Later, Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for the body of Jesus. Now Joseph was a disciple of Jesus, but secretly because he feared the Jewish leaders. With Pilate’s permission, he came and took the body away.   He was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night.   

Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds.  

Taking Jesus’ body, the two of them wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of linen. This was in accordance with Jewish burial customs.  

At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid. Because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.

John 19:38-42

How many times have I read John’s account of the crucifixion of Jesus, and passed right by these verses? And why, this time, did they stop me and bring me to tears?

Joseph of Arimathea, who has been a secret disciple – afraid, hidden, always listening while keeping his head down and his mouth closed. Joseph, who has listened to Jesus and felt his pulse quicken and turned his face away so no one would see the longing there.

Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for the body of Jesus.

And then he went and got it – in broad daylight.

He was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus by night.

Nicodemus, who also listened to Jesus and felt something inside him wake up. While the men around him schemed to kill Jesus, Nicodemus hid his face.

And now, in broad daylight, Nicodemus comes carrying seventy-five pounds of spices (probably with help…), and linens to wrap the body. Anyone who saw him would not doubt what he was going to do.

The narrative tells us that the next day was a “special Sabbath” (v. 31). And Nicodemus and Joseph will make themselves “unclean” by touching the body of Jesus.

They are not hiding now.

I step into the story, and as they move away with Jesus lifeless body, I follow them. My heart is broken. I want to be with Jesus, even now.

We come to the place where they will prepare the body.  I step forward. I say, “I would like to help.”

The two men look at one another, and then give a nod. They have abandoned proper form and custom. Their deep sorrow has given them a clearer view of Jesus, and of me.

I step forward and take my place at Jesus’ side.

Tenderly and carefully they lay Jesus out on a table and we begin to clean away the blood and sweat and dirt that cover him.

I wet a cloth and begin to wash his face.  Today I am every woman he has honoured and respected and healed and elevated and invited into his presence and his work.

Joseph and Nicodemus are humming and murmuring prayers…

“Exalted and hallowed be God’s great name in the world which God created, according to plan…”

I know the words and I join in,

“May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and all Israel, to which we say Amen.”[1]

My hand is on his brow as I grieve and try to remind him, with my will, that as we are part of him, he is part of us.

Every part of me is designed and created, imprinted and reflective of my Creator – the Word who was with God and is God, Jesus (John 1:1).

I say to him, Jesus the Christ, “I am here.”

I am your grandmothers… Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Tamar, Rahab, Ruth… Strong. Brave. Demanding justice, and offering strength and compassion, in a world that diminished their value and gave them very few options for survival.

I am Tamar, forced into an untenable situation in pursuit of justice for my cause.  And granted a place in your lineage, and eternal memory of my name (Genesis 38; Matthew 1:3).

I am Rahab. I risked all to save your people. And I too was granted a place in your lineage (Joshua 2-6; Matthew 1:5). 

I am Ruth and Naomi – destitute and desolate (Book of Ruth; Matthew 1:5).

I am Bathsheba (2 Samuel 11; Matthew 1:6). I am Hagar – the first to give you a name – “El Roi” she said, “for I have seen The God Who Sees Me” (Genesis 16).

I am the bride whose wedding and reputation was spared with the generous gift of wine (John 2:1-10).

I am the widow whose son was returned to her alive (Luke 7:11-14).

I am the woman with the hemorrhage who touched your robe, and received healing and grace. You called me, “Daughter…” (Mark 5:21-32).

And I am Martha, who prepared your meal, and ran a household, and reproached you for the death of my brother. And I cried out, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world” (John 11:21, 27).

I am Mary who sat at your feet as a disciple.  You told me I had chosen the better part.  I, too, reproached you for the death of my brother (Luke 10:38-41; John 11:32).

I am the woman at the well, whom you engaged in a theological conversation and did not talk down to, or answer with condescension (John 4).

I am the woman caught in adultery, brought to you in shame – accused and tried by the mob who would stone me to death. But you offered me respect, kindness, and value – things I had ceased expecting from men (John 8:1-11).

Your limbs are clean, and Joseph and Nicodemus begin to wrap you with linen and spices.  Your lifeless body feels heavy, and the smell of the spices is both welcome and disturbing.

I am all of these women. I begin to clean the blood away from the wound in your side, and I am the woman who cleaned your feet with my tears and wiped them with my hair (Luke 7:36-50).

I am every woman – powerless, often humiliated and ill-treated by a society that did not see my value – you made our names known as “Eshet Chayil”, women of valour.

Desolate, we step away and the tomb is closed. We do not yet know that we will see you again.

But I know this… You, Jesus, changed everything for women, for me.

We are not hiding now.

That’s what I would have said…

Inhale:  You are good.

Exhale: Your love toward us endures forever.

[1] Mourner’s Kaddish. https://www.shiva.com/learning-center/sitting-shiva/kaddish/ accessed April 14, 2022.

◊

 

Mary sits on the roof of the busy household, with her face toward the sun in the cool of the morning.

 

This is John’s house, where she was led after she saw her first-born son taken down from the cross.

 

She hears the women working below, and she wants to be helpful, but she knows that this is not really her house, and her heart is tired.

 

Her hands are bent from many years of hard work, raising children, preparing meals, cleaning and mending.

 

When she was young, she sometimes helped Joseph in his shop, with baby Jesus swaddled against her body; and later, playing on the floor. 

 

And now she is old and her first-born child is dead.

 

She wonders what it was all for. She wonders what the angel meant when he said,

 

“He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High.

The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David,

and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever;

his kingdom will never end.” (Luke 1:32)

 

“I didn’t need you to be a king,” she whispers.

 

She closes her eyes against the memory of the sword being thrust into the side of her beloved son. She cannot get the sight and sound of that out of her head.

 

She thinks back many years, to the old man in the temple, Simeon, and his words,

 

“This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel,

and to be a sign that will be spoken against,

so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed.

And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

Luke 2:34, 35

 

And a sword will pierce your own soul too.

 

She feels as if the sword that went into Jesus’ side has been thrust into her heart. And it is there still.

 

She can hear the other women in the household moving about their daily tasks. They are kind, and they are gentle with her, but she knows they are also afraid.

 

John hasn’t been home since he brought her to his house. He and the other disciples are hiding somewhere in Jerusalem.

 

Mary knows that the women in the house are whispering, and wondering, and praying that their sons, husbands, fathers, won’t be next.

 

She bows her head and prays that too.

 

And with her eyes closed she feels a change in the light. A shadow has come over her face.

 

She senses that someone is there.

 

Thinking it is one of the women come to check on her, she whispers, “I’m alright. I don’t need anything.”

 

A hand touches her head and she hears a voice say softly, “Ima” (Mother).

 

She squeezes her eyes shut more tightly. She is afraid to open them and discover that there is no one there.

 

But this man kneels before her and puts his hands on either side of her face. She reaches up and covers his hands with hers.

 

She knows these hands.

 

She touches his face.  She feels the wounds – the marks from the thorns, the bare chin where his beard was plucked out.

 

But she knows this face. She pulls his head to her chest and rocks and weeps. She holds him like she did when he was a boy.

 

She opens her eyes as he pulls back a little. His face is marred, but in it she sees joy. She sees all the mischief and kindness, compassion and resolve that were always part of him.

 

Again, he says, “Ima.”  There is a smile in his eyes and he takes her hands in his.

 

How can this be?

 

“Ima,” he says, “I am well. I am healed and whole. And I am blessed to be your son. Thank you. Thank you for believing the promise. Thank you for every time you picked me up when I fell, and tended to my skinned knees and torn clothes.  Thank you for loving me so.”

 

Jesus stands and pulls Mary to her feet. He embraces his mother one more time.

 

“Ima, I wanted to see you first. You were the first to know me on earth, to see me and hold me, and you are the first now. I must go to my disciples, and soon I will return to my Father.  I will send my Spirit and you will know that I am with you always.”

 

Jesus kisses her head and steps back. And he is gone.

 

He is gone. But he is not dead anymore.  

She whispers to the empty space where he just stood,

“I am the Lord’s servant, may your word to me be fulfilled.”

Luke 1:38

 

Mary lifts her face to the sun again and says,

 

“My soul glorifies the Lord
  and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
    of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,

for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
    holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him,
    from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
    he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
    remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
    just as he promised our ancestors.”

Luke 1:46-55

 

Mary feels lighter. She misses her son still, but she thinks she might like a little something to eat, after all. And she turns and enters the house.

 

Inhale: The image of a mother

 Exhale: Is also the image of God.

 

That’s what I would have said…

◊

On March 31^st I signed up for a “Virtual Challenge” – to walk 300km in three months to raise money for breast cancer research.

I wasn’t sure if I could do it (I’m still not entirely sure – but I am doing it).

So I’ve been walking a lot the last few weeks.

At least, a lot for ME.

I have surprised myself. And this feels important.

My family is too well acquainted with cancer.  Three of my four siblings have had cancer. That’s three too many.

And one of them, our youngest sister, died two years ago. That is definitely one too many.

For months after Lori died, I would feel the grief swell inside of me until I was compelled to walk out the door. I just couldn’t sit with it. And I couldn’t DO ANYTHING to change it – the whole horrible truth of it.

I needed to be where I could breath and move and look at the sky. 

I would stand up and walk out the door and leave everything as it was – sometimes the television on, or wet laundry in a pile on the floor next to the drying rack, or a half finished meal.

I’d like to be walking with my sister. I’ll always be walking with my sister.

I can walk because three years ago (nearly) I got a new knee, and my sisters came to help me (I had a lot of helpful friends too!).

So when I heard about this challenge I thought – maybe I can do that.  Maybe I can walk 300km to raise money for breast cancer research. It seemed like a suitable and meaningful thing to do.

In 26 days I’ve walked 97 km (60 miles).  No one is more surprised than me.

I’ve learned something important…

Two are better than one, 

because they have a good return for their labor:

If either of them falls down, 

one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.

…A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:9, 10, 12b

As I walked along the seafront with a friend a week ago, I commented that when we walk together I am less aware of how far we are going – or that my body is tired and sore…

She said that this true for her as well, and she has been walking more since I began this challenge.

Two are better than one. 

One day, not long ago, I was out walking by myself. I came to a crossroads, tired in my body and soul. I had the choice of taking a turn that would make the way back to my house just a little longer or going there directly. 

I needed the distance, but I wanted to be done.

And in that moment I received a text from a friend thousands of miles away. It said, “Keep walking!”

I shook my head, and took the turn and walked a little farther (Is she tracking me?).

Two are better than one… If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.

Perhaps the biggest surprise, apart from signing up for the challenge, is that I told people I had signed up for the challenge.

And people sponsored me.  financially. some surprising people sponsored me financially. It is a fundraiser, after all…  and said they were proud of me. 

I think I am good alone. I think that I will be fine and I can sign up for a challenge and give it a try – and if I can’t do it, no one needs to know.

What if it is too hard? What if my knee hurts? or my back? and it just sounds like I’m making excuses? 

What if I disappoint people?

I’m good alone. I can do it. Or not do it. (And maybe I can’t do it and no one has to know.)

I started the challenge a month late, so I was already 100km behind. I did the math and I knew how far I had to go every day to catch up. 

And the first day I did it. And I wanted to vomit. And every part of my body hurt.

And the second day I did it. And I slept more hours than I usually do… 

And then I decided to ask for help. I asked if there were some people who would be willing to walk some extra kilometers over the next two months, and make up the distance that I was behind.

And I committed to do all 300 kilometres in 3 months, which would take me a month beyond the end of the challenge.

I think I’ll reach my first 100 kilometres tomorrow. What?

Tonight I came home and got two messages from two women who have encouraged me all along. One offered 3.2 kms that she walked today.  Another friend offered 4 kms.

So far these friends (and a few others) have helped me walk 180.7 kms.  They have gifted me 83.5 kms to add to my total.

Two are better than one. And a cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

The thing is, I had to let them. I had to say, “I’m doing this and I think I need help.”

I feel like I was saying, “I am hopeful and afraid to hope. I feel fragile and inadequate and I need you.” And of course, I ended that implied, vulnerable declaration with, ”but if you can’t help, that’s okay! I’ll be fine!”

Because, you know, I’m good alone. I am contained and I am capable. I am independent. I am strong.

And sometimes I need help (more often than I would like). And there are lovely people around me who love me, and answer when I call. 

They walk with me – figuratively, and literally. And the walk is easier because of it.

I think many of us want to be that “two” for someone else. But we don’t want to need  that “two” for ourselves. 

But pity the one who falls and has no one to help them up.

Open your heart to the “entwining” of friends who will walk with you.  That’s what I’m learning.  A cord of three strands is not easily broken.

And tomorrow I will reach my first 100k, completed in just under four weeks. I don’t think I would have persevered alone. That is “a good return” for our labour.

Inhale: You have made known to me the path of life.

Exhale: I do not walk it alone.

Psalm 16:11

That’s what I would have said…

◊

Then Jesus said,

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens,

and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you.

Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart,

and you will find rest for your souls.

For my yoke is easy to bear,

and the burden I give you is light.”

Matthew 11:28-30 (NLT)

◊

In the first book of the Bible we read the story of Creation. We learn that after completing the work of Creation in six days, God rested on the seventh day. (Genesis 1 and 2)

The Torah phrases it like this, “On the seventh day God finished the work… and ceased from all the work… and God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, because on it God ceased from all the work of creation…”

On the seventh day God finished the work… the ancient rabbis interpreted that to mean that on the seventh day, God created “rest”… the final work of creation.

The Hebrew word that is used here is menuchah, and “rest” is an inadequate translation. It is so much more. It is a “rest of love freely given…of truth and sincerity… of peace and tranquility, quietude and safety.”¹

Shabbat menuchah – A Sabbath (rest) of rest (love freely given, truth and sincerity, peace and tranquility, quietude and safety).

I’d like some of that.

On the seventh day God set aside an entire day to stop working (creating), and to delight in creation (which includes ME… God delights in me). 

On the seventh day I am invited to delight in my own life, and in my own place in creation, and above all – to delight in the Creator.

This rhythm of Sabbath rest is built into creation.

The rhythm of day into night and night into morning…

The rhythm of seasons… the awakening and growth of Spring and Summer into the the rest of Autumn and Winter.

The tidal rhythms of the sea and the sun and moon…

Even the rhythms of our own bodies – cycles and aging and the perceptible rest of the heart between beats, and the lungs between each breath.

Sabbath comes as delight and restoration and renewing. 

Or if we fail to rest then Sabbath is forced through sickness and fatigue.

This year has for many of us, disrupted our usual rhythms.

For some this may have been a good change – pointing out ways that we had stretched ourselves unnecessarily – by living busy lives.

For others, these changes have been more difficult than you could ever have imagined, requiring more of you physically, emotionally, mentally, even spiritually, than you thought you could endure.

I don’t want these words to feel heavy. 

I don’t want this teaching to feel like “here is another thing that I should be doing, and I’m not doing it – or I’m not doing it right, or I’m not doing it well”. 

Because Sabbath, if it is Sabbath, is restorative and relieving and holy.  Sabbath reminds us that God can carry and uphold all of creation without our help, for this day.

◊

Then Jesus said,

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,

and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,

for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 

For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV)

◊

Sabbath is not meant to be burdensome. It is meant to break into the rhythm of our week and disrupt it, yes, but to disrupt it with relief, release, restoration, rest, joy,  and delight. 

Sabbath interrupts us, and prioritizes our lives into an order that puts God first.

It is not something we earn.  It is not the same as a day off, which is often spent running around completing the things we didn’t have time to do on other days.

In fact, Sabbath has nothing to do with us at all. It is a gift from God that breaks into our lives whether we are ready for it or not. 

We can live without Sabbath for a time. Ultimately, a life without Sabbath rest will lead to exhaustion, illness, stress, discord – and a forced rest.

Sabbath that is restorative may take some planning. 

Throughout the Old and New Testaments we read the words “It was the day of preparation…” Preparation for what?  Preparing for Sabbath.

Food was prepared. The house was prepared. The schedule was cleared. Friends and family were invited to feast.  

People thought about what needed to be done on that day of Preparation, so that they would be able to enjoy a day without any responsibility or expectation to create.

But whether or not the preparations were complete, Sabbath happened. 

We have the freedom to Sabbath on any day. We have the freedom to take it as we are able – an afternoon, an evening.

We stop our work (as much as we are able – and I know that children make that more of a planning challenge!). 

We do things that are restorative… which looks different for each of us. 

I like to work in the garden. I know that is NOT restful for everyone. Some people like to play football or climb the Sugarloaf. I feel certain that would not be restful for me. Some people take naps! I don’t take naps…

We sit down to a meal with friends or family. We talk and eat and enjoy the company of loved ones while children run around like wild things.

It is a practice that may take practice. Start where you are able…

Let yourself delight in creation without feeling the need to add to it. Allow God to carry the universe without your help. And while we delight in God, God is also delighting in us.

Let this rest deepen your joy.

◊

Then Jesus said,

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion?

Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life.

I’ll show you how to take a real rest.

Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it.

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.

Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.

Matthew 11:28-30 (The Message)

◊

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace… I love that.

Inhale: Lord, I am weary.

Exhale: In You I find rest for my soul.

That’s what I would have said…

^{1 https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/shabbat-rest-and-renewal/}

*

Johnny: Big things are coming your way, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.

Moira: Okay. I don’t. Worry is but undernourished enthusiasm.  (Schitt’s Creek, Season 6, episode 13)

I don’t really know what that means.  But it makes me laugh.

It’s been a year.  On February 21, 2020, “Patient 1” was admitted to hospital in Italy.  He was a 38 year old marathon runner, and he couldn’t breath.

Three weeks later the Irish government closed the schools, and shortly thereafter, everything else.

You remember, I’m sure…

Our enthusiasm has been decidedly undernourished for the past year.

We worry about loved ones we cannot see or visit. 

We worry about children in school. 

We worry about children out of school.

We worry about loss of income, and local businesses closing.

We worry about mental health and isolation.

We worry about the person in the queue behind us who is standing too close.

Did I leave something out? Of course I did…

Worry has a way of taking us out of the present moment.  It transports us into an imagined future that undoubtedly will bring disaster.

Worry wants us to miss what is right in front of us.  THIS moment. The one you are living, and the only one you actually CAN live.

And in these times, we are overwhelmed. 

We’ve just had our week of mid-term break, and tomorrow (or probably “today” when you read this) home schooling starts again.

And Jesus says, 

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.” (Matthew 6:25-29)

It feels like it is easy to say, “do not worry about your life”.  It is harder to just STOP.

What we can do is notice those moments that are right in front of us – the lilies of the field, and the birds of the air, and laughter, and the love of others, and sunshine and longer days.

Lift up your head.

Worry imagines a future of scarcity. 

Look for moments of abundance – and lean into them. 

Nourish the enthusiasm.  (smile)

Inhale: But you, Lord, are a shield around me,

Exhale: my glory, the one who lifts my head.

Psalm 3:3

That’s what I would have said…

The Lord is like a father to his children,
tender and compassionate to those who fear him.

For he knows how weak we are;
he remembers we are only dust.

Psalm 103: 13,14

This week, for my family, is one of those difficult anniversaries – the death of my sister, Lori, two years ago.

We miss her every day. And, anniversaries are hard.

Read the rest of this entry →