Those Skipped Sorrowful Seconds
By Anthony Casperson
4-4-26

As interesting and informative as biographies can be, there are always events that are removed from the final edit. Events that aren’t considered exciting enough or that don’t conform well to the theme of the overarching narrative are left off to the side.

For instance, if the main character of a biography is an inventor, the storyteller might start with the person getting an idea, and then rush to the invention finally being created. Sure, a few of the failures along the way might be included. Even some of the interpersonal relationships that had been strained because of the invention are squeezed in between the inventing scenes. But audiences will never be forced to sit through all eighty-three iterations of an invention before the final design.

Invention might be 99% perspiration to 1% inspiration, but a story that makes the same ratio will bore every audience member before getting to the good part.

This is one of the benefits of hearing or seeing a story rather than living it. You can fast forward through the boring, or difficult, or disconnected parts. We all stand thankful that not every snore of a protagonist’s sleep schedule needs to be accounted for; we have our own lives to live.

But, speaking of those lives of ours, we don’t have the luxury of fast forwarding through those same parts of our existence. We have to plod through the annoying parts that we wish someone else could do for us. We must feel every second of our depression as the tears crawl down our faces. We gotta find the mental fortitude to shift from one thought or action to another whenever the situation arises.

Unlike story protagonists, we must experience every second of the perspiration that comes between those moments of inspiration.

It might sound off-topic for me to write about this for a blog that is uploaded the day before Resurrection Sunday. Shouldn’t I be writing about the cross of yesterday? Or the empty grave of tomorrow?

Well, in a way, I am. But I’m also reminding us to experience this day between for what it is. The day of grief and sorrow when we don’t always understand what’s going on.

Now, I can only speculate what happened in the lives of those first followers of Jesus on the Saturday between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. None of the gospel writers go into the details of the actions of the followers of Jesus from that day—other than the fact that they rested because it was a Sabbath, which Luke reports (Luke 23:56b). Mark and John skip the day entirely. And Matthew only speaks about the Jewish religious leaders’ hypocrisy of working on the Sabbath by going to a Gentile’s presence to ask for Jesus’ tomb to be sealed, and then doing it themselves when Pilate tells them to (Matt. 27:62-66).

But given the reactions of those followers of Jesus on Resurrection Sunday, before they knew about the resurrection, we can presume that their grief was much the same on the day between. Questions and doubts rang through their heads. Their worlds had been shattered.

And they didn’t have the luxury of skipping the seconds like how a story would.

Flavorless meals, if they even ate anything. Joyless conversations, if they even spoke at all. Troubled sleep, if they even tried to lie down.

That day between the sacrifice that had paid for their salvation—despite them not understanding it yet—and the day of celebratory resurrection, it was filled with stress and distress. Uncertainty reigned, in spite of the fact that Jesus had told them to expect it. And their grief stole from them the joy of this most important weekend of humanity’s existence.

No one would want to tell that sorrowful part of the story. But they had to live it.

Every.

Single.

Second.

We today are in a similar place as they were that first “day between” that rested between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. Yeah, we understand the purpose of the cross a little more clearly because of the luxury of time. And we know Jesus rose from the dead on the third day.

But we have our own “day between” to live.

Our whole lives are that “day between” Jesus’ payment for our sins and the final resurrection when the followers of Jesus will receive our resurrected bodies. Our Savior died for us in the past, and will bring us that same resurrection some day soon.

But right now, we sit in the “day between” that’s filled with distress, uncertainty, and grief. The troubles and trials of this life go on, seemingly in mockery of what Jesus did on the cross. Our doubts and questions come to the fore with every second we wish we could skip.

I don’t know what those seconds involve for you. I can’t directly name the pains, the depressions, or the losses that steal the joy of your seconds in this time between Jesus’ first and second comings.

But I do know that the resurrection is coming.

It will likely be a metaphorical “tomorrow” as much as this “day between” is, but tomorrow is coming. Jesus will return. And bring the same resurrection that raised him from the grave all of those Resurrection Sundays ago. And we will get to celebrate like those first followers of Jesus when the resurrection became a reality in their minds.

Sure, this reminder that “tomorrow” is coming doesn’t make today’s suffering easier to live through. But it does remind us that these difficulties of today do have an end. The pain and suffering and loss will cease. And we can celebrate with our risen Savior into eternity because of what he did on this weekend that we celebrate right now.

And when we tell our stories in eternity, we can skip these seconds that we have to live through right now.

But until then, keep in mind the truth of this weekend, the words that many followers of Jesus will speak tomorrow. They’re the words that remind us—with as much certainty as Jesus’ resurrection—that “tomorrow” will come.

He is risen.