His friends had just witnessed his brutal death.
Their visions of greatness in his earthly kingdom sealed in a tomb of stone.
Three years of faithful discipleship and they’re all alone.
They left the comforts of family and business
And for what? To get ridiculed in the end?
Against the majority, they believed in his cause.
They all agreed he was the Messiah.
But that was then.
It was easy to declare sworn allegiance to the cause
When he was walking on the water and visiting with celebrities on the mountain.
Now in the emptiness of grief and loss
The life of before beckoned as comfortable and predictable.
Even though it meant eking out a living on smelly fish.
But anything was better than sitting and waiting on stirrings of the heart.
The boats with their tangled nets beckoned.
The call to the safe comfort in the mundane of daily action
Action that would squelch the holy call to follow the heart of the Father.
Monotonous work that he had called them away from,
Called them to a higher cause, filled them with a burning desire.
But that was then.
Here in the now, in the dark of the waiting
The questions quench the fiery zeal of mission.
The doubts drown out the call of their Master.
The hours drag on, the day grows long and still they wait.
They sit in their grief and the pain of hopes dashed.
The sun sets on their tear-stained faces.
The dark sorrow of the night shows no promise of joy in the new day.
This day of waiting, day of abandonment, it visits us all.
And in the in-between space we wait with heavy hearts.
The questions, the doubts, the tears hang low over our souls.
The loneliness of sorrow erases the Presence of our Master.
The day of dark sorrow leaves us feeling betrayed.
We thought we knew the plan of the Kingdom
But suddenly our Master is gone from our presence.
God is silent and we have nowhere to go.
We left another life behind to follow his call
But the call goes silent and the former life beckons.
The life that was predictable and comfortable, it seems like the only recourse.
In the waiting, our hearts yearn for the silence to cease.
In the waiting, our tears course hot down our cheeks.
Tears of confusion, grief, possibly even tears of the anger of abandonment.
In the waiting, the heart is haunted by the doubts.
Doubts of is God really who he says he is?
Doubts of have we really been following the real Messiah?
In the waiting, the questions threaten our hope.
In the waiting, the questions drown out the still small voice.
The voice of our Master.
The voice we thought we knew.
The voice that used to bring us comfort and direction.
In the waiting, our souls despair
And yet the darkness of the night brings the promise of the dawn.
The dawn of a new day.
A day in which we hear his voice once again.
A day in which he reveals himself once again to us.
A day in which he calls us to an even deeper discipleship.
In the waiting, may our souls find peace.
In the waiting, may our hearts grasp onto hope.
And in the waiting, may we sense the Presence of the Master.