Updated: Apr 16
I woke up one Saturday morning thinking about the disciples. Thinking about how they must have felt the morning after their Lord’s crucifixion.
I can only imagine that on the morning between his death and resurrection, Jesus’ followers must have awoken to an utterly consuming fog of bewilderment, a thick hopelessness that blanketed their perspectives.
Though Jesus had spoken to his disciples of his impending suffering and death, the reality of it rocked them to their core. Christ had been their life, their hope, their purpose and joy; but in the black night of Gethsemane’s Garden, everything began to unravel. And when it was all said and done, darkness and death had won.
Or. . . so it seemed on the frontside of Resurrection Sunday.
Has anything painfully shocking ever personally happened in your life? Something that rocked you to your core? A moment or a season when all of a sudden life turned to death? When what was once glorious was replaced with a grave? Maybe it came out of nowhere, or perhaps there were subtle (or even not so subtle) harbingers of its arrival. Regardless, the harsh reality of it hit you with magnum force, knocking the breath right out of you.
It has in mine.
In my experience, it was in the deafening silence of the mornings after that hopelessness vied to take up permanent residence. That questions swirled and what if’s—one right after another—lined themselves up, patiently waiting their turn for an audience of one. It was in this silence that the internal reflections of what I thought should happen. . . what was supposed to happen. . . what I prayed fervently would happen. . .fought for control of my confused, consumed mind. And it was in the continuing silence of the days that followed in which fears and doubts, regrets and bitterness fought for domination.
So, that particular Saturday morning as I lay in bed thinking about the disciples on the morning between Crucifixion Friday and Resurrection Sunday, imagining how despondent they must have felt, I could very much relate. However, instead of dwelling too long on their utter hopelessness, I found myself feeling so thankful.
Thankful that because of Christ and all he endured and accomplished for my sake, I can experience hope and life, glory and resurrection, even after the onslaught of tremendous disappointments and death’s realities try to permanently dishearten and defeat me.
Thankful that this temporary life, with all its highest of highs and lowest of lows, is just not it. It’s not. Something more awaits me. Something my puny, limited imaginings can’t even begin to adequately conceive, though God’s precious Holy Word gives me glimpses—the most glorious glimpses—of it.
Thankful, so very thankful, I get to live on the backside of Resurrection Sunday.
I sincerely pray you're living there too.