Because Sunday Always Comes

Today, Love was crucified.

Today, Hope was buried.

Today, Light was shut in a tomb.

Grandma always said the sun hides its face behind a darkened cloud at some point on Good Friday afternoon. As if nature still remembers the blood spilt and poured—the blood of the innocent.

The earth considers, and still it shudders.

On this day I always imagine the disciples, the followers, the Mother of Jesus. How hopeless they must have felt.

I imagine they expected a miracle, maybe? They watched a tortured, beaten, bloody Jesus in agony. Surely the Christ would call forth the angels? He walked on water, wouldn’t He save himself?

Surely.

But then Jesus takes his last shuddered breath. They watch as his body is lowered. A tomb is found. His lifeless form is sealed behind a giant stone and giant guards.

Hope is lost. Not even a crumb left to feed the desperate soul.

It is finished.

They didn’t understand God’s plan. They didn’t realize the greatest miracle was just ahead. They didn’t know Sunday was coming.

Good Friday was nothing good 2,000 years ago to the followers of our Lord. Good Friday was the definition of a hopeless world. In their eyes, death had won—to evil the spoils of victory.

How darkness must have clouded their hearts. This is not what they had signed up for. Doubt and sadness and confusion. They had just walked with Jesus yesterday.

Yesterday.

And now He’s dead.

Theirs was a crucifixion that had yet to taste the sweet relief of Resurrection.

But we know. We know Sunday’s coming.

When I try to match my hopeless moments to those who witnessed Christ’s death, I realize I don’t know hopeless as they did. I don’t know hopeless because I live in a world of the Sunday Resurrection.

I am never without Hope.

Hopelessness is a world where the Light never cracked open the tomb. It’s a world where Hope stayed buried. It’s a world where Love never rose again.

But I live in a world of the Sunday Resurrection.

You do too.

Today may seem dark. It may seem as if evil has crept in and pressed down hard. Life may feel as if all is lost. Your dreams and goals have shattered, and you’re walking through the broken glass.

But Hope is not gone, my sweet friend.

No.

Because Sunday’s coming.

Sunday always comes.

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