After all the heart-affecting and appalling scenes we have been witnessing, how beneficial to our spirits is the solemn stillness that now reigns on Calvary! It is the preparation for the Sabbath, and to us it seems just as if we heard the gentle sound of the Sabbath-bells reaching us from a distance. The Gospel narrative which details to us the circumstances attending our Lord's being taken down from the cross--his being laid in the grave--and the watch which was set over it--produce in us a tranquil and peaceful feeling. It is our last meditation on the history of our Savior's passion. May the peace of God, which passes understanding, be the precious fruit that we shall derive from it!
The crowd have vacated the summit of Calvary. The Roman guard, however, remains. Whether John was also there, we are not informed. Profound silence reigns around. The bodies of the two malefactors are taken down from their crosses, and their graves are being dug. The crucified Redeemer, with his head crowned with thorns, and reclining upon his bosom, still hangs solitarily between heaven and earth. You inquire what will next occur to his lifeless corpse? We need not be anxious, my readers. His heavenly Father has already made every arrangement. The grave-diggers are ordered, and the vault prepared. Who is to inter him? According to the law, it was the duty of the executioners to bury him on the place of execution. But God ordered it otherwise. After the great High Priest's atoning sacrifice had been offered up, he was not to be subjected to any further ignominy. This would have been contrary to the order of the divine statutes. If he had brought his cause to a successful and triumphant termination, honor and glory alone were henceforth his due. Such was also the judgment of Almighty God. A funeral was to be given to his Son, in the circumstances attending which, even the blindest might perceive the overruling hand of Eternal Love. Two honorable men--honorable not only in the eyes of men, but also before God--are entrusted with the interment of Immanuel's corpse; and a company of tried female disciples, to whom it will be a consolation to be permitted to bathe the sacred body with their grateful tears, are to be joined with them.
Let us not anticipate the narrative. We leave Mount Calvary for a few moments, and take our stand in the city of Jerusalem. Who is it that is walking so hastily up the street that leads to the palace of the Roman governor? The man seems to be the bearer of some important commission. His countenance expresses it, and his haste betrays it. Who is he? Jerusalem knows him, and numbers him among her principal and most estimable citizens. It is Joseph, surnamed of Arimathea, his birthplace, which lay on the mountains of Ephraim--a man honored with the universal confidence of his tribe, and at the same time a member of the highest Jewish court of justice--the Sanhedrin. As such, he had been personally present at the whole of the proceedings against Jesus; and in the course of them had acquired a vital conviction, not only of the perfect innocence of the accused, but also of something more. He "had not consented to the counsel and deed" of his associates, but yet he had not had the courage to enter a strong and decided protest against it. The sentence pronounced upon the Just One had excited his abhorrence; but a lamentable fear of man had prevented him from doing more than withholding his consent. Christ was led away to execution, and Joseph, in spirit, with him, so far as he was severely judged and condemned by his own conscience. The bloody execution took place. We know not whether Joseph beheld it from a distance, or learned its details from another. Be it as it may, before he was aware, and while under the influence of a powerful presentiment that the affair would terminate differently, the startling announcement reached his ear, that the Man of Nazareth had just given up the spirit on the cross. What was still wanting of an appalling nature in this intelligence, was fully made up by the terrific phenomenon of the earthquake, which occurred at the same moment. We then see him sitting solitarily in his chamber at Jerusalem, and hear him say in broken sentences, "He is therefore dead! They have slain him whom they ought to have bound to the earth by a thousand ties of love. Woe to the murderers! They have extinguished, in his own blood, the fairest star that ever shone from heaven upon the world. They knew not what they did, but I knew. Why did I not appear in his behalf? Why did I not confess myself to be his disciple? Without him, the world is a waste and life worthless to me. But human favor was my idol, and of more value to me than the honor which comes from God. For the most trifling price I have denied the Lord of Glory. He is now dead, and his ear will no longer hear the confession of my repentance, nor is his mouth able to speak a word of forgiveness to me. But is he really dead, and will death be able to retain him? The Man of Nazareth was either the promised Messiah, or the predictions of the prophets have failed, and will never be fulfilled. And yet I never bowed the knee to him, and suffered him to be slain without solemnly protesting against it!" Such was the language which we may suppose Joseph uttered to himself in his solitude, while, with a grieved heart, he covered his face with his mantle. But suddenly rising up, he exclaims, "You whom I ought to have honored in life, let my homage in death be acceptable to you! So saying, he leaves his chamber and his dwelling, and mingles with the crowd which throngs the streets.
What is Joseph's object? He is proceeding directly to the governor to ask his permission to take down the Savior from the cross, and honorably inter him in his own family sepulcher. He arrives at the Roman palace, and after having been announced, he appears in the presence of Pilate, and says with firmness and in plain terms, "I am come to beg of you one thing--that you would give me the body of Jesus that I may prepare an honorable grave for him as he deserves."
Pilate is not a little astonished at such a request from the lips of a Jewish senator; but, evidently to conceal the feelings which are excited within him, he expresses his astonishment, first of all that the Nazarene should be already dead. To assure himself of this, he immediately sends for the commander of the guard; and on his appearing, inquires most carefully respecting the three men that had been crucified. But in spite of the quiet official mien which he seeks to put on, it does not escape us, that he sympathizes with the deeply affected senator, although in a smaller degree. Nor can he call to mind the image of the murdered Nazarene without feeling pervaded by emotions of decided veneration. Even in the surprise with which he hears the news that Jesus is already dead, I think I see reflected something of the powerful presentiments, which his soul was unable to resist, at the thought of Him who was crucified. Besides, his conscience accuses him respecting his conduct toward One whom he knew to be guiltless; and that he should experience, now that he was dead, an honorable funeral, such as Joseph intended, corresponded so entirely with his own wishes and feelings, that he readily gives his permission, as if his own heart were relieved by so doing.
Joseph heartily thanks the governor, and hastens from him as joyfully as if he had gained a great treasure, in order, first of all, to purchase the finest linen he can procure, and at the same time the most costly ointment and spices. And if the whole world should wish to know for whom they were intended, he would have testified aloud that they were for his Lord and King. And though the Sanhedrin should warn, or go so far as to threaten him with a removal from office, or even something worse, let them do so. Joseph will then still more loudly exclaim, that it is for his King, his Lord, and his Prince of Peace, that he is making these funeral preparations. The narrative states, that "he went in boldly to Pilate;" but to him it did not seem too bold. He would gladly have sacrificed anything for Jesus, if by so doing he could have made amends for what he had neglected to do while he was living.
We leave him, and return to the place of execution. O see, who has meanwhile arrived there! We recognize the man, who is standing, mute and motionless, like a statue, beneath the cross, and is looking up with devout and tearful eyes to the deceased sufferer. Joseph finds in him a companion in spirit; for he has to repent of the same thing, and burns with desire, like him, to make amends for his fault. And who is this contemplative stranger? We are as well acquainted with him as with Joseph. It is Nicodemus, Joseph's colleague in office, that Pharisee who came to Jesus, desirous of learning and anxious for salvation, but by night; because in him also, the fear of the Jews at least equaled his love for the truth. He, likewise, has thrown aside the disgraceful fetters which bound him. Truly we see marvelous things occurring in the vicinity of the cross. If we were to say to one ignorant of the facts, "Observe two individuals, belonging to the first ranks in society, who, when Jesus still walked abroad in the majesty of his supernatural acts, did not venture to make known their favorable impressions respecting him, for fear of being condemned by public opinion--now that the termination of his course seems to have stamped him as a pitiable enthusiast--honor him as their King before all the people, and with uplifted hands swear fealty beneath the tattered banner of his ruined kingdom"--would he be able to believe it? Sooner would he credit anything else; and yet such is the case. Now that, with one single exception, all his disciples, and even his most confidential ones have forsaken him--now that Jesus no longer rebukes the winds and the sea, but swims in his blood, being himself overcome just now when nothing but defeat is apparent in him--at the moment when his cause seems to suffer the most decided shipwreck--both of them lay aside the mask, and come forth from their retreats, freely and openly, with the frank confession, that they join the cause of the crucified Jesus, and thereby tacitly condemn his execution as a judicial murder, and accuse, in particular, the whole Sanhedrin of the crying sin of having imbrued their hands in the innocent blood of the Holy One of Israel. And who is it that has thus suddenly opened their eyes? It is the Spirit of the living God. The germ of faith which, all at once, manifests itself so gloriously and so fully developed, had long lain in their hearts, though bound, and as if under the sod. From out of the thunder-cloud that brooded over Calvary, abundant grace has proceeded, and hence it is that we see it so freely and powerfully manifested.
After Nicodemus had meditated awhile with unspeakable emotion at the sight of the cross, Joseph also reaches the summit of Calvary; and how cordially does he greet his associate in mind and spirit! Then, after conversing a short time confidentially together, and making the soldiers acquainted with the permission they have received from the governor, they begin their mournful and yet blissful labors. Ladders are fetched, and planted against the cross of the Prince of Peace, and they reverentially ascend to the corpse, feeling at the same time, as if they were mounting the steps of some sacred temple. Lovely scene! a scene full of profound meaning, and, while viewing it, we join in the words of the poet, and sing--
"Sweet the moments, rich in blessing, Which before the cross we spend, Life, and health, and peace possessing, From the sinner's dying Friend.
"Here we'll sit forever viewing Mercy's streams in streams of blood; Precious drops, our souls bedewing, Make and seal our peace with God."
The two friends have just reached their departed Master's wounded feet. There they devoutly bow their heads, and cover them with kisses and tears, for he is worthy of it. They then ascend higher to his lacerated head. It is not tender sympathy, but something more, with which they behold his blood-stained countenance. They do not fail to perceive what lofty majesty sits enthroned on that pallid brow, and that over the closed eyelids, something hovers like the dawn of resurrection. Their minds are deeply affected by the anticipation of what may still come to pass respecting him; and they then begin, tenderly and gently, to draw out the nails from his hands and feet. The precious corpse reclines upon their shoulders, and after they have wrapped it in linen, they gently let it down from the cross to the ground.
Let us imitate their example, dear readers. Jesus teaching at Nazareth, or preaching on the mount of the beatitudes, or even transfigured on Mount Tabor, will not suffice us. Christ crucified must be the object of our affections. Therefore ascend to him on the spiritual ladder of sorrow for sin, longing for mercy, and belief in the efficacy of his sufferings and death. Detach him from the accursed tree, and deposit him in your hearts, as your only consolation in life and death. That it is the real saving love to Jesus which burns within us, and not a mere caricature of it, may be best ascertained by its being first enkindled by the sight of him, bleeding and dying on the cross, and then embracing him as the ever-living One. He, on the contrary, who turns away from the dead Christ, and imagines that the living Christ, going about doing good, teaching, and setting an example, suffices him, miscalculates, and on the day of his coming, notwithstanding his greeting of "Rabbi! Rabbi!" will hear from his lips the awful words, "I know not whence you are, I never knew you!"
Let us return to our two friends. We see them descending the hill with their precious burden. The funeral is without pomp, but rendered distinguished by the tenderness and courageous conduct of the two who carry the corpse. No mournful peal, indeed, accompanies the quiet procession, but in the future it is so much the more abundantly celebrated. From how many thousand towers in the present day, do the solemn bells resound over the cross and grave of Jesus, on the annual return of the day which is sacred to the memory of his death and burial? No mournful dirge precedes it, no funeral torches flame. But what more costly flambeaux can there be than those of inextinguishable love and reverence, the offspring of heaven? And, only listen; there is also no want of a burial-service. An inspired prophet has chanted it nearly a thousand years before, the prophet Isaiah in chapter 53:9, "His grave was destined to be with the wicked, but he found his resting-place with the rich; because he had done no violence, neither was deceit found in his mouth."
We have reached the place, and enter a quiet plot of ground, partly inclosed by rocks. It is Joseph's garden. The sun is just casting its last rays upon it, and the twilight of evening its first cool shades. In this peaceful seclusion, the Holy One is to find his last earthly resting-place. He who had not where to lay his head, possessed no grave of his own, and, therefore, required that one should be lent him for his transient repose. But how happy Joseph thought himself to have the honor of being permitted to prepare him a sepulcher; and how pleasing is the prospect to him of eventually, when his last hour shall arrive, entering, in death, into the closest fellowship with him, whom in life he had, alas! so basely deserted!
When the two friends reach the rocky grotto with their beloved burden, they perceive that there is no want of a train of mourners. The faithful women, Mary Magdalene, Mary Joses, and many other courageous female friends had followed them at some distance; for they also were anxious to see the place where the object of their entire hope and love was to be deposited. Joseph and Nicodemus heartily welcome them, and gladly accept of their services to aid them in the interment. The sacred body is then gently laid on the ground, and, while the women, almost more with their tears than with the water they have brought, wash the bloody spots from his head and bosom, the men fill the white linen, in which the body is to be wrapped, with myrrh, aloes, and other of the most costly spices, of which they had brought a large quantity with them; Nicodemus even a hundred pounds weight Then, after having wrapped the body in the customary linen bandages, they once more look in silence at the pallid yet regal face of the dead, and spread the napkin over it, which was probably done by the hands of Mary Magdalene.
The entire business of interment is, however, not yet ended; but the nearness of the Sabbath requires them to delay the actual embalming until the close of that festival, and, for the time, leave the corpse simply with those preliminary labors of love. If Mary, the sister of Lazarus, was also among the burial train, she would remember that no further work of that kind with the Master's corpse was necessary, since, according to his own express assurance, he had already received from her hands in Bethany, the anointing for the day of his burial.
The friends now again lift up the beloved corpse, and bear it, gently and, solemnly, into the new, clean sepulcher in the rock, where they softly lay it down to rest, as though it were only asleep, in a large and high-arched niche. Once more they look at it deeply affected, then forcibly tear themselves away, leave the vault, roll a great stone before its door, and because the Sabbath lights are already seen glimmering from a distance, return to their dwellings in profound sorrow, but not without hopeful anticipations.
We leave them, and linger a few moments longer at the sepulcher, from whence a vital atmosphere proceeds, and the peace of God is breathed upon us. There he rests, the Lion of the tribe of Judah. How grateful is the feeling to us, after all the ignominy and suffering he has endured, to see him, at least once again honorably reposing, and that too upon a couch, which love, fidelity, and tenderness have prepared for him! Who does not perceive, that even in the circumstances of his interment, the overruling hand of God has interwoven for our consolation, a gentle testimony, that his only-begotten Son had well accomplished the great task which he was commissioned to perform? How clearly the taking down from the cross, and the interment of the Redeemer before the setting in of night and the Sabbath, shows the fulfillment of the ancient ordinance of Israel respecting those who were hanged on a tree! And how distinctly are we convinced, to a demonstration, that the curse is now removed from a sinful world, and that the eye of God again looks graciously and well-pleased, down upon the earth!
There he slumbers. Well for us, dear readers, that he was willing to pass through even this dark passage on our behalf! Nothing hindered him from taking up his life again on the cross, and returning from thence immediately to his Father. But had he done so, our bodies would have been left in the grave, and you know how much more we are accustomed to fear the grave, than even death itself. There, where corruption reigns, it seems as if the curse of sin still hung over us, and as if no redemption had been accomplished. In order to dispel this terror, and to convince us, by means of his own precedent, that even with the interment of our bodies in the gloomy cell, there is no longer anything to fear, but that a passage into life is opened for us out of this dark dungeon, he paternally took into consideration all our necessities, and suffered himself to be laid in the grave before our eyes. He did not indeed see corruption, because he was only imputatively and not substantially a sinner. "You will not suffer your Holy One to see corruption," said David in Psalm 16:10, impelled by the spirit of prophecy. Our flesh, on the contrary, which is poisoned by sin, must necessarily pass through the process of the germinating seed-corn, and be dissolved into its original element before its glorification. But the difference between our lot and that of our Divine Head is not an essential one. The chief thing continues to be this, that we know that even our bodies are not lost in the grave, but that they rest there in hope. This is confirmed and guaranteed to us by Christ. The way we have see him go, we shall also take. That which his obedience merited for him as the Son of Man, it merited and acquired for us, because Christ yielded it in our stead.
If, therefore, the second Adam's rest in the grave was only a peaceful sabbatic repose, ours cannot be anything more. If, on the third day, he was called forth from the prison, in which the king of terrors had confined him, and was crowned with glory and honor; the same thing, in due time, awaits our bodies, if we have entered into union with him by faith and love. If, henceforth, we say that Christ by his burial has consecrated and shed light upon the darkness of our graves, we give utterance to something incomparably more than a mere poetic mode of speaking. When we look down into our sepulchers, as into a silent, solemn resting-place, we do not dream, but see that which is real and true. The Apostle Paul in writing to the Corinthians, 1 Cor. 15:13, feels so assured that our bodies will be raised again, as to affirm, that if this were not the case, Christ himself would not have risen. Who therefore will deny that grave-yards may not justly be termed, "Resurrection-fields!" Yes! those who are bought with the blood of the Lamb, rest even in their graves under the Almighty's wing, and over their moldering remains, a divinely sealed hope casts a radiant and transfiguring light.
The Prince of Peace reposes in his sepulcher. A venerable man approaches it in silent devotion, it is Paul of Tarsus, and writes upon the tombstone a mighty inscription. You may read it in Rom. 6, where it is testified, that we are not only dead with him but buried with him. But even as we are planted together in the likeness of his death, so shall we be also in the likeness of his resurrection. What is the meaning of this inscription? It asserts nothing less than this, that Christ has endured the curse of sin on the cross for us. "There is therefore now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit." But even though regenerate, we still bear the remains of the old sinful nature in and upon us. This is our grief and cross, and impels us to utter the anxious inquiry, "O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death!" May God enable us to say, with him who uttered it, "I thank God, through our Lord Jesus Christ!"
The first night which succeeded the great and momentous day, is past. The body of the deceased Redeemer slumbers solitarily in the prison of the tomb. The morning at length dawns, and movements are heard about the sepulcher. They are no longer the beloved forms of his friends that we see hastening so early through the garden. The latter, accustomed to obey every commandment, remain quietly in their habitations during the great Sabbath. It is enemies whom we see so active and busy at the first dawning of the morning. The previous evening, an anxious solicitude had seized their hearts. Their excited evil consciences saw visions. The remembrance of so many sayings of the Nazarene occurred to them, in which he had most clearly announced a resurrection, by which his heavenly Father, after his crucifixion, would glorify him before the whole world. The hypocrites pretended, indeed, that they were far from supposing that such fanatical fancies of One who had now been so completely put to shame, would ever be realized; but they think otherwise in their hearts. Even in death the crucified Jesus asserts his regal influence on their minds, and in his grave terrifies them by his majesty. Careless about the Sabbath or the passover festival, the high priests and Pharisees go, in solemn procession, to the governor's palace, in order to induce him to take measures for securing the grave of the crucified Jesus. They are admitted into the presence of Pilate, who is not a little surprised at such an early visit from the notables of Israel.
"Sir," say they, "we remember that that deceiver (shame upon them to speak in such a manner of the Holy One of Israel, contrary to their better light and knowledge) said, while he was yet alive, After three days, I will rise again. (Thus they confirm it, that he had really asserted this.) Command therefore that the sepulcher be watched until the third day, lest his disciples come by night and steal him away, and say unto the people, he is risen from the dead, so the last error shall be worse than the first."
Observe how cunningly these wicked men try to conceal their real thoughts and feelings. One would suppose that they were only afraid of a possible deception. But if they were merely anxious to repel the poor disciples, would any such measures as they demanded have been requisite? Would not a handful of minions, such as were always at the beck of the Pharisees, have sufficed to protect the tomb against those defenseless men? But the mighty acts which they had seen the murdered man perform, cause them to think everything possible; and the terrific events, which had accompanied his death, were not calculated to dispel or alleviate their anxiety. They scent the air of Easter morning, and are, in fact, afraid of a resurrection of the buried corpse. But if the latter were to ensue, of what avail would be a guard, or the lime and plaster with which they intended to fix the stone? So we might well inquire, and doubt whether any serious apprehensions of Jesus' restoration to life could have actuated his enemies. But fear is foolish, and sin is blind, and gropes in the dark, however wise it may think itself: Pilate, who probably felt very peculiar emotion thrill through him, while listening to what the rulers of Israel had to say, very willingly granted their request, and, pointing to a band of armed soldiers, which he saw parading before the palace, says, "You have there a watch, go your way, make it as sure as you can."
Not a little pleased at having attained their object, the deputation, together with the Roman guard, repair to Joseph's garden. After having convinced themselves by inspection that the body still lay in its place, the heavy stone, which they had rolled away from the mouth of the sepulcher is replaced, and the work of fixing and sealing commences. This is a remarkable scene--a singular campaign. Such preparations are made, as if nothing less were intended than to expel a hostile force from Joseph's garden. It is related of a German emperor of a former age, that, borne about in his open war-chariot completely armed, he put a whole hostile army to the rout, even when dying. In the quiet garden there is even more than this. It is true that, in the present instance, the adversaries act as if they were the victors, but inwardly they are the vanquished. The slumbering Hero of Judah took from them the armor of careless confidence, and filled their souls with a cloud of terrific and oppressive forebodings. What do they mean by their extensive preparations? They are fighting for the cause of death against life; and would gladly establish and maintain the throne of the former, and keep down and immure the latter. Let them do their utmost. An all-overruling God controls their designs, and permits them to assist death, by still more strongly forging his fetters, in order that the bursting of them may appear so much the more glorious. And thus they are suffered to deprive life of all scope, and to wall up every outlet, that when it bursts through every barrier, it may the more evidently prove itself to be divine.
We depart from the sepulcher of our Lord--not in grief and sorrow, but full of joyful expectation of what is shortly to take place. We already behold in spirit, the first glimmer of the dawning resurrection-morn upon the rocky tomb. Only twenty-four hours more until the trumpet of God shall sound, and Joseph's garden present a different spectacle. Then every seal will be broken, not from the Redeemer's tomb only, but also, from the mystery of the whole of his passion. An "Amen!" from on high, the most glorious and stupendous that ever resounded under heaven, will then announce to the world that reconciliation has been made, and that the Prince of Life, crowned with glory and honor, as the conqueror of all the terrific powers which were opposed to us, offers the first Easter salutation of peace to the favored race of man, from the ruins of his shattered tomb. Let us then tune our harps, and hold our festive garlands in readiness, while awaiting the mighty moment that shall put an eternal end to all the sadness and anxiety of the human heart!
