Silence hurts the loudest on Sunday nights.
However, for the duration of a Cornellian’s week, chaotic cramming, studying for endless exams, and finishing assignments keep the mind ever busy. Then, on Saturday, evenings pass in a forgotten blur, married to the fleeting whims of the night owl and all such that follows; engaging with the art of distraction prevents feeling the sting of life.
It’s not that simple. Sunday night will arrive—as it always does—with all its thinking, feelings, and questions. Oh, the questions! Replaying the conversations from the week, wondering what about yourself you can tweak to make that one person actually want you, or doubting who you are and what you seek. All of this to conclude late on an insignificant Sunday night that you are tirelessly busy… but utterly sad.
This ache is not mere loneliness but emptiness, a hollowness we try to patch with validation in our academics, parties, and people. Every temporary solution we pursue to feel full, if even for a moment, fades. And it’s almost always a Sunday night when that quiet voice we try so hard to ignore asks, is this all there is?
I can answer: it is not.
This Easter season is the time for us to finally acknowledge—maybe for the first time or once again—what our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ did for us. God sent to the Earth His only Son to die for us because He saw our sin, our wandering hearts, and our need for something more. Jesus stepped into our broken world, lived a perfect life, and took the punishment we deserved. He was beaten, mocked, and nailed to a cross not because He had to, but because He wanted to—because love compelled it. And three days later, He rose, defeating death and offering us a new life grounded in Him. At the heart of Easter, we find the heart of Jesus.
That’s the real story of the season. Easter gives us the chance to remember amidst our busy lives what has been done for us out of sacrificial, unshakable, divine love.
It’s worth noting that the love we so often seek in relationships—in a man to fix us, to change our lives, and give us purpose—is really a symptom of our soul’s instinctual urge to be known and loved by God. We chase love, hoping it will heal. The desire behind that chase, the ache to be chosen and loved, is not entirely wrong but misplaced. That longing is meant to direct our eyes back to the Father. That’s why Satan twists our hunger for love into desperation—romanticizing unhealthy relationships or pulling us into exhausting pursuits of people who care nothing for us—so that the distance increases between living a life loving friends and strangers, as the Lord intended, and a life of utter despair.
Next weekend, my own dad is willing to drive twelve hours just to watch the 20th-anniversary screening of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith because he loves me enough to make the effort. The love of an earthly father, at its best, reflects the love of the Heavenly Father. And if my dad is willing to show up so fully, imagine how much more God, the One who designed love in the first place, is willing to pursue us?
This Sunday, maybe for the first time in a while, don’t just go through the motions, swiping across a sermon post on Instagram or neglecting church to sleep more. Instead, sit in the truth that the God who made you also died for you; the days of pretending are over.
So, yes, Sunday nights may still come with their silence, their ache, their slow, creeping thoughts—but they do not own you anymore. You are claimed not for what you do, but for who He is. Jesus died for the brokenhearted, the weary, and the ones who cry on Sunday nights and smile through Mondays.
Therefore, Cornellians, we can revel in an otherworldly peace knowing—with certainty—that we are loved.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
– Matthew 11:28 (NIV)
