I’ve been thinking a lot about Easter this week. The big boys will be on a beach trip with their mom, the sisters’ dresses are too big, and I’m pulling a lot of solo parenting while Chris prepares for a couple of different events around town. When I get past all of the noise, though, I can’t help but think about Saturday.
First, there’s Good Friday. I recently mmm-ed my way through a message by Andy Stanley, where he described Jesus’ perfect ability to live grace and truth. He was both, all of the time, as messy as it got. When push came to shove, He called sin what it was. And then he took it to the cross and died for it.
So there was death, and it was good.
And then there’s the famous Easter Sunday. He is risen. He is risen indeed. Christians rarely contemplate too deeply the idea that Jesus overcame the grave. He conquered death fiercely and swiftly, and we are forever indebted to Him for it.
So there was defeat, and it was good.
The part that grabbed me this week was a quick snippet on the local Christian radio station, about the day in between the crucifixion and the resurrection. It quickly headed in a different direction, but I was left stuck on Saturday. For an entire day, hope was gone. Jesus was dead, God was heartbroken, and mankind was utterly alone.
So there was despair, and it was not good.
It was raw. It was powerful. It was overwhelmingly sad.
Doesn’t that make Sunday taste all the sweeter, then?
Happy Easter, folks. Soak it up this weekend.