Two verses today. Jesus had been buried, people had prepared burial spices, and nothing further was done today, because Saturday was the Jewish Sabbath.
I was trying to contemplate the silence that must have been present today. I read a poem last night by Garret Keizer called “The Errand.” It’s written from the hypothetical point of view of the person who took the borrowed colt on which Jesus had ridden back to the owner. It hyposthesizes what the owner must of been like…interesting.
It gives this feeling about the absence of noise and commotion, though, I have to imagine that today all those centuries ago must have been just that. Grieving and crying enough to go around, I’m sure. But if you went to Golgotha on that day, for example, I bet you would have encountered horrible, pervasive silence.
I wonder if there’s a significance to that? Why Jesus didn’t rise until after the Sabbath? I wonder why the pause? Was it to allow those who had observed the events of the previous day to allow it to have an impact on them?
Interesting, don’t you think? The world had just shifted, and there was only silence.