Good Friday shook the earth. Now, it’s Saturday.
Hope is crushed and life goes on. Empty disappointment mingles with the stench of despondency. Melancholy sobs convulse deep in my soul.
Do you feel it? I can’t remove my stare from that cross and whisper, “what happened?” Expectation flows from the heights that I held them to, draining into pools of mud… the dirty, diluted, sludge of reality.
Possibilities perished, the weight of Jerusalem has landed heavy on my heart and shoulders. The sun shines but the cadaver of a cold and lifeless hope caused me to pull my sweater just a little tighter, pleading for comfort in what occurred in the yesterday. Shut out, locked out…
Hope destroyed, entombed by a rock.
I look at the cross and plead, my God, what happened?
It is Saturday in Jerusalem.
The designer of dreams, the bridge of hope…
destroyed on a cross, insulted, humiliated, cast out, flesh ripped, and blood spilled.
Jerusalem, there’s little comfort in your sweater. Take it off. What He promised, will come to pass. Your city will discover new life, mercy and abundant grace as the dawn blinks away the dark and heavy hearts.
New hope and eternal promises are right around the corner. Hold on and wait, Jerusalem, and wrap yourself in the grace that will greet you in the morning.
I lift up my eyes to the mountains— where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip— he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you— the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm— he will watch over your life;
the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. Psalm 121