Shadowlands

Saturday is the forgotten day of Easter. It sits quietly between the heartbreak of Good Friday and the glory of Resurrection Sunday. It is the in-between. The passing through, The not-yet. The silence.

C.S. Lewis once wrote of Shadowlands—a term that describes a place where the light is muted, where things are not as they should be, and where hope flickers like a candle in the wind. Easter Saturday is just that. A shadowland.

The cross had already stood tall, and the tomb had already been sealed. The disciples are scattered, numb, and uncertain. The sky has cleared from Friday’s darkness, but not in a way that brings peace. Just silence. A deafening, disorienting silence.

And maybe you know that silence, too.

Maybe you’ve stood in the shadowlands of life—the day after the diagnosis, the moment after the loss, the season after the dream dies. You’re not where you were, but you’re not where you hope to be. You’re living in the day before the promise.

Waiting for Sunday. Longing for resurrection.

But here’s the quiet miracle of Easter Saturday: God is still at work, even in the silence. Something is stirring. Behind the stone, glory is being readied. The silence is not absence—it’s preparation.

So we wait, like they waited. We hold on, even in the hush. Because Sunday is coming. Resurrection is coming.

In the silence of Easter Saturday we trust that even here—even now—God is still moving.

And Sunday is coming.