Saturday
Yesterday I posted on Facebook the title of the S.M. Lockridge sermon, "It's Friday, but Sunday's coming." Portions of it can be found on YouTube. Stirring.
Today is Saturday. I have been a neglectful this Lenten season, having sacrificed the seasons of life to advancing my education. That is coming to a close soon, and I look forward to a return, or really a moving forward to a reasonable pace of life. It is hard to stop the frenzy, though.
Saturday is that valley between tragedy and triumph. Alliteration can be cheesy and preachy, but it fits here. It is the time of expecting and hope forus, but for the followers of Jesus it was the time of grief, too early to think of the future. Too early to process, to reassess--and those are modern words forpeople who think we havethe future all wrapped up and in our control. In the world of his followers, where Rome ruled and held their fates politcally and economically, they could only sit in silence, go about the Passover and Sabbath, days of rest anyway. They did not expect Sunday morning. Grief rotated and tumbled in their hearts with despair and abject fear, and I'm sure there was anger at the thought of their own misplaced faith, anger at Jesus. Perhaps there were foggy plans of returning to the synagogue, of hoping for restoration to that community.
Perhaps they just hid, and waited.
We moderns express such lack of empathy, such stupidity, and such pride when we say things about the disciples "not getting it." We have 2000 years of hindsight.
Today is Saturday. I have been a neglectful this Lenten season, having sacrificed the seasons of life to advancing my education. That is coming to a close soon, and I look forward to a return, or really a moving forward to a reasonable pace of life. It is hard to stop the frenzy, though.
Saturday is that valley between tragedy and triumph. Alliteration can be cheesy and preachy, but it fits here. It is the time of expecting and hope forus, but for the followers of Jesus it was the time of grief, too early to think of the future. Too early to process, to reassess--and those are modern words forpeople who think we havethe future all wrapped up and in our control. In the world of his followers, where Rome ruled and held their fates politcally and economically, they could only sit in silence, go about the Passover and Sabbath, days of rest anyway. They did not expect Sunday morning. Grief rotated and tumbled in their hearts with despair and abject fear, and I'm sure there was anger at the thought of their own misplaced faith, anger at Jesus. Perhaps there were foggy plans of returning to the synagogue, of hoping for restoration to that community.
Perhaps they just hid, and waited.
We moderns express such lack of empathy, such stupidity, and such pride when we say things about the disciples "not getting it." We have 2000 years of hindsight.
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