I know Easter week is full of days to commemorate the last week of Jesus’ earthly ministry leading up to the cross and the empty tomb. There’s Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday.

It has always struck me that there isn’t anything for the Saturday in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I suppose maybe there’s some kind of Catholic or Orthodox service on that day, but I haven’t heard of anything.

I wonder if it’s because Saturday is a kind of in-between day. Back then, the disciples didn’t know what was coming the next day, so for them Saturday was processing the end of all they had experienced with the Messiah (or who they thought had been the Messiah).

They had seen a very disfigured, very dead Jesus taken off the cross and placed in a tomb. As far as they were all concerned, it was over. Grave dead kind of over. There’d be no Lazarus walking out of the tomb kind of miracle. Who would do the raising?

This is where I like living on the other side of the story. I know how the next day played out and how it changed how we view Good Friday and the Saturday that followed. I love how the tomb turned out to be a three-day rental instead of a permanent monument to a dead leader.

Because of Easter Sunday, Good Friday is good. Because of Easter Sunday, the worst we go through doesn’t compare to the glory that’s coming. Because of Easter Sunday, the bad is not final and defeat is not forever, but the victory has already been won.

So Saturday doesn’t mean the end but a kind of prelude to a new beginning. A beginning of hope and joy and grace and victory forever.

“God of Redemption, You are almighty, wonderful, and so good. Though thousands of years ago, there was immense grief over the blood-shedding sacrifice of your Son, we can now call it good because of the blessed restoration of the resurrection. It is the most amazing gift the world has ever been given—the fullness of life with you forever. We deal with difficult things daily, but we know you promise to redeem it all. And for this, we can find good even in the things around us that don’t seem so good. Lord, it is good because everything is under your authority, and we know that you will turn everything around, just as your Word promises. We praise you for Good Friday, for reconciling all things through your Son, and for the goodness you offer through every detail of our days. In Your Perfect Name, Amen” (Keri Eichberger).

Lord, help me see that Good Friday is good not because of what happened on that day but because of what came of it. Through the crushing of Your Son, I and all who believe can have life eternal and abundant in Your name. You were able to cry out, “it is finished” because of a life of perfect obedience that ended in the perfect sacrifice. You became unrecognizable as human so that we who were dead to You might be made alive in You, becoming new creations.

Easter Sunday is what makes Good Friday good. Thank You for the hope of the resurrection that no one can ever take away from us. Amen.

I’m thankful that God isn’t like me in a lot of ways. I’m especially thankful that He doesn’t treat me the way I deserve (or worse yet, like I treat Him sometimes). That would probably be fair but it wouldn’t turn out very well for me.

God isn’t fair with me. He’s merciful. He doesn’t give me what I deserve but what Jesus deserves. He gives me what I don’t deserve, and gave to Jesus on the cross what I did (and do) deserve.

Easter is the epitome of God not being fair in the best way possible. The cross is Jesus getting what every one of us deserves and those in Christ getting every benefit that only Jesus deserves. I don’t want to know what it would be like if I suddenly got all that I had earned by my thoughts and behaviors. None of us do.

But Jesus knows because He bore it all on the cross. Every dark thought, every selfish motive, every lustful inclination, every bad deed. He knows it in full and paid it in full. All of it.

The more you and I know who we are apart from the grace of God, the more we’re thankful for Easter Sunday. The louder we’ll sing. The higher we’ll lift our hands.

“The subject of our meditation in this present life should be the praises of God; for the everlasting exaltation of our life hereafter will be the praise of God, and none can become fit for the life hereafter, who has not practiced himself for it now. So then now we praise God, but we pray to Him too. Our praise is marked by joy, our prayer by groans…On account of these two seasons, one, that which now is in the temptations and tribulations of this life, the other, that which is to be hereafter in everlasting rest and exultation; we have established also the celebration of two seasons, that before Easter and that after Easter. That which is before Easter signifies tribulation, in which we now are; that which we are now keeping after Easter, signifies the bliss in which we shall hereafter be. The celebration then which we keep before Easter is what we do now: by that which we keep after Easter we signify what as yet we have not. Therefore we employ that time in fastings and prayer, this present time we spend in praises, and relax our fast. This is the Halleluia which we sing, which, as you know, means Praise ye the Lord. Therefore, that period is before the Lord’s Resurrection, this, after His Resurrection: by which time is signified the future hope which as yet we have not: for what we represent after the Lord’s Resurrection, we shall have after our own” (St. Augustine).

At Fellowship Bible Church, we used a saying back in the day to signify a moment that makes you speechless. We called it a w.o.w. moment, meaning without words.

I saw a quote today that gave me a w.o.w. moment. It certainly fits in during this holy week leading up to Easter Sunday. Here’s the quote:

“”The One we preach is not Christ-in-a-vacuum, nor a mystical Christ unrelated to the real world, nor even only the Jesus of ancient history, but rather the contemporary Christ who once lived and died, and now lives to meet human need in all its variety today. To encounter Christ is to touch reality and experience transcendence. He gives us a sense of self-worth or personal significance, because he assures us of God’s love for us. He sets us free from guilt because he died for us, from the prison of our own self-centredness by the power of his resurrection, and from paralysing fear because he reigns, all the principalities and powers of evil having been put under his feet. He gives meaning to marriage and home, work and leisure, personhood and citizenship. He introduces us into his new community, the new humanity he is creating. He challenges us to go out into some segment of the world which does not acknowledge him, there to give ourselves in witness and service for him. He promises us that history is neither meaningless nor endless, for one day he will return to terminate it, to destroy death and to usher in the new universe of righteousness and peace.”

I’m not sure who said it. I think it might have been D. A. Carson. Still, it’s pretty amazing, don’t you think?

“Our worst days are never so bad that you are beyond the reach of God’s grace. And your best days are never so good that you are beyond the need of God’s grace” (Jerry Bridges, The Discipline of Grace: God’s Role and Our Role in the Pursuit of Holiness).

Basically, you never outgrow your need for the grace of God. You never get over your need for the gospel that saved you once and saves you still. You never grow past being completely dependent on God at every waking moment of your life.

It’s not the older I get the smarter and stronger I get, but the more I realize I don’t know and can’t do apart from the mercy of God ever present in my life.

It’s like what Aslan said to Lucy in the Narnia book Prince Caspian:

“‘Aslan” said Lucy ‘you’re bigger’.

That is because you are older, little one’ answered he.
‘Not because you are?’
‘I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger’ (C. S. Lewis, Prince Caspian).

Every year I get older, God gets bigger. My need grows bigger. My hope grows bigger. My joy grows bigger. Until one day when it becomes complete.

I started a new book on Audible recently that’s a bit of a different take on Audible. This one is called Who Am I? by Jerry Bridges, read by Alistair Begg.

So far, it’s good enough that I almost want to start it over again once I finish to get everything I probably missed the first time.

One part that I definitely didn’t miss was Jerry’s analogy of salvation. The gist is this: imagine a death row inmate who is waiting to be executed. He’s a serial killer who deserves to die.

But at the last minute, the governor pardons him and releases him from prison. Not only that but the governor legally adopts him into his family and invites him to live at the family mansion.

He gets all that, plus he becomes an heir to the governor’s estate and everything that goes with it. That’s a good picture of salvation.

It’s not perfect. The governor didn’t shed any blood to sign the papers to set the prisoner free. Also, there’s the matter of a transformation from death to life, the old self gone away and the new self here to stay.

But you get the point. Salvation isn’t assenting to new beliefs but becoming somebody completely new. Every single salvation is a resurrection and a miracle of sorts.

This Easter, I’m praying that those who know the joy of their salvation will remember and celebrate. I’m also praying that those who don’t know this salvation will experience the joy of being made new and having a forever brand new start.