All we know is that they were there, the women who loved him, watching. They who believed Him, watching in helplessness. Grief. Terror. Watching as they took him down, as they laid him in the tomb. And Saturday was the day of Preparation. How did they spend it? Did they go about their affairs, walking through the motions of preparing for Passover, feeling as though the life had gone straight out of them? Could there have ever been a more desperate day in all their lives?
Let me remember this day in my darkest moments. Or when it seems, even in some remote way, that He has left the scene, that my faith is meaningless, that we are without hope. Let me remember that on that Silent Saturday, He was working still.