This project has been interesting. Each time I've sat down to write a post, the idea for it comes maybe only hours before. It's like a download in my brain and somehow I'm able to just type out the words.
This morning as I skimmed through social media posts, I loved seeing so many about this upcoming Easter Holiday. More importantly, I loved seeing so many people share such personal and sacred testimonies of the Savior. It got my mind thinking about what it was like for those in Jesus' time, walking with him, witnessing those miracles, seeing first hand this miraculous Son of God.
And then how would it have been to have to witness his brutal death? Someone who could do what no other person on earth could do, still ended up dying in the end. I cannot imagine the grief of those who cared for Jesus watch him die on that cross. On that Friday, everything on earth grieved. Numerous accounts of storms and darkness covered the earth, along with covering the hearts of those who just witnessed the death of someone they loved.
Though I cannot imagine the grief of those who walked with Jesus, it does bring up the emotions I felt as I watched my own Dad pass away. That was my own personal dark Friday. To watch someone you look up to, admire, succumb to the mortal element of death makes the whole world stop. Time seems to stand still, and you are certain you will never be whole again. How could you? A giant part of your life is now gone.
Today I've been pondering about that Saturday, back in the time of Jesus. The day after He passed. We don't have much about that agonizing 48 hours, because in hindsight, the miracle was just around the corner. But what about that day? What did those who loved Jesus do? Certainly, time continued to stand still. The shock still fresh, denial still eminent. Not Jesus, the Son of God. Not the man who raised others from the dead, who healed the blind and leprous. Not the man who's time on earth was too short. He had so much more to offer to this world, didn't he? How could He be gone?
I can remember my own Saturday like that. The hollowness of realizing that person is really, truly gone from this life. They say the veil is thin, but on days like that Saturday, it feels like a brick wall.
Yet unlike those who witnessed Jesus' death and did not yet know He would rise again, I luckily had that knowledge while going through my own Saturday. Sometimes it was hard to grab a hold of that knowledge, because the grief consumes you and the pain takes over every part of your body. You cannot cry enough tears, you cannot completely express how shattered you are inside.
But even though that Saturday was so dark, and has been so dark for so many, we have Sunday. Sunday did come, and the Savior did rise again. And because He did, all will. And we can be with those we love again.
The Savior understands those shocking Fridays, and those dark Saturdays that follow. He chose to walk through life, knowing how His mission would end, so that He could be there for each one of us. He is there even when the fog of grief and pain are so thick you think you are completely alone. Sometimes it is not until you can look back that you see He was there. Through a friend, or a note, or a phone call, or just the fact that you were able to get out of bed and go through another day.
Sunday did come, and because Sunday came, we can all find peace and joy, even when the dark Saturdays come and we wonder if we will ever feel happy again.
How grateful I am that Sunday came.
Inspiration for this post came from the talk I read this morning called Sunday Will Come by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin.
