Saturday--the Sabbath--must have been a day of horror, dismay, mourning, and shock for the followers and the mother of Jesus. All their hopes and expectations lay in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathaea. Death, in their experience, was final.
The only exceptions had been when Jesus had commanded a child, a friend, or a mother's only son to rise. But now, the One with authority over death was himself dead.
Most of us have experienced that devastation that follows the death of one we love. The world should be ended. How can others go about their daily lives when this death so impacts your life?
That sounds selfish only to those who haven't known that devastation.
Multiply that lost feeling by an all-is-lost feeling. By the sense that everything you held as truth is now destroyed. By the feeling that even God has left the planet. I'm sure that's how they felt--the disciples, His mother, and all the rest of His devoted followers and friends. Peter must have been especially devastated--he remembered that last look Jesus shot him as the rooster crowed.
Remember the children, how they loved Him? How they shouted "Hosannah!" as He rode the donkey down the hill? Their hero had died. He would never again bless them as He held them on His knee.
And His mother. Those of you who have experienced the death of your child know the anguish that produces. She would have been no different. Her horror and sorrow would have gone perhaps deeper than anyone else's.
What would happen now that they all had lost the Perfect One?