The overcast sky seems appropriate. There’s a threat of rain, as if the heavens themselves wish to weep. This too is appropriate. I have often thought of the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter as the darkest day. What must it have been like for the followers of Jesus?
To be sure, Friday was traumatic. Their teacher, their master, had been betrayed by one of his own followers, betrayed again by his own people, brutally tortured then unmercifully executed. The sky turned black making it literally the darkest day. But for all the trauma, the day was a busy one. I doubt I am the only one who feels worse after the initial shock of calamity.
Saturday, there was nothing to do. It was the Sabbath, which seems to make it all the worse. The greatest prophet since Elijah, maybe even Moses had been executed. And they were to worship on the Sabbath? How could they? It perhaps seemed as if heaven mocked them. It was the Sabbath. There was nothing going on and nothing to do … except hide in fear that the authorities, be they the Sanhedrin or the Romans, would being to seek out Jesus followers and deal similarly with them. Nothing to do but hide and wallow in their misery.
Imagine the thoughts of those, like Mary Magdalene, of whom Jesus had said their sins were forgiven them. Did his death mean they no longer were, or worse, never had been?
We have the luxury of looking back and seeing both Friday and Saturday in light of the Resurrection. The followers of Christ had no such luxury. To them, this was the darkest day ever.