The world took the life of Jesus on a Friday. He defeated death on Sunday. But there was a day in between. On that day, reality sunk in. With shock still clinging, friends were scattered to the wind; they were in the dark, and they were alone.
I have friends living in extended Saturdays – seemingly unending Saturdays. Some of them believe Sunday is coming, but there are days when they wonder. Their personal Fridays – troubled kids, long-term illness, severe depression, broken relationships – came crashing down out of nowhere.
When you are wandering through Saturday’s dark valley, Sunday often seems like a childish dream.
Saturday is a terror. Dark curtains cover the windows; food has no taste; feet feel as heavy as our hearts. The mitochondria in every cell feel starved for energy. And even if we experienced the same trauma, the awareness of our uniqueness isolates us – there is no one who can fully understand our own particular pain pathways because no one is us.
Reminding your Saturday friends that Sunday is coming is a bit like skipping down the hospital hallway singing “It’s a Beautiful Day”. Probably better to softly join them in their Saturday for a while.
Your presence might remind them that there was a once a Thursday, even if Sunday is currently beyond their imagination.