A Rich Burial

Jesu Juva

Is. 53:9/Lk. 23:50-53                                                            

April 15, 2022

Good Friday                                                                    

From the Prophet Isaiah:  And they made his grave with the wicked and with a rich man in his death . . . (53:9)

And from the Passion according to St. Luke:  Now there was a man named Joseph, from the Jewish town of Arimathea.  He was a member of the council, a good and righteous man, who had not consented to their decision and action; and he was looking for the kingdom of God.  This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus.  Then he took it down and wrapped it in a linen shroud and laid him in a tomb cut in stone, where no one had ever yet been laid. (23:50-53)

 Dear saints of our Savior,

          Where will you be buried?  Some of you know exactly where.  The plot has been purchased; the plans have been made.  Your burial is a done deal.  Others of you are probably like me.  You have no idea where you will be buried; and you’re okay with delaying that decision for at least a little while longer.

          Down through history, important people have always received a rich burial.  The Pharaohs of ancient Egypt built the pyramids for their tombs.  Many of you have probably visited the impressive tomb of Abraham Lincoln in Springfield, IL.  Others of you have seen the simple yet stately grave of John F. Kennedy at Arlington National Cemetery.

          Of all the details surrounding the death of Jesus, one that often gets overlooked is the burial of our Lord.  The fact that the corpse of the Christ was buried is an important fact—so important that we confess in the Creed, that Jesus “was crucified, died, and was buried.”  Like so much else that happened on Good Friday, the burial of our Lord’s body was not a haphazard, last-minute arrangement.  It was foretold.  It was prophesied.  Seven centuries earlier the Prophet Isaiah declared concerning the Christ:  They made his grave with the wicked and with a rich man in his death.

          But those words raise questions:  Was His grave with the wicked, or was it with a rich man in his death?  The answer is “yes.”  Both are fulfilled in Jesus.  In life and death, Jesus was surrounded by wicked men.  In fact, beginning with His baptism in the Jordan, Jesus made a point of standing shoulder-to-shoulder—in solidarity—with sinners of every stripe.  And on Good Friday especially, Jesus was numbered with the transgressors.  He was one of us—pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities.  By His wounds we are healed.

          In Israel it was an honor to be buried next to your relatives.  A man buried in the family plot was said to be sleeping with his fathers.  It was a dishonor to be consigned namelessly to a public cemetery.  To be denied any burial at all was considered an abomination in God’s eyes.  According to the Bible, even the worst criminals were to be buried.  But the Romans, who lacked God’s Word, often left their crucified victims hanging on the cross indefinitely—to be ravaged by the elements and attacked by birds of prey.  Their putrid corpses were a gruesome reminder of just what would happen to you if you followed in their wicked ways.

          In thinking about a dishonorable burial, the final scene of the movie Amadeus comes to mind.  Amadeus was the award-winning movie about the life and death of the famous composer, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.  Mozart was an incredibly gifted musician and composer—a prodigy, a musical genius.  Yet as the movie makes clear, the man was also an absolute scoundrel—immature, immoral, thirsty for his own pleasure and popularity, petty and vindictive.  At the end of the movie, Mozart’s corpse is unceremoniously dumped into a paupers’ grave with other corpses, as a driving rain falls from the sky.

          Where will you be buried?  Good Friday is a good day to consider the kind of burial we deserve—we who are ever aware of our own wickedness and sin.  Good Friday is a good day to recall that we are all by nature absolute scoundrels—immature, immoral, thirsty for our own pleasure and popularity, petty and vindictive.  Good Friday is a good day to remember how we have wasted so many of the talents and gifts God has given to us.  All the monuments and memorial stones that we dream of erecting for ourselves—all the flowers, the eulogies, the carefully-constructed caskets, the long obituaries touting all our achievements and success—it all amounts to nothing apart from faith in the man on the center cross.  He came down from heaven for us men and for our salvation.  He is the one—the only One—who was crucified, died, and was buried as our sin-bearing substitute.

          Too often this is where our Good Friday observances come to a screeching halt.  And to be sure, our Lord’s final cry from the cross, It is finished, calls for a full stop.  For with those words our salvation was accomplished.  With that last breath our sin was atoned for.  Our wickedness can condemn us no longer.  Our sin no longer has the last word—Jesus does!  And Jesus says, “It is finished.”  Jesus, the Lamb of God, has taken away the sin of the world.

          If we were telling the story of Good Friday, we would probably end it right there:  It is finished.  Full stop.  And fast forward to Sunday morning.  But we believe that Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried. And there’s good news in that burial.

          God’s plan (foretold by Isaiah) was that Jesus would be buried “with a rich man in his death.”  Joseph of Arimathea was that rich man—a prominent Jewish man who had been a behind-the-scenes follower of Jesus.  All four of the gospel writers go out of their way to tell us about Joseph of Arimathea and the beautiful thing he did for his Savior.

          Every burial carries with it a sense of finality—even futility.  We’ve all been there—to the cemetery, to the graveside.  It is a reminder that earthly life has ended—that the wages of sin is death—that the last enemy to be destroyed is death.  And there we await the resurrection.  But the death of Jesus changes everything.  Even as Jesus cried out, “It is finished,” something new was beginning.  Something was starting.  Something wonderful and beautiful was getting underway.  The death of Jesus changed everything; and we see that change first of all in that gentle soul named Joseph—Joseph of Arimathea. 

          Before the death of Jesus, Joseph had kept quiet about his faith.  Joseph had stayed on the sidelines.  Did he fear for his reputation?  Did he fear for his safety?  Did he fear losing his status and respect as a member of the Jewish council?  Did he fear what others would think?  We don’t know.  But what we do know is this:  The death of Jesus changed everything. 

          The death of Jesus changed Joseph!  Quiet, careful, cautious Joseph suddenly took a bold and courageous step.  He boldly went before Pontius Pilate himself to

request the body of Jesus.  Joseph risked everything—including his very life—so that he could undertake something kind and wonderful for his Savior.  Joseph would oversee the entombment of God’s own Son.  Joseph would now be the boss of the burial.  Joseph went from fearful to faithful, from silence to action, from doing nothing to boldly doing what was good, right, and salutary.  Out of love—out of love for Jesus who had taken his place on the cross, Joseph wanted Jesus to take his place in his costly new tomb.  Into this virgin tomb was laid the Virgin’s Son.  It was a rich burial—a beautiful burial of honor and dignity.  It was an act of kindness for the Christ.  On a day when the worst wickedness of the world was hurled at Jesus—on that day when the full fury of hell was unleashed upon Jesus—on that day when He was tortured to death for our sins—Joseph did something beautiful for Jesus.  Because the death of Jesus changes everything.

          It changes everything for you.  You are forgiven and freed to love as you are loved.  You cannot leave here tonight unchanged—unmoved.  You can step from fear to faith.  You can move from silence to action.  You can do what is good and right without the slightest care or concern about what others may think.  You can give of yourself freely and fully to others—because Jesus Christ gave Himself fully and freely for you. 

          Two hundred ninety-five years ago tonight the first ever performance of Johann Sebastian Bach’s St. Matthew Passion was nearing its conclusion.  At the St. Thomas Church in Leipzig, for more than two hours, the faithful had listened to the Passion of our Lord told in some of the most beautiful music ever composed.  And near the end, just at that point when Joseph takes possession of the body of Jesus, comes a beautiful aria—a prayer really.  It was a prayer that Joseph could have prayed.  And Bach clearly intended it as a prayer for all those gathered together on that Good Friday.  In English it’s quite simple:  Make yourself pure, my heart, I want to bury Jesus myself.  For from now on he shall have in me, forever and ever, his sweet rest.  World, get out, let Jesus in!  “Let Jesus in.”  The death of Jesus changed everything.  It changed everything in heaven and on earth and under the earth.  It changed everything in the heart of Joseph of Arimathea.  It your heart, too, it can change everything.  Let the prayer of your heart tonight be drawn from the aria you are about to hear:  World, get out, let Jesus in!

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.