My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?
Far from my deliverance are the words of my groaning.
O my god, I cry by day, but Thou dost not answer;
And by night, but I have no rest.
Yet Thou art holy,
O Thou who art enthroned upon the praise of Israel.
Psalm 22:1-3 NASB
Saturday must have been a long day for those women longing to go to the tomb, the normal tasks that kept life busy and minds occupied left undone as they waited for Sabbath to end.
I wonder what they felt that day as they ate food prepared before Sabbath began, walked on unswept floors, and wandered through a quiet house. I wonder, if Mary, the mother of Christ, knew the presence of God that day? I wonder if she begged for another angel to appear, another messenger to explain what had happened.
Friday was loud. The crowds crying for His death. The soldiers mocking His authority. The hammer slamming into the spikes on His hands and feet. The ground splitting as earth felt heaven’s agony. Friday was loud.
But Saturday was silent. Not one word in Scripture about Saturday. The disciples were holed up, hiding in fear. The women pacing, waiting to tend to Jesus’ dead body. The earth quiet … mourning the loss of the One who spoke it into existence.
But friends, I have good news, a promise for us all,
God is there even when He is silent.
We can trust in that … always.
Friday was loud.
Saturday was silent.
But Sunday … Sunday is coming.