Somewhere along
the way – I’m not sure when – Easter has become about sweet little fluffy
bunnies, brightly colored eggs, chocolate and springtime. And while some of
those things probably have their roots in spiritual things….or we can at least
derive spiritual meaning from them, they’re not what Easter is about.
Easter is gory
and painful. It’s bloody and tragic. Easter is about questions and confusion.
Easter is about loss and betrayal – about loneliness and heartache. Easter is sorrow
and suffering. And, then – only then –
is it redemptive and glorious.
In our rush to
get to the glory of the empty tomb, we sidestep the biggest piece of the story.
Imagine the disciples fear as they watched as
Jesus was arrested. Jesus, the one whom they’d followed, the one whom they’d
left their livelihoods for – was dragged away by the Roman guards, at night
time, with their one time friend, Judas, leading the way! What confusion! What
fear!
Imagine the
panic of Peter when he was connected to Jesus and the acrid taste of bitterness
on his tongue when that rooster crowed.
Imagine the
anguish of Mary Magdalene as she watched her Savior – the only one who’d seen
her and not what she’d done – bloodied and beaten beyond all recognition.
Imagine the
immense sorrow of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Yes, she’d known along who her son
was. She knew what the prophets said and she knew this day was coming. Still –
she was a mother and that man in agony was the baby that she’d felt move with
in her. He’d nursed at her breast. He was the one who she drilled the Torah
into at the dinner table. She’d calmed his fears, dried his tears, and held him
close. And now, she watched in helpless horror as her boy was cruelly murdered.
Imagine Simon
of Cyrene who was accosted and made to carry a criminal’s cross. When he looked
into the eyes of Jesus, did he know that Jesus was no criminal? Was he haunted
by that look of love? The one that said, “I’m doing this for you.”
Imagine Joseph
– a “secret” disciple who gave his tomb for Jesus to be buried in. Did he wish
he hadn’t been so secret? Did he live with the regret of “if only?”
And John. What
about John? The beloved one. The one charged with the responsibility to take
care of Mary. Did he feel guilt that his Savior was dying in his place? Did he
wish he’d had more time to learn from the Master?
And, those are
just some of the major players that we know about. I wonder if the brothers of
Jesus felt guilt because they’d refused to believe their brother’s claims. I
wonder about all the people that Jesus had healed who knew that was every bit
the God he claimed to be. Think about all the people at the feeding of the
5,000 and the 4,000. How many of them felt that hope and light was dying right
along with Jesus?
Then came
Saturday. For Jesus’ family, friends, and followers it was the first time he’d
ever be silent in their lives. I’ve been there – the day after someone you love
dearly dies and has been buried. You wake up and for the first millisecond, you
don’t remember the horror or tragedy or loss. Your brain lets you believe that
it’s all a bad dream – for a split second in time. Then you look around,
realize it’s not a bad dream and the sad settles into every part of your soul.
You long for the power to change the past, to rewind, to not feel. Grief is a
trap that you can’t break free from; a panic that gropes for the breath within
you.
Some of them
probably thought it was over for good and Jesus was gone. Others probably
replayed conversations in their mind about death, resurrection, temples and all
the other times that it seemed that Jesus was talking in riddles. Could it be
that he wouldn’t stay in the tomb? But, with every passing hour he stayed in
that grave hope slipped away and people that loved Jesus and whom he dearly
loved grew more desperate for answers.
Have you been
there, my friend? Are you there? Is it Friday when the tragedy, the sorrow has
settled into every part of your soul? Is it Saturday when the waiting is
agonizing and you really don’t think you can breathe – or wait – one more
second? I have been stuck on Friday for many long dark nights. Even now, I’m in
the Saturday of my soul, waiting for the answers I long for. Asking, if please,
You could just fix this thing and make it better.
Friday and Saturday
are miserable. There’s no doubt about it. But, here’s the thing; the sorrow of
those two days make the glory of Sunday so much more sweet! Without Friday and
Saturday, they never would have seen Jesus has the resurrected Son of God.
Without Peter’s anguish and redemption, the church would have never been
birthed. Without Friday and Saturday, Jesus would have just been a guy who told
some really good stories and did some pretty cool stuff. Victory without defeat
is not possible!
Yes, my friend,
Friday and Saturday are long, horrible days. But Sunday is coming!