Jesus didn’t just rise to change your eternity—He rose to invade your Monday. To walk with you into the boring, the painful, the frustrating. The stuff that doesn’t feel very “resurrected.” He’s not looking for infallibility, He’s looking for availability, for obedience, for someone who will say, “I’m not much, but I’m all in.”

They didn’t wake up expecting a miracle. They woke up still heartbroken. Still confused. Still trying to make sense of the nightmare they feared might never end. For them, Sunday started as just another day after death. But Heaven had other plans.

Saturday is the day your faith doesn’t feel like enough. It’s the day between promise and payoff. The day when hope feels stupid. The day when God seems quiet, distant, or worse—absent. It’s the day you sit in the gap, unsure whether to move on or hold on. Sometimes it’s a day. Sometimes, it’s a lifetime. And yet, Saturdays matter. Maybe more than we realize.

Nobody slept much the night before. Jesus had been arrested. He wasn’t coming back. He was taken to the High Priest’s home, charged with crimes he did not commit. He was tortured by the Romans while his own people watched. He spent Thursday night as a prisoner, and...

If Wednesday was silent, Thursday was sacred. Intentional. Intimate. It’s Jesus with His closest friends, breaking bread in a borrowed room, knowing full well that betrayal is already in motion, the cross is closer than ever, and time is running out.