Casandra Martin

Sunday will find disciples hiding, angels descending, ground shaking, stones rolling, women rejoicing, and an empty tomb echoing. But not yet.

This is a day of sorrow, regret, and resolve. The wounded, lifeless body of the Savior is being lowered from the crossbeams. Tears flow as hands that refused to be counted in life gently carry His body in death. Anxiously watching the darkening sky, two men hurry with their burdened hearts toward the tomb. Wrapping Him in strips of linen, they press spices into the cloth, a fragrant offering that now serves as a final tribute to His love.

The tomb of Jesus is a waiting place. Death has done its worst, but God has yet to do His best. Seventy-two hours of sorrow must pass before the dawn will break with joy. The disciples grieve. The women weep. God alone knows the promise that Sunday morning holds.

Sometimes we live in a not yet place. Things get very dark. Suffering, pain, sorrow, and fear eclipse the light. We can’t see God’s solution beyond our tears. The burial of Jesus speaks to the absolute certainty of His death and the miraculous truth of His rising. It also reminds us that not yet places are not always what they seem to be. For those who loved Jesus on that day, their hearts ached because they thought it was the end. For those of us who love Him today, we know it was just the beginning.

My Jesus Resolution today is to pick up a stone. I am going to carry it with me until Sunday morning. I am going to let it remind me that what I see as final, impossible, and over may be used by God to reveal His glory and the perfect timing of His not yet plan. In many ways, life itself is a not yet place. Because of the tomb and what comes next, we live with a hope that infuses today with the joy will we will experience tomorrow. “Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.” (1 John 3:2)  Soon, but not yet.