[Friday – “Frantic Doing”.] We’ve all faced situations that feel “un” fixable. Maybe it’s a past that feels “un” justifiable, a heart the feels “un” curable, relationships that seem “un” salvageable. And then there are things of an order of greater magnitude. A health crisis that seems “un” curable, a body that seems “un” healable, a grave that seems “un” conquerable. In so many things we cry out to God for hope and healing, but heaven seems silent. When we don’t know what to do, we do what we know to do.
On the Friday of Jesus’ death, chaos unfolds. Around 3:00 PM, Jesus has died, and his body remains on the cross. Much like his trial, the authorities want to speed Jesus’ crucifixion along, and get past the spectacle of the cross. Incidentally, they crucified Jesus on a Friday, also “the Jewish Day of Preparation.” There were things you simply couldn’t do on a Sabbath according to the Law—like burying the dead. So around 3:00PM on Fridays, Jewish families would been preparing food, tidying up their homes, setting the table, lighting lamps. Laying out festive apparel, bathing the children. All “work” forbidden after sunset.
In their twilight hurry, the Authorities ask that the legs of the men be broken, to speed the inevitable. No need for this gross spectacle to persist into night, or spill into the Holy Sabbath. But when the Soldiers come to Jesus, he is has passed. So instead, they pierce his side to certify his death, and blood and water pour out.
Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus—who mostly followed Jesus in the shadows--suddenly emerge to solve a logistical nightmare. They have until sunset (mere hours) to get permission to take Jesus’ body, painstakingly wrap his body in linen, cover him in some seventy-five pounds of myrrh and aloes, secure a tomb, bury his body... The religious calendar is driving everything.
I remember when my Dad passed away. It was toward the end of the week. As I sped to his side, I was on the phone, lining up someone to fill in and preach, calling family, trying to make sure mom wasn’t alone, but she was. It was all just a blur. I arrived at the hospital, this big curtain was drawn back, and there dad lay. There is no time for grieving, from there things accelerated. You’re talking to funeral people, flower people, church people, writing an obituary, taking care of meals, planning services.
Death is never convenient. That Friday, one of our vehicles was in the shop. And sure enough, late on Friday night, the engine light goes off! And of course it’s a catastrophic issue! So, at 9:00 pm Friday night I’m trying to find a rental car. Every place is closed. By the grace of God, we thought to call the airport. As I leave the airport rental lot, the engine light on the rental car goes off. Honestly, at that point I just laughed. The “busyness” of Friday masked the “shock” of Friday.
[Saturday – “Forced Waiting”] Then comes Sabbath. On Sabbath it feels like the finish line of a race. You spend all that energy, only to collapse on the other side. On the Sabbath the magnitude of Jesus’ death began to be felt. Those waves of grief, washing over the soul. How quickly we realize a life has been taken, a life is forever gone. In death, everything so final and rudely abrupt and “un” fixable. What else is there to do, but wait, but sit in the silence and aftermath, groaning? The shell-shocked disciples, like us, hunkered down in shock, powerless. Their Sabbath felt like 24 hours of deafening silence, 24 hours of simply existing.
In 2 Corinthians 5:4-5 Paul writes, “For while we are in this tent, we groan as we are burdened, not because we want to be unclothed, but because we want to be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. . .” And in Romans 8:23, how we “… groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for adoption, the redemption of our bodies."
[Sunday—“Disruptive Hope”]. Saturday night I slept on the coach at mom’s. Sunday morning, I awoke and noticed dad’s sandals sitting in front of his chair. It was a jarring reminder of the disruptive nature of death. We kick off our sandals not knowing when it will be our last time to do so. There we stood that Sunday, singing. On Saturday, grief was beginning to catch up and overtake me. But as I stood in that sanctuary, I found joy and hope taking hold, joy and hope catching up with my busied soul, joy and hope beginning to overtake me.
In the chaos of Friday, Matthew tells us about something else that happened. In Matthew 27:43 we read how, “About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Elí, Elí, lemá sabachtháni?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” Next, Matthew 27:50-53 tells us how, “. . . Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and gave up his spirit. 51 Suddenly, the curtain of the sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom, the earth quaked, and the rocks were split. 52 The tombs were also opened and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. 53 And they came out of the tombs after his resurrection, entered the holy city, and appeared to many.”
Before Resurrection Sunday there was Resurrection Friday. Not just on Sunday, but also on Friday, upon Jesus’ death, tombs were opened, the bodies of the saints were raised, those who’d fallen asleep, resurrection appearances were happening all over the city. And for those who happened to be standing in the Temple, a most terrifying spectacle unfolded. The temple curtain was rent from top to bottom. The earth quaked, and the stones of temple cracked and split. What was unfolding on a cross on a hill outside the city began to shake the temple of God, the city of God, and yes, the gates of every cemetery, indeed the very gates of hell.
Just as rudely, abruptly, and disruptively as death had swept over Jesus’ body…. So the world awakens to a hope and healing, violently unveiled. The Temple Curtain was more than just a piece of fabric. It formed a boundary between a holy God, and a people weighed down in their sin, and death. The curtain was a feat of human craftmanship. Made of twisted linen, dyed with royal blue, heavenly purple tones, and of course scarlet red yarns. Upon the curtain artisans had woven images of Cherubim, and images of the Tree of Life, and the garden of Eden. This curtain stood some 60 feet high, and 30 feet wide! It was said to be 4 inches thick. It took 300 priests just to handle or carry it. It was impossible to tear by human hands. And there it stood, not just separating God’s presence from man, but true access to the life that is truly life…life everlasting.
On Friday, Matthew tells us at the instance of Jesus’ death, the curtain veil was torn top to bottom. In that instant, God’s personal presence and healing power and poured forth. Hebrews 10:19-20 tells us, “Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have boldness to enter the sanctuary through the blood of Jesus — he has inaugurated for us a new and living way through the curtain (that is, through his flesh)..." Not just on Sunday, but beginning on Sunday, hope and healing were being unveiled. A mystery kept hidden, now disclosed. Death was giving way to life. Mortality to Immortality.
When we sit in that church pew on the Sunday of our loss… we aren’t just performing a duty. We are standing in the Now—with all its present blur and pain—but were also reaching for the life and hope unveiled in Christ. We proclaim victory knowing that while the grave may seem final for the moment (for Today)… it’s certainly not final tomorrow. In 1 Thessalonians 4:14 Paul says, “For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, in the same way, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep."
Hope unveiled! Unconquerable Grave shown conquerable. When I think of us here today, I think of us being sandwiched between the spectacle of Friday and Sunday morning. The death burial and resurrection of Christ behind us. Our own death, burial, and resurrection ahead of us. I’d rather be sandwiched in hope, than held captive to sin and death. Here in this place, we restfully wait. As the sun sets on our Sabbath, we await the sunrise of our own resurrection. The Psalmist, in Psalm 130:5–6 writes, “I wait for the Lord; I wait and put my hope in his word. I wait for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning—more than watchmen for the morning." [Maybe you’re hurting, feel exhausted and desire prayer… Maybe you’re ready Explore Faith… we want invite you to “The Point…” for prayer, for conversation… ]