They woke up on Saturday and asked themselves, “Was it real?”, “Did it really happen?”

But as they scanned the horizon they could still see, in the distance the three crosses outlined against the sky. They stood as a terrible reminder of the horror that had taken place. It had been real. He was dead. He was in a tomb.

Now what? Would the Romans come after them and do the same to them? Should they get away and hide for a time till things cooled down?

They huddled together for moral support – each sharing their own story of what they saw and felt. No, it had not been an awful night mare – it WAS real. They never imagined He would be beaten so viciously, scorned so cruelly, mocked so heartlessly nor that He would die a criminal’s death.

It had all gone so wrong.

Now what? They just couldn’t think clearly. None of them had slept much. And they’d just have to wait until morning when the women would go anoint the body with spices. They might need help – one last thing they could do for Him.

But until then they just had to wait. Did they talk about the things He taught them? Did they read the scriptures – like the Psalms – to comfort themselves?

They would just wait…with broken hearts.

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