"He was buried." A Sermon for Easter Even

by Thomas Macgill

A SERMON.

1 Cor. xv. 4.—“He was buried.”

Who has not witnessed a funeral! Who is unacquainted with the emotions that possess the heart whilst carrying the remains of a beloved friend to the grave! And even when we have no interest in the deceased beyond the ties of a common humanity, there is a majesty in death itself that overawes the mind, and the gloomy pomp that proclaims death’s triumph arrests the thoughtlessness of man and repeats to him the lesson of the Bible—“The grave is thine house, and thou must make thy bed in the darkness.” Who has not felt his curiosity awakened when some splendid train of mourners has passed by, declaring by the parade in which corruption sits in mockery, how noble, or how renowned, or how rich the victim on whom the hand of the destroyer has fallen, and how utterly vain and empty are all human glories. And who has not experienced a hallowed sympathy when he has met a little band hurrying towards the churchyard all that is mortal of some friendless man, who lived unknown and died unbewailed, and who now seems to be stealing out of a world that had scarcely acknowledged his existence,—yet declaring in his undistinguished departure that “death has passed upon all men, because all have sinned.”

To-day I invite you to contemplate the funeral ceremonies of the Prince of Life, of Him who lay down amid the mansions of the dead, that by dying He might destroy death and him that had the power of death.

The mourners on this mysterious occasion were few in number. The Lord whom all despised, and who had no home in which to lay his head in life, could scarcely attract around him in death as many as could carry him from the cross to the grave. His disciples, with one honoured exception, had all disappeared in shameful flight. A few women, with tearful sympathy, lingered to mark the spot where their Lord should be laid, and assisted Joseph and Nicodemus to perform the last offices to the crucified Immanuel. These two persons were men of considerable distinction in Judea, rich and honourable, and members of the great council of the nation. Of Joseph it is written that he was “a good man and a just.” Of Nicodemus we read that he was a ruler of the Jews, a public teacher, “a master in Israel,” but of a remarkably timid disposition. Three years before this sad day he had visited Jesus under the cover of night, and received instructions in the mysteries of the kingdom of God, but he had never yet openly avowed his attachment to Messiah. The world’s frown, the dread of its reproach, the certainty of its persecution, had deterred both Joseph and Nicodemus from confessing Christ before men. But his death, the event that encreased the peril of his disciples, had the effect of dissipating all their fears, and constrained them openly to profess their respect to the Lord. With a boldness which defied all danger they begged from Pilate the body of Christ, that it might not be cast into a malefactor’s grave, but entombed with such honour and distinction as circumstances would allow. The earnest desire of such a person as Joseph was not to be refused, and agreeing, as it doubtless would, with Pilate’s own feelings respecting one whom he had pronounced innocent, the request was at once complied with.

How strange an event was this! At the very time of Messiah’s utmost desertion, when heaven frowns with gathered blackness, and the cry has been uttered, “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me!”—when lover and friend were put far from Him, there went forth from the Sanhedrim that had condemned Him two distinguished witnesses to proclaim His praise, and shew to His lifeless remains the respect they had themselves denied to His living person.

Thus it is, Christian brethren, that, when least expected, God’s hidden work of grace may be silently advancing; in young and aged hearts Christianity may be putting forward its sacred and resistless claims and obtaining a mastery within, that needs only to be put to the trial to exhibit its real power. There is not always the “rushing mighty wind” when the Spirit of the Lord takes possession of a man’s heart. There is not always the intense sorrow of “one mourning as for an only son,” when the sinner looks to Christ. There is not always the alarm of “Men and brethren what shall we do?” when sin’s appalling consequences are first spiritually discovered. The work of grace is often silent and gentle, like the season of spring in a tropical clime, when the earth by some rapid change of the atmosphere seems by enchantment to be covered with new created loveliness, and welcomes the blessed showers of heaven with a bloom as sudden as it is glorious. And how often are the very circumstances that seem most unfavorable to the progress of faith, chosen by God for the manifestation of His grace. Yet let no man carry this principle beyond its legitimate use, nor consider that the existence of religious principles can ever be consistent with a life of ungodliness. In the case of Joseph it is expressly declared that, though he was a member of the Council that condemned Jesus to death, he had not consented to their verdict.—No; men cannot be the children of God whilst they are avowedly the children of their father the devil, whose works they do.

But to return to the narrative. No sooner had Joseph obtained the consent of Pilate than he hurried back to the cross. The day was, however, far spent and the sabbath was at hand, therefore the funeral ceremonies must needs be finished in a very hasty manner. With such assistance as the occasion commanded, Joseph and Nicodemus removed the sacred corpse, extracted the nails from the cross, wiped off the stains of indignity with which that holy countenance had been profaned, and having wound the body in fine linen with spices and aromatic gums they bore it to a new tomb wherein never before was man laid. There amid the dimness of twilight, the fitting emblem of the extinguished hopes of the world, they deposited with speechless grief, the precious form of Him who came in the name of the Lord to save us. O ye men of holy and humble hearts, how sad was your task! and your faith was too feeble and your hopes too gloomy to sustain you in this pious duty.

It is to be observed that the sepulchre in which Christ was laid was a new one, the property of a rich man, and was situated beyond the gates of Jerusalem. Thus the Scriptures were fulfilled which declare that He should be “with the rich in His death (Isaiah liii. 9.) thus was fulfilled the type involved in the command that the ashes of the sacrifice should be carried without the camp, (Leviticus iv. 12. Heb. xiii. 11, 12). It was also a part of the proof necessary for the fact of the resurrection, that He had been laid, not in the place where the bodies of felons were usually cast, nor in any ordinary burying ground where other bodies lay, and where some deceit might have been practised by the disciples; and being a grave excavated in the rock it could only be approached by one entrance, and the entrance was guarded by sentinels and sealed. These circumstances are of vast importance as bearing on the reality of His resurrection, and they are proofs which easily and naturally present themselves to the mind.

“There laid they Jesus.”—Observe its locality; it was in a garden, a lonely but a lovely resting place, constructed amid the arbors and flower-paths, and near it there would grow many a fragrant plant with leaves painted by heavenly art, and be like ornaments of beauty designed to relieve the gloom that overhangs the dwellings of the dead. Here there would be nothing to remind us of death, no sickening vapours of corruption; no mouldering fragments of humanity, to proclaim it a place of skulls. All around would breathe the spicy odours of the eastern clime; yea, from the sepulchre itself would exhale a balmy sweetness, fulfilling the words of the royal poet,