It was over. Jesus’ death. And tenderly they took down his broken blood-stained body. Joseph, a rich man asked for the body. Nicodemus was there numb but there. And there was a terrible silence. No one really knew what to do. Like us, they shuffled through that awful day. Grief paralyzed the best of them. No angels came that day. Silence. Just silence.
If we have lived very long we have been there. And it was too soon. Trying to fathom our loss. Like those on that first Saturday we have little if anything to say.
Once when my friend lost his little girl after a long battle with cancer. I hugged my friend and the next day I wrote him a note. And a note came back from him. It read: “Thank you for what you did not say.” Looking back I remember had little I had to say to this friend on the hardest of days. And we grievers have stood in some line as friends came by. Hugging, whispering. Some with tears in their eyes. And some, God bless them, just wanting to say something that might help. “Aren’t you glad she does not have to suffer.” “He’s with his Mama and Papa and the child they lost years ago and they are all so happy.” Some just said: “God took him…this was God’s will.” Or maybe the worst said when a child dies, “God took her to his flower garden.” Well-meaning people hurt by their comments. In our desperation we have all talked, talked when we should have been quiet.
When they shuffled by to say something when I lost Mother or Father or brother or great friend words could not possibly help in this time. Afterwards I do remember the notes and cards they sent. Telling me they stood with me at this awful time. Many came at great risk unpacking their own grief they thought was behind them. Picking again some old scab that began to leak out what you thought was over.
All the accounts in the Gospels of that dark day are mostly silent. The writers had little to say. So this is why the Pieta has touched so many of us. The wounded mother holds the body of her dead son. This says it all.
So like Ecclesiastes says there comes a time for silence. Prayers yes. Maybe some food sent to the grievers. Maybe a Memorial gift to honor this loved one.
But first we don’t need words. “Don’t tell—show…” So we pause from our work and projects and the business of every day to do what those early disciples did. “We had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel.” No sadder words.
We have all been there or will. The comfort of God will come. Jesus promised, “ I will not leave you as orphans.” “I send my Spirit.” And “In time I will heal your broken hearts.” But not yet. But maybe those words we find at the end of Revelation are true: ”I heard a great voice from the throne saying, ‘See the home of God is among us. He will dwell with us as our God’ we will be his peoples, and God himself will be with us; he will wipe away every tear from our eyes, Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’”
But not on this day. But somewhere some time when we need it most and do not expect it at all.
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