Week 3 Sunday — That First Easter... I Was There
Day 21: Saturday Silence
Day 21: Saturday Silence
Psalm 46:10; Lamentations 3:25-26
¹⁰ “Be still, and know that I am God.”
— Psalm 46:10 (NIV)
²⁵ The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; ²⁶ it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.
— Lamentations 3:25-26 (NIV)
Reflection
This is the day nobody talks about.
Good Friday has its solemnity. Easter Sunday has its celebration. But Holy Saturday — the day between — belongs to silence. To waiting. To the strange, suspended grief of not knowing what comes next.
The disciples didn’t know Sunday was coming. They knew only that Jesus was dead, that the tomb was sealed, that everything they had given the last three years of their lives to was over. The Sabbath held them in place — no traveling, no working, no doing anything at all — while the weight of Friday settled into their bones.
They couldn’t rush to the tomb. They couldn’t make plans. They could only sit with what had happened and wait for a morning that, as far as they knew, would bring nothing but more grief.
That is where we sit today.
This week we have walked through the darkest territory of the series. We fell asleep in the garden when Jesus needed us most. We found our own ways to betray Him for far less than thirty pieces of silver. We stood by a courtyard fire and denied Him — not always in words, but in our distracted, plan-running, self-sufficient ways. We washed our hands of hard choices and called it wisdom. We let the crowd do our thinking for us. We sat at the foot of the cross and rolled dice while He died above us.
It has been a heavy week. The heaviest of the series.
But every conviction this week came wrapped in grace. Jesus carried Gethsemane alone — and kept coming back for the disciples anyway. He called Judas friend at the moment of betrayal and held the door open to the end. He turned and looked at Peter across the courtyard — not in judgment, but as a touchpoint of grace. He stood sovereign and silent before Pilate, already interceding for those who didn’t know they needed it. He absorbed the crowd’s worst words and turned them into the ground of three thousand salvations. He prayed “Father, forgive them” while the soldiers were still rolling dice — before they had any idea they needed forgiving.
Every hard thing this week had a tender thing underneath it. That’s who He is. That’s what the cross reveals.
Now we rest. Not because the story is over — it isn’t. Not because everything is resolved — it isn’t yet, not on this side of Sunday. But because Holy Saturday is its own kind of grace: the grace of enforced stillness, of sitting with what we don’t yet understand, of trusting that God is working in the silence even when we cannot see it.
The women prepared spices on Friday and rested on Saturday, not knowing Sunday was coming. They were faithful in the waiting. So can we be.
Be still. Sunday is coming. But we don’t go there yet. We sit here first, in the silence, and we trust the God who works in tombs.
Prayer Prompts
Take your time with these. Don’t rush. Pick the ones that resonate, or pray your own. There’s no hurry today.
For the Garden You Keep Falling Asleep In:
Jesus, I keep showing up without being present. My spirit is willing and my flesh is weak — and the gap between them is wider than I want to admit. Wake me up. Not just in my devotional life, but in all of it. And on the days when exhaustion takes everything I have, remind me that You are watching even when I cannot. You never sleep.
For the Ways You’ve Traded Him:
Lord, I know what I’ve been exchanging You for — quietly, gradually, in ways I’ve been calling something other than betrayal. Approval. Comfort. Convenience. The things I want more in weak moments than I want You. Forgive me. The door You held open for Judas is still open for me. I’m walking through it.
For the Courtyard:
Jesus, I’ve been so absorbed in my own plan — so focused on fixing what I thought needed fixing — that I’ve missed what You were actually doing right in front of me. Forgive the self-sufficiency dressed up as devotion. I don’t want to be running scenarios while You’re at work. Turn and find me. I want to see Your eyes.
For the Basin of Water:
Father, I confess the hand-washing. The careful language. The non-decisions I’ve dressed up as prudence. I’ve chosen my reputation over Your truth more times than I want to count. Forgive me. The basin of water never cleaned what only Your blood can. Receive me as I am — and give me the courage to choose rightly, whatever it costs.
For the Crowd I’ve Been Part Of:
Jesus, I’ve let consensus replace conscience. I’ve amplified what I should have questioned and stayed silent when I should have spoken. Forgive me for the times I’ve let the loudest voices in the room do my thinking for me. Give me the courage to be a different kind of voice — not louder, but clearer. Not angrier, but truer.
For the Dice:
Lord, I confess the numbness. The familiarity that has become its own kind of blindness. I’ve sat at the foot of Your cross and thought about other things. Forgive me for the desensitization — for hearing the story so many times that I’ve stopped being broken open by it. Make me the centurion. Draw me to my Savior. You are the Son of God. Let that be enough.
For Holy Saturday:
Father, I don’t always know what You’re doing. There are sealed tombs in my life — dreams that seem finished, prayers that seem unanswered, hopes that feel buried beyond recovery. Teach me to sit in the silence without rushing to resolution. The disciples didn’t know Sunday was coming. Help me trust that You are working in the dark, in the sealed places, in the waiting I cannot yet understand. You are the God who works in tombs.
Practices for Today
Choose one or more of these to practice Holy Saturday rest:
Silence — Set aside 20-30 minutes to sit in complete stillness. No agenda. No requests. No trying to resolve what this week has stirred up. Just be still and know that He is God. Let the silence be the practice.
Walk — Take a slow walk outside. No earbuds. No destination. Let the rhythm of movement quiet the weight of the week. Notice what is still alive around you — creation continuing, unhurried, while the story pauses.
Lament — If grief is present — your own grief, not just the disciples’ — bring it. Read Psalm 22 or Lamentations 3 slowly. Let Scripture give language to what you’re carrying. Lament is not the absence of faith. It is faith being honest.
Prepare — The women prepared spices on Friday, faithful in the waiting, not knowing what Sunday would bring. Is there something you need to prepare — a conversation, an act of obedience, a step of faith — that Sunday’s arrival will make possible? Do the Friday work today. Be ready.
Rest — If the week has taken everything you have, sleep. Nourish your body. Let yourself be restored. The resurrection is coming and it will ask something of you. Be rested enough to receive it.
Rest well today. The tomb is sealed — but Sunday is coming.
To read all the posts in this devotional series, visit: That First Easter... I Was There
© Steve Peschke / This Is The Way