Saturday, April 4, 2015


When I've had time to contemplate today (while babysitting my 8-month-old grandson), I reflected on the day after each one of my parents died.  They both died after living long lives and their passing was consistent with the natural cycle of life.  Expected.

Both "next days" were surreal.  It was hard to fathom that for the first time in my life I was without my father...and the same was true when my mother died.  Everything changed.  A cloud cast its shadow on every activity and every thought.  Life lost its zing.  There were no words for my pain.

Sarah Ockler wrote:
Every morning, I wake up and forget just for a second that it happened. But once my eyes open, it buries me like a landslide of sharp, sad rocks. Once my eyes open, I'm heavy, like there's too much gravity on my heart.
Did Jesus' mother even sleep that night?  Were his followers helplessly replaying the previous day's events over and over like a broken record?  Was their loss compounded by fear for their lives and regret at their own responses to Friday?

Scripture is silent about Saturday.  I'm convinced we cannot comprehend the emotional suffering and devastation all those close to Jesus experienced.  They did not have the benefit of knowing how Sunday would turn out.  In such agony, did they dare hope?


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