Saturday, April 7, 2012

The Quiet Empty Prelude

I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.  --Galatians 2:20 (KJV)
The morning after Good Friday must have been startlingly silent.  To have awakened the morning after a full day of yelling, jeering, screaming, and powerless tears must have seemed surreal.  Could all of that really have happened?  Look out the window.  There on the hill... the crosses still.  Oh it was real.  Now what?


Holy Saturday, the quiet empty prelude.  Who are we now as a people?  What now do we do with our lives that have been so preoccupied with The Ministry?  Where is the future now?


Many people live a quiet empty prelude every day.  They go through the motions of living because life demands moving somewhere, but they don't really have an aim, a purpose, or destination in mind other than to check off another day.  Christ is perhaps the missing link if life seems too much like a dead end.  If you just plug in to doing what you've always done, are bored and weighed down with monotony, frustrated with stuck-ness maybe it is the quiet empty prelude?   While silence and disbelief stunned the followers and disciples of Jesus that first Holy Saturday, the Apostles' Creed says, "He descended into hell..."  An extremely powerful exchange took place on this day -- Him for you.  The hinges on the gates of hell were broken and The King did, in fact, conquer a realm that none of us need visit -- unless in rebellious stupidity we just insist.  Enjoy the quiet empty prelude.  Ponder the prisoner exchange that takes place in this prelude and be grateful for the morrow.


Prayer:
In quiet solitude O Lord, what we have seen, what you have done seeps into the depths of our cracked insecurities and worries.  Explode our dissatisfaction with life and replace it with the settled peace of your coming, and the guidance of the Holy Counselor.  Amen.       

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