Saturday must have seemed interminable.
Friday was the day of loss, the day when the pain hit, the shock knocked those who loved Jesus to their knees, they battled disbelief, wondered when they would wake from the nightmare, their breath was knocked out of them.
Saturday was the day that reality set in. It wasn't a bad dream, Jesus was dead. His body had grown cold and stiff. It laid on a borrowed stone slab with a large rock between them and Him. Their eyes were red and swollen, cried out, no more tears left to shed.
Those who had called him Rabbi hid and cowered, imagining that every step outside their door, every knock that came close by was the soldiers coming for them now.
The powers that be were patting one another on the back, pleased that they had done away with this nuisance. The way they jeered before the cross on Friday, they now joked amongst themselves on Saturday. Messiah indeed, son of God, pssshhh.
Where the words of Jesus had brought comfort, healing, solace; where he had spoken life to Lazarus, vanquished demons, healed the lame, blind and deaf; brought truth and forgiveness, love and reassurance...on Saturday, there was only death, only defeat, only silence like the grave.
Yes, Friday was horrible with it's violence, with the sting of death. To watch him hang on the cross, see his blood trickle to the ground. To hear the death rattle...Into your hands I commit my spirit....It is done.
Yet Saturday was the day that showed us what a world without Jesus would be like. Fear, hopelessness, despair, pain, doubt
.... It was a very long day indeed!