The Silence of Saturday: Living in the Waiting Room of the Resurrection

What do you hold onto when hope lets go?

Good Friday is brutal. It’s the day hope dies. It’s the sound of nails. The cry of betrayal. The ache of watching everything you believed in—bleed out.

But Saturday?
Saturday is silent.
Still.
Heavy.

It’s the in-between space where grief and confusion collide. Where the questions are louder than the answers. Where what was is gone, and what could be feels lost.

What happens when all your hopes and dreams, your future and your faith, come crashing down in an instant? What happens when pain moves in and makes itself at home? When the plan falls apart, and you’re left with nothing but memories and a thousand what ifs?

That was the disciples’ Saturday.

They had given up everything to follow Him.
Watched Him heal.
Heard him speak like no one else.
They believed He was the One.

And then…they saw Him die.

What do you do when the One you trusted most ends up in a tomb? What do you say when the promises feel broken, and the story seems over?

Saturday is about that space. The space between what was and what might never be again.
It’s where the tears fall.
It’s where the questions live.

Saturday is not clean. It’s not tied up in neat theology or unhelpful cliches.
It’s raw. Messy.
It’s the long, slow exhale of hope defferred.

And for some of us….
Saturday is where we live—day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute.
We live in the in-between space where the miracle hasn’t happened.
Where the prayer hasn’t been answered.
Where God seems silent.

But what if the silence of Saturday isn’t the end of the story?