14/04: A Black Friday
Category: From the Heart
Posted by: A Waco Farmer
A Meditation on Titian's "Entombment of Christ" (click here to view the painting).
John 19:38-42
Titian’s sixteenth-century oil-on-canvas, The Entombment of Christ, depicts the blackest moment of the early Christian movement: the burial of the promised Redeemer.
In the painting, the body of Jesus lies lifeless in the arms of Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus and John. As the three followers struggle to prepare him for his final resting place, Mary, the mother of Jesus, looks on in silent agony. Mary Magdalene attempts to comfort her—but Mary Magdalene cannot hide her own grief. Ominous clouds and dusk frame the picture in darkness, with the head and torso of Jesus completely lost in shadow. The gloomy hues are contrasted only by the white garment and the pale corpse.
The darkness of the painting captures the blackness of their mood. Our Messiah is dead. Our notion of who we are is dead? How could this happen? How could we be so wrong? This is the moment of ultimate defeat, and the horror of the day weighs heavily on their faces. This first Good Friday evening, absent knowledge of what is to come, finds the followers of Jesus awash in shame and dejection and loneliness. In a sickeningly hopeless moment, without resurrection to cling to, these souls contemplate a world in which Jesus is dead and gone forever. What about tomorrow?
How blessed we are to know the next chapter. We are to be saved by the miracle of the risen Christ. Hope is alive. I am reminded of the words of the late-twentieth century Bill Gaither hymn, which declares: "Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.” We sleep soundly tonight secure in the knowledge that Jesus is alive.
John 19:38-42
Titian’s sixteenth-century oil-on-canvas, The Entombment of Christ, depicts the blackest moment of the early Christian movement: the burial of the promised Redeemer.
In the painting, the body of Jesus lies lifeless in the arms of Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus and John. As the three followers struggle to prepare him for his final resting place, Mary, the mother of Jesus, looks on in silent agony. Mary Magdalene attempts to comfort her—but Mary Magdalene cannot hide her own grief. Ominous clouds and dusk frame the picture in darkness, with the head and torso of Jesus completely lost in shadow. The gloomy hues are contrasted only by the white garment and the pale corpse.
The darkness of the painting captures the blackness of their mood. Our Messiah is dead. Our notion of who we are is dead? How could this happen? How could we be so wrong? This is the moment of ultimate defeat, and the horror of the day weighs heavily on their faces. This first Good Friday evening, absent knowledge of what is to come, finds the followers of Jesus awash in shame and dejection and loneliness. In a sickeningly hopeless moment, without resurrection to cling to, these souls contemplate a world in which Jesus is dead and gone forever. What about tomorrow?
How blessed we are to know the next chapter. We are to be saved by the miracle of the risen Christ. Hope is alive. I am reminded of the words of the late-twentieth century Bill Gaither hymn, which declares: "Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.” We sleep soundly tonight secure in the knowledge that Jesus is alive.
Tocqueville wrote:
Joseph took the body, and wrapped it in a clean linen shroud, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock; and he rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb, and departed. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were there, sitting opposite the sepulchre.
From the Book of Psalms. 16:9-11
My heart is glad,
and my soul rejoices;
my body also rests secure.
For you will not leave my soul among the dead,
nor let your beloved know decay.
You show me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy,
in your right hand are pleasures for evermore.
MEDITATION
There are times when life seems like
a long and dreary Holy Saturday.
Everything seems over,
the wicked seem to triumph,
and evil appears more powerful than good.
But faith enables us to see afar,
it makes us glimpse the break of a new day
on the other side of this day.
Faith promises us that the final word
belongs to God: to God alone!
Faith is truly a little lamp,
yet it is the only lamp that can light up the night of the world:
and its lowly light blends
with the light of a new day:
the day of the Risen Christ.
So the story does not end with the tomb,
instead it bursts forth from the tomb:
just as Jesus promised us,
it happened, and it will happen again.
PRAYER
Lord Jesus,
Good Friday is the day of darkness,
the day of blind hatred,
the day when the Just One was put to death!
But Good Friday is not the final word:
the final word is Easter,
the triumph of Life,
the victory of Good over Evil.
Lord Jesus,
Holy Saturday is the day of emptiness,
the day of bewilderment and dread,
the day when everything seems over!
But Holy Saturday is not the final day,
the final day is Easter,
the Light that is kindled anew,
the Love that conquers all hatred.
Lord Jesus,
whenever we experience our own Good Friday,
and we feel the anguish of Holy Saturday,
give us Mary’s unwavering faith,
so that we can believe in the reality of Easter;
give us her clear-sighted gaze
so that we can see the brilliant dawn
that announces the final day of history:
“new heavens and a new earth”
already present in you,
Jesus, Crucified and Risen. Amen!