Saturday
Read John 19:38-42.
I cannot imagine the emotion of leaving Jesus behind. That's what these "secret disciples" had to do. They had obtained his body from Pilate, taken it to a nearby new tomb, watched as the door was rolled into place, and walked away. Can you imagine? This man who was the embodiment of every hope you had ever had, this one you had, even in secret, dedicated your life to—now he's gone. He's dead. His body is lying in a cold stone tomb, and you have to walk away.
Walk away...to what? What now? Well, there was the Sabbath, the day of rest, and that demanded their immediate attention. But after the Sabbath, they had to be wondering: where do we go from here? The eleven remaining disciples, most of them anyway, went back to the last place they had been with Jesus (sort of like resetting your computer system to the last point at which it worked): the upper room. I doubt any of them knew what they would do come Sunday. That was a long way away, and there was much grieving to do between now and then.
But those eleven disciples hadn't even followed Jesus all the way to the tomb. They had disappeared, most of them, before the cross. It appears only John was there at the cross. And, as far as we can tell, it was just Nicodemus, Joseph and a few women who stayed with the body until all was done. But once the stone was sealed, even they had to walk away. There was no longer anything for them to do. They had to leave their master behind. What next? What would life be like without Jesus?
This past week, I was speaking with a friend in the Orthodox tradition. They had a wonderful ritual of someone staying in the church all through the night of Good Friday and into Saturday (he said his shift was 2:00-3:00 a.m.) so that Jesus doesn't have to be alone. Of course, they know he's not really there, but it's the power of staying by the savior, the crucified Lord. They read Scripture out loud all night long as a way of honoring Jesus' sacrifice, as a way of mourning the loss of this one who filled and fills the world with hope.
We all too quickly rush past this Friday moment and onto the next chapter. We hurry through "Saturday" to get to "Sunday." As we enter into Holy Week this coming week, let me urge you to sit here awhile. Sit beside the tomb. Imagine what it would be like to leave Jesus here and not know that he would be back. Contemplate a world without Jesus. And may your contemplation turn into gratitude, that this is not the end of the story, and that the worst thing is never the last thing.
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| The Garden Tomb, Jerusalem - a first-century tomb/resting place, 2014 |
Walk away...to what? What now? Well, there was the Sabbath, the day of rest, and that demanded their immediate attention. But after the Sabbath, they had to be wondering: where do we go from here? The eleven remaining disciples, most of them anyway, went back to the last place they had been with Jesus (sort of like resetting your computer system to the last point at which it worked): the upper room. I doubt any of them knew what they would do come Sunday. That was a long way away, and there was much grieving to do between now and then.
But those eleven disciples hadn't even followed Jesus all the way to the tomb. They had disappeared, most of them, before the cross. It appears only John was there at the cross. And, as far as we can tell, it was just Nicodemus, Joseph and a few women who stayed with the body until all was done. But once the stone was sealed, even they had to walk away. There was no longer anything for them to do. They had to leave their master behind. What next? What would life be like without Jesus?
 |
| Outside entrance to The Garden Tomb, Jerusalem - 2012 |
We all too quickly rush past this Friday moment and onto the next chapter. We hurry through "Saturday" to get to "Sunday." As we enter into Holy Week this coming week, let me urge you to sit here awhile. Sit beside the tomb. Imagine what it would be like to leave Jesus here and not know that he would be back. Contemplate a world without Jesus. And may your contemplation turn into gratitude, that this is not the end of the story, and that the worst thing is never the last thing.
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