It’s a sad day. What was supposed to be the best weekend of the year turned into the worst day possible.
Can you imagine the emotions of Jesus’ followers on Saturday that year? Just a few days previous he had come into Jerusalem on a donkey, welcomed by praises and palms.
He had shown no mercy to the merchants who had commercialized the Jews’ holiest feast day, Passover, that would take place on Saturday – the greatest possible Sabbath of all.
He had sparred verbally with the religious leaders again, and had put them in their place — again.
They had sat down together on Thursday evening to eat a meal. He had said some weird things that night
…about his body
…about his blood
…about the New Covenant
That’s OK. In just a few hours they would go to the Temple to kill their Passover lamb, and on Saturday they would eat it together, remembering God’s great deliverance of his people from slavery in Egypt.
But then it happened (Thursday evening and all day Friday)…
After supper, it was sort of a blur. Something about vines and branches. The Holy Spirit would make us remember…what was it?
He was praying. We couldn’t stay awake. And then…Judas! What…?
What’s happening? Midnight trials? Pilate…Herod… Pilate again?
No, not the scourge! And a cross?!
But we were supposed to kill the lamb today! Tomorrow is the Passover!
He’s…gone. Buried.[Saturday morning]
We were supposed to celebrate the Passover together today.
I don’t feel like celebrating anything today. We didn’t even get to bury him properly. The girls will do that in the morning.
But…what do we do now?