John 19:38-42
After these things, Joseph of Arimathea, who was a disciple of Jesus, though a secret one because of his fear of the Jews, asked Pilate to let him take away the body of Jesus. Pilate gave him permission, so he came and removed his body. Nicodemus, who had at first come to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds. They took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths, according to the burial custom of the Jews. Now there was a garden in the place where he was crucified, and in the garden there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid. And so, because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.
Peter is nowhere to be found.
He couldn’t even will himself to show up to help attend to the body of his friend, his Lord.
The Lord who not 48 hours earlier had washed his feet and told him to love like Jesus loved.
The Lord who knew Peter would deny him and loved him anyway.
It was all too much.
Peter couldn’t handle it.
He couldn’t handle the guilt of what he had done.
He couldn’t handle the shame of being such a bad disciple and an even worse friend.
He couldn’t handle seeing his rabbi dead.
Killed. Murdered. Entombed.
So on this holiest of Saturdays, on this most awful of Sabbaths, Peter is absent.
Offstage. Withdrawn. On leave.
Joseph and Nicodemus filling the gap in leadership.
However, Peter is not the only one who is absent.
He is in the company of God, who is now dead and gone from this world.
Who has traversed down to the depths of hell.
Who is silent.
.
.
.
.
The tomb is occupied.
Filled with the body of our Lord.
And Peter is nowhere to be found.
🪦
Holy Saturday is one of my favorite days of Holy Week. Here’s my reflection from last year. ⤵️
