“Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.” (Luke 23:56 NIV)

“There is no grief as deep as grief that does not speak.” (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

My heart always goes out to the Marys when I think about Black Saturday. These faithful women were forced to sit still in their sorrow while their minds and fingers ached to find ways to work out their pain. They had twenty-four full hours to grieve and no distractions to keep them from it.

Was it necessary? Wasn’t Jesus about to erupt from the grave and set all things right? Why did He wait three days, and one of them a Sabbath; a day of physical stillness and quiet reflection?

Perhaps grief is good for the soul? Maybe it’s helpful, even healthy to take the time to consider what we’ve lost and what it was worth to us? It’s possible that we can’t quite get to Easter without first addressing the aching places in our heart.

Black Saturdays must serve some purpose, or God wouldn’t allow for them. Perhaps it is only in the inky depth of Saturday that the marvelous light of Easter morning shines brighter? Beloved, one day joy will eclipse all grief, joy so pure and brilliant that we’ll barely be able to set eyes on it.

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” (1 Peter‬ ‭2:9‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Lord, sustain us through black Saturdays. May the darkness not overtake us, but instead serve to remind us of the glorious light still on it’s way. Sunday is coming. No tears, no burdens, no sorrows, no loss. Lord, we live for that day, the day when our hearts are healed and we hurt no more. May today’s lack of light only stoke our longing for the day when Your light will chase away the darkness forever. Amen.