Saturday, April 4th 

Bible Passage: Matthew 27: 62-66
By: Logan Strickland

So frequently, we find ourselves moving quickly through Easter weekend, rushing from the weight of Friday to the celebration of Sunday. The cross captures our grief, and the empty tomb fills us with hope, but somewhere in between sits a silent, still, often overlooked day.

Saturday. The day that doesn’t seem to have much to say.

In Matthew 27:62-66, the religious leaders are still busy. They work to secure the tomb, post guards, and do absolutely everything they can to ensure the story is over. From their perspective, it’s finished. Jesus is gone. They thought they’d secured their victory with a seal and a stone.

Saturday became the space between what was and what would be. It’s the tension between heartbreak and healing, between the prayer prayed and the answer that hasn’t yet come. It’s the place where nothing appears to be happening—yet everything is unfolding.

Though the events of Saturday are mentioned only once in Scripture, it’s clear that a deep pain and longing weighed so heavily.

To those who’d walked with Jesus, the silence must have felt unbearable. Confusion, grief, and unanswered questions filled the air. Though Jesus told them His Resurrection was coming, they just couldn’t seem to remember His promises. So, they gathered to weather the loudest silence they’d experienced—the quiet before the greatest victory the world would ever see.

And maybe that’s what makes Saturday so familiar.

We know what it feels like to sit in the in-between. To live in the gap between loss and restoration, between promises spoken and promises fulfilled. It’s uncomfortable. We don’t like the stillness. We try to fill it, rush through it, distract ourselves from it.

But God is not absent in the silence. What feels like inactivity is not indifference. What feels like delay is not denial.

Saturday teaches us something we often try to avoid: that waiting has purpose. It sharpens the pain of Friday, yes, but it also prepares our hearts for the joy of Sunday. Without the silence, we wouldn’t feel the full weight of what was lost or the fullness of what is restored. Even in the stillness of the tomb, God is still at work.

Like an artist painting His masterpiece, letting the negative space on His canvas breathe, waiting to be defined by the surrounding brushstrokes, God uses the heartbreak of Good Friday and the triumphant joy of Resurrection Sunday to define the patient waiting of Silent Saturday.

So, if you find yourself in a Saturday season—waiting, wondering, holding onto hope that hasn’t yet become sight, you’re not alone. Our King is still working. The silence is not the end of the story.

Sunday is coming!

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