It’s Sunday. Forever.

Isaiah 53


It was Friday and there was nothing good about it.  Evil sat enthroned on sin, death and injustice.  A man hung nailed to a tree.  What irony that it took three nails to hold him there.  He had done no wrong.  The charges against him were trumped up lies.  The judge who could have stopped the whole thing didn’t stop it simply to avoid upsetting the status quo.

The nail of sin.  Not the dying man’s sin.  He had not sinned.  He hung there for the sins of those who put him there.  He could name every sin that had ever been committed.  He kept a tally so that when it was over, he could say that his death would cover every single one of them.  It was a long list but he would not allow even the smallest to be omitted or overlooked.  His death would cover them all.

The nail of death.  Throughout history death has been looked upon as the final, ultimate answer to any one considered to be a problem and Yeshua was definitely considered to be a problem.  The religious authorities had already decided that Yeshua could not be who he claimed to be.  He was not the Messiah they wanted so he could not be the Messiah.  The fact that they were able to get him convicted with no evidence and nailed to a cross only proved the point in their minds.  Pilate knew it wasn’t right but to let Yeshua live presented problems.  A potential for a riot.  Tattletales running to Rome whispering that he had allowed a man to go free who claimed to be a king.  Caesar would not be happy with a riot or a rival.  Death could settle these little problems for Pilate.

And it did settle the problems, right?  Satan probably would have agreed.  He used Herod to try to kill Yeshua shortly after his birth.  Now he had finally succeeded.  Satan was in terror of a God who would descend to earth and rule.  He could never hope to keep his hold on earth if God took his seat in the Temple.  So it was all over in Satan’s eyes.  He’d won  Won it all.  The earth.  Mankind.  Everything.

But, in the words of the preacher, it’s Friday but Sunday’s coming.

Satan had forgotten one thing.  Death was the power of sin and this man had not sinned.  Death could not hold him.

The religious authorities forgot that God does not take opinion polls.  God had his plans in place.  Yeshua may not have been the Messiah they wanted, but he was the Messiah God wanted.

The nail of injustice.  Pilate and the Romans forgot that justice is God’s purview and he would see justice done even if they did not.  Sin demanded justice.  Through the injustice of Yeshua’s death at the hands of Roman law, God would satisfy the demands of his own justice.  He would free men from the justice of their separation from him due to their sin.

God would do all these things.  Who can stop the Lord?

So then came Saturday.  Satan relaxed in his triumph over God.  The religious authorities relaxed in their triumph over a Messiah who demanded a change from outward ceremony to a heart dedicated to the love of God.  The Romans relaxed into a false sense of security.  No riots.  No problems with Rome.

And then came Sunday.  G.K. Chesterton said it best in The Everlasting Man:

They took the body down from the cross and one of the few rich men among the first Christians obtained permission to bury it in a rock tomb in his garden; the Romans setting a military guard lest there should be some riot and attempt to recover the body. There was once more a natural symbolism in these natural proceedings; it was well that the tomb should be sealed with all the secrecy of ancient eastern sepulcher and guarded by the authority of the Caesars. For in that second cavern the whole of that great and glorious humanity which we call antiquity was gathered up and covered over; and in that place it was buried. It was the end of a very great thing called human history; the history that was merely human. The mythologies and the philosophies were buried there, the gods and the heroes and the sages. In the great Roman phrase, they had lived. But as they could only live, so they could only die; and they were dead

On the third day the friends of Christ coming at daybreak to the place found the grave empty and the stone rolled away. In varying ways they realized the new wonder; but even they hardly realized that the world had died in the night. What they were looking at was the first day of a new creation, with a new heaven and a new earth; and, in a semblance of the gardener, God walked again in the garden, in the cool not of the evening but the dawn.

And now every day is Sunday.

The Messiah is risen.  He is risen indeed!