Stations: Burial (Holy Saturday)

80261225fe004e90ed2d07839e63e9b1The crucifixion is over; the crowds have gone, the soldiers walk away to clean bloodstained weapons and armour. In the silence and stillness of death Jesus hangs, awaiting the final indignity; he’s probably due to be thrown into a mass grave with the two bandits on either side of him, erased and forgotten as he rots in a pit, no space for followers to mourn and be inspired. The spectacle is over, its job done. Its brutality needs to be remembered but not its victims. That’s how these things work.

We still find mass graves today, in Iraq, in Syria, in Mexico, in Ireland. The discarded victims of turf wars and extremism, abandonment and fundamentalists lie dumped like so much rubbish, the final crime committed against each of them. We might know their names if we hunt through the bones enough. Industrial cruelty wants its crimes and its victims to crumble quietly into dust and disappear in the wind.

The burial of Jesus is an attempt to spare him that fate, an extravagance he can be afforded in death if not in life. So Joseph gives up his tomb and Nicodemus gives up his cash and they give Jesus a burial, respect, dignity. These things are important; they preserve the humanity of those who died, their identity, as well as that of those left behind. This is a moment of mercy and grace, perhaps a moment in which, even in the silence, hope starts to break through.

But it’s Saturday and Sunday’s still to come, and so Joseph’s tomb is a place of mourning and remembrance and tears. We can pause here for a while as we remember the pain and loss of Good Friday, as we put aside denial and embrace the weeping, as we get sad and get angry about suffering and bereavement and death. There’s nothing wrong with this.

But keep an eye on the tomb. Something’s about to happen there. Over on the horizon, the sun’s about to rise.

The other posts in this series can be found here.

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