When You Wrap Your Hopes in Silence . . . And Wait

When my husband and I watch football with my dad, it’s usually a noisy affair (with me making most of the noise.)

Hailing from New England, I’m sure you imagine we’re Patriots fans, and that we are. And as such, we’re accustomed to games that don’t hold out much promise only to turn around at the end. Still, nothing had prepared us for this year’s Super Bowl.

Even you non-football fans have heard the story. How New England was being beaten so badly, many fans switched off their televisions and retired for the night at half-time.

Fans of rival teams were mocking us on social media. Friends from the West Coast were texting my phone early on with friendly jabs, but into the third quarter, they were sending condolences and asking if we were okay. It appeared it wasn’t only going to be a defeat, but an historical one.

Shortly after the start of the third quarter, the three of us fell into silence. It was such a gaping silence, my mother came downstairs to check on us. We didn’t speak to one another because, as ridiculous as it seemed with the announcers proclaiming that no one had ever come back from this far behind to win a Super Bowl, we were each holding out hope in our team.

No one had ever done this before, but if anyone could, it would be the Patriots. We didn’t discuss it. We didn’t respond on social media. We barely made eye contact with one another. We just watched in silence, holding onto mere tendrils of hope.

It was incredibly stressful. Several times I regretted ever having watched my first football game. I blamed my dad. I blamed the Patriots. I wished I’d had the sense to take up a book and read in another room like my mom. I thought that if we lost, like it seemed we surely would, all those mockers on social media would be right.

But, maybe . . .

The moment it turned around is imprinted in my memory. The tie that took us into overtime cause such a celebration in our living room, my mother returned to make sure we hadn’t lost our marbles. The eventual win was incredibly sweet because of the agony that had preceded it.

And even the mockers and fans of other teams shook their heads and congratulated us because of what they knew we’d all endured throughout the long game.

Why am I thinking about this today? Because today is the day Jesus’ disciples huddled together in a room behind locked doors, I imagine mostly in silence.

They had seen their Lord, our Lord, arrested, tried, beaten, mocked, and crucified. A public humiliation and a private agony so beyond a football game as to make pro sports seem like a backyard pickup game of kickball. It wasn’t a trophy that hung in the balance for these followers, but the eternal future of the world.

Jerusalem was still full. The Passover continued with families and friends still visiting and going about the business of their lives. The religious and political leaders believed they’d ended a scourge, though some were secretly speculating about the darkness that fell during the crucifixion, the temple curtain rent in two, the earth shaking, stories of the dead rising, and Jesus’ appearing to have yielded up His Spirit. All these things could mean something or nothing depending on what transpired in the hours ahead.

If the weekdays arrived and the tomb remained sealed, it all was so much coincidence, rumor, and religious hysteria. But if the tomb should become empty, it meant they’d rejected, tried, and crucified the long-awaited Messiah.

I believe the day that stretched between the crucifixion and the rising was one marked with a long silence. What His followers awaited seemed impossible. They’d witnessed many impossible things, but this, this was unthinkable – a man rising from the dead after that.

The women who prepared His body knew death. Death and burial were homegrown affairs in those times. The women had witnessed and washed death all their lives. They knew death.

From locked upper rooms to Pilate’s wife’s night chamber, all of Jerusalem held its breath and waited. Many waited for the final “aha” so they could go on with their God-forsaken activities.

A precious few clung to fragile tendrils of hope wrapped in long hours of silence.

How agonizing those hours were in the wait, and yet how sweet in the remembering!

We must remember this now, loved ones, in the long, long hours between His ascent and the day He comes again.

Our God may tarry according to our desires, but He never fails to appear on time. Maranatha, Lord Jesus, Come!

When You Wrap Your Hopes in Silence . . . and wait https://t.co/APuPj9N9DV #Messiah #Jesus #EasterWeekend

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) April 15, 2017