The Weight of Saturday - Michelle Merriman

Saturday. It's the day after Good Friday, the day before Easter.

To us, it often feels like the day of preparation to get everything done before we celebrate Easter and have all our responsibilities at church, plan the family meal, and Egg Hunts for our kids.

It often feels like a “nothing day” as far as the Easter story goes. Nothing was happening. Jesus was dead. He was in the grave. We know the outcome of the story, so we go on with life. As though it was that simple.

It was not like that. Life stopped for the disciples. Life stopped for Jesus’ mother, Mary. Everything came crushing down on them. The brokenness and crushed hearts were palpable. If you have ever been crushed by loss, walking through imaginable grief, you know the crushing, the weight of the loss, and the undeniable grief that clouds every part of your thinking, and physically affects your body.

Yet, I do not think any of us can fully understand the weight and the crushing the disciples felt. We cannot fully understand the sorrow and guilt that Peter felt. We cannot understand the piercing of Mary’s own heart that she bore. We can never understand the weight of the disappointment all the other followers felt.

Saturday. The Sabbath. A day of rest. A day to reflect, think, and not work.

No work could have been done if they wanted to on that Sabbath. This was NOT an ordinary Sabbath. This Sabbath beared the weight of the most horrific thing that could ever happen.

Here on Thursday night, they were just partaking the Passover with Jesus. He had gently and tenderly washed their feet as a servant would do.[1] He gave them the bread. He gave them the cup. He prayed over them.[2] There was laughing and joking that had happened. Love and service was in the room. The relationships were strong. The meal was special. What went wrong?

Of course, there was the one part when He said that someone was going to betray Him, and Jesus dipped the bread in the cup and handed it to Judas.[3] Thinking back, something changed on Judas’ face. Everyone could see it. How could He do that? How could he betray Jesus with a kiss? He was one of them. He was a disciple of Jesus of all things. That role did not come lightly, and yet he just betrayed Jesus.

Now Judas was dead. Now Jesus was dead.

The weight of it was too much to bear. The crushing. The piercing. It was too much.

A day of Sabbath. More like a day of deep grieving, sorrow, and guilt.

The weight of it was worse with the guilt the disciples all felt. They had all fled. They all left Him in His time of need. They had deserted Him.[4] He had always been there for them. Yet every single one of them abandoned Him.

Now He was gone. They could not go back and tell Him they were sorry. They could not go back and make things right between them. They had abandoned Him.

Then, Peter had an extra crushing guilt and weight. He told Jesus that He would never leave Him. Jesus told him that before the rooster crowed three times that he would deny Him.

“This man was with Him.”[5]

“I don’t know Him.”[6]

“You also are one of them.”[7]

“I am not!”

“Certainly, this fellow was with Him, for he is a Galilean.”[8]

He called down curses and swore to them, “I don’t know the man!”[9]

Oh, the words, the curses, the denials kept repeating over and over in Peter’s mind. He denied Jesus. He denied the one he declared the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.[10] He denied the one who healed, delivered, calmed the storm, raised the dead, was transformed in front of him. He denied Him. He denied knowing Him or being with Him. He denied Him and there was no going back. There was no taking it back.

The weight of it was too much to bear. He failed His Messiah.

Then there was Mary. This was the child that was conceived by the Holy Spirit. This was the child she carried and bore, even tainting her own reputation for. This was the child that Anna rejoiced over[11] and Simeon prayed over. Oh, his words were ringing in her ears, “A sword will piece your own soul too.”[12] 

The sword was piercing her own heart, too. She watched Jesus beaten and whipped. She watched them put a crown of thorns in His head as the blood poured over His face. She watched them mock Him and make Him carry a cross on His torn up back. She watched them nail his hands and feet to the cross. Every bang nailed into her own heart. It was way more than she could bear. She never thought THIS would happen. That He would die a horrible death and as a criminal.

No, Saturday, was not a day of rejoicing.

No Saturday was not a day between Friday and Sunday.

No Saturday was not looked at as a “no biggie” day since “Sunday was coming.”

They did not know. They did not understand. It is doubtful any of them at this point put together anything Jesus said about raising on the third day. Their hearts were crushed. Their hearts were broken. They carried the weight of Jesus’ horrific deaths and their responses in their hearts.

Do we treat this day as any other Saturday? Do we treat this day as a day to hurry and get ready for tomorrow?

Or do we feel the weight of Saturday?

Where are we in this story? Who do we identify with? Have we deserted Jesus? Have we denied Jesus? Have we been crushed because of Jesus?

Feel the weight of Saturday. Feel the weight.

Scripture References:

[1] John 13:1-17

[2] Matthew 26:17-30

[3] John 13:18-30

[4] Mark 14:50

[5] Luke 22:56

[6] Luke 22:57

[7] Luke 22:58

[8] Luke 22:59

[9] Matthew 26:74

[10] Matthew 16:16

[11] Luke 2:36-38

[12] Luke 2:25-35