The biggest lesson of today is this: 

            Even when all seems lost,

            When all is stilled, and completely silent,

            Even in the mourning season,

            When there clarity or healing has yet to be found,

            He is moving.

            Today, we learn the meaning of hope. Having journeyed with Jesus through the Last Supper, His passion and death, having grieved and having lost – today seems fairly unnecessary. It’s almost random, and part of the story that’s hard to understand. Coming off of so much action, now, there’s just: nothing.

            What happened in your heart, up to this point? Look back on Lent, and long before that – enter into your history with the Father. Where was He moving that you had no idea, only to find the end of the night, the joy of the morning, and no reason to fear?

            Today, we learn the meaning of hope – and hope and fear cannot coexist. Fear is either reality and hope delusional, or fear is a lie and hope is what we’re made for.

            Before you were even born, He proved Himself to you. 

            Today is not random – today, we learn how much higher His ways are then ours. He gives us time to process and to grieve – while simultaneously planning to heal it all. The process of grief leads us to healing. 

            In the space between death and resurrection, we continue to find a selfless, radical love, and a God who has never once been out of control. 

            In a Holy Saturday season of my life, following a catastrophic ending, and prior to the realization of redemption, I found myself out on a porch overlooking the mountains, under a sky full of stars. I ached, and I chose to finally enter into that ache. 

            The ache to understand what had just happened. The ache of abandonment. The ache of spinning out of control, unsure of where my heart was supposed to rest now. 

            And in this place, I found the compassionate heart of the Father who had been running after me the whole time. He had never pressured me to have it figured out, to do life perfectly, and wasn’t disappointed in my mess-ups.

            He was just with me in this place, offering mercy and grace – and hope. Hope for more. Hope that despair and disappointment don’t get to write my story, don’t get to be my ending.

            If you’re in a Holy Saturday season, know that beneath the surface, He’s working to restore all you think is lost. He’s working to romance your heart in ways beyond your imagination. 

            Resurrection is coming. 

            But it’s not here yet, and that’s important, because today is actually for you. The waiting was meant to serve you, not to hinder you. This is the secret of Holy Saturday: it’s not a random day, it’s a day for you to be emotionally honest with yourself, and with God, and from this place, to receive hope.

            God gave us a day to grieve and to ponder. He gave us space to feel, so we could fully embrace the fullness of His Presence. What He leaves space for, He doesn’t leave empty.

            The beauty of the liturgical calendar and feast days and commemorations is that we learn the nature of God. The Church isn’t random in what she invites us into; it’s all necessary, it’s all for us to more deeply encounter the nature of God.

            So let’s declare this over our lives today, as we learn about the nature of God: We are not created for disappointment. In stillness, our God is moving and working, never once out of control. In the silence, we come to Him as who we are, not what we do, recognizing redemption and restoration is not earned, but received. More is coming. 

            Get ready to run to that grave tomorrow morning, girl. And it’ll be all the more powerful, when today, hope is embraced: perhaps we don’t know how He makes it all good yet, but we know that He makes it good. When we choose to feel it all, and to let go of fear and control, and to realize that we don’t know what happens next, but that God is more active in our stillness than ever.

All is not lost, all is not broken – all of earth is trembling, knowing of the return of the Savior. He’s coming back, and He’s coming back for you, and He will not leave any chain unbroken or any fear unturned – He’s breathing redemption like fire, on His own terms, with His own plan – and it’s so much greater than anything we could possibly imagine.

Let hope arise.