he rose. And the disciples were shocked when it happened.
That’s what happens when hope dies. It dies. And for the disciples, their hope had died and they couldn’t remember the actual promise Christ made that he would die but that he would rise again. The Pharisees were afraid of it and his followers surprised by it. Hope had died.
Hope.
Hope is alive and walked out of a grave. Whatever it is that seems hopeless, it’s not.
What a crazy three days…
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