Beloved in Christ,
My name is Joseph, once known by my hometown, Arimathea, a place of modest fame, but my story has found its way into the heart of the greatest narrative ever told. In the twilight of our Lord’s earthly journey, I emerged from the shadows, a secret disciple, to perform an act of love and dignity. As we draw near to the remembrance of that fateful sixth day of Holy Week, I feel compelled to share with you the reflections and lessons born from those sacred, sorrowful moments.
In the hustle of Jerusalem, amidst the fervor of Passover, the air was thick with anticipation and dread. The city, swollen with pilgrims, was oblivious to the divine drama unfolding within its walls. I, too, was swept up in the ritual and tradition, until the events of that week shattered my complacency and propelled me into the heart of our faith's mystery.
The crucifixion of Jesus, an event of unspeakable horror, was also a moment of profound revelation. It was the culmination of God's love story with humanity, a narrative I had followed from the periphery, my faith hidden like a flickering candle under the oppressive shadows of fear and societal expectation. Yet, as darkness fell upon the land and the earth shook with grief, something within me was irrevocably changed.
Approaching Pilate to request the body of Jesus was an act of desperate courage, fueled not by a sudden resolve but by a love and devotion that had simmered quietly in my heart. The Gospel narratives might tell you of my wealth and standing, but in that moment, I was but a humble servant of the slain Messiah, seeking to offer the last rites of love and respect (Matthew 27:57-60; Mark 15:43-46; Luke 23:50-53; John 19:38-42).
The task was heart-wrenching. With each step towards Golgotha, each motion to remove His sacred body from the cross, I felt the weight of centuries of prophecy and promise resting upon my shoulders. Alongside Nicodemus, another secret follower who emerged in the hour of need, we wrapped His body in linen, anointing Him with spices, a king laid to rest not in a palace but in a new tomb, hewn from rock, in a garden where hope seemed lost.
This act, done in haste before the setting sun marked the Sabbath's start, was more than a mere fulfillment of burial customs. It was a declaration of faith, an acknowledgment that Jesus was indeed the promised Messiah, despite the seeming finality of death. My new tomb, intended for my own earthly remains, became instead the site of the greatest miracle—our Lord's resurrection.
As you reflect upon the sixth day of Holy Week, I urge you not to dwell solely on the sorrow and the suffering but to look beyond, to the hope that dawned with the first light of Easter. My story, a mere footnote in the grand narrative of redemption, serves as a reminder that faith often calls us to act in defiance of fear, to step forward when all seems lost, and to lay our deepest affections and resources at the feet of Jesus.
In this sacred season, may you find the courage to live your faith boldly, to serve the Lord with all that you are and have, and to bear witness to the light that shines in the darkness, a light that darkness has not, and will never, overcome. Remember, it is often in the quiet acts of devotion, in the secret places of the heart, that our true allegiance is revealed and our deepest transformation begins.
May the peace of Christ, who triumphed over death and the grave, be with you always, guiding you from darkness into His marvelous light.
In the love that conquers death,
Joseph of Arimathea
24-090 From Darkness to Dawn: The Courageous Witness of Joseph of Arimathea