Hopeless to Holy
I wonder how the disciples were feeling on this day thousands of years ago. Their teacher, confidant, closet friend, the one they left everything for, had just died the most brutal death imaginable. I cannot fathom the weightiness of today. On a seemingly silent Saturday. I imagine they felt fear. Fear that they would be next, that if they did not hide, the Romans would do the same to them as they had to Jesus. I am sure that they were terrified. Flinching at the sound of every passing movement. Wondering if they would be found or killed. Probably too afraid to light a single light in the room. Sitting in the quiet stillness. Fear leaving them frozen in place. I imagine they were also disappointed, confused, angry, utterly sad, and at a loss for words. This had been the man they thought would save them. Who would come in and overthrow the Romans, so that the Jews would be free from their reign. Now, he was dead. The one they had shared countless meals with, walked hundreds of miles