We love the empty tomb, the bright lilies, and the triumphant cry of “He is risen!” We are drawn to the victory because, frankly, the alternative is uncomfortable. But between the agony of Friday and the glory of Sunday lies a silent, heavy space: The Saturday.
The disciples didn’t know Sunday was coming. For them, Saturday was a day of devastating silence. It was a day of unravelling, of shattered expectations, and of deep, soul-aching grief. It was the "Familiar Stranger" of loss moving into their homes and refusing to leave.
The Rush to the Resurrection
As Christians, we are often tempted to rush the clock. We want to bypass the lament and skip straight to the "happily ever after." We tell those who are hurting to "have faith" or "look on the bright side," effectively sprinting past the tomb.
But when we do this, we lose the room for lament.
Lament is not a lack of faith; it is a profound expression of it. It is the honesty of sitting in the dark and saying, "This hurts, and I don't know how it ends." If we don't allow for the Saturday of the soul, our Sunday joy becomes shallow. We need the space to grieve what has been lost before we can truly celebrate what has been found.
The Beauty of the Scars
Perhaps the most beautiful and overlooked detail of the Resurrection is this: When Jesus rose, He kept His scars.
He could have returned with a perfect, unblemished body. Instead, He chose to carry the marks of His trauma into His glorified state. When He appeared to the disciples, He didn't cover them up; He offered them as proof of His identity.
So often, we feel we have to hide our "scars"—the marks of burnout, the wounds of ministry, or the ache of transition—to prove we are "healed." But the Resurrection tells a different story. Healing doesn't mean the removal of the mark; it means the sting has been taken away, but the story remains. Your scars are not a sign of failure; they are part of your testimony.
A Space to Sit in the Saturday
Counselling is often that "Saturday" space. It is a professional, safe, and sacred middle ground where you don't have to rush to the Sunday morning answer. In my practice, I want to help you sit in the lament. We don’t have to cover up the scars or pretend the "Friday" didn’t happen. Together, we can unpack the realities of being a "sent one"—the hurts, the shifts in identity, and the exhaustion—knowing that while Sunday is coming, the Saturday is where the deep work of the heart happens. You don’t have to rush to the empty tomb. You are allowed to be here, in the quiet, until you are ready to breathe again.
Finding Your Way Through the "Saturday"
If you find yourself in a season of "Saturday"—where the silence is loud, the grief is heavy, and the "Sunday morning" joy feels out of reach—know that there is room for you here. You don't have to perform or pretend the scars aren't there. Whether you are navigating the "nervous system shock" of re-entry, the "cultural bereavement" of leaving a field you loved, or the exhaustion of long-term ministry, I would be honoured to sit in that space with you.
Let’s find the rhythm of your healing together.
✨ Book a session: If you are looking for a professional, safe space to unpack your journey—scars and all—you can book a session here.