This Saturday: the darkest day in history. When all seemed lost and defeated. When the enemy was assured of victory and the disciples were grieved with loss. A day of silence. A day of darkness.
And He will swallow up on this mountain
the covering that is cast over all peoples
the veil that is spread over all nations
He will swallow up death forever,
and the Lord God will wipe away
tears from all faces,
and the reproach of His people He will
take away from all the earth,
for the Lord has spoken.
It will be said on that day,
“Behold, this is our God,
we have waited for Him,
that He might save us.
This is the Lord,
we have waited for Him,
let us be glad and rejoice
in His salvation.”
Isaiah 25.7-9
This is what the cross accomplished. This is what the empty tomb sealed. Death—defeated. Sin—conquered. Sorrow—overcome. The enemy thought that the silence of saturday would win.
But it didn’t.
Sunday erupted with the sounds of victory—an earthquake to rid the tomb of its seal. the clattering shields of the Roman guards as they fled. the shocked screams of the women as they found the empty tomb. the gentle gasp of Mary as she whispered, Rabbi, to her risen Lord. The pattering footfalls of the feet of the disciples, running to see if what they said was true.
He couldn’t silence them anymore when Sunday came.
So, He’s trying to silence us here, now. In this separation between Sunday and today.
He seduces us to think that half-victory is enough, that we haven’t overcome enough. But that’s the whole purpose of the cross: we couldn’t, and so Jesus did. And He said—in between the silence of a lamb led to slaughter and the silence of His last breath—It is finished, to echo into the silence of our screaming doubts, fears, worries, and disbelieving thoughts keep us in. His victory is full and complete, even over those very things still in us, still in me.
So, on this saturday morning, He had me read the statements and songs of Isaiah’s heart that fight against the silence the enemy still fights to keep us in. On this saturday morning, He sings songs to me. over me. for me.
And who I am, how can I not, sing along?
Let us be glad and rejoice in His salvation.
This morning, I was issued an Easter Sunday challenge—“Reflect on a specific promise of gift given uniquely to you because of Christ’s death and resurrection. What do you have, now that Christ has risen, that you wouldn’t have otherwise had access?”
A song to sing, I hear Him whisper.
Yes, a victory song that cannot be silenced by anything or anyone. a song of peace & joy, even still in the storm. a song of delight. a song of hope. a song of life that the gates of hell cannot shake. Yes, a song to sing.
For You have conquered death and defeated the longest night. You have set all things, finally right. You have made us alive and have given us the great light. the darkness dispels. the enemies cower. the clouds scatter as the cross’ song rings out over the storm that was Sin’s long & terrible rage—peace, be still.
And as I cast my eyes to the cross, I don’t hear You question if I have faith anymore. For You felt the full wrath of the Father upon a world of faithless people—so that You could be the author of true faith for all who would dare to look to you.
And as I fix my eyes on its empty frame, I don’t hear you challenge my fear anymore. For the perfect love suspended and splintered here casts it all out—the punishment of sin forever destroyed.
And as I fall on my knees, my eyes cast down to the hard ground that could never hold you, the only other question silenced in me is my own. I can no longer whisper, do you even care?, for no other place proves it so profoundly. You cared enough to leave the Father’s care and cast Yourself a living, breathing, dying, rising sacrifice—undeniable proof of His care, Your care, for us all.
What wondrous love. What amazing grace. The smile on my face cannot be hidden by sin’s disgrace. And the song in my soul cannot be silenced by the enemy’s roar. For the battle is finished; the victory sure. My Savior’s death and my Savior’s life has won the war.
