The Saturday between Good Friday and the Resurrection must have been the saddest day in history.
One could argue that Friday was the saddest day, but from the disciples’ perspective, Friday still held hope that Jesus would be released.
Saturday, though– Saturday, the deed is done.
The Messiah is dead.
Saturday, they wonder: What went wrong?
Did they believe in Him in vain?
Were they duped?
Was He truly Messiah?
Were they next on the list for execution?
They went their separate ways.
Peter contemplated his actions, mourning that the last thing he did was reject Jesus, pretending not to know Him.
Mary planned for the burial rituals of her first born.
Yes, as the body of Christ lay sealed in the tomb, as God-made-flesh lay dead, all of creation must have ached that day in a way it never has before and never will again.
Even the Father must have grieved that day.
Satan, it seemed, had won.
The saddest day the world has ever known.
Never has this saying been truer than it was that day: it is darkest before the dawn.