Saturday. The in-between.
It’s the day most people skip right over. Good Friday grabs our attention with its darkness, its brutality, and its impossible love. Easter Sunday bursts forth with light and life and victory. But Saturday? It just sits there. Quiet. Awkward. Unresolved.

But maybe that’s the point.

Over 2,000 years ago, the disciples and followers of Jesus sat in this silence. They didn’t know Sunday was coming. They didn’t have the benefit of hindsight. Jesus was dead. The tomb was sealed. And hope, it seemed, had gone with Him.

They had heard Him say things like, “The Son of Man will rise on the third day,” but now that He was gone, all of that felt like riddles. Empty words. The kind of thing you want to believe in the moment, but now… now it just hurt to remember.

This day—the day between crucifixion and resurrection—was filled with unanswered questions, fear, and doubt. It was the day heaven felt silent.

That Kind of Silence Still Hits Us

You’ve probably been there.
You’ve prayed the prayer. Over and over again.
You’ve fasted, cried, begged.
You’ve gone to church, stayed faithful, waited on God.
And still—silence.

Saturday isn’t just a moment in history. It’s a spiritual experience that every believer walks through at some point. We all face “Saturday seasons”—where it feels like God is nowhere to be found, like the promises didn’t stick, and like maybe we misunderstood everything He said.

And what makes it worse is that these seasons often come right after our “Friday” moments—the heartbreak, the diagnosis, the loss, the betrayal, the failure. We expect that Sunday’s miracle will come quickly. But instead, we get… silence.

No parting of the skies.
No thunderous voice.
No burning bush.
Just stillness.

It’s in that stillness that our faith is stretched the most.

Faith Is Tested in the Waiting

Think about it: Friday is filled with pain, but at least something is happening. Sunday is filled with joy. But Saturday? Saturday is where faith lives or dies.

Isaiah 55:8-9 says that God’s thoughts and ways are higher than ours. That doesn’t just mean they’re better—it means they’re different. And in the silence, we wrestle with that difference.

We want a God who shows up immediately.
He gives us a God who resurrects—but in His time.

We want answers.
He offers presence.

We want escape.
He offers endurance.

Jesus didn’t just die for us—He entered into our waiting too. When His body lay in that tomb, when the heavens didn’t speak, when all creation held its breath… that was God saying, “I know what it feels like to wait in the dark.”

Saturday tells us that silence doesn’t mean absence. It means something is happening that we can’t yet see.

Something Was Happening in the Silence

It’s tempting to think that nothing was happening on that Saturday. But the silence doesn’t mean inactivity. Scripture tells us that during that time, Jesus “preached to the spirits in prison” (1 Peter 3:19). He was working behind the veil, defeating death at its roots, undoing the curse, shaking the foundations of hell.

In our silence, in our waiting, we need to remember: God may be doing His deepest work where we see the least.

Some healing takes place in the quiet. Some growth only happens when we’re not distracted by signs and wonders. Some resurrections begin with nothing more than a still tomb and a stone that hasn’t moved yet.

What Should We Do on Our Saturdays?

Here’s the hard truth: we don’t get to skip Saturday. Not in our faith, not in life. There will be seasons where everything we felt and hoped seems to go dark. But this middle space has purpose.

So what do we do?

1. We don’t run.
When Jesus didn’t come off that cross, many people walked away. Don’t do it. If you walk away on Saturday, you’ll miss the miracle of Sunday.

2. We remember what He said.
Even when it sounds crazy. Even when you don’t understand. God’s promises don’t have expiration dates, even if you’re still waiting for fulfillment.

3. We stay close.
Stay in community. Stay in Scripture. Stay in prayer. Even when the words feel empty. You’re not alone in the silence.

4. We look back to look forward.
The disciples didn’t know how it would end. But we do. That empty tomb is forever proof that Saturday is not the end of the story. Your silence isn’t either.

Sunday Is Coming

Let’s be honest—some of us are living in Saturday right now. Things feel broken. Prayers feel unanswered. God feels quiet.

But you haven’t been forgotten.

If the tomb had stayed sealed, we’d have a reason to give up. But it didn’t. And that changes everything. Because it means that the silence is temporary. The wait has a purpose. And the same God who raised Jesus from the dead is still working—even when you don’t hear Him.

He’s not absent. He’s not idle. He’s not done.

And if today feels like a Saturday—just remember: Sunday always comes.