The day before the resurrection

What was the world like the day before the resurrection?

Yesterday, Jesus died.  Tomorrow He is set to rise.  But what about today?

It's just a day but a day can be packed with feelings.  Explosive, untamable feelings.  On days of intense heartache or overwhelming anticipation, which could be either one in this case, a day can feel like a thousand days.

One day could feel like a living hell, one where waking up is questionable and each second passing is another dagger pierces through your weathered heart.  You don't make it off the floor.  Your clothes are stained with tears and your throat is sore from the moans.  How will tomorrow come?  When will tomorrow come?

You can't wait.  You are so excited you can barely stand it and so far you have tried to occupy yourself with so many useless things and when you look at the clock it has only been two minutes.  You have done all the strategies you know of for speeding up time--you have watched at least three documentaries, taken five naps, and went on four different runs to help expel some of the energy.  Your heart is exploding.  You are ready.  The day seems never ending.  How will tomorrow come?  When will tomorrow come?

How did the Father feel on this day?  Was He still mourning, slowly beginning to turn His face around?  Or was He in hopeful preparation of the day that all the prophecies inspired by His own power alluded to?

Which one will you choose?
Grief.  Or hope.

How about the men who killed you?  Did they feel satisfied?  How about the man who pierced your side?  Did He feel good about Himself?  Maybe.  Maybe they felt a rush of power and authority.  But maybe a few of these men felt a little worried yet wouldn't admit it to others:  "What if it does come true and He really is God and He really does rise?"  They think but dare wouldn't say.  Maybe it was fleeting.  Maybe the thoughts lasted but for the moment as the put His body in the ground supposedly for good.  Maybe they just shook it off and justified it and just kept on with their business, assuring themselves that there was no possible way.

Did these men have hearts of stone or were they simply confused?  Did these men really have threads of bitterness weaving together their beings, and icy cold blood rushing through their veins?  Were the deepest parts of them vying for an innocent man to be killed?  Did peer pressure play a part?  Were they sitting now alone, wondering in their minds if it was really worth it?  Wondering why they really did it?  Could you see the demons in their eyes? Could you see the smirks of a job well done?

Why did they do it?  How did they feel now that it was done?

How was Mary?  Was she full of hope or was she lying in bed, grieving over the most cruel and public loss of her only son, given her by God Himself?  "It's not fair!" did she scream? Joseph maybe tried to act strong for her but when he got alone his heart broke for her.  His heart broke for Jesus.  His heart broke for the world.

What about His disciples?  What were they doing?  How many of them truly believed that He would rise?  How did they pass the time?  Did they sleep?  What about Simon Peter?  How did he go on knowing he betrayed his teacher, his Rabbi, his dear friend?

What was the mood?
Somber or expectant?
Both?

What about the people He healed?  What about the blind He made see and the lame He made walk? What about the lepers He made clean?  Of what account could they have to dispute?  They had to believe, right?  They had to believe He would rise.  They had no other choice.  Right?

What about the bystanders, the ones who kicked and stoned and mocked and spit at Jesus?  What were they feeling?  Were they feeling like their useless little actions made them feel a part of something grand?  Did they pride their "importance?"  Did they lift up their chins at their revolutionary behavior, their uprising, their unwavering quest for justice and truth in the world?  Did they wave their flags and clap their hands now that they had won?

Or did they feel ashamed?  When the earth shook did they know?  Did they know then that maybe it was all true?  When the veil was torn did they believe?  Did they believe that maybe He was the King, just like He said?

When they saw a man in sheer and utter agony, dying right in front of their faces, covered with lashes and bruises with their names on them, were they moved at all?  When he hung His head, were theirs still raised?  Was that picture ingrained in their memory?  Did it haunt them?  Was every face they saw His?  Was every dream they had of Him? Was every scream they heard like His?  Did it begin to wear down on them, change them?  Could they never get it out of their heads?

Did they believe?  Did they finally believe?

What's it going to take?

What's it going to take to move this world, this nation, this city, this person right beside you?  Where do they fall on this spectrum?  How do they feel about Jesus?  Are they close to believing, do they hate Him, are they scared to go to him, ashamed?  Are they grieving, still?  Does sin still hold them down as all they can see when they look at the cross is that vivid picture of an innocent body, hanging there, pinned there by their very own sin, with no sign of the resurrection to be seen?  He's still there to them.  They look into His pierced side and they see themselves.  Their sin, it killed Him.  Their sin, it kills them.

Are they waiting?  Are they expectant?  Are they hopeful?  Do they believe He will rise?  Did all the promises He made before He died even matter?

Are they proud?  Are they set on equality and revolutionary morality, an ethical deity?  They believe that they live a life deserving something from their own selves and their own standing. Don't they know that which we deserve by that standard is fire?  Don't they know instead they have righteousness?  Don't they know that that's exactly why Jesus came?  Oh, don't they know that's exactly why Jesus died? But are they proud to hang Him there?  Do they march with the gods of love and not the God that is love?  They feel proud to throw that one stone, hit that one nail as hard as they can and then walk away with tears in their eyes as if the nail found its own way into His hand.  Their sin does not affect them.  Life is easier with Jesus under their control.  His truth is diluted to their liking and some may rear their fists back to hit Him while feeling a little unsettled about it.  An inner conflict, an inner war: "Can I take all?  How much?  How much of this man is true?  Why do I feel like this man is changing me?  I don't know Him.  I only want a little.  He won't affect my whole life!  Just one stone and I'll be done.  Then I will turn from my ways and follow Him.  Just one more nail and I will be finished.  It will be finished."

It is finished.

"He can have my all...but no, that's offensive.  Okay, yes I believe Him and believe that He is Lord and I know it's taken me a while to get here but now I feel good.  I feel good. He makes me feel warm and fuzzy.  It's all pretty.  I mean I saw Him die.  I believe it.  I know He will rise.  I believe it.  But when it gets messy, I'm out.  Some of that stuff He stands for seems contradictory to me.  Why would a loving man not let me feel the way I want to feel?  Why would a loving man not let me do what I want to do, be who I want to be?  Why would a loving man not care about my preferences, what works best for me?

Why would this man who died in my place because of my sin not let this life be about me?

Oh.

Do you get it now?

Jesus did more than just stand for righteousness.

He died for it.

And He's not standing anymore.
He's seated at the right hand of God.

So now, no matter how you feel, no matter where you fall, no matter what you believe about the resurrection of Jesus the Christ, you have a different story.  We all have a different story.

We know how it ends.