House on the Rock

No one prepares you for the day after losing a loved one. In some ways, it might be even harder than the actual day of their passing. You wake up with a heavy settledness that this is your life now. It’s not a bad dream that you get to wake up from. They’re really, truly gone.

And I know there are no rules for how to handle that day. Some people leave their loved one’s rooms exactly the same for weeks or even years, desperate to preserve every memory and moment from the time they were alive. Others spring into “doing” mode, bringing about closure by removing all – or at least most – of that person’s possessions.

The day after my mom died, we all agreed on a mutual urge to move her stuff out quickly. We wanted that hospice gear gone. That rickety collapsible bed, the smorgasbord of medicines, the walkers and wheelchair and everything associated with her sickness was promptly folded up and moved into the garage — out of sight, out of mind.

That part was easy, though. Those materials bore no happy memories of the years with our beautiful Mom. The real challenge came as we moved to the closet she shared with our dad. Christen and I tearfully thumbed through the smooth and soft sweatpants she was known for, the squishy Skechers sandals she loved so well, and every cardigan she clothed until Christ called her home. Trash bag after trash bag made the world feel bleak and brutal, each load a reminder that our mother was gone.

Indeed, the day after death is a dark one. There’s no going back to before. No escaping the reality that we will never again hold her hand this side of Heaven. Even the day of her death still held moments of a beating heart. But the following day? There were none.

Today is Saturday, April 4: the day after Good Friday. Not only that, it might be the day after the actual Good Friday, as most historians believe Jesus died on April 3, A.D. 33. I woke up early to a house donned in darkness. The world outside my window was illuminated by nothing but the faded glow of the moon, and I imagined what life must have been like on this day nearly 2000 years ago.

The one they thought was going to redeem Israel — Jesus, the Savior — was dead. Buried. Shrouded in linen and laid in a tomb. This was not the ending they hoped for. Not the way they saw the plan unfolding. The darkness had to have been insurmountable. I can only imagine the grief, the helplessness. And despite Scripture’s detail that his followers rested on the Sabbath, I’m sure their minds were spinning: When should we clean out his closet? Do we rid the room of his few possessions so soon? Toss out his tools? Goodwill his sandals?

There had to have been such a heaviness. Such grief, fear, confusion. Unfathomable loss. And in this season of Easter, I move so quickly from Friday to Sunday that I often forget to pause. To ponder that Jesus was actually dead. Rendered completely lifeless. A full day with no beating heart.

Oh the agony his disciples must have felt on this day. Oh the weeping of those women. If the day after death is so dark for us, imagine what it had to be at the loss of the Messiah!

I took a walk this morning, eager to ponder the weight of Jesus’ own day after death. Even knowing how the story ends, the extent of his sacrifice felt heavy on my heart. Everything about the morning was dark, and I grieved the fallenness that brought death — of my mom, my grandpas, our unborn baby, the friends of so many loved ones… and mostly, of Christ.

But then, God did what God does, greeting me with the most colorful reminder of His covenant — a promise that death doesn’t have the final word. Jesus would raise to life, just as He promised, and we too will be raised incorruptible, eternally alive in the presence of Jesus.

Today we mourn, but not without remembering the promise that death has been swallowed up in victory. Christ really died, and the day after death is a dark one. But we have rainbows as resurrection reminders that for those in Christ, death has no sting — we get to serve a risen King!

Let this be our hope as we sit in the sorrow of Saturday, but believe with bursting joy that Sunday is coming. Happy Easter to all!