We know how the story turned out. We know that there was a resurrection. We know that hope was realized, that everything turned out great. We know that Sunday made up for Friday.

But on the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, on the first of those Saturdays, on the one that happened before there was an Easter Sunday, no one on earth knew for sure what was going to happen. There had been promises, yes. There had been assurances. There had been prophecies and predictions. There was faith.

But Jesus was dead. Jesus was in the tomb. Jesus was gone.

We don’t know anything about that day, about the feelings or actions of the disciples. We know that on Sunday they were hiding. But we don’t know if they went to the temple on the Sabbath.

Think about it. For the previous three years, they had spent Sabbath with Jesus. They had gone to the temple or to the synagogue. They had heard him read, they had watched him heal, they had listened to him debate. The sabbath had been a big time of activity for Jesus.

And now he’s gone. What do they do?

The ones in charge of the meeting places killed him. The one who was transforming their lives had gotten himself killed.

The disciples had to be feeling pretty uncertain about religion on that day.

We end up in that same place. We have many days in between, between our affirmations of faith and the evidences of God’s action. We pray and there isn’t healing yet. We hope and the job is still missing. We ache and the child is still somewhere else.

Easter Sunday tells us that God does the impossible. Easter Saturday reminds us that we are invited to live with faith.