Wrecked in Resurrection

Easter Saturday. Not something that you typically think about when “Easter weekend” pops up in your mind. There’s Good Friday: a dark day before the word “good” was ever attached to it. There’s the image of Jesus, carrying the weight of the literal world on His back, up the mountain and onto a cross that would hold the word “forgiveness” at a forever unattainable level. There’s Easter Sunday, complete with frilly socks and chocolate galore and a story about the impact of Jesus and the redemption He carried for us.

But where does Saturday fall?

I truly can’t remember anything I did as a child in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Probably one filled with chores and last-minute preparation for the chocolate bunnies that turned into another planned event with friends or a date that went unremembered in significance. But this year, I can’t help but think about the wreck in the resurrection.


This week, I was asked last minute to fill in for a host in UpStreet. It’s a place I’ve truly found joy in week in and week out since I started serving in November. To see kids click the power of Jesus to the insurmountable love He has for their tiny hands and feet and hearts truly has no words. But in the busyness and hectic schedules of the church, I was never given a script and when I got there, I was immediately stressed and worried that I was going to mess up these weighty words about the excitement and importance of Easter, the day that Jesus came to be our savior.

I was assured time and time again by my team that it would be amazing and that God would use my words to reach the little ears sitting before me. I crammed as much as I could verbatim, but I was getting worried. Those perfectionist tendencies flare up in the worst moments and doubt becomes a heavy shadow. But our sweet interim large group director came and told me this simple line that was precisely what I needed to hear: “Whenever I’m cramming for an unexpected or tough script, I just remember that I believe in these things I’m saying. I believe that Jesus rose out of the tomb. I believe that He died for our sins. I believe that we can celebrate that relationship now and forever in heaven. You believe these things. Just tell them about it.”

So I set my script down and prayed for the rest in my head that it would make sense. I heard the words flow out of my mouth: 

Today is the day that we celebrate Jesus’ biggest love for us. Today is the day that Jesus came and we get to celebrate him becoming our savior! Isn’t that AMAZING? We get to have this relationship with Him that starts now and lasts FOREVER in heaven because of how much He loved us.”
I’m sure my performance won over the kindergarteners in my room, but the weight of that message is so much stronger for someone on Easter Saturday. 
Saturday was the day of waiting. It was the first day without Jesus there, no message of hope and love to share. It’s one that kept everyone looking in the shadows, with no celebration in sight for the man that revolutionized how God’s infinite love is shown. 

Saturday is a hard day. But what they didn’t know was that Sunday is coming. 
Sunday was full of revelation and hope and joy. Sunday was a day that radically changed the story. But death had to happen on Friday and everyone had to wait for Saturday to pass. 
I am in a huge season of waiting right now. I keep looking around with that panicked wonder at those around me and can’t help but feel like I’m behind where I’m supposed to be. People my age or younger own their own houses and are married and starting their own families. They have grad school degrees and are earning twice my annual salary and globetrotting around experiencing things I’ve dreamt about for years on end. 

Many of my friends are waiting, too. They’re waiting for new jobs and bigger opportunities and a change from their everyday. They’re itching and desperate for something to change, but no matter their persistence or persuasion, the world isn’t budging. 

We are living our Saturday. 
But Saturday also isn’t the end of the story. 

Tomorrow morning, just as this post goes live, I’ll be sitting with the people I love most watching the sunrise crest over Alpharetta at 7:03 am. A sunrise on a Sunday that marks the wreck in resurrection. It marks the start of the entire change that people so desperately needed 2000 years ago. It is the start of everything new. Mary had no idea what she wouldn’t find. The disciples didn’t realize that He is a good father that follows through on all of His promises. We couldn’t fathom how His word would alter people’s lives thousands of years later. 
Friends, if you’re waiting for change, realize that you are living in your Saturday. And Sunday is coming. Your sun is coming. 


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