Unholy Saturday

Jesus is in the grave. The Messiah and Son of God is dead. And somehow the disciples and the women at the cross are supposed to “rest” on this Sabbath. Their hope lays as a bloody corpse in a desolate tomb, and they are supposed to celebrate Yahweh’s provision and goodness by worshipping at the Synagogue and resting from their labors. A severe Sabbath, indeed.

* * *

And here we are, too. Where is our Messiah? Where is our hope? Where is our living King?

And yet we are called to rest, too. Hope, faith, trust, rejoice, savor, celebrate, in this our earthly tomb, laid low by Satan, sin, and death, surrounded by the dark, damp walls of a world gone wrong.

And yet we hear a whisper through the Word: Sunday is coming.

And in a moment, we will rise from our earthly tomb and see Satan, sin, and death forever buried beneath the flood of God’s wrath rightly wrought.

And the king will replace his crown of thorns with a crown of gold, his throne of suffering with a throne of strength.

And he will look us in the eye and say with a smile: “It is finished.”

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