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Good Friday, Easter Sunday…What Did Jesus Do on Saturday?

Good Friday, Easter Sunday…What Did Jesus Do on Saturday?

On Good Friday Jesus was crucified.

On Easter Sunday he was resurrected.

So what did Jesus do on Saturday?

That question was posed at my house as we celebrated on Easter Sunday.

 

I heard a story recently about a local physician who every year on Good Friday, instead of the typical white lab coat look he normally wears, will put on a dark suit instead.  His patients, used to him looking medical like, would ask why he was wearing a suit, are you going to a wedding or going to a funeral?

“A funeral” he would answer.

“Well who died?”

“Jesus.”

This was his way of reminding people.

Kim and I went to church on Good Friday.  The service is always moving and somber.  It is, well, like a funeral.

 

When I was a kid growing up in New Jersey I didn’t go to church on Good Friday, only on Easter Sunday. After church, my parents would pack us all into the Corvair and we would make the drive north through Little Silver and Red Bank to the McDonald’s in Middletown.  This was one of the few times we would go out to eat at any restaurant so it was a real event.  Our Easter dinner would be hamburgers or cheeseburgers, French fries, and milk shakes because that is all they served back then.  You just drove up, parked, walked up to the window and got your food and ate it in the car.  No indoor playrooms or sitting at a table.  It was great.

Easter was also, other than maybe Christmas or the start of the new school year, one of the few times we got new clothes.  My sister would get a frilly dress and the rest of us little suits and maybe a hat.

In our new clothes, we would visit with the extended family and that was about it,  but it was always a nice day.

Easter traditions change.  The suits and hats are now replaced by Hawaiian shirts and khakis.  There is nothing really special about McDonald’s anymore so thankfully home cooking is a better option.  And they don’t make Corvairs anymore, maybe we should be thankful for that too.

 

I got up this past Saturday morning and did the usual; I paid a couple of bills and ran some errands.  Like other holidays, now that the kids are older, they have their own obligations so I was expecting to see them and feed them more in shifts this year and had to plan accordingly.

In the afternoon we did what we have always done this time of the year for the last almost 15 years, we took our dirt and our tools and some potted flowers and went up to the cemetery to plant new at Donny’s grave site.  Cameron helped this year getting the water and unloading the truck.

 

We cooked dinner on grill and then sat outside on the patio.   When it got a little later we put Cameron to bed.  Kim always says prayers with Cameron before bed and on this evening he thanked God for the nice day and for planting flowers for Uncle Donny.

He made a comment to Kim that Uncle Donny was “as tall as the world” or “taller than the world” and when she asked him to explain he just said that Uncle Donny “was in Heaven with Jesus.”

“Cameron how do you know that?” she asked.

“I just know” he said.

 

Church on Sunday was awesome.  To our surprise we had the whole local family with us at church and we filled a pew.  The preacher’s sermon was great.

Who will roll away the stone?  The question asked by Mary and Mary in Mark 16 verse 3 on their way to the tomb early on that Sunday morning.

The stone.

The stone of great weight blocking their way to Jesus in the tomb.

In our sermon the preacher explained that the stone represented all those hard times in our lives.  Those times of tragedy, divorce, loss of a job, an unexpected diagnosis.  All things tough.

It spoke to all of those sitting in my pew.

Just as I am sure it spoke to all of those in the pews surrounding me.

We all have had those stones.  Some have been heavier and harder to move than others. Many we still feel the weight of.

Sometimes we even plant flowers around them.

 

What did Jesus do on Saturday?

Maybe it was meant to be that way, to have that day in between.

Maybe Jesus, like us, needed a day of contemplation.

A day of reflection.

Maybe he was focusing on the weight of that stone and what was to be.

Maybe he was even starting to move that stone, as the world and life beyond it became clearer.

I think so.

How do I know?

“I just know.”

 

One of our heavier stones on the Saturday before Easter
Tubas and Saxophones, The Dave Clark Five, and I Love You

Tubas and Saxophones, The Dave Clark Five, and I Love You

My first saxophone, circa 1965, but it was already old when i got it.

It was The Dave Clark Five in the early sixties that caused a young “want to be” rock star at seven or eight years old to begin to fantasize about playing the saxophone one day in a band.

Our grandson Cameron,  age six, asked Santa for a tuba for Christmas.

A tuba.

We don’t know why he wanted a tuba for Christmas.  Not that there is anything wrong with that or the tuba,  I just can’t think of any cool current bands with a tuba player.

Our ritual for putting Cameron to sleep includes Kim and me each individually going in to visit him to say goodnight. The other night while I was in saying good night to Cameron, he asked me:

“Pop Pop, why didn’t Santa bring me a tuba?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Maybe he wants you to first learn to play your guitar, your drums, your harmonica, and your piano.  Then it will be easier for you to learn how to play the tuba.”

So because of the Dave Clark Five, when I turned nine years old and was able to start the music program in grammar school (sorry that is elementary school for those of you who aren’t from Jersey),  I got my first saxophone.    I was in the fourth grade and played it until I was in the seventh grade.

When I was twelve I got my first harmonica.

When I was sixteen or seventeen I put my first guitar on lay-away at Jack’s Music Shop in Red Bank New Jersey.

I now have six guitars, a number that equals the number of chords I know how to play on those guitars. I have two saxophones, and I have about twenty harmonicas.

Though I have a deep love of music I think my self-diagnosed attention deficit disorder never allowed me to master any one of those instruments beyond the point of just being able to have fun.

Last night, while listening to some music, I started thinking about Cameron and his tuba.

Then I started thinking about me and my musical instruments.

So naturally that led to the thought that I had to write something about all this.  Next, I remembered I had once written something that I thought at the time was really cool, that might fit somewhere in this developing concept.

So I started searching my spiral notebooks,  and then my computer files,  but I never did find those really cool words I once wrote that I thought would be so fitting.  Though it was definitely way cooler than this,  what I wrote back then had a similar theme to this:

I don’t know why I never learned to play harp like Delbert.

And I don’t know why I never played saxophone like Clarence.

Or learned to play the guitar like Bruce, or sing like Richie Furay, or write songs like Hiatt.

 

And I don’t know now what any of this has to do with anything…except maybe confirming my ADD tendencies.

But there was something else.

Because while I was searching for those really cool lyrics that were never found, I did find this:

My Mom Often tells me

By Donny

 

My mom often tells me, I love you.

When I am in the most miserable mood ever, and my mom is yelling I still know all of this yelling will later be followed by I love you. 

This saying reassures me that everything will always be alright.  It lets me know that somebody cares for you.  This saying makes you feel like everything I’m doing is fine and I should keep up the good work.  I don’t understand why when my mom says I love you, it means a lot more than when anybody else on earth says it, I love my mom.  She is my mentor, my friend, and someone I look up to.  I couldn’t ask for a better mom.  I thank God for blessing me with a gift like this

 

I don’t know why Santa didn’t bring Cameron a tuba.

And I will never know why God took Donny away from us either.

But I am happy that I found this essay of Donny’s since Monday is Donny’s birthday and sometimes we just need to get these messages.

A message that “reassures me that everything will always be alright.” 

So happy birthday Donny!

I can assure you that your mother still loves you.

And that everything will be alright.

Oh…and tell somebody that you love them, it means something.

Donny and cousin Josh