Shouting Stones: Nicodemus in the Shadows

I wonder whether it's really wise to help. Emotions stir violently in me. I fear what might happen if I'm found out. I grieve the loss of this Jesus, this amazing teacher and healer, this one who more than anyone else has provoked my heart. This friend of mine has been put to death violently. He did not deserve this.

But what could I have done about it? Could I have said more, or would it only have meant my own destruction?

And yet, wouldn't it have been worth my very life to stand with him, to speak out for him? To come out of the shadows and identify myself as his? To end the secrecy, and to live authentically? Wouldn't it matter more than anything now for me to help spread the word about this amazing man—this Messiah—and to touch others in need in his name?

As these questions whirl painfully around my mind, I gather the burial spices, the myrrh and aloes, and the linen cloths. It is certainly a heavy load to carry, but I must hurry and meet Joseph and get the broken body. Right now, I must do this. I can struggle with my questions later. Perhaps tomorrow, after the Sabbath.

Or Sunday. Yes, perhaps by Sunday I'll have some clarity about what to do next.

[Passages referenced: John 3:1-21, 7:40-52, 19:38-42]

4/5/2011 4:00:00 AM
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