A Heavy Silence

It is easy to forget the heavy silence that had existed between the first Good Friday and Easter Sunday.  To limit the sorrows and adoration of the Passion to Friday and focus on the upcoming resurrection after Friday's service.  In doing so, we inadvertently skip over the fact that God let Jesus lay in the tomb for a full day and a half.  For a day and a half, God was utterly silent.  For a day and a half, darkness appeared to have won.  We often meditate on Christ dying, but rarely sit with Christ's death.  

In response, I wanted to write a reflection of both.  I'll be drawing from three different sources whose links can be found at the bottom of this post.

Sitting in the Silence

What had I done before the silence?  My God sweat blood out of anxiety and anguish knowing one of his own would soon betray him.  That I, a trusted friend, decided maybe $90, $200, or $3,000 was worth ending his transformative ministry and handing him over to a brutal death.  Oh, how readily I sell you for passing riches of this world, signing the deal with an empty kiss!  

What have you done to deserve this?  Because you led me through the desert, for forty years, and fed me with manna, and brought me into a land exceeding good, I have prepared a Cross for my Savior. With earthly treasures and the memory of a kiss, I am left in silence without you. 

What had I done before the silence?  My God is condemned for standing in truth of who he is while his accusers refuse to believe it.  I, on the other hand, wait outside and deny who I am while my accuser speaks the truth.  Oh, how unwilling am I to fully accept who you are!  How readily I deny that I am chosen by you when it doesn't suit me!  

What have you done to deserve this?  Because you brought me out of Egypt, and sank Pharaoh in the Red Sea, I have delivered you to the chief priests.  With my own sense of truth and false identity, I am left in silence without you.

What had I done before the silence?  My God stands as king, robed and with a crown of thorns.  But I honor this king by beating him with leather embedded with metal, tipped with sharpened bone to ensure his own bone will show.  I mock his kingship and tell him to predict his next wound.  Oh, how cruelly I dishonor you, finding pleasure in repeatedly inflicting such deep wounds!

What have you done to deserve this?  Because you scourged Egypt for me, and its firstborn, I have delivered you to be scourged.  With brutal weapons and hands covered in blood, I am left in silence without you.

What had I done before the silence?  My God, weakened and with a body in shock, tries to carry a 100 pound beam to the site of his execution.  With the wood digging into his shoulder, he falls under its weight.  Oh, how I expect the weak to carry weights that are too much to bear!

What have you done to deserve this?  Because you led me out of the land of Egypt, I have prepared a Cross for my Savior.  Without splinters or gravel-pocked knees, I am left in silence without you.

What had I done before the silence?  My God struggles to breathe as he hangs on a cross by his nailed
hands and feet.  After he cries out and offers his last breath, I pierce his heart to ensure he is dead.  Oh, how intent am I to keep you from reaching out, from going where you wish, from being alive!

What have you done to deserve this? Because you opened the sea before me, and I have opened your side with a spear. With a hammer and a spear, I am left in silence without you.


I cry out to my God. Why have you abandoned your Son?  Why have you abandoned his beloved disciples?  Why have you abandoned me?  In return, there is silence.

In silence, I lay you in a criminal's tomb.
In silence, I lock myself away in fear.
In silence, I anxiously wait to be carried away to my own death for choosing to follow you.
In silence, I wonder if I had you wrong all this time.

I wait for you to speak.  But on this Holy Saturday, I am left in silence.

Inspiration from "The Science of the Crucifixion" by Dr. Cahleen Shrier,  Popule Meus, and "The Silence of Christ's Death" by Cardinal Robert Sarah.

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