Easter Saturday is a big day, people. Today, Jesus is dead. Dead as a door nail. He’d just been nailed to a cross and died on it, his people had taken the body away and given it a dignified resting place. Show’s over folks, go home, another one bites the dust. A movement surrenders to the gloom and admits defeat, there really isn’t much left to do except wait and accept fate, whatever it might be when it arrives. At that time, around eighty percent of the people caught by the authorities were given a light sentence, but twenty percent got into real trouble and perhaps five percent died. But the minds of his followers were already imaging the worst. They went home and hid away, unwilling to be seen in public else get in trouble with the law.