Luke 23:55-56

⁵⁵ The women who had come with him from Galilee followed and saw the tomb and how his body was laid. ⁵⁶ Then they returned and prepared spices and ointments. On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.

Holy Saturday sits in the space between—between the sorrow of Good Friday and the joy of Easter Sunday. After witnessing Jesus’s brutal crucifixion and death, His followers experienced a day of profound waiting. The Gospel of Luke tells us that the women who had followed Jesus “went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.”

In that painful gap between loss and restoration, they waited. Their hearts were heavy with grief, their hopes seemingly buried with Jesus in the tomb. The future they had imagined with their Messiah had vanished. Questions likely flooded their minds: Why did this happen? What comes next? How could God allow this? Where was God in this darkness?

Holy Saturday reminds us that waiting is part of the spiritual journey. There are seasons when God seems silent, when we find ourselves in the space between devastation and deliverance. The disciples didn’t know that resurrection was coming. They waited in grief, confusion, and perhaps even doubt.

This waiting isn’t passive resignation, however. The women prepared spices and perfumes—taking what small, faithful actions they could while honoring the Sabbath rest. Even in their grief, they continued to follow God’s commandments and prepare for what came next, though they couldn’t have imagined what that would be.

In our own lives, we experience Holy Saturday moments—times when loss, grief, or disappointment leave us waiting in the darkness. The path forward isn’t clear. Hope seems distant. God feels absent. Yet even in these spaces between, God is at work in ways we cannot see, preparing resurrection that we cannot yet imagine.

The invitation of Holy Saturday is to wait faithfully—to acknowledge our grief and questions while continuing to prepare the spices, so to speak. To rest in God’s presence even when that presence feels hidden. To trust that darkness is not the end of the story, even when we can’t yet see the light of dawn.

“My husband, grandson and I had so many plans and dreams for the future. But those dreams all vanished after the accident,” Niegene said. “I was hoping that when he graduated, he could find a job and then support us. I suffered from anger, a callous heart, sleepless nights, and lonely days, longing to be with him. I questioned God why it happened to me. My hope in life was gone.”

Darkness flooded into Niegene’s life the day her 17-year-old grandson was killed in a motorbike accident. Niegene and her husband had taken care of him since he was in kindergarten when their only son had gone to Manila to work. What made the loss even more devastating was that their grandson represented not just their love but their hopes for the future.

Niegene found herself in a Holy Saturday space—caught between the life she had known and a future she couldn’t imagine. Like the disciples after Jesus’s crucifixion, she was overwhelmed by grief, anger, and questions. Her faith, once a source of comfort, became a place of questioning. The dreams she had carefully nurtured were suddenly buried, leaving her in a dark period of waiting without clear purpose or direction.

“In my mourning, God was my comfort,” she explained, though this comfort didn’t come immediately. The journey out of grief rarely follows a straight path.

Gradually, Niegene began to take small steps forward. The Transform lessons became a turning point as she found herself engaging with life again. She was surprised by the burst of confidence she felt when someone complimented the puto cheese she had made. Starting a snack business became one unexpected way she began to reconnect with hope.

While her grandson could never be replaced, Niegene discovered that her capacity for purpose and meaning wasn’t buried with him. In the midst of her waiting and grieving, something new was slowly taking root.

“Upon attending Transform, my heart reconnected with God through hearing his Word and singing worship songs. My eyes were opened to see that there is more hope in life,” she shared.

Like the first Holy Saturday, her period of grief and questioning wasn’t the end of the story. Though resurrection comes differently for each of us, God is always at work, even in the spaces between our losses and our healing.

• Have you experienced a “Black Saturday” season in your life—a time of waiting in darkness or grief? How did you navigate that period of waiting?
• What small, faithful actions might God be inviting you to take as you wait for resurrection in difficult circumstances?
• Consider taking 10 minutes today to sit in complete silence. Let your mind rest in the quiet space between loss and hope, remembering that God works even when we cannot see it. Notice what arises in the stillness.

Lord Jesus, on this Black Saturday, we remember the darkness that followed Your death—the confusion, grief, and waiting Your followers endured. We acknowledge our own seasons of waiting, when hope seems distant and the way forward unclear.

For those who, like Niegene, are grieving profound losses today—of loved ones, dreams, relationships, or security—be their comfort in the darkness. Help them to see that even this painful waiting is not wasted, that You are present and at work even when Your presence feels hidden.

Give us patience in our waiting, not a passive resignation but an active hope that continues to prepare the spices, to take faithful steps forward even when resurrection seems impossible. When we question where You are in our darkness, remind us that Easter always follows Black Saturday.

Thank You that darkness and death do not have the final word. As we wait for the dawn of Easter morning, strengthen our faith to trust that You are even now preparing new life where we can see only loss. In Your precious name we pray. Amen.

The final devotional in this series will be delivered via our email newsletter on Easter morning.