LOVE WAITS IN THE DARK

SERMON: LOVE WAITS IN THE DARK Holy Week | Silent Saturday Text: Luke 23:56, Psalm 130

1. EMOTIONAL HOOK Have you ever sat in a hospital waiting room, holding your breath and begging for good news?

Have you ever watched the casket close, wondering how your life would ever feel whole again?

Have you ever prayed… and heard nothing? Believed… and felt nothing?

What about the days where you feel like your prayers just evaporate into the ceiling? Or the nights where your tears soak your pillow, but there’s no breakthrough in sight?

Silent Saturday is for every person who has waited for an apology that never came. For every parent praying for a prodigal child who still hasn’t come home. For every couple sitting in a fertility clinic. For everyone staring at a closed door, a buried dream, or a silent phone.

This isn’t the celebration of Palm Sunday or the sorrow of Good Friday—it’s the ache of waiting.

It’s the moment after the diagnosis but before the healing. The day after the breakup but before the closure. The season after the prayer but before the answer.

The kind of ache that doesn’t shout—it whispers. The kind that doesn’t answer—it asks. The kind that says, “I thought You were coming…”

And still—love waits in the dark.

2. TRANSITION TO ME I’ve known that silence. The kind that doesn’t come with lightning bolts or burning bushes—but just enough breath to get through the next hour.

3. ME There was a season where I felt abandoned by God. I was showing up externally—doing all the right things—but inside, I was numb. Prayers felt like they fell flat. The Bible didn’t speak. Worship felt empty.

I remember lying awake at night, wondering, “God, are You even close?”

It wasn’t a crisis of belief—it was a crisis of presence. And it made me feel ashamed. Because I thought real Christians didn’t doubt. But then I found Psalm 130:

“Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord… I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope.”

And I realized I wasn’t alone. God isn’t afraid of the dark. He meets us there.

The silence didn’t mean He left. It meant He was working in ways I couldn’t see.

Sometimes, the tomb looks closed—but the story isn’t over.

4. WE/SOCIETY/CULTURE We don’t know how to wait anymore. We skip commercials. We click out of buffering videos. We avoid slow seasons at all costs.

Even spiritually—we want fast fruit, quick breakthroughs, and pain-free healing. We want to jump from Friday’s pain to Sunday’s praise… and skip the process.

But Silent Saturday reminds us: God is not rushed.He works in silence. He moves in hidden spaces. He speaks through stillness.

Our culture celebrates noise, speed, clarity. But the kingdom of God grows in mystery, silence, and soil.

Some of God’s deepest work happens beneath the surface. In the dark. When no one’s clapping. When no one’s watching.

We live in a culture that equates movement with meaning. But God sometimes equates stillness with strength.

Even in church culture, we often reward loud faith and overlook the quiet one. But the truth is—some of the holiest people are the ones who keep showing up when heaven feels silent.

5. GOD: SCRIPTURE INSIGHT Luke 23:56 — “Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.”

Don’t miss the power in that line: they rested.Not because they weren’t hurting. But because even in their grief—they chose trust.

They didn’t know resurrection was coming. But they still obeyed.

Psalm 130:5-6 — “I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits… more than watchmen wait for the morning.”

This isn’t passive, lazy waiting—it’s desperate, heart-wrenching, faithful endurance. It’s waiting with eyes fixed on the horizon, believing dawn is coming even when night is all you see.

“God’s silence is not His absence.” — Charles Spurgeon “To wait on God is not despair—it is devotion.” — Pete Greig “Sometimes God lets the darkness linger so our roots grow deeper.” — Rich Villodas

Silent Saturday tells us something profound: Even when it feels like God isn’t speaking—He’s still sustaining.

The curtain hasn’t closed. He’s still writing.

6. YOU: PRACTICAL INVITATION So what do we do in the dark? What do we do when resurrection hasn’t come yet?

What do we do when the promise feels far away, and the tomb is still sealed? What do we do when God is silent, and the only sound is the echo of our questions?

Let’s take our cue from the disciples. On Saturday, they weren’t preaching. They weren’t proclaiming. They were hiding. Grieving. Whispering. Fearing.

Some were locked in an upper room, afraid the same soldiers who crucified Jesus might come for them. Others were weeping. Others were numb.

And yet… they stayed.

They didn’t understand the silence. But they stayed in it. They didn’t know Sunday was coming. But they didn’t run away.

What if that’s your calling today? Not to have answers, but just to remain.

Let yourself grieve.

You don’t have to rush to Sunday. Let the tears fall. Grief is not weakness—it’s worship when you bring it to God.

Write a lament. Say what hurts out loud. God meets you in truth, not pretense.

Wait with intention.

Light a candle. Sit in silence. Open Scripture and read it even if it feels distant. Let your presence be your prayer.

Practice what the early church called "active stillness"—trust that your waiting is not wasted.

Rest in trust.

Take a literal Sabbath. Turn off your phone. Breathe. When you rest, you declare that God is working even when you are not.

Speak this over your anxiety: “God is still writing. This is not the end.”

Name what feels buried.

Is it hope? Joy? Faith? Write down what you feel like has died in your life—and invite Jesus to meet you there.

Pray, “Lord, here’s what I think is lost… but You are the God of resurrection.”

Hold space for others.

Sit with someone in their silence. Text a friend and say, “You don’t have to explain it—I’m just with you.”

Be the voice that says, “I won’t leave, even if it stays quiet for a while.”

Analogy: Waiting on God is like sitting in a dark theater. The lights are down. The curtain is closed. But backstage—stagehands are moving. The next act is being prepared. You just can’t see it yet.

The silence doesn’t mean nothing is happening. It means something sacred is unfolding.

7. CLOSING VISION, WE We are a people of resurrection—but we are shaped in the shadows.

We know Sunday is coming—but we are formed in the silence of Saturday.

Think about the disciples. Some were hiding in fear. Some were numb with sorrow. Some were wondering if everything they believed had been a lie.

And Jesus didn’t shame them. He let them wait.

Because sometimes the most holy thing you can do is stay in the ache. To remain in the mystery. To hold your questions with open hands.

This day reminds us: God is not just in the miracle. He’s in the mystery. He’s not just in the light—He’s also in the shadows.

The tomb may be quiet. The sky may still be dark. But behind the stone, life is waking up.

So tonight, we sit with our sorrow. We honor the in-between. We light a candle in the dark.

Not because we’re naïve. But because we believe: God is still working. Love is still breathing. Resurrection is still coming.

So may we become a people who wait well. Who rest without answers. Who stay when it’s easier to run. Who whisper in the dark and still believe God hears.

Because even when everything feels dead… Love waits in the dark.