I was inspired to write this while reading this post on the blog, Under Reconstruction. Please check it out if you have time! The author has some really interesting thoughts on her blog!
I am often wondering what the three days between Jesus’ death and resurrection was like for the people He left behind. What were those three days like for his mother and his friends? The beauty of Christ’s death is that he died a human. Of course he lived as a human as well, but the pain that the people felt as he left was the pain of losing a human. They weren’t just losing their Messiah. Honestly, the fact that he was the Messiah was probably not the most important thing to them after he died on that cross. They weren’t running around complaining about how they didn’t know what to do without someone to save them. They were upset because they had lost a friend and a son and a mentor. They cried for the hugs they would miss and the soothing voice they would never hear again. They cried for the sake of his eyes and his hands and his mind. And yes, they cried because he was the Messiah. Because he came to them as a human being that was special and touched every heart and soul. When they lost him, it broke them in the most human way possible. It shattered their hearts.
Of course, Jesus would come back to them just as he had predicted. They simply didn’t understand that all of his teachings had revealed that already. They were blind until the product, his resurrected self, was looking them in the eye. This is so like how we act today in the new absence of something or someone we love. When we lose a piece of ourselves, whether it is a person or a thing, we mourn. Even if we know it is temporary, we still cry and miss that piece. The thing about mourning is that it is simultaneously one of the most selfless and selfish things that we can do. Selfless in the fact you are solely focused on the absence of the person of thing you are missing. Selfish in the sense that in focusing on that absence you also focus on how it pertains to your heart and soul. When I lost my great-grandmother, it was expected. I held her shoulder and soothed her as she slipped out of our world and into the next. I could feel her absense and I was selfish about it. I pictured her in heaven automatically, as all those that lose a loved one do. I was in mourning. When you lose a piece of yourself it is as if time has slowed down. All of the events following are in slow motion. Usually, it is as if nothing will ever be normal again. It is as if any sense of balance has ceased to exist. Even though you knew it was all coming, there was nothing to prepare you for the feeling of absence.
In the three days that Jesus was absent from the souls of his friends and family, he was busy. He was busting up Hell and chilling with his Dad. I mean, He didn’t just wait around in that tomb for three days. He was planning and setting up the stuff he knew they, and we, needed. While they were mourning, he was busy. I like to think that even today, God is busy while we are mourning. When we lose something that we thought we couldn’t live without, he is setting everything up for us so that we can live without it. He is putting the opportunities in our path and willing us to choose them. He lowers the rope down into our hole of despair and gives us the means to pull ourselves out. While we are mourning, he is busy. I see this in my own tragic event of losing my great-grandma. As I will share later on my journey with this blog, my major epiphany of the existence of God came after her passing. He was busy placing those signs right in my path where He knew I would see them. I was standing still in time, and he was creating a world for me to come back to after it began moving again.
While we mourn He is doing glorious things. He is planning and setting up everything you need and all you have to do is look. He knows you feel like the world is in slow motion now, but he also knows that when it speeds up again you are going to need His help. All you have to do is accept it.