Welcome to Saturday!

Years ago, I wrecked my car. Smashed it right into a telephone pole. I'd only had it a few months. It was really all I had to my name at that point and, truthfully, I was one step away from living in that car. But, I'd been to a barn party, had too much to drink, and lost it on a winding back road. I managed to get a ride to a police station where I reported the accident (that was an interesting conversation) and had someone take me to my ex-husband's house. He wasn't home, and I let myself in. I crashed for the night, and woke up the next morning with a "did that really happen?" wonderment. I recall it as though it was yesterday. The grey light of dawn in the windows and, except for the morning song of vigilant birds, the heaviness of silence. Waking in a place that was familiar, but no longer comfortable. Knowing how bad this all was, but having no idea where to begin fixing it. Trying to figure out at what point things had gone from a typical night with friends to aloneness and nothingness. Rationalizing as we all do in trouble -- "If only I hadn't..." -- as if somehow with our wishes or regret we can erase an outcome.

I imagine the disciples waking the morning after Christ's crucifixion with a similar feelings. One moment they were celebrating Passover with their Friend, the next moment He was gone. One moment they were waiting for their Teacher to return from prayer -- maybe asking one another, "Are you as tired as I am? How does He keep going like this?" -- the next moment He was being dragged away before their eyes. One moment they were safe, a band of brothers with their Master at the helm, the next moment they were scattered, in hiding, with no one to lead them. One moment they were hoping in this Messiah, the promises of a new kingdom, the next moment...

Welcome to Saturday. This is where we are. All of us live between Christ's death-burial-resurrection-ascension, and His return. There are choices to be made and things to sort out. We are at a point where we can keep our eye on the past. We can think to ourselves, "It's been two thousand years and nothing has happened! It's a great story, but does it bear any relevance for us today?" Don't think for a minute those disciples didn't doubt everything. We can continue to keep our eyes fixed on the promise. We can say to ourselves, "Things will be different when Jesus returns; all of this evil will end. I can really do with some peace and rest." And there's nothing wrong with looking to the promise fulfilled; I'm sure some of the disciples wished it could all just end, that they could simply be taken out of this evil and unjust world. But it is Saturday, and God doesn't waste any time.

This is the day, the time, given to us by a God who wants to include us in His plan, who wants us to know the benefit and blessing of working for Him, who gains even greater glory by restoring sinful, broken people and using them to do miraculous things. A God who demonstrates to us His faithfulness each and every time we have the privilege of witnessing His work. This is Saturday. Without Friday, there'd be no Saturday; without Sunday, Saturday would have no point. But we are here, and it is because of the Saturdays of others -- others caught between the promise and perfection, others who lived and worked in circumstances marked with pain for the sake of the glory (Heb. 11:1-12:2), others who served humbly despite never seeing fulfillment with an earthly understanding (but something much more glorious), that we can be assured God is at work. Even on Saturday.