I wonder what this day was like for those who loved Jesus.
Did they remember what he had said about rising again and hold onto that thread of hope?
Or did they – like I do – get caught up in the emotion of the the moment and, in their grief, lose all perspective and hope?
Did they wake up from a dreamless sleep or did they dream of the horror they had witnessed? Did they sleep at all?
When they woke up, were they despondent? Were they numb?
Did they band together in small groups of solidarity or did they grieve alone?
What was that Sabbath day like?
Luke says they rested, but were their souls at rest? Were they tormented with grief and fear of the unknown? Were they angry that they hadn’t tried harder to stop what had happened?
Grief does weird things. It messes with your head. It causes you to question everything you thought you knew as truth.
Did any of the disciples wonder if they had been duped? If maybe they had been taken for a ride by a narcissistic lunatic? If all along they had believed because their hearts wanted it to be true? Did they remember the dozens of miracles Jesus had done?
Those who had spent the last three years with Jesus were suddenly left alone. How did they spend their time that day? What did they do?
Did they pray? Did they stay in bed, not wanting to face the first day without Him? Or did they go about Sabbath activities as usual, in an attempt to move on?
In our remembrance of the events of this week, this day, stuck in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, seems a bit forgotten.
But I suspect it was a day of emotional depths … doubt and hope and despair and expectancy and confusion and guilt and loss, all jumbled together.
The Day in Between.