For much of my life, I never knew there was a name for the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I knew of Shrove Tuesday (the day before Ash Wednesday), when historically people would use up “luxury” cooking items such as butter, eggs and fat prior to giving them up for Lent. And of course there’s Ash Wednesday which kicks off the liturgical season of Lent, a 6-1/2 week period leading to Easter Sunday which was historically a period of repentance and self-denial for believers. At the end of Lent, during Holy Week, I knew of Palm Sunday (celebrating Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem to complete His mission), Maundy Thursday (commemorating the Last Supper), Good Friday (remembering the crucifixion and death of Jesus), and Easter Sunday (celebrating Jesus’ resurrection).
It wasn’t until much later that I heard of Holy Saturday.
What an awful day that must have been for Jesus’ disciples and other followers. They had seen so many mind-blowing healings and miracles, and on more than one occasion the disciples specifically had been given power and authority by Jesus to drive out demons and heal diseases. They had, on some level, come to the understanding that Jesus was the long-awaited Christ, the Messiah. But even though Jesus had warned them – multiple times – what was going to happen to Him, they apparently weren’t yet ready to fully understand what He was saying.
And now He had been betrayed by one of their own, arrested, and brutally executed. The disciples and followers were shocked, sad, confused, frightened. Things had been going so well. They had experienced the power of God. It was exciting. They thought they knew where things were headed, that it was going to continue. And then…
I suspect that Holy Saturday is where many of us find ourselves on a regular basis. Life’s pretty good. We feel like we’ve got a handle on things. We make our plans. We may even feel like our faith is pretty strong. And then…
In the book of Mark, chapter 9, there’s the story of a father who brings his demon-possessed son to Jesus. The father says to Jesus, “If you can do anything, take pity on us and help us”. Jesus replies, “If? Everything is possible for those who believe”. At that the father replies, “I believe – help my unbelief!”.
That’s become a refrain for me. “I believe – help my unbelief!”. I believe that Jesus is who He says He is. I believe – at least on some level – in His promises. But my faith is incomplete, lacking.
Pastor and author Jeff Vanderstelt argues in his book ‘Gospel Fluency’ that all of us are unbelievers at various times, in varying degrees. For example, we don’t believe that God is truly great, so we take control of things instead of trusting God. Or we don’t truly believe in the salvation and forgiveness given to those who put their faith in and follow Jesus, so we still feel like we have to work to make up for our failures and sins in order to “earn” our way back, to prove ourselves worthy (even though we can never be worthy on our own).
We believe. Help our unbelief.
And so I pray for God to fill that gap, and to make up for what I lack. Sadness, confusion, and questions aren’t the end of the story.
Tomorrow is going to be glorious.