Life is full of dyings of all sorts and of new awakenings, of chapters closing and new ones opening. There is almost a rhythm to the process. Dark Fridays and bright Sundays. Shattered dreams and hopes fulfilled. Things dying and others coming to life.

And yet it is neither the dark Fridays nor the bright Sundays that require the greatest grace. The greatest grace is needed during the eternally long Saturdays of life when we are caught in the middle. Saturday is the place that exists between our deaths and our new births. It is where we seek to get through our grief, our disappointment, and to get on with life. It is where our former vision of what life would be has failed us and we are desperate for a new one.

Peter, John, and the other disciples experienced the longest Saturday in history, the day after Jesus’ crucifixion. That week, on Friday, they lost everything they had lived for. Their hopes were not wounded, they were annihilated; their dreams were not shattered, they were utterly stripped away. God only knows how much torment filled the souls of the eleven on that Saturday. The questions. The anguish. The confusion. The fear.

Hope is never more needed than on Saturdays. Something has gone. Something has left us. Something has died. Something or someone that once filled a great place within has left us just as empty as we once were full, just as lonely as we once were befriended, just as uncertain as we once were so sure.

A Death to Face

Maggie McKinney, an eighth-grade Spanish teacher in the western North Carolina mountains, faced a long Saturday herself two decades into her marriage. She described it this way:

Eighteen months later, when Maggie and her husband decided to give their marriage a second shot, support was limited at best and often nonexistent: “I heard you two are back together,” said one caller. “I hope it isn’t true.” Another asked: “Are you sure you want to risk going through this again?” “When something is dead,” a minister told Maggie, “you need to bury it.”

Such words of counsel seem all too stark and harsh when addressing something as significant as a 20-year-long marriage. But Maggie’s array of advisors had likely watched her on some of her darkest days. They had seen the anguish and disillusionment on her face when she had discussed her marriage. They heard her grappling for hope. They saw the tears. Watching her heart fighting to navigate the hurts and hurdles of it all was difficult. Somehow the thought of just being rid of the struggle seemed a lesser burden to bear. Why, it only made sense—common sense, that is.

Beyond the Doctrine

Jesus turned the kingdom of common sense on its head in more ways than one. Just think of it: To bloodthirsty zealots He insisted, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Mt. 5:44 ). To His often-vengeful disciples He upped the tally for required acts of forgiveness from seven to “seventy times seven” (Mt. 18:22 , KJV). And to a bereaved sister named Martha, whose beloved brother Lazarus (a close friend of Jesus’) had just died, He made it clear that the resurrection was more than simply a coming prophetic event.

Into the face of Martha’s grief, Jesus came that day. He walked right into her conflict. Her soul was not only wracked by the loss of Lazarus; it was bewildered over the question of why: Why hadn’t He just come earlier? Why had He waited this long? Surely He could have saved her brother. Martha was struggling with the same thing you and I often struggle with, a nagging if: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died” (v. 21 ).

What Martha had hoped would happen did not. Things had just not panned out the way she had expected or imagined. If there was any present hope in sight she could not detect it, she could not see it. When our hopes have fallen flat and what we expected has not panned out, where do we turn? How could a heart once so full of hope and now so disappointed ever find hope again?

To Martha’s dilemma Jesus brought hope in the form of five short words: “Your brother will rise again” (v. 23 ). He didn’t say how. He didn’t say why. He didn’t even say when. He did, however, bring her a promise and an emphatic one at that.

Interestingly, Martha automatically assumed that Jesus was speaking in the not-to-be-experienced-yet prophetic sense. She offered mental assent to the belief in a doctrine, one painted on the distant horizons of her hopes—the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead. An important doctrine, for sure, but certainly not one that would make any difference in the overwhelming Saturday she was now facing.

Martha answered, “I know he [Lazarus] will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” In other words, “I know what all our doctrines are. I have studied them well. I know that I have the hope of someday seeing my brother again in heaven.” It is as if Martha feels for a moment that Jesus is giving her the last thing anyone wants at a moment of deep distress: a Sunday school doctrinal review.

What Martha did not realize, however, is that not only would there one day be a resurrection, but she was at that moment standing directly in front of resurrection itself, resurrection incarnate. All of the power to resurrect, to bring back to life, to transform and to make new was in the hands of the one with whom she was at that moment conversing. The dark valley of the shadow of death she had entered just four days earlier was about to be visited by the only person on the planet who possessed a power greater than death. All that was required, Jesus said, was that she “believe.”

Certainly Martha’s confession of faith in a coming resurrection was no small thing. At least she had a long-term hope in God’s ultimate power over death. Jesus was, however, calling her to a more immediate awareness. Resurrection power was not relegated to a future event in history. No, resurrection power touched the planet the moment Jesus arrived. Why? Because He was and is and will forever be the “resurrection and the life.” Yes, Martha had a hope, but Jesus had a higher one.

The resurrection power resident within Jesus, the great I AM, preceded the empty tomb, and it would go beyond it. Whenever Jesus came on the scene, resurrections occurred. Dead things came back to life. Blind eyes suddenly could see. Deaf ears could hear. Tax collectors offered refunds. Prostitutes could pray. Lame men stood up and walked. And, oh yes, dead men lived. Every moment was infused with resurrection power and potential. All the laws governing the kingdom of common sense were up for grabs, for a higher kingdom and power were present and at work.

Beyond the Grave

Succeeding at giving her marriage another shot was something that few people in Maggie McKinney’s life had any hope for. Deep into the “Saturday” of her separation, she found herself caught amid a mixture of conflicting thoughts and emotions. The day her husband came back into her life, she was contemplating the freedom she was about to experience, the trips she would plan, and the projects she could undertake. The divorce papers would arrive any day, and she was becoming more and more comfortable with the idea of being single again.

While sweeping up cat litter in the basement, Maggie heard a familiar sound as a car pulled up in the driveway. Without a word, her husband slowly entered the basement, walked over, and gently hugged his wife. He came this time not with papers but with a question: “Could we try again?”

In a millisecond all kinds of questions flooded Maggie’s mind: Should she toss two decades of marriage in the trash along with the cat litter? Or should they give it another go? Did she want to have to answer to someone else again? Did she want all the cooking and laundry that went with it? The meals? The sharing? What about the complaints she would hear about her shortcomings? And yet, what about the good times they had known together before everything went south?

Maggie was not so sure. Yes, for better or for worse, vows had been made. She had made a promise. As she walked the valley of decision, Maggie’s hopes were paper thin. Still she felt more positive about giving it a try again together than going it alone. She felt the risk of either decision. Reenter the marriage and it might blow up in her face; leave it and she might regret having given up so soon.

Hope is the radar system that alone can detect a resurrection. When our eyes can see nothing but what we’ve lost, hope is the inner prompting that something else is drawing near. Something bright. Something new. Something different from what we have ever known before or perhaps expected.

And how did Maggie’s long Saturday end? She describes it this way:

What propelled a struggling wife named Maggie to give it another shot? What gave her the courage? It wasn’t the words of many of her friends or even her minister, but because of this: Amid all of her struggles she did not forget to remember. She remembered that after something dies there is an option other than burial. There is the hope of new life because of the resurrection.

Taking Hold of Hope

Martha’s and Maggie’s journeys remind me of a few things that are required if we are to take hold of hope. In a sense, hope is what enables us to get a resurrection in our sights when we have come face to face with a death.

First of all, we need a word from the Lord to hold on to. A passage or promise from Scripture gives our hope something to cling to. For Martha it was in the form of five words. For Maggie it was remembering the rest of the gospel story. With God’s help, she remembered that the cross was not the final chapter after all.

Second, we need a fresh view of Jesus. The book of Psalms tells us that God is more than someone who wants simply to brighten our perspective about our ultimate destiny. He is more than a stabilizing doctrine. He is an “ever-present help in trouble” (Ps. 46:1 ). And Hebrews tells us that Jesus is the “exact representation of his being” (Heb. 1:3 ) to us. He was and is the bright vision of God we need.

The Greek words translated “hope” are used 85 times in the New Testament. Of those, only 5 are in the gospels, 10 are in Acts, and 70 are in the epistles. They are seldom used in the gospels. And why? For a simple reason: Jesus, the object of the believer’s hope, was at that time present with His disciples. Their view of Him and His power was fresh and less obstructed. Their hope was an “ever-present help.”

Finally, we need to look beyond the circumstances and believe. Jesus called Martha to simply “believe”—in other words, to lift her eyes above the kingdom of common sense and to become more impressed with the faithful character of God than the frustrating circumstances of life. For Maggie, that included hearing the good shepherd’s voice clearly amid a cacophony of others.

In the final analysis, Martha and Maggie had something in common. Something vital. Something essential to hope no matter what day it is. While others, deeply discouraged by their devastating Fridays, have elected to throw in the towel, these instead picked up a promise, dusted off their disillusionments, and found their way to a resurrection.

Robert C. Crosby is pastor of Mount Hope Christian Center in Burlington, Massachusetts. He enjoys climbing mountains with his wife and in-line skating with his four kids. Robert is the author of several books including Conversation Starters for Couples (Focus on the Family /Honor Books) and More Than a Savior: When Jesus Calls You Friend (Multnomah ), from which this article was adapted.