Jesus lies mangled, killed, lifeless in the tomb. The gospels go silent about the apostles, who must, on this terrible day, be stunned and drained and perplexed.
Two men, minor plays in the Jesus story, act with puzzling faithfulness. Joseph of Arimethea and Nicomedus, council members won over to Jesus, collect and bury Jesus' body in a tomb.
What are they thinking? What inner resources do these men call upon to stay faithful when every tangible shred of evidence is telling them that their Jesus-hopes are crushed and futile?
This side of the resurrection, with the benefit of holy hindsight, it's easy to side with Joseph and Nicodemus and to cheer them on. But on that miserable Saturday, when all visible hope was drained away: What were they thinking?
Lord, teach me this kind of faith. Teach me this kind of faithfulness. Teach me to continue to give myself to you even when everything seems surely crushed and lost. Let me trust in the sure strength of that which I can't see or even imagine. Let me know for sure that despite the death staring me in the face, life is on the way.
Resurrection. It's almost here.
He is Risen!
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