Why I Stopped Saying “Sunday Is Coming”
I remember the darkest week of my life. I remember how much it sucked. I remember the pain, the failure, the emptiness, the mountain that was in front of me. I remember a pastor/coworker sitting across from me at a coffee shop. I remember when he told me that essentially, that it would get better.
I know what he was trying to do. I know what he meant. And it made me mad. I didn’t need to be told it would eventually get better, that at some point, I would look back and it wouldn’t be like this. Any logical person who has been around any level of pain and loss knows that eventually you move on, that you learn to heal, learn to cope, learn how to move forward.
In the moment, we don’t need to hear that. We need hope yes, but as Christians for far too long we have tried to move people to the solution, to the future, to the point where the story makes sense. We want to point people to the part of the story where we can look back and see God’s hand through it all, almost like he was carrying us on some beach all along.
The honest truth is that if we were to skip to the solution, we would miss the journey. We need to be better at living in the tension of the in between, in between the Cross and the Empty Tomb, in between the pain and the resolution, that it is natural to just not know.
Good Friday and the Saturday between Easter always make me think of the disciples. Always about their thoughts and fears. What it was like to walk away from Golgotha, having watched their best friend and leader, everything they had actually lived for, beaten and brutally murdered. I wonder if the thunder and the ground shaking shook their dreams that night, if they even slept at all. I wonder if the sky darkening haunted their vision. I wonder what they said to each other, if they were able to eat anything. I wonder if they said anything, sitting in the upper room. I wonder if they just wept until they fell asleep or if they sat stoically.
What I do know is that not one of them pointed out that it would get better. None of them rushed to remember that Jesus said this would happen. None of them eased the tension. Sometimes life feels like the Saturday. And that’s okay. Because we do have hope. We do know that there is a moment that will change everything, that the tomb will be found empty, that Jesus would conquer death.
Yes, Sunday is coming, but if we rush to Sunday we miss Friday. We miss Saturday. And when we push people past the pain and tension of life, it is possible to miss the miracle and hope and joy found in the Sundays of our lives.
It’s okay to live in tension, and as Christians, we should be doing this better than anyone. This Good Friday, this silent Saturday, live in the tension, and when we are able to truly navigate this tension, we can help move each other to healing, to hope, and to the truth that it has all been conquered. Because Sunday is coming, and it is okay to wait in the knowledge that right now, it is not here yet.