Hope From Ashes

Read: Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-24; Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16; 1 Peter 4:1-8; John 19:38-42

When I read John’s description of Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus caring for the body of Jesus, I am touched by their quiet care. Both Joseph and Nicodemus are described as disciples, yet we are also told that they follow Jesus in secret, out of fear. Fear has not kept them from retrieving Jesus’s body, though. John tells us of their deliberate and determined efforts: working together to wrap the remains with their own hands and, with great expense, carefully lodging the body of their lord in a safe place.

I have known many disciples like Joseph and Nicodemus. They are quiet. They do not want to preach, or teach, and they often hum along with the hymns if they sing at all. They do not proclaim their faith quickly like Peter or boldly like Paul. Yet the Josephs and Nicodemuses that I have known find ways to serve and show their devotion behind the scenes: mowing the church lawn when no one is around, bringing a casserole to an overwhelmed caregiver, taking the trash can to the road for the family that unexpectedly had to be at the hospital. Most of us have benefited from their care and love at some point in our lives. We didn’t have to ask. They knew what “needed doing,” and they did it. And, although their actions were straightforward and practical, we felt the trace evidence of their tender, quiet love for us in every gesture.

I’m a professor and a preacher, and I can get pretty wrapped up in words and ideas. I like to understand things and to strive ambitiously towards greater heights of knowledge and faith. Maybe you do, too. But on this Holy Saturday, I think it is a good time to consider those disciples whose faith centers not around complicated ideas or bold spiritual declarations or courageous moral stands, but around quietly and tenderly attending to what is material. In the material world is found, after all, the most fragile and delicate parts of God’s beloved creation, the most easily ignored or trampled.

Holy Saturday is a good day for me (and you?) to practice the Joseph and Nicodemus kind of discipleship. Maybe this looks like behind-the-scenes actions such as sitting with someone in the hospital or bringing flowers to a grieving neighbor. Or maybe it can be even smaller, even quieter (and even more tender): brushing my daughter’s hair more slowly, more gently; setting aside the kitchen work to pet the hovering dog nearby; holding a loved one’s hand a little longer, and with intention; or massaging lotion into my own winter-dry hands with all the attention due to a beloved child of God.

The spiritual aspect of our faith is important, and there will be times when we are called upon to live that faith in bold and brilliant ways. On this Holy Saturday may we join Joseph and Nicodemus in quiet, loving devotion, perhaps without any words at all, knowing that just as we care for— “do unto”—these living bodies around us, we care for the body of our Lord.

Prayer:

Dear God, on days like Holy Saturday we are confronted with so much brokenness. We recognize how delicate physical life is, how easily wounded and trampled. In these moments, lead us toward tender and quiet care for all you have created, in all its fragile beauty. Amen.