Saturday, April 8, 2023

Holy Week, Saturday, April 8 – Bystanders on the Way to the Cross

“Late in the afternoon a wealthy man from Arimathea, a disciple of Jesus, arrived. His name was Joseph. He went to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. Pilate granted his request. Joseph took the body and wrapped it in clean linens, put it in his own tomb, a new tomb only recently cut into the rock, and rolled a large stone across the entrance. Then he went off. But Mary Magdalene and the other Mary stayed, sitting in plain view of the tomb.” (Matthew 27: 57 – 61, The Message Bible)

                Together, all four Gospels give us a very clear picture of Joseph of Arimathea. He was wealthy. He was influential and well-respected in the Jewish community, “a man of good heart and good character.” (Luke) He appreciated Kingdom of God values. He had not voted in favour of Jesus’ execution.  Yet, he feared judgement and possible censure from his Council colleagues.  Most intriguingly, he was a follower of Jesus. Arimathea was a small village, just outside Jerusalem.

                That is more information than we ever usually get in the Gospels about someone.  His action after Jesus’ death on the cross were noteworthy to the Gospel writers. Despite whatever apprehensions he has, Joseph stirs up his courage to ask Pilate for permission to take Jesus from the cross and bury him.

                Bury Jesus, not just anywhere, but Joseph buried Jesus in his own tomb, “a tomb never yet used.” (Luke) He tended to the corpse of Jesus with tender-loving care, providing linens and burial spices and aromatics, and along with Nicodemus, they buried Jesus “in accordance with Jewish burial customs.” (John)

                End of Story.

    The Grand Experiment, wrapped up in Jesus’ life, ministry and teachings, had come to an end. It is finished indeed. As if signifying that his personal hopes, expectations and beliefs about Jesus were also dead with Jesus’ death, Joseph buries Jesus’ remains in his own personal tomb. The Rock of Ages was interred in a tomb carved out of rock. Can’t get much more final than that.

    Even though we know how the Story actually continues rather than ends, let us not jump ahead just yet.

    Sometimes, our fears, worries, hurts, sins, emotions, unfortunate decisions, mis-actions becomes the hardest rock in which we bury ourselves and our  faith. Our personal tombs are far from never having been used but are instead full of the remains of our past, our mistakes, our selfishness, our doubts, our regrets and our lost opportunities. Like Joseph, we are good people but there are circumstances and events which bury our hopes, extinguish our faith and entomb even our confidence in Jesus. We bury Jesus in our personal sepulchres of life’s  vanity.

    We give up. We give in to death and its inevitability. We enshrine the failures. We resign ourselves to accept whatever life and death shoves at us. Our tombs symbolize the disappointments, the disenchantment, the let-downs which separate us from hope, joy, freedom, love.

    Joseph of Arimathea buried Jesus in his own tomb and then “he went off.” Give him his full props for doing what he had done so far. But once he was done, he left the tomb with Jesus fully secured inside. There was a huge stone and then eventually guards. No one was going in or out.

    That is the nature of the Saturday of Holy Week. One is caught in the middle of Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. We bury Jesus and wait for what is to come next. In the meanwhile, like the women who gathered at the tomb, we watch and wait.  Joseph left; the women waited. Joseph finished his sad task; the women sat in plain view of the tomb. Joseph accepted Jesus’ death; the women watched.

    Joseph doesn’t appear to have waited long enough to see what happened at his own tomb.

                Out of the fear and dread of the tomb,
                Jesus, I come! Jesus, I come!
                Into the joy and pleasure, Thine own,
                Jesus, I come to Thee!
                Out of the depths of ruin untold,
                Into the flock Thy love doth enfold,
                Ever Thy glorious face to behold,
                Jesus, I come to Thee!

Dale

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