At the end of the longest day of their lives, it seems they went home knee deep in grief and dropped into the oblivion of exhausted sleep. When they awoke, it dawned on them afresh that all the horror was not a nightmare but the truth. He was dead.
And now, what was truth?
The paradigm of their hopes and dreams-the wave of wonder they had ridden into the city days before, to the rhythm of "Hosanna" - had shifted and shattered, and now the fragments of all those broken dreams pierced their hearts.
If they heard, "It is finished," they didn't grasp the meaning dripping from that marred mouth. They only knew their own terrible loss.
It was finished. He was gone.
Life as they had hoped it would be faded to black.
The silence regarding the other followers, eleven now, is deafening. Perhaps it was for them a day even darker than the one before, if that were possible. In utter darkness of spirit, they sat in the deep shadow His death had cast across their lives.
The reality of Friday's darkness settled over them like a shroud.
They knew it was The End, and they trembled, wondering what was to become of each one of them, the men and women marked as The Followers. They were facing the end of life as they had known it, as they had dared to dream it would be with their King and his Kingdom.
Life had become one dark day, followed by a darker one.
As you walk through this Saturday, between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, walk a little slower.
Dare to inhale the fear and pain and abandonment of that terrible day.
Even though you know Sunday is coming, give yourself to this interlude of grief and deep loss.
Be fully present in the horror of what life without Jesus looks like.
Linger in the darkness...and remember.