Tell Me, O Joseph of Arimathea!

Professor Michel Abs

Secretary General of the Middle East Council of Churches (MECC)

Tell me, O Joseph of Arimathea, what happened on that eternal night, the night when time stood still, when the Incarnate was crucified, when He gave up His life and was buried, so that He might rise on the third day.

Tell me, how much fervent Christian faith did you hold in the depths of your soul to dare ask for the body of Jesus from those complicit in His crucifixion?
What divine boldness moved you? What unshakable faith drove you to risk everything?
What courage, backed by deep faith, made you unconcerned with the dangers surrounding you?
What faith did you carry in your soul? What conviction lived in your mind? What great love filled your heart?

O righteous believer, who risked everything your status and your name simply to preserve the dignity of that divine Body, the Temple of the Incarnation.
You, who refused to see the Lord buried like a criminal and instead honored Him as befits God.

O humble one, respected among your people, who feared no one,
Tell me how you lowered the sacred body from the Cross,
Tell me how you pried out the thick nails from the Savior’s flesh, those nails driven by hardened hearts,

Tell me, Joseph of Arimathea, what did you feel as you pulled those nails from the holy body, the Body given to us for the New Covenant?
And the blood that flowed, soaking the Holy Land, the Land of the Incarnation,
did it blossom into anemone, or become a scar in the earth’s heart?

Tell me how you carried Him, did it feel like you held the whole universe in your arms?
Tell me how you wrapped Him in linen, and what stirred within you as you bound the Body of the Redeemer.
Tell me, Joseph, how you buried Him, and how you rolled the stone in place.
Did you think you were burying a stranger, or did you know, truly know, that you were standing before the King of Glory?

No, you were not burying that stranger.
You knew, as only one who has seen the truth can know, that it was the Incarnate Lord you laid in your own tomb, carved in rock.
You surely knew whom you placed behind the stone.
Tell me, by God, what did you feel as you rolled it shut?

O companion of pain, of hardship and danger, O witness of truth, You gave the Church a testimony in its darkest hour.
Your name was engraved into the memory of generations for what you did while so many turned away.
You risked your safety, your reputation, for the Lord.
You stood with honor, loyalty, and faithfulness, in the hardest of moments,
when the Savior was nailed to the wood cross, when killing became ordinary.

Tell me, Joseph of Arimathea, besides the Mother of God, who wept the most? You? Nicodemus? The myrrh-bearing women?
Did you weep tears, or blood?
Did the earth weep with you? Did mankind? Did they know, as you did, who hung on that Cross?

And when the sun set, and evening came, what did you do? Where did you go? What agony filled your night? What suffering did you endure in the three days that followed?

Did you expect the Lord to rise after three days?
Did you believe the tomb would be emptied of its Divine occupant?

Joseph, O son of Arimathea,
First bearer of the myrrh, who preceded the myrrh-bearing women, you who bore the divine myrrh, who held the fragrance of Christ, before you, betrayal was ashamed, and cowardice dissolved.

To this day, the Church honors your act of lowering the Crucified, dedicating to it the service that precedes the funeral of Christ.
The rite of the Deposition from the Cross is as sorrowful as the Rite of the Burial, it prepares the faithful for sacred grief.

The hymn that recounts your act expresses the pain of that moment:
When you saw the sun hide its rays, and the veil of the temple torn at the death of the Savior,
you approached Pilate and pleaded, crying out: “Give me this stranger”

He who from childhood lived as a stranger,
This stranger whom I now see a guest of death,

You asked for this stranger, who welcomed the poor and outcast,
You asked for this stranger, to lay Him in a grave, for He had nowhere to rest His head,
You asked for this stranger who when His mother saw Him dead, she cried:
“My Son and my God! Though my heart is torn and my soul wounded at the sight of you lifeless, I am confident in Your Resurrection, and I glorify You.”

The generations will glorify you, O Joseph of Arimathea,
Every time the season of Resurrection returns,
Every time the crime of the crucifixion is remembered,
Every time the King of Glory enters His temple,
Every time the faithful greet one another, saying:
“Christ is Risen!”