SATURDAY'S SILENCE

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 125

Silence is a bit of a myth, isn't it? If you were floating with the Artemis 2 crew right now, looking down at our blue marble from the void of the solar system, the Earth would probably look like a peaceful, mute sphere residing in the darkness. But down here on the ground? It’s a literal riot.

Almost 2,000 years ago, in a stone-cut tomb outside Jerusalem, silence was the only thing filling the atmosphere. But today, April 4, 2026, even my family room is refusing to cooperate.

I’ve got the first of the Final Four games on: UConn vs. Illinois. I have zero skin in the game, but in the spirit of the Big 10, I was pulling for Illinois, but they just lost. Oh well. Maybe Michigan can take it to Arizona and represent. Anyway…I digress.

The point is, the games are anything but silent. Lucas Oil Stadium is packed with ravenous fans, and even here in little old southern Minnesota, the world is loud. You can drive out to the marshes to find "peace," but the second you roll down the window, you realize nature is just as noisy as the neighbors.

Even the church was hopping today. We stopped by to see the youth group and the moms prepping for the annual Easter Breakfast Bake. The fellowship hall was a blur of activity, laughter, and—of course—gossip regarding the Great Good Friday Donut Heist.

You see, yesterday I made the mistake of leaving my groceries in the church fridge for five hours. When I returned, one donut (of two) had vanished. Today, the "investigation" was in full swing. Everyone had a theory on who the sugar thief was; even our resident Sheriff’s deputy got in on the fun, weighing the evidence. It’s a good laugh now, but it’s just another reminder that even in a house of worship, the "noise" of human antics never truly stops.

From the church, the volume only went up. We drove to Mankato and stopped to shop at  River Hills Mall. My wife marched to Maurice’s, and I beamed it toward Barnes & Noble. You’d think a bookstore would be a library-adjacent haven of quiet, right? Wrong. The employees were louder than my boxers, and that’s saying something. I actually had to "shush" them like a cranky old fart while I was trying to browse Bibles. Bruh. 

The rest of the day was a cacophony: Target: Noisy. Panda Buffet: Noisy. Sams Club: A total auditory assault; and The Crooked Pint: Packed with people while I waited for tonight’s pizza.

The roads were the worst part. I had to lay on my horn three times today just to stay on this side of the dirt. The highlight? An old Boomer in a Mercedes tried to blow through a stop sign onto Hwy 60 heading west, right into my lane. We’re talking 65 MPH traffic. If I hadn’t slammed the brakes, we’d have been pancaked. I’m pretty sure our guardian angels are putting in for overtime pay after that one.

Here’s the point: The world is a loud, frantic, donut-thieving, Mercedes-swerving place. But inside Jesus’ tomb on that Holy Saturday, there was nothing but silence.

The world outside that tomb continued on, of course. Jerusalem would’ve been bustling with pilgrims. The taverns were full. The Temple was packed with the sounds of animals being sacrificed. Pilate’s soldiers would’ve been clanking through the streets in their armor, trying to keep the peace.

But inside Christ’s tomb? Not a sound. Not a breath. Not a cry. Just the heavy, holy weight of stillness.

Silence is a gift we rarely experience outside of sleep, and even then, our brains are busy running dream reels. But today, I’m thankful for the memory of that Holy Saturday silence. It was the "pause" the world needed.

Had the tomb not been silent on Saturday, Sunday’s celebration could not have happened.

What are you thankful for today on this first Saturday in April?