The Silence of Saturday


My apologies for the S and f missing. Photo beggars can't be choosers...JPEG dumpster diver.

In between the death of Jesus on Friday and His being raised from the dead on Sunday, is that silent Saturday, where the followers of Jesus, who had not followed and instead scattered the day before, were alone--even if they were together. Into their fears and doubts that only silence can draw out. People often clamor for "Peace and Quiet" but then promptly soil the silence with more noise of their own choosing. Silence can be frightening, where the internal voice and conscience speaks and can be heard.

I know my Saturdays become my Satur-Do days, where I try to take care of all of those things and tasks I have pushed away from my mind as a broom sweeps dust into a corner. This approach is a remnant from my Ph.D. days where each Saturday was study and research time. Now, I feel really guilty and empty if I am not doing something productive and labor-like on Saturday.  I am getting over the guilt. It has not been easy. Last Saturday, I watched March Madness and felt like I should go to Confession for frittering away the time. Forgive me Lord, for doing nothing.

So, what was that Saturday like almost 2,000 years ago? Not business as usual for those close to Jesus. Instead, a day of being scared, remorseful, and self-recriminating, of how they had all collectively failed. Guilty. I think that God teaches us something profound in that silence--for even the Bible is silent of what was going on that day: The work of salvation is not aided by man. It is an act of God, alone. Saturday is a clean break of works in regard to salvation. Our busy lives are shown to not be salvific on their own. Instead,  Sunday comes and God delivers us. Deliver us from busy.      

  

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