Yet even the burying of the bodies of our hopes and dreams can be an act of trust, as the farmers have to trust, burying their seed in the cold ground. Even that last act of anguish and respect and love, of saying goodbye to the past, can contain the seeds of hope and trust.
Joseph of Arimathea had been a secret follower of Jesus. He was a member of the Sanhedrin, the ruling Council, and he was afraid that, if anyone on the Council found out that he believed in Jesus, he would lose his position and prestige. When the Sanhedrin plotted against Jesus, he protested and refused to be a part of their malice. He must have been absent from the meeting in which they developed their death plot. Yet this secret disciple openly cared for the dead Jesus. He had the courage to go to Pilate and ask for Jesus' body to give him a proper burial. He was joined by Nicodemus, another secret disciple, who had gone to Jesus at night so Jesus could teach him.
Reverently, lovingly, the two wrapped Jesus' body in linen cloths with sweet-smelling spices. Slowly, carefully, they buried him in Joseph's own tomb. Jesus was a rejected criminal, yet they buried him in the tomb of a rich man. They must have wept as they touched him, wept over his gaping wounds as they covered him with spices. They must have mourned for their murdered hopes and dreams for their people.
But - did they realize that, even at that moment of entombment, the One Whom they only knew as dead and buried was nevertheless alive in their hearts? Alive in their courage in confronting Pilate? Alive in their tender reverence? Alive in their undying love for him? The seeds of new life were already germinating in the dark, deep ground where they'd buried their dreams and hopes, ground softened by the rain of their tears and prayers.
Perhaps, even in their grief, and with streaming tears, they gave thanks to God for the gift that Jesus had been in their lives. Gratitude, after all, is an act of trust.
"Be patient, therefore, brothers (and sisters) until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You too must be patient. Make your hearts firm, because the coming of the Lord is at hand." (James 5: 7 -8)
Even as they buried Jesus, he was preparing to rise. Even as we bury our hopes and our dreams, the resurrection of new life for us is waiting to be revealed. The shining truth of all the griefs and dead hopes of our lives may only dawn for us after months or years of waiting during our own Holy Saturday. Or perhaps that truth will only dawn on us in the full light of eternity. But - if we believe in the Risen Christ, can we also be patient? Can we trust with steady hearts that He will arise for us, in our lives? Jesus will arise, with hands still nail-pierced, but glorious, even as he will hold our hand so we can rise, pierced by our griefs, but gloriously alive.
What if, when we want to feel joy, the dark cloud of traumatic memories overwhelms us? When our memories of our griefs burn us, rip our hearts open, how can we trust God? Can we remember this: "He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all - how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?" (Romans 8: 32)
When we are traumatized with grief, can we lay aside our own dead bodies of broken hopes and dreams? Can we instead return to that first Holy Saturday, where we can prayerfully picture the dead body of Jesus in Joseph's tomb? Remember God's own loss?
"He gave us Jesus. Jesus! Gave him up for us all. If we have only one memory, isn't this one enough? Why is this the memory I most often take for granted?....If trust must be earned, hasn't God unequivocally earned our trust with the bark on the raw wounds, the thorns pressed into the brow, your name on the cracked lips? How will He not also graciously also give us all things He deems best and right? He's already given the incomprehensible. Christ our Crossbeam....
"And the radical wonder of it stuns me happy, hushes me still: it's all Christ. Every moment, every event, every happening. It's all in Christ and in Christ we are always safe and 'how will He not also...?'
"When bridges seem to give way, we fall into Christ's safe arms, true bridge, and not into hopelessness. It is safe to trust!
"We can be too weak to go on because His strength is made perfect in utter brokenness and nail-pierced hands help up. It is safe to trust!
"We can give thanks in everything because there's a good God leading, working all things into good. It is safe to trust....
"There are moments that as sure as I bruise don't feel like good things have been given. What of all the memories where Christ seems absent? When the bridge shakes and heaves, when 'how will he not also?' reads more like 'he will not.'
"Trauma's storm can mask the Christ and feelings can lie.
"I draw all the hurting voices close and I touch their scars with a whisper: sometimes we don't fully see that in Christ, because of Christ, through Christ, He does give us all things good - until we have the perspective of years.
"In time, years, dust settles.
"In memory, ages, God emerges." (Ann Voskamp, in "One Thousand Gifts.")
We sit in the still darkness next to the tomb of our buried dreams and hopes. Do we dare to hope? Do we dare to believe in the new seed rising in the dark ground? Do we trust that we can trust God, that in God and with God there is safety? Can we love Him so much, love His goodness, that we know that dawn is coming and that, out of the tomb, God will emerge holding new promises and life for us?
Even and especially in the darkness of our Holy Saturday, it is safe to trust God. Because He rose once from Joseph of Arimathea's tomb, never to die again. He will, as certain as the coming dawn, arise again in our lives, arms full of new blessings we couldn't even dare to hope for.