Read Matthew 27:62-66
I imagine it as a day of unearthly calm.
Between the horror and terror of Friday, and the inexpressible joy of Sunday morning, there is a day. I take the liberty of speculating: the bodies have been removed, the crosses stand empty, and Saturday dawns bright and warm.
Jesus’ disciples and followers: In hiding, in shock, and grief-stricken.
Chief priests and their minions: Unsure, to the point of requesting a military guard at the grave.
Roman soldiers: Also unsure, and, after the events they’ve witnessed, badly shaken.
Everyone else: Needing to get on with Passover, but very, very curious.
There is a stillness, as though nature is holding its breath.
For us, it is a day to contemplate great mystery and great miracle. I think of a quote from Amy Carmichael’s classic, If:
If I refuse to be a corn of wheat that falls into the ground and dies (is separated from all in which it lived before), then I know nothing of Calvary love.
It is a severe little book, but she was on to something. Jesus himself had made this point in John 12:24-26:
I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives.Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity. Anyone who wants to serve me must follow me, because my servants must be where I am. And the Father will honor anyone who serves me.
The fact is that Christ calls us to die to our self-ness, and emerge with the imprint of his likeness.
Jesus was broken and spilled out. No half-measures. On this day we might reflect on that fact, and pray for a heart like His.