Joseph of Arimathea Monologue

The following is adapted from a sermon I preached on April 7, 2023. It is inspired by the actions of Joseph of Arimathea recorded in Matthew 27; Mark 15; Luke 23; and John 19. This man apparently followed Christ from enough of a distance that he does not appear in any previous account (that we know of), but after Jesus died, Joseph appeared at the single most dangerous moment to perform the crucial ministry of attending to Jesus’ body before disappearing again into the mists of history. What was his experience? What was he thinking? This message was presented as a monologue in which Joseph is processing his experiences with Nicodemus after the sun set on Good Friday.

It’s finished. I knew it was finished when Jesus didn’t even flinch as the spear was thrust into his side. Then, as blood and water spewed from the wound after it was withdrawn, I knew they killed the Christ, the son of the living God. Jesus is dead. It’s finished.

And it was my fault. For three years, I watched, listened, and followed Jesus. Just from a distance. I mean, you know how it was: I wanted to be close enough to see and hear what Jesus was saying and doing. I even tried to follow his teachings and his example as much as I could without making my friends, family, or the other members of the council think I was weird. I was a Christ follower. I just didn’t want anyone else to know it.

Except, that is, for you, Nicodemus.

You know, as sick as I was was knowing it was my fault Jesis is dead, you look even worse. I suppose you did follow Jesus longer than me. Ever since that night you went to the house where Jesus was staying and he said you needed to be born again, Nicodemus, you followed Jesus. You even stuck up for him and his followers that one time, last year, when the Sanhedrin was mad their servants didn’t arrest him. I remember you said something about “the law doesn’t judge a man before it hears from him and knows what he’s doing.”

That was when I knew you could be trusted. Truth be told, I think you were as relieved as I was to realize I wasn’t the only Christ follower in the Sanhedrin.

And you know, that was the first time we really talked. What did you think Jesus meant when he said that? Did I hear what Jesus said last night? Then we were meeting almost every morning in the market, splitting a loaf of bread from the baker’s cart, and chatting about the latest news and rumors as we walked to the temple courts. And if someone asked what we were talking about, we would make something up. Or maybe we would tell the truth: “That Jesus character said this.”

We tried so hard to be cool. I mean, maybe they had suspicions. I suppose they must have had suspicions. But they never knew for sure that we were Christ followers.

They could never know for sure that we were Christ followers.

And so it was this morning. It seems like a blur. You remember how, when the baker handed us our bread, she remarked, “Crazy about that Jesus character, eh? I hear they’re getting ready for a crucifixion.” You looked at me. I looked at you. And Nicodemus, we both started running toward the temple.

We didn’t even take the bread.

But when we arrived, no one was there. I mean, there were people there: it is the day before the Passover. But none of the other council members were there. Usually, they’re milling about, making a big showing of dropping their tithes into the collection bins or just showing off their fancy robes.

And yes, I know I was like that, too. Once upon a time.

So we asked around. Have you seen the other members of the council? Have you? And before long, someone said they thought they saw the Sanhedrin over at the governor’s palace. So we hurried over there, bu we were again too late. They were already chanting, “Crucify! Crucify!”

Nicodemus, I think I will hear them shouting in my sleep.

And then, before we even knew what was happening, they were leading Jesus to Golgotha, and you and I could only watch as they drove those spikes into his hands. His feet. And raised him up with the others.

You know, a couple of times, I tried to grab someone by the arm, or even just open my mouth and cry, “Stop!” But it was as if my feet were melted into the pavement, my arms were as lead, and my lips and tongue were frozen. Did you feel the same way, Nicodemus? You did?

So we just stood there, dumbly, and watched.

And wondered. I mean, the rest of the council clearly suspected that we were at least sympathetic to Jesus. That’s the only reason they wouldn’t have called us last night when they went to arrest him: they knew we would have protested. We would have stopped the overnight trials, if one can even call them that.

Yet, when we finally arrived and had our chance, we still said nothing.

And Jesus is dead tonight because, ultimately, Nicodemus, you and I were afraid. We were afraid of somebody finding out we were his followers. We were afraid to truly buy into him and his way of life. We were afraid to stand up and say or do anything lest we be labeled weird, weak, little Christs.

But you know, Nicodemus, as the guards pulled that spear out of Jesus’ side, and as the blood and water came rushing out, something in me changed. Did you feel that too? Because it was just about then that we looked at each other again, and I knew I could no longer stand there watching silently.

But the sun was already sinking in the sky, and there wasn’t much time before the Sabbath and the start of the Passover. Fortunately, it was like you read my mind. So you went to the market, and I went to the palace. When I arrived there, I went straight to the first guard I saw. He was looking in the other direction, so I grabbed him, spun him around, and demanded, “Excuse me, sir! Yes, I know I’m not supposed to touch you. I’m sorry, but this is very important. I am a member of the Jewish ruling council, and I need to speak with Pilate right away. It’s urgent!”

At first, I didn’t think he was going to do anything, but then, he shrugged and led me to his commander, a centurion they called Lucius. I told him who I was and that I needed to speak to Pilate right away, and he told me to wait.

It must have been a half hour that I stood there before Pilate finally appeared, looking rather irritated, I might add. He asked, “What do you want now? You Jews got me out of bed early this morning, upset my wife, and insisted I execute a man I’m pretty sure was innocent. You’ve had your way! What can you possibly want now?”

When I asked him for Jesus’ body, he was shocked. I guess he hadn’t heard yet. He didn’t know that Jesus was dead already. So he sent a runner out to Golgotha to check, to confirm that Jesus was really dead, and when the runner returned nearly another half hour later, he gave me permission to take Jesus’ body away.

So we did.

I used a rope to hold Jesus’ body while you removed the spikes from his hands and feet. Then I lowered him to the ground and laid him on the cloth you bought. Our friends and colleagues, of course, were staring at us, and by the time he was on the ground, they were whispering back and forth. As we were wrapping his body, they were snickering. As we carried him away from that cross, they were mocking us.

“Where are you taking him, Joseph? What are you going to do with that? You’re not one of his followers now, are you, Joseph?”

You know, Nicodemus, criminals who are crucified are not afforded a real burial. More often than not, the Romans prefer to just leave them hanging and let the vultures and other wild animals pick them apart over the course of a few days or a week. If the crucified is lucky, maybe the family will claim them, take them down, and bury them in the potter’s field where they bury the destitute and foreigners, but no one would dare give such a criminal a proper Jewish burial because the moment they did, everyone would know that they were with the dead.

Oh, Nicodemus! I am so sorry! The Romans love to crucify co-conspirators, and especially men of, shall we say, means and influence like us. They use it as an excuse to confiscate assets and properties, and to humiliate our people again.

But our people are already humiliated. You and I were already humiliated. We allowed this to happen, and we did it because we were too afraid to tell people about our faith, to stand up and be counted with our Lord.

So let them whisper. Let them come. Because we’re done hiding. We’re through following Jesus in secret. Yes, let the whole world know, I’m a Christ follower!

But what is a Christ follower, Nicodemus? I mean, I followed Jesus when I could. I kept tab on him when I couldn’t. I’ve always endeavored to follow the law, to be a good person. And I tried to do the stuff he talked about, more or less.

Yet, as we lowered his body from that cross, everything that I’ve done seemed so… cheap. It didn’t really cost me anything to eavesdrop on his messages. I was even able to comp it: I was there to spy for the Sanhedrin. I’ve always given my tithe, and it has been hard to do some of the things he taught. But what is any of that compared to what he gave today on that cross?

He gave his life for what he believed. No, he was innocent. I am the guilty one. He gave his life for me!

That’s why you bought all the myrrh and aloes, isn’t it, Nicodemus? I mean, I knew you were going to get some stuff so that, even though we didn’t have time to do everything, we could still do something for Jesus. But 75 pounds? That myrrh is a hundred times more epensive than the finest perfume! And that linen was so soft!

You must have paid a fortune for it all!

Maybe it’s why I felt compelled to give him my tomb. I mean, I’m not from around here, and they just finished digging it last month. It just seemed fitting that he should use a new garden tomb fit for a king.

Wait, what?

Nicodemus, we touched a dead body today! We are ceremonially unclean for the next seven days, unable to participate in the Passover meal tonight, temple tomorrow, or any of the rest of the festival!

What are people going to say? They could kick us off the council for this. They could excommunicate us from the synagogue, cut us off from the people of God.

Yes, of course, you’re right. It was worth it. Whatever cost I must pay, whatever sacrifice I must make, it was all worth it. After all, what is a little money to build a new tomb? Who cares if I can’t celebrate the Passover tonight. What does it matter if I can’t be on the council or in the synagogue after this? I am a follower of Jesus. He gave his life for me.

There is nothing I won’t give or do for him.

So now what? I mean, Jesus is dead. We buried him and rolled the stone in front of the tomb. Is this the end of it? What do we do now?

You’re right. We must continue his mission. We have to live out his teachings in our own lives and share them with others so they can do the same.

So I tell you what. Tomorrow, we’ll wait. It’s the Sabbath, and Passover. There won’t be much we can do anyway. But come Sunday…

Come Sunday, everything will be different. We’ll go, find Jesus’ disciples, and join them. We’ll study Scripture and his teachings, and we’ll put them to work in our lives no matter what it costs.

We’ll begin to tell people what we know: that Jesus was – that Jesus is – the Son of God, and he gave his life for our sin.

And no, maybe we won’t have our names recorded in history books. But maybe, just maybe, we’ll make a difference that will be remembered by someone else.