“Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith…” — Hebrews 12:2

When you use a computer as much as I do, you learn something very quickly: eventually, it will need to be replaced.

I keep many windows open. I do my work there. And sometimes—through wear, or even a simple drop—it breaks beyond repair. Recently, I had one like that. It simply had to be replaced.

It used to be difficult to set up a new computer or phone. You had to remember everything—settings, software, files—and hope you had backed it up somewhere.

Now, the process is smoother. You plug it in. It recognizes you. It begins restoring.

But even then—it takes time.

A day or two, sometimes more.
And during that time, things are not quite right.

There is downtime.


And isn’t that the way life works?

Right in the middle of things—
something interrupts:

  • sickness
  • inconvenience
  • adversity
  • aging
  • loss
  • tragedy

And suddenly, we are no longer operating as we were.

We have to reboot.
We have to reinstall.
We have to start again.


Holy Saturday lives in that space.

It is the day between.

Between the cross and the resurrection.
Between promise and fulfillment.
Between devastation and restoration.

What is happening in the tomb?

Silence.
Darkness.
Stillness.

What is happening among the disciples?

Fear.
Confusion.
Disorientation.
Loss of hope.


Tradition speaks of the harrowing of hell—that Christ descended into the depths to bring deliverance. We do not fully understand it. Scripture only hints at it.

But we do understand this:

Something was happening in the silence.


Hebrews tells us:

“Who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame…”

Jesus endured—
not because of what was visible,
but because of what was promised.

Even the Son walked by faith into darkness.


A friend once described the Easter Vigil.

All the beauty of the sanctuary is stripped away.
The flowers are gone.
The music is silent.

Only Scripture remains.

And it goes on… and on… into the night.

Until finally—
light breaks.


We live there sometimes.

In the long Saturday.

In the reboot.

In the waiting.

In the slow reinstallation of hope, strength, and clarity.


This morning, as I rebooted my phone and waited for everything to load, I realized:

The waiting seems longer than it used to.

And maybe that is part of the lesson.

Not everything is instantaneous.

Not everything is visible.

Not everything is lost.


Something is being restored.


So we wait.

We trust.

We endure.

And we do what Hebrews tells us to do:

We look unto Jesus.

The One who began our faith…
and the One who will finish it.


Go Deeper: Holy Saturday and the Harrowing of Hell

This reflection introduces the experience of “rebooting” in the life of faith—the in-between space where things are not yet restored.

For those who want to go deeper, I’ve created a companion piece exploring the ancient and often-overlooked theology of Holy Saturday and the Harrowing of Hell—what Christ may have been doing in the silence.

👉 Read the extended reflection (with theological insights, curated sources, and discussion questions):
https://tomsims.substack.com/p/reflections-on-rebooting

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