The Day Hope Held its Breath
Hey there, buttercup, settle yourself right here where the porch breeze can be ‘a-findin’ you, ‘cause we’re ‘a-steppin’ into Holy Saturday, that real quiet day when the whole world was ‘a-holdin’ its breath like a cricket that done heard a bootstep. Psalm 16:9-10 says, “My body also will rest in hope because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead.” That promise was ‘a-hummin’ long before Jesus was ‘a-layin’ in that there borrowed tomb, and it kept on ‘a-hummin’ when everything looked still.
Matthew 27:59-60 tells us, “Joseph wrapped Jesus in clean linen and laid Him in his own new tomb.” That moment sat heavy, like a whippoorwill ‘a-perchin’ on a fence rail ‘a-wonderin’ why the night feels longer than usual. Friday’s heartbreak was behind ‘em. Sunday’s miracle was not yet ‘a-struttin’ in. And Saturday was ‘a-sittin’ there, still as a turtle ‘a-sunnin’ on a log pretendin’ it was not ‘a-havin’ a care in the world. The disciples were ‘a-wanderin’ with eyes all swelled up and red and thoughts ‘a-churnin’ like a goat ‘a-tryin’ to escape by ‘a-pullin’ its head outta a feed bucket. Hope felt far off, ‘bout like a boltin’ jackrabbit with its tail on fire.
The tomb was done sealed. The guards was ‘a-standin’ stiff-like. The religious leaders was ‘a-worrin’,wringin’ their hands, like turkeys ‘a-runnin’ around in a hailstorm. Matthew 27:62-65 shows them same leaders ‘a-beggin’ Pilate for guards. Meanwhile, Jesus had already done tole’ the thief in Luke 23:43, “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.” His body mite ‘o been ‘a-restin’, but His spirit was done out there ‘a-keepin’ promises.
And Revelation 1:18 was done already ‘a-waitin’ in the wings. “I am the Living One. I was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore, and I hold the keys of death and Hades.” Jesus was not ‘a-losin’. He was ‘a-takin’ the keys. He was ‘a-provin’ death does not get the last bark.
Holy Saturday is ‘a-remindin’ us that God is still ‘a-workin’ in the quiet. Faith keeps on ‘a-growin’ in the hush. Hope is ‘a-wantin’ to anchor itself in promises we cannot see yet. God may feel quieter than a rabbit ‘a-hidin’ under a blackberry bush, but silence ain’t absence. Waitin’ ain’t wasted. And stones ain’t gonna stay put forever.
Father, when life feels real still and You feel real silent, help me be ‘a-trustin’ that You are ‘a-workin’ in ways I cannot yet be ‘a-seein’. Teach me to be ‘a-restin’ in Your promises and ‘a-waitin’ with hope for the dawn You done already prepared. In Jesus name, Amen.
Now git on out there, Junebug, and carry this here truth the way a mama quail gathers her little ones when the sky starts ‘a-rumblin’. Saturday may feel long, but Sunday is already ‘a-stretchin’ its mighty long arms, and no stone in creation can keep ‘a-standin’ against the ALMIGHTY RISEN CHRIST: THE WAY, THE TRUTH, THE LIFE.
With joy,
Gwen
