A Day of Silence

Saturday morning. Those who had followed Jesus woke to silence.

John remembered standing at the foot of the cross, his arm around Mary. Jesus had asked him to look after her as a son would. In silence, he wept as Jesus took His last breath. In silence, he watched as they lowered His broken body. In silence, he followed Joseph of Arimathea, who took Jesus’ body to a tomb. In silence, he watched them roll the stone. In silence, he led the grieving mother back to his own home. And this morning, in silence, he grieved.

Peter remembered Jesus’ prophecy. He would deny his master. How prideful he’d been as he boasted, “Never, Lord! Never will I deny you.” In silence, he now wept bitter tears. In silence, he prayed to Yahweh, begging for forgiveness. In silence, he wished for another chance to unashamedly claim allegiance to Jesus. And this morning, in silence, he grieved.

Thomas remembered Jesus telling them He was going to prepare a place for them, but he didn’t understand what He meant. He thought Jesus would be setting up a kingdom on earth. Now He was dead. In silence, he wondered what would become of him. In silence, he listened for the gait of soldiers coming to arrest him as well. In silence, he questioned all he’d learned. And this morning, in silence, he grieved.

The others—Philip, James, Nathanael, Andrew, Matthew, Bartholomew, Judas [son of James], Simon—each remembered the words of Jesus. In silence, they recalled His miracles. In silence, they feared for their own lives. And this morning, in silence, they grieved.

The hours between Jesus’ death on Friday and Sunday morning are silent for us as well. The Bible doesn’t give even a hint of where His followers went, what they said, what they thought. But we can imagine. We can imagine their thoughts, their fears, their confusion. But the one things we don’t have to imagine?

In silence, that Saturday, they grieved. Because they didn’t know Sunday morning was coming.