What Now?

It’s the Friday before Easter. Imagine how it must have been for the disciples that first “Easter.” It’s been a bad week. Only days earlier, Jesus rode into Jerusalem like the triumphant king, albeit on a donkey, but it was prophesied, wasn’t it? But, then comes the betrayal, by one of their own, the church treasurer, a man they trusted. Then a trial, that wasn’t much of a trial at all. “Crucify him!” the crowd yelled. And yesterday, that’s exactly what they did—quickly, so his death won’t linger into the Passover. May have been thinking, as did others, he could save others, why couldn’t he save himself? But he didn’t.

The sun rose this morning and brought with it that awful feeling. Jesus is dead, buried in a tomb guarded by solders. The disciples have scattered, but they’re coming back together, slowly. They don’t know what’s going to happen now. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. They are so deep in their own sorrow that they aren’t listening to the people on the street as they make the final preparations for Passover. The same people who cried “Hosanna!” then turned on him are talking about what happened yesterday. “I watched him die,” someone says. “I heard it was exciting,” another says. “We crucified our Messiah,” the first says.

Had they only known what was about to happen, there would have been hope. They would have been walking the streets preaching, but they weren’t. No, today is a day of mourning. Jesus lies in the tomb.