Last night my church gathered for communion and a meal. It was an especially sweet time of fellowship as we gave attention to the cost and sacrifice paid for our sin. I was struck by the contradictory emotions of the evening. We grieved that it was our sin that Jesus suffered and died for, and yet we rejoiced that He gave such a sacrifice that we might live. We rejoiced in the precious gift of forgiven sin and eternal life, yet we grieved over those we know and love who remain under the wrath of God. We found great comfort in our kinship in Jesus, yet we longed for others to join us at the table. I was reminded that the cross is both a testimony of grief and joy for Christians.

Sin should cause us to grieve. James tells us that we should be wretched and mourn and weep over our sin. He says we should let our laughter be turned to mourning and our joy to gloom (James 4:8-9). This is not a message popular with those who have a light view of sin or an unbiblical view of God. The only proper response to sin is to grieve. It is ugly. It is destructive. It is shameful. It is hurtful of others. It is rebellious of God. It is hated by God. The closer you draw to God, the more aware you are of your sin. And the more aware you are of your sin, the more you mourn and grieve it. Today, the celebrated popular approach is to ignore sin, deny its destruction, and pretend you like both the sin and the consequences it brings. But at some point, the odious stench of its rotting infection cannot be ignored. Following close behind this awaking will be waves of grief as the awareness of sin’s destructive magnitude is understood.

The Saturday between Good Friday, where the heart-crushing enormity of the cost of sin is seen in Jesus on the cross, and Resurrection Sunday, where our hearts are overwhelmed with joy, is often called Silent Saturday. It is described as silent because the testimony of God’s redemptive plan seems to be on pause. From the Triumphal Entry to the cross, every event seemed to spill into the next with little opportunity to catch a breath. Even at the death of Jesus, there was a hurried effort to remove his corpse from the cross and bury his body before the start of the Sabaoth. But once the Sabaoth began, there seemed to be nothing happening. The disciples are huddled together, not sure what to do next. The enemies of Jesus seem to have accomplished their desire and now no longer feel threatened by him or his disciples. The tomb that holds the body of Jesus is still and silent. It is like all the world has been left on hold or on unread.

But then comes Sunday. Sunday is God’s response to the offering of Friday. On Friday, Jesus gave himself as a sacrifice for man’s sin. On Sunday, God received the sacrifice of Jesus and raised him to life as the first fruit of all who would believe and be saved. It may seem that Saturday was silent, but God was working where we could not see. Preaching in the synagogue of Antioch, Paul declared (Acts 13:29-30), “And when they had carried out all that was written of him, they took him down from the tree and laid him in a tomb” (Friday) then he says, “but God raised him from the dead (Sunday).” Because of the gift of Friday, the seeming silence of Saturday, and God’s response on Sunday, there is hope. Paul concludes with this hopeful truth: “through this man forgiveness of sins is proclaimed to you, and by him everyone who believes is freed from everything from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses.”

The hymn It is Well powerfully captures the conflicting reality of the cross’s grief and joy. In the third verse of the hymn, Horatio Spafford seems to have a parenthetical thought after the first two words. The first words are “my sin.” But then he interjects, “Oh the bliss of this glorious thought.” Returning to his original thought, he continues, “my sin, not in part, but the whole is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more. Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul.” It is as if he begins with the thought of his sin, the weight of his guilt and shame, and the cost demanded. Then, even as grief washes over him, the light of Resurrection Sunday begins to shine. He is overwhelmed by bliss and the glorious thought that overcomes his grief. Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Oh, my soul!

On Good Friday, turn your attention to what Jesus has done. Recognize that he willingly went to the cross for you and your sin. “But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5, ESV) In the silence of Saturday, reflect on the perfect will of God. God was pleased to give his son as a guilt offering for sinful man. “Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him; he has put him to grief; when his soul makes an offering for guilt.” (Isaiah 53:10, ESV) And on Resurrection Sunday, rejoice that God has received his offering, prolonged his days, and prospered his hand. Through Jesus, the wrath of God has been satisfied, and there is justification for sin. “…he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days; the will of the LORD shall prosper in his hand. Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied; by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities.” (Isaiah 53:10–11, ESV)

He has risen! He has risen indeed!

It is well

When peace like a river attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say

It is well It is well with my soul

 

Though Satan should buffet tho' trials should come

Let this blest assurance control

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate

And hath shed His own blood for my soul

 

My sin O the bliss of this glorious tho't

My sin not in part but the whole

Is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more

Praise the Lord Praise the Lord O my soul

 

O Lord haste the day when my faith shall be sight

The clouds be rolled back as a scroll

The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend

Even so it is well with my soul