Kaitlin Febles

In all of Holy Week, Saturday may be the day about which the least is written but from which we can draw some of the greatest encouragement and hope. On this day, everything pauses after a week of dramatic and suspenseful events—from Jesus’ triumphal entry on Palm Sunday to His clearing of the temple on Monday to His initiation of communion on Maundy Thursday to His arrest, trial, and crucifixion on Good Friday.  But on Saturday, we wait.  As readers, it’s as though the first half of the drama has come to a close—a literally earth-shaking close at that (Matthew 27:51)—and we’re sitting in a dark theater during intermission feeling shock, confusion, and angst over how this story will end and how it could possibly be made right. Did we get all the foreshadowing wrong? Will good still triumph in the end? Why did God let all of this happen? Often, our circumstances in life feel like a bleak intermission after tragedy. A relationship ends. An application is denied. A pregnancy is lost. An opportunity is withheld. A diagnosis is made. A life is ended. But these circumstances are just that—an intermission in the full story of God’s good purposes in which we must grapple with grief, but we have not yet seen how God will take even what the enemy meant for evil and use it for good (Genesis 50:20).  In the darkest circumstances, when all feels lost, evil seems to have won, and nothing makes sense, we can trust that God is working as we wait, and our faith can hold both sorrow and hope.  On the Friday of Holy Week, as sundown approached (the start of Saturday according to the Jewish calendar), Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for Jesus’ body. He wrapped it in a clean linen cloth before placing it in his own tomb and rolling a large stone over the entrance (Matthew 27:57-60). This is where Jesus’ body remained through all of Holy Saturday—the only day in history on which the body of the Son of God has or will lie dead in a tomb.  Where was everyone else? The disciples who scattered when Jesus was arrested were likely now gathered in hiding together, trying to process a swirl of heavy emotions (John 20:19). They may have felt shock over their Lord’s death, confusion over all they believed, grief over the loss of their friend, anger over their fellow disciple Judas’ betrayal, uncertainty in how to proceed, and fear over the possibility that they could be arrested too.  From these disciples, we remember how dark it would be to face any “Saturday” without faith in Jesus’ promise that the last enemy to be destroyed will be death (1 Corinthians 15:26), that all authority on heaven and earth has been given to Him (Matthew 18:18), that the enemy has no claim on Him (John 14:30), and that He is always working all things for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).  Even as we wait in the intermission of our own “Saturday,” we cling to the hope—not that God will work out our circumstances on earth exactly as we want—but that all His promises are trustworthy and true, secured by their yes and amen in Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20).  The religious leaders, who remembered Jesus’ claim to rise on the third day, asked Pilate for permission to make the tomb secure, lest Jesus’ disciples steal His body and deceive people into thinking He had risen. Pilate told them to “go, make the tomb as secure as you know how.” (Matthew 27:65) Apparently, their know-how was not sufficient for the task. They certainly didn’t need to worry about the disciples stealing Jesus’ body—those disciples, nearly all of whom were eventually killed for their faith in Jesus, would not have been willing to suffer to death over a body-stealing hoax that they knew made their faith a sham. The religious leaders were preoccupied with trying to keep people from coming into the tomb and overlooked their greater threat: they couldn’t stop Jesus from coming out.  They tried to keep people from coming for Jesus, but nothing could keep Jesus from coming for His people.  These religious leaders remind us that no work of evil, earthly scheme, or human cunning can hold back God’s will and work in our lives. Even if the enemy seems to have control in the darkness of Saturday, the God of peace will soon crush that same enemy under our feet (Romans 16:20).  The women from Galilee watched to see where Jesus’ body was placed on Friday, then returned home to prepare spices and ointments for His anointing, a work they did not finish until the start of the Sabbath, on which the Jewish law commanded them to rest (Luke 23:55). Their obedience to that command aligned God’s perfect timing for their role in His story. It meant they had to wait to visit Jesus’ tomb until Sunday morning, when they would be the first to learn that He had risen.  From the women, we remember that in our obedience, even when that obedience requires waiting, God is working—orchestrating people, circumstances, and timelines in ways we cannot fathom, just as He orchestrated all of the Old Testament to be fulfilled in Jesus. On the Sabbath day, God commanded His people to rest in Exodus, and Jesus Himself rested in the tomb. He spent three days and three nights in the heart of the earth, just as Jonah spent three days and three nights in the belly of a fish (Matthew 12:40).  He fulfilled every prophecy, such as Isaiah’s declaration that He would be pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities; upon Him would be the chastisement that brought us peace, and by His wounds, we would be healed (Isaiah 53:5, 1 Corinthians 15:3-4).  How bleak this world would be (and how hopeless our lives would be) if we didn’t have the hope that even in the midst of our “Saturdays”—those periods of grief, confusion, and loss in which we don’t yet see how a specific story will end—we know how the grand story will ultimately end. God can do all things and always has a plan, and no purposes of His can be thwarted (Job 42:2).  One day, His dwelling place will be among us, and He will dwell with us. We will be His people, and God Himself will be with us and will be our God. He will wipe every tear from our eyes, and there will be no more death, mourning, crying, or pain because the old order of things will pass away. He will make everything new (Revelation 21:3-5).  Until that day, we wait with hope. Today may be Saturday, marked by a deafening silence between the crucifixion and Easter morning.  But Sunday is coming. And in this, we hope.

A Thanksgiving dinner conversation about how our faith drives voting decisions turns into a fiery political debate. A class discussion on an author’s religious views spirals into accusatory ridicule between students. A social media post turns into comment after comment of half-informed, emotionally charged, rashly-typed responses. And my suspicion is that you and I have yet to see these be effective for the gospel.  So what if it looked different? What if we didn’t enter apologetics with the fear (or defensiveness) of expecting combative attacks? What if our conversations—even when they ended with both people still holding firmly to opposing beliefs—were marked by reasonable open-mindedness, sincere desires to grow in understanding, commitments to upholding truth, and respect for others’ experiences and intelligence as fellow image-bearers of God? (Genesis 1:27) Scripture tells us to be prepared to give a reason for the hope that is in us, but to do so with gentleness and respect (1 Peter 3:15). Our conversations are to be full of grace and seasoned with salt (Colossians 4:6-7) as we seek to imitate Jesus, who was full of both grace and truth (John 1:14).  So, how do we approach apologetics in a godly manner? 1. See with love.  Scripture tells us that even our best words—in this case, our best apologetical arguments—are no better than clanging cymbals or resounding gongs if they aren’t rooted in and delivered with love (1 Corinthians 13:1). And if love is the first attribute Paul mentions in describing the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), we need to begin by praying for the Spirit to cultivate the fruit of love in us as only He can—fruit that is a byproduct of abiding in Jesus (John 15:4).  Our love alone—a supernatural love that compels us to love not only those who love us but all people, including our enemies—is an apologetic in itself (Luke 6:32-35).  As we discuss meaningful (and complicated) topics of faith with those who don’t yet trust in Jesus, we can powerfully demonstrate His love in us by the way we listen. By this, I mean sincerely, actively, wholeheartedly listen—not just the “listening” we do when we aren’t speaking, but are distracted by our own thoughts and mentally forming our next response. Do we love the one we’re speaking to enough to seek their perspectives and hang-ups with Jesus, the Bible, or the Church? Are we willing to consider and be compassionate towards the personal reasons they may have for opposing Christianity, such as being treated poorly by Christians? Do we love them enough to let our hearts be softened by their story, broken over their pain, and passionate for them to know, trust, and follow Jesus, who loved us all first (1 John 4:19)?  The better we seek to understand and listen to others, the more likely they are to seek to understand and listen to us.  In our love, they may also see the first evidence of Jesus and His life-changing love by the reflection of Him in us.  2. Start on common ground.  Apologetics can be quick to escalate into combative (and unhelpful) arguments when we lead with all the ways we disagree, imitating a courtroom scenario in which all burden of proof is on our side to convince the other person that God exists, the Bible is credible, and Jesus can be trusted.  Instead, we should start on the common ground that we all have to build our lives, in faith, on beliefs about how the world started, what makes humans unique, who defines good and evil, what (if any) justice we are all held to, and what happens after we die.  No one, not even an atheist, can avoid faith. The question now becomes: what (or who) are we placing our faith in? None of us were here to witness firsthand the origin of the earth. Whether we believe it was caused by intelligent design or entirely naturalistic causes, we must believe this in faith. When we start on this common ground, we can then discuss which we believe to be more reasonable and why.  Another point of common ground is found in acknowledging we all hold to an absolute truth. Whether the person you’re talking to believes no one religion is right or that everyone should “live their truth” based on what they inwardly sense to be true, they are still claiming their belief is exclusively right. They are not being inclusive, for example, of our belief that Jesus is “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6).  We must choose a way of faith and the truths that will form our worldview. As Christians, we believe the way and truth of Jesus is the most reasonable, compelling, trustworthy answer to the questions of life we all must answer in faith.  3. Share your journey.  The people I’ve talked to in apologetics conversations tend to appreciate my own sharing of wrestling with faith. I put my faith in Jesus at a young age. Still, I’ve had to face all kinds of doubts and questions as I’ve grown older—in my public school education, reading (or scrolling), history books, news headlines, and conversations with co-workers, neighbors, family members, and friends.  What doubts have you faced in your relationship with Jesus? Despite those difficult challenges, why do you still trust and follow Him? What truths do you cling to when people ask hard questions like, “How could a kind God allow suffering?” or “If God is loving, how can He send people to Hell?” There are good answers to these questions that many have articulated in beautiful ways—answers that have been lifelines and guiding lights in my own wrestling, keeping me tethered to the faith I still believe with all my heart.  Sharing our own grappling with these complex ideas demonstrates that we, too, want to be rationalists—eager to acknowledge and answer challenging questions with a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7)—and realists—engaging the realities of life while anchoring hope in the reality of God in heaven. In all this, we can pray the Holy Spirit leads them to consider our way of life and imitate our faith (Hebrews 13:7)—ultimately looking not to us but to the author and finisher of our faith (Hebrews 12:2).  4. Play the long game.  Our goal in apologetics is not just to win an argument (while alienating the one we’re arguing with). We have to be willing to play the long game. Are we building towards the possibility of a lifelong relationship with this co-worker, neighbor, or friend in which they always feel they can come to us for a safe, kind, compassionate space to process questions and doubts?  Before we speak, do we ask ourselves whether our words will set us up better or worse for future conversations (that this individual may have with us or with other Christians)? Are our actions and speech making this time more or less likely to end in a spirit of humility, thoughtfulness, respectfulness, and thankfulness for one another’s honesty? Apologetics should be a long game—all in service to the everlasting God who plays the longest game of eternity.  We cannot argue, reason, or persuade anyone into salvation by our own strength. When the pride of our heart deceives us into thinking otherwise (Obadiah 1:3), we are often tempted to be impatiently forceful in our human understanding rather than acknowledging and trusting in the Lord to direct our apologetic steps (Proverbs 3:5-6).  Some of us will plant seeds of faith; others will water them. Still, God alone can give the growth (1 Corinthians 3:6).  As we pray and hope in Him to do the work that only He can do in those around us, He will keep our yoke easy and burden light (Matthew 11:28-30) as we love others, seek common ground, share our journey, and play the long game—a game that only He can win over others souls as He draws them to Himself.