Audio By Carbonatix

“About three in the afternoon, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, 'Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”) (Matthew 27:46, NIV). 

It’s early Saturday morning. Jesus is buried in the tomb, and everything feels over. Your life. Your purpose. Your guidance and direction. You watched your King get massacred on that cross and can’t get the images out of your mind. The silence is too much to handle. The stillness makes you feel uneasy. The confusion swallows you whole. “How could it end like this?” you ask yourself.

To this day, I can’t imagine being one of Jesus’ Disciples or the women who followed Him. Yes, it would’ve been incredible to see Him face-to-face, but to see His body hang on that cross would be too much to bear.

For the past few weeks, I’ve gotten the closest I probably ever will to knowing what it would’ve been like to live back then. Participating in my Church’s Easter play, I get to be Hannah, a woman who had immense gratitude for Jesus and His miracles. As friends of Mary Magdalena, Joanna, Salome, and Mary, the Mother of Jesus, we spend our scenes mesmerized by Jesus of Nazerene. But we also see and mourn His death. Crying on the floor of the stage and looking at his mother’s grief, I’ve often thought one question: “Have you ever felt like God went quiet right when you needed Him most?”

When God didn’t appear on Saturday, you have to wonder if His followers thought He had disappeared. It had been prophesied to them that the Son of Man would die and be raised to life on the third day (Luke 9:22), but grief can deceive our vision. Thankfully, today, you and I know the full story. God didn’t disappear on Saturday; He was moving behind the scenes. He was defeating death and the grave. And yet, we will still need the courage and faith to sit in these Saturday moments. Because His silence never means His absence.  

While we’d rather skip over the full story from Friday to Sunday, waiting on silent Saturday is the sacred part of the story. We try to rush past it. To ignore that it exists. To throw it out with the uncomfortable and hard parts of the Resurrection story. But God uses it to grow us. To help us depend on Him more fully. To teach us to surrender, especially when it’s hard, scary, and unknown. Because without the waiting, the Easter story wouldn’t be complete. 

Today, you and I don’t need a full understanding of God to trust Him. Isaiah 55:8-9 says it this way, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts” (KJV). Just as the Disciples and the women who followed Jesus did not understand, we may not understand. Things will look bleak, sorrowful, and confusing. But a lot of the time, faith looks like staying. Abiding. Remaining faithful. Choosing to show up and believe, even when you don’t fully comprehend or get it. 

I don’t know what you’re waiting for this Easter season. It could be an answer, a test result, a dream, a relationship, or a test score. But might I encourage you to sit with God rather than rush towards answers? Be honest in prayer, yet learn to desire Him more than the answers you’re asking for. And even in the face of grave tragedy, hold onto what you do know about God. Because, regardless of circumstances, those things are true yesterday, today, and forever, regardless of how things may appear. 

Prayer

Dear Jesus, today I’m in a season of waiting. Like Silent Saturday, I ask for patience, trust, and peace in the face of uncertainty. Instead of rushing towards an answer, teach me to sit with you in the discomfort. You alone are the answer I seek. You are teaching and shaping me here, and I long to become more like you. As we approach Easter, help me appreciate the full range of the Resurrection story. And while the waiting is difficult, I will remember that even when it feels like nothing is happening, you are still writing my story. I love, praise, thank, and trust you, Lord. As Jesus told His Father, "Thy will be done, God.” I trust the process even when I can’t see the fullness of the story you’re writing. Amen.

Photo credit: ©GettyImages/Akarawut Lohacharoenvanich

Amber Ginter is a teacher-turned-author who loves Jesus, her husband Ben, and granola. Growing up Amber looked for faith and mental health resources and found none. Today, she offers hope for young Christians struggling with mental illness that goes beyond simply reading your Bible and praying more. Because you can love Jesus and still suffer from anxiety. You can download her top faith and mental health resources for free to help navigate books, podcasts, videos, and influencers from a faith lens perspective. Visit her website at amberginter.com.

Audio By Carbonatix

“About three in the afternoon, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, 'Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”) (Matthew 27:46, NIV). 

It’s early Saturday morning. Jesus is buried in the tomb, and everything feels over. Your life. Your purpose. Your guidance and direction. You watched your King get massacred on that cross and can’t get the images out of your mind. The silence is too much to handle. The stillness makes you feel uneasy. The confusion swallows you whole. “How could it end like this?” you ask yourself.

To this day, I can’t imagine being one of Jesus’ Disciples or the women who followed Him. Yes, it would’ve been incredible to see Him face-to-face, but to see His body hang on that cross would be too much to bear.

For the past few weeks, I’ve gotten the closest I probably ever will to knowing what it would’ve been like to live back then. Participating in my Church’s Easter play, I get to be Hannah, a woman who had immense gratitude for Jesus and His miracles. As friends of Mary Magdalena, Joanna, Salome, and Mary, the Mother of Jesus, we spend our scenes mesmerized by Jesus of Nazerene. But we also see and mourn His death. Crying on the floor of the stage and looking at his mother’s grief, I’ve often thought one question: “Have you ever felt like God went quiet right when you needed Him most?”

When God didn’t appear on Saturday, you have to wonder if His followers thought He had disappeared. It had been prophesied to them that the Son of Man would die and be raised to life on the third day (Luke 9:22), but grief can deceive our vision. Thankfully, today, you and I know the full story. God didn’t disappear on Saturday; He was moving behind the scenes. He was defeating death and the grave. And yet, we will still need the courage and faith to sit in these Saturday moments. Because His silence never means His absence.  

While we’d rather skip over the full story from Friday to Sunday, waiting on silent Saturday is the sacred part of the story. We try to rush past it. To ignore that it exists. To throw it out with the uncomfortable and hard parts of the Resurrection story. But God uses it to grow us. To help us depend on Him more fully. To teach us to surrender, especially when it’s hard, scary, and unknown. Because without the waiting, the Easter story wouldn’t be complete. 

Today, you and I don’t need a full understanding of God to trust Him. Isaiah 55:8-9 says it this way, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts” (KJV). Just as the Disciples and the women who followed Jesus did not understand, we may not understand. Things will look bleak, sorrowful, and confusing. But a lot of the time, faith looks like staying. Abiding. Remaining faithful. Choosing to show up and believe, even when you don’t fully comprehend or get it. 

I don’t know what you’re waiting for this Easter season. It could be an answer, a test result, a dream, a relationship, or a test score. But might I encourage you to sit with God rather than rush towards answers? Be honest in prayer, yet learn to desire Him more than the answers you’re asking for. And even in the face of grave tragedy, hold onto what you do know about God. Because, regardless of circumstances, those things are true yesterday, today, and forever, regardless of how things may appear. 

Prayer

Dear Jesus, today I’m in a season of waiting. Like Silent Saturday, I ask for patience, trust, and peace in the face of uncertainty. Instead of rushing towards an answer, teach me to sit with you in the discomfort. You alone are the answer I seek. You are teaching and shaping me here, and I long to become more like you. As we approach Easter, help me appreciate the full range of the Resurrection story. And while the waiting is difficult, I will remember that even when it feels like nothing is happening, you are still writing my story. I love, praise, thank, and trust you, Lord. As Jesus told His Father, "Thy will be done, God.” I trust the process even when I can’t see the fullness of the story you’re writing. Amen.

Photo credit: ©GettyImages/Akarawut Lohacharoenvanich

Amber Ginter is a teacher-turned-author who loves Jesus, her husband Ben, and granola. Growing up Amber looked for faith and mental health resources and found none. Today, she offers hope for young Christians struggling with mental illness that goes beyond simply reading your Bible and praying more. Because you can love Jesus and still suffer from anxiety. You can download her top faith and mental health resources for free to help navigate books, podcasts, videos, and influencers from a faith lens perspective. Visit her website at amberginter.com.