It was a grim night. The second night they had endured since Jesus had died on Golgotha. Only one of them had been there to witness the death. John in his youthfulness seemed to have no fear that the older men in their practicality had embraced. They were behind closed, locked doors. The Jewish leaders had seemed uninterested in pursuing them on that Sabbath evening when Joseph of Aramathea had hastily buried Jesus’ body. But now another day had passed and many sensed that the triumphant Sanhedrin might now turn a maliced eye towards the remaining disciples of that dead troublemaker.

The night of Jesus’ arrest had been one of turmoil and confusion. Then came word that Judas had hung himself. An impulsive Peter had followed Jesus, but by the dawn of Friday had denied Jesus three times. Then he had come slinking back in shame to join them in their grim gathering.

This night, Saturday night, a weariness had replaced some of the grief and even now some were asking if they should just slip out of Jerusalem.  They were not sure of the welcome they would find in Galilee, but it might be safer for a time.

Desperate men, now discouraged and depressed.

It was Easter Saturday night.


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