Why Easter Sunday Matters on a Monday
Sometimes, life flat out knocks you down and knocks you out. Sometimes, life takes all the life right out of you. Sometimes, all the good seems gone, all the light seems blotted out by darkness.
Sometimes, life is a lot like Good Friday. Whether you know the story or you just know Fridays are good because they mean it's finally the weekend, I bet you can relate. On the original good Friday, life was pretty rough. A man was being beaten, knocked down, knocked out, mocked and ridiculed.
I've never been beat up, but I've been knocked down. I've been mocked. I get that.
On that original good Friday, the life of a perfect, innocent man was taken right out of him. All the good seemed gone, all the light seemed destroyed by a deep and heavy darkness.
I've felt that. I've felt hopelessness. I've felt defeat, despair, darkness. I get that, too.
Sometimes, life is a lot like the Saturday that followed. There were no answers. There was no clarity. There was mourning, confusion, shock, pain. The very thing people had put their belief and hope and trust into was lying dead in a tomb, out of sight, seemingly gone. It probably seemed utterly hopeless to them. Nothing made sense on Saturday. Nothing seemed right.
I've been there. Those feelings are all too real to me. Disaster strikes, tragedy hits, horrific things happen, and those Saturday feelings set in deep in my soul.
The beauty of it all, yes, the beauty of that Friday tragedy and that Saturday misery, is Sunday still came.