They only knew what had happened on the yesterday, they could not know of what would happen the next day. What were they thinking, what did they feel?
They had seen their leader, the one they had followed for 3 years, cruelly killed on that Roman cross. They must have been despondent, fearful of the authorities, and of their future.
Were they together as a group or in hiding individually?
How could they function in the days ahead?
This whole conjecture reminds me of a photograph I took a few weeks back. Over in middle Georgia, I had gotten up early to catch a sunrise, walked out the back door of the motel and looked east. They sky was beginning to color up, and I walked away from the civilization of the area toward an open field across the road.
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The sky was showing the beginnings of an orange sunrise, but smack in the middle of that field was an old chimney, no doubt from a house that had once stood on that property. Just an abandoned homestead that had once been a place called "home" to some people.
Would the disciples of Jesus seen the glory of that new day, or would their eyes and hearts have been focused on the sad and lonely pile of bricks? How could they go on? Indeed, why would they?
Jesus had told them what was going to happen, but their minds could not comprehend His words. Now the whole world had collapsed around them, and all they had were broken dreams and memories, a stack of used brick.
Were they angry? At Judas? At the Romans and their own leaders? At themselves for believing in a rabbi that had promised a new kingdom, for them and the Jewish nation?
They had Friday, and they were experiencing Saturday, but they did not know that Sunday was coming.
What a day that would be, not just for eleven men in Jerusalem, but for the world.
Thanks be to God...
For Friday, Saturday and for Sunday
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