All that to say… I spent the day looking forward, because indeed Sunday is coming. I don't think the disciples had the perspective of anticipation.
What were Jesus followers doing Saturday?
Were they gathered together, shell shocked mourners, sandal deep in pain? Were they in hiding, followers of a revolution gone bad, very very bad, now hoping against hope that those Romans weren't roaming the city, cleaning up the remaining rabble. Their Wonder Worker hadn't just let them down, he'd left them completely, and in the worst possible way.
The sun had gone down on their lives, and they weren't sure there would ever be a sunrise. There wasn't a backup plan.
As far as they could see, there hadn't even been a plan.
The women trekking to the tomb early with spices didn't say, "Look, the stone is gone, He DID rise from the dead."
And when the women eventually told the disciples, no one believed them, no one said, "YES, YES, I knew He would!"
Peter and John didn't accept what their own eyes told them when they saw the empty tomb, and
the Emmaus Road travelers didn't even recognize Him when He walked and talked with them.
Grief blinded Mary mistook him for the gardener.
Jesus had risen, Jesus has risen, and what a difference it made, what a difference it makes, what a difference it will make! On my own darkest days, my no-good Fridays, I no longer need to sit utterly bereft and inconsolable. I still grieve, but the resurrection of Jesus announced, pronounced, created a paradigm shift, a great divide, a watershed for all tears. On this side of Jesus death and resurrection, I grieve differently than did the disciples that awful, eternal Saturday. I grieve with heaven whispering in my ear. I say good bye, but only for now, and not forever. I wait with hope and certainty and expectation.
I know that Sunday is coming.