The Sorrow of Saturday

It is finished.

They had watched him breathe his last breath, had cried in agony as the blood and water flowed from his side. Their grief was so great they barely noticed the darkness at midday. The trembling of the earth was nothing compared to the trembling of their souls.

It is finished.

They took his dead-weight body down from the cross, laid it out, pressed for time. Joseph had a tomb they could use, borrow, really, but of course they didn’t know, had no idea it was a temporary arrangement. They did what they could, washing away the dirt and blood and spittle, salving the body with ointment. There was more to do, but sundown approached, the Sabbath was near. Tears mingled with the preparatory spices and oils.

It is finished.

They wrapped his body and laid him in the tomb. . And they did what we do when our loved ones die. They mourned. They stayed up through the night, in disbelief and denial. It cannot be. He was young and strong, and his teaching pure and powerful. Had he not as much said he was the One, the Messiah? What happened to the disciples, those men who had walked in his footsteps, who had followed in the dust of the rabbi?

It is finished.

Sabbath was filled with sorrow rather than joy. The traditions and meals and rules all seemed so empty and useless. Gathered around the table, they swapped stories. Remember when he blessed the little children? Remember when he healed the blind man? Remember how he set those self-righteous white-washed tombs called Pharisees straight? Remember when he raised you, Lazarus? Word came to them; the authorities had blocked the entrance to the tomb with a large stone to keep his followers from stealing his body. Stealing his body? The burden of grief was so great that every little action, rising to serve, answering the door, took conscious effort. Who had the strength?

It is finished.

They spent the afternoon getting ready for Sunday. They prepared the rest of the spices and ointment they would put on his body. They wondered out loud how they would ever move that stone. They held each other and cried, ugly grief, grief that distorts your face, which weakens your body. And then they tried to get to sleep; they had to be up early the next day. Jesus was waiting.