In the Silence Between: My Own Easter Saturday Season

Easter Saturday doesn’t usually get much attention.
It’s a quiet day.
An in-between day.

But lately, I’ve found myself living in a Saturday season of my own —
stuck somewhere between heartbreak and healing,
between losing everything and believing that resurrection is still possible.

And when I think about what this Saturday must’ve felt like for Mary Magdalene,
I feel it in my bones.

The Weight of Waiting

On that Saturday after Jesus died, Mary’s world stopped.
No miracles. No answers. No comfort.
Just silence and grief.

Luke 23:55-56 (NIV)
“The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee followed Joseph and saw the tomb and how his body was laid in it. Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.”

They rested. They waited.
They sat in the uncomfortable middle ground of uncertainty,
the very place I’ve been living for months.

After losing my job, stability, and safety,
after the chaos of betrayal and grief —
I’ve found myself waiting, too.

No clear answers. No instant miracles.
Just me, holding onto hope even when hope feels quiet.

Grief and Faith in the Same Breath

Mary Magdalene knew grief intimately.
She knew the ache of feeling alone, unseen, and lost.
She had been healed by Jesus, restored and made whole.

And now… he was gone.

I think about the grief that must’ve filled that Saturday —
and I recognize that grief in my own story, too.

How many times have I asked, “God, why have You forsaken me?”
How many times have I wondered if my pain mattered,
or if silence was all I’d ever get in return?

Psalm 22:1-2 (NIV)
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish?”

Hope in the Holy In-Between

Yet something powerful happened in that silence, even if Mary couldn’t see it yet:
God was still moving.
He was preparing resurrection.
He was turning sorrow into a promise.

This is the quiet hope I cling to right now.
That even in silence, even in uncertainty, even in grief —
God is still working.

John 16:22 (NIV)
“So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.”

My “Saturday season” isn’t permanent.
Neither is yours.

The silence isn’t abandonment — it’s preparation.
It’s the space between death and resurrection.
It’s the necessary pause before the promise.

Holding On Until Sunday

If you’re here too —
waiting, wondering, grieving, hoping —
this is for you.

Our Saturday seasons aren’t wasted.
They’re sacred.

They teach us to trust, even when the answers don’t come.
They remind us that resurrection requires surrender,
and that rebirth can only follow a season of loss.

So, I’ll wait here.
In my grief, in my hope,
holding tight to a promise I can’t yet see but know is coming:

Sunday is on its way.

And when it arrives,
it won’t just be Jesus rising from the grave —
it will be us, rising with him, too.

Romans 8:18 (NIV)
“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

Until then, we wait together — holding onto faith, even on silent Saturdays.

With love, hope, and faith,
Shakara