(I entered the auditorium from the side entrance to our baptistery – reading a scroll and entranced in thought. Much of the message was presented on floor level with me standing close to the audience and speaking directly to them)
(Looking up, a bit surprised) Oh… shalom.
I am afraid I am a bit distracted. I have been reading from this scroll. Our church here at Jerusalem has collected many scrolls. We have copies of the writings of Matthew and Mark. We have several of the writings of John and, of course, Peter. And we have some new scrolls - copies of the writings of a man named (pause) Paul. I’ve never met the man myself.
But he writes well.
We guard these documents closely for they are the words of men who have been with Jesus. These are the words of God telling us who Jesus was and what He means to us. This scroll here is one I copied myself. It’s the Gospel of Luke and I am almost at the end of his book and I’ve reached the part where he writes about … ME.
Oh, I must apologize. I have not introduced myself. My name is Joseph and I come from a wealthy family in a town called Arimathea. It is a small village about 8 miles North and West of Jerusalem.
It says here in Luke’s Gospel that I was a good and righteous man (sigh). There are those who would think that of me (placing scroll on communion table). But as I look back over my life I have not always been good or righteous. Now, I may have once viewed myself in that way because I truly thought I was being a good man and a righteous man. But I really was not.
Now my father – he was a good man, a gentle man, a righteous man. (pause) I loved my father. One day I wanted to grow up to be just like him. He was a rabbi you know. And he was highly respected, not just in our little village, but people would come from miles around to ask him questions and to hear him tell of God’s Word and His will for their lives.
We had a school in our village, and my father was our “teacher”. Boys from the ages of 6 or 7 – up through adulthood – would gather to hear my father teach, and he would teach them mathematics and reading and writing. BUT the most important thing my father taught was the Word of God.
The first thing we learned was the Shema. The Shema declared:
“Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God is one LORD: And thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart.”
We repeated those words day after day, week after week, year after year until it was driven into our minds the importance of loving the Lord our God with all of our heart, souls, strength.
And as we grew older my father would teach us about the Creation Story, how God created our world and everything in it, and how God had created Adam and Eve in His image and had given them a beautiful garden to live in. But (pause) we also learned how they had sinned and lost their place in paradise and had lost their closeness to God Himself. From that day forward death and sin reigned on our world.
And so we next we learned how we were to deal with our sins. We were taught the Levitical Laws of the Torah and learned the intricacies of offering burnt sacrifices, peace offerings, and our sacrifices for sin.
But the one thing I looked forward to was the times we would sing. We learned the “Hallel”- you would refer to them as Psalm 113-118. These were the Psalms we would sing each year before and after the great feast of Passover.
It seemed everyone counted it a privilege to be taught by my father. But I was his son. There were nights where we would spend hours where he taught me things the other boys and men in the community never would have understood. He helped me to understand the way God interacted with the great men and women of Scripture – their fears, their doubts and their courage. By the time I reach adulthood, I knew almost as much about God’s Words as my Father did. And I knew at that point that I wanted to love the Lord my God with all my heart, my soul and my strength.
(PAUSE) You know, there comes a day in the lives of many young men when they begin to believe that their father is not as wise as they once thought he was. That somehow their father has become “old” and “foolish”, “irrelevant” and … “out of date.”
I am ashamed to admit that that day came for me as well. I had met some new friends who impressed me with their righteousness. They were the Pharisees. They were so righteous that, if they were walking down the street at the time of prayer – they would stop right there in the street and begin to pray to God. And when they fasted, you knew they were fasting. They would toss dirt on their heads and by their faces you knew that they were suffering for their obedience to God in this act. And when it came to tithing – no one did it as obediently as the they did. They were so precise in their giving that they would go thru their gardens and pick every tenth fig from their trees and every 10th berry from their bushes, and every 10th head of grain and put them in a basket to present to God.
And they knew the answers to questions my father never could satisfy. I knew that God’s Law decreed that we should “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labor, and do all thy work: but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the LORD thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work”
But God’s law never told us what made something a “WORK”! I was constantly worried that I somehow offended my God by unknowingly doing some work that would have caused Him to condemn me and rob me of His blessings. My father dismissed my questions by telling me that I would know when I was working and if God had wanted to be more specific He would have. If God didn’t expand on what work was, it was obviously not that important to be specific. But I wasn’t so sure and I continued to be disturbed by doubts. But my friends among the Pharisees had no such doubts. They knew of at least 1251 one ways in which you could transgress the law against working on the Sabbath. THAT was the answer I had always longed for. The concrete understanding of would fulfill God’s expectations.
In time I became respected by my new friends. And because my father had trained me so well in the Scriptures and it knew it in such depth I became noticed by men of importance in Judah. My opinions were sought out and quoted by others. And the day came when I was given the honor of being asked to become part of the Sanhedrin – the ruling body of Israel. I now sat among the great minds of religion in Jerusalem. There were prominent men of the Pharisees and the Sadducees and even the High Priest himself and his family. And well into the hours of the night I would discuss the finer points of religion with them and with my new friends among the Pharisees.
Then one day a prophet came out of the desert. A prophet named John who would preach down by the Jordan River – challenging those who came there to repent of their sins and be buried in the waters of the Jordan to have their sins washed away. This John the baptizer wore garments made of camel’s hair and ate locusts and honey. And when we heard this, I and my friends laughed in derision. Righteous men dressed as we did in finer clothing and we ate far better than this itinerant prophet. One day we decided to go down to the Jordan and watch him for the mere entertainment of the experience. But as we went up over the crest of the hill it was almost as if he was expecting us. He turned to us and pointed at us as he declared (SHOUTING) “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits in keeping with repentance.”
Did I scare you (talking to audience)? It scared me too. When John spoke it was if it was the voice of God Himself and as pointed his finger at us it seemed it was pointed directly at me. As we made our way back to Jerusalem we laughed and joked, but inwardly I was uncomfortable. And when I went to my bed that night I could not sleep. I tossed and turned all night long. Never before had anyone questioned my integrity and my commitment to my God, and the of John made me begin to question whether I was actually the righteous man I thought I was.
Then another prophet came to Judea. He was a preacher from the area of Galilee whose name was Yeshua – you’d know Him as Jesus. It was said that this Jesus went down to the Jordan and asked John to baptize Him as well. And those who were there said that when Jesus rose from the waters the heavens parted and something like a dove descended from heaven and seemed to settle upon Him. Reports told of a thunder rolling through the sky and some said they had heard a voice declaring “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”
(Pause) Blasphemy! Heresy! The very idea of comparing some mortal man to being equal with God. How dare they? But then we began hearing rumors. It was said that this Jesus had touched a blind man, and he could see. That He put his fingers into the ears of a deaf man and he could hear. That this Jesus taken the hand of a lame man and the man began to walk. That He had fed 1000s of people with just a little bit of food. And… it was even said that this Jesus had raised people from the dead.
My friend Nicodemus and I were puzzled by what we’d heard, and we made up our minds to secretly go to join the crowds that listened to Jesus. We stayed in the shadows, afraid that if it was discovered that we were “following” Him we might lose our place in the Sanhedrin, and perhaps even be removed from the synagogue. But as I listened to Jesus speak I experienced a strange sensation. Whereas, when John spoke I became disturbed and restless… when Jesus spoke I felt a peace sweep over me and a burden lifted from my shoulders. Despite the danger of being discovered, Nicodemus and I attended several of these gatherings to hear this preacher.
But Jesus was not an easy man to like. It seemed as if He took pleasure in goading the Pharisees and Sadducees to anger. He directly accused them of being liars and hypocrites… and it was not long before He had gained enemies in the circles of power. And the day came when the Sanhedrin gathered and decided that this Jesus must die. They conspired to have Him arrested by night, and brought Him before several illegal assemblies where he was confronted by false witnesses who accused him of heresy. Then they brought Him before Pilate and accused Him of sedition against Rome – claiming to be a King. Of course, Pilate saw through their accusations. But while the Jewish leaders were speaking with him, various Pharisees and Sadducees were milling about in the crowds that had gathered for the Passover. They accused Jesus of heresies and blasphemies, twisting His words and speaking so persuasively that the crowd soon became agitated. And the more agitated the crowd became the more persuasive the arguments sounded to their ears. The people became angry at what they saw as Jesus deceiving them and the anger grew to the point where they began to chant (SHOUTING) “CRUCIFY HIM! CRUCIFY HIM!”
Pilate brought Jesus out before the people and proclaimed that he found no fault with this man. But the crowds simply drowned out his words with their cry “CRUCIFY HIM! CRUCIFY HIM!” At last, realizing he could stand against the crowds, Pilate asked for a bowl of water to be brought and he washed his hands of the blood of this innocent man, and in his cowardice he turned Jesus over to be put to death.
I watched as Jesus was taken away to be flogged. They whipped his body until the skin began to peel from His back and His blood flowed down on the pavement beneath Him. When they brought Jesus back before the crowd I watched in sorrow as I saw the pain and exhaustion reflected in his face. And I watched as they tied the cross beam of the cross He was to die on to His shoulders and they forced him carry it through the streets of the city – the crowd jeering and mocking and casting stones at Him as He passed. (I used the aisle between the seats and the front section of stage to symbolize the streets and motioned Christ’s journey through the city).
(As I stood at the stairs leading to the stage, I motioned toward a cross we had positioned by the door leading to the baptistery). And at last they brought Him to Golgotha – the place of the skull – where he was to die. They nailed Jesus hands to the cross bar and lifted it into place onto the stake that had already been driven into the ground… and I watched as His body sagged against the nails. A Roman soldier took another nail and drove Christ’s feet into the stake.
I had seen crucifixions before. Men had often taken days to die on that horrible cross. As they sagged on the nails that held their hands to beam they struggled to breath because of the pressure on their lungs. The only way to breathe was for them to push up with their feet against the nail that held them to the stake. But eventually the extreme pain of that effort caused them sag back against the nails that held their arms in place – on and on until they eventually collapsed in shock and exhaustion and suffocated.
However, the Passover was about to begin and the Jews persuaded Pilate to break the legs of those on the cross – so they would no longer be able to lift up their bodies and breathe. But when they came to Jesus He was already dead. I had heard His final words as He hung there on the cross: “It is finished” and He breathed His last.
But it was another of His statements from the cross that disturbed me deeply. He looked down upon the crowd… and I believe He looked at me as He said “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they do.” I knew what I had done. Or, more to the point, I knew what I had not done. I had done nothing. I could have done something. I could have confronted the Sanhedrin, or the crowds, or spoken to Pilate. (In anguish) I could have done SOMETHING! (pause) But I did NOTHING! And because I did nothing (looking toward the cross) Jesus now hung on that cross. (pause) And now He was dead because I was too cowardly to come out from the shadows and stand up on His behalf.
I had done nothing for Him while He lived… the least I could do was to do something for Him now that He’d died. I went privately to Pilate and asked that – instead of Jesus being buried in a common grave – that I might be allowed to take His body and place it in my own tomb. Nicodemus and I went and carried His body to my tomb and wrapped it grave clothes. But then some of the Jews went to Pilate and informed him that this Jesus had declared that He would rise from the grave. And they asked that Pilate would supply soldiers to guard the tomb lest some of His disciples should come and steal the body away and then claim that Jesus had risen from the dead. So Roman soldiers were sent to secure the tomb, placing a Roman seal on the stone, and stood guard.
And that was where Jesus would stay. Cold, dead… and in the tomb.
Then on the 3rd day, some of the women who had followed Jesus came to the tomb, hoping that they might persuade the soldiers to roll back the stone and allow them to apply burial spices to his body. But when they arrived they found that the guards were gone, the stone was rolled away and that Jesus body wasn’t there. They said that a man stood close by – an angel they said – dressed in white linen who said to them “Why do you seek the living among the dead. He is not here. He is risen!”
They ran back to find the disciples and tell them what they had seen and heard. Almost in unbelief, Peter and John ran to the tomb and found it exactly as the women had told them. And I – since it was my tomb – I also ran to the tomb (I went up to the door that led into the baptistery area) and found that not only was the grave empty, but the grave clothes that we’d wrapped Him in were still there.
In the next few days, Jesus appeared to His disciples, then to as many as 500 people at one time. And I – I too got to see the Christ. I saw the nail prints in His feet and hands, and the wound from where the Roman soldier had pierced His side. I heard Him speak and again felt the peace that was unlike anything I’d ever known. I knew then that this Jesus was God in the flesh and that this was the one that I could love with all of my heart, my soul and my strength.
To this day, we in the church gather every week to partake of the communion and remember the sacrifice He made that day for us. The bread represents His body that was broken for us and the cup – His blood that was spilled to cover our sins. And every time a man or woman desires to become a follower of this Jesus, they re-enact what Jesus did for them to forgive their sins. They die to their past, they are buried in the waters of baptism to receive forgiveness of their sins, and they rise from those waters to walk in newness of life.
Everyone who becomes a Christian must hear the words of John – that they have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. That no righteous deed on their behalf could ever buy God’s forgiveness. But then they need to hear the words of Christ - words that bring peace, and hope, and a future in heaven.
INVITATION
Footnote: Most of the story in this sermon is based upon my assumptions of how Joseph - a man from a small community such as Arimathea - could have come to be accepted in the Sanhedrin, and how he ultimately would come to be a “secret” disciple of Christ’s and offer his personal tomb for Jesus’ burial. I apologize for taking these liberties, but in building his story line I tried to stay true to the culture and circumstances that may have led him to make the life choices that changed his life. Incidentally, there is some debate as to the location of the town of Arimathea, but I chose to refer to a location that some believe was likely.
SERMONS IN THIS SERIES: What The Cross Meant To…
• The Centurion At The Feet Of Jesus Mark 15:33-39
• The Man From Arimathea Matthew 27:57-66
• The Cross Of Barabbas Matthew 27:11-26
• Victory In Jesus I Corinthians 15:35-57
