

DAY THIRTY-EIGHT -- Myrhh and Aloe
In the cross is an ocean of love yet unrevealed, a mountain of power still unreleased, and a sea of truth not yet fathomed . . . There is something utterly exhaustless about the provisions of Calvary. —S. Franklin Logsdon
Reflect
Bring your heart before your heavenly Father today by slowly speaking the model prayer found below:
Our Father who is in heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen. (Matthew 6:9–13 NASB)
Reflect on each phrase as you pray it, especially in light of what you have gleaned from contemplating the cross of Christ.
Read
All Your garments are fragrant with myrrh and aloes. (Psalm 45:8 NASB)
With the help of his servants, Joseph of Arimathea carries the corpse of Jesus of Nazareth down Golgotha. Travelers stop to stare. Why would a religious leader such as this become unclean by having anything to do with a dead body, especially that of a criminal?
Two women, Mary of Magdala and Mary the aunt of Jesus, continue to follow, bringing up the rear of the only funeral march Jesus will have. The masses who flocked to hear Him teach and watch Him perform miracles have disappeared. Those whose bodies were restored by His touch, or whose lonely hearts found compassion in His eyes, now busy themselves with Sabbath preparations.
Joseph turns at the bottom of the hill and walks several yards to the entrance of a lovely garden against the slope of Golgotha. The scent of spring blossoms fill the air, a pleasant respite from Calvary’s rank residue. He directs the men to take the body through an opening carved in the rocky hillside. It is a fairly new sepulcher, no corpse having ever been laid there.
The two women approach, stationing themselves just outside the garden where they can see through the door into the rock-hewn tomb. They watch as Jesus’ body is placed on a stone bench protruding from the wall of the cave. When the evening sky starts to grow dim, they know they must leave. Making plans to return with spices to anoint their Master after the Sabbath, they reluctantly head back toward town.
Joseph removes the linen cloth and begins tenderly washing the bruised body of Christ in preparation for burial. He finds the process therapeutic, a source of healing for his aching heart. As he finishes with the face, a commotion outside startles him. Peering out, he sees a fellow member of the Sanhedrin entering the garden followed by several servants bearing jars of rich-scented myrrh and aloes.
He steps outside and as their eyes meet, the two priests sense an unspoken camaraderie. Joseph understands all too well why Nicodemus comes now. He remembers rumors of him meeting with Jesus in the dark of night for religious discussion. He recalls the meeting of the council during the Feast of the Tabernacles when Caiaphas demanded Jesus’ arrest. Nicodemus spoke boldly then, challenging the high priests to abide by their own laws and not condemn someone without hearing his defense.
Yet, like himself during the mockery of a trial before the Sanhedrin, Nicodemus said nothing in Jesus’ favor. When he could have made a difference, he kept silent. But now, like Joseph, he can stay away no longer. Each man in his own way must deal with his internal struggle with shame.
Joseph embraces his friend, kissing him on each cheek. Side by side, they carefully wash the mangled body, then begin the embalming process. They alternate wrap the corpse with strips of cloth and sprinkling the powdered spices over it, leaving the head and face exposed. The aroma of aloes and myrrh allays the stench of decaying flesh. In this poignant sundown vigil, Joseph wraps and Nicodemus anoints the body of the Christ.
When they are finished, they carry the cadaver through a low opening into the dark recesses of the cave for final burial. Nicodemus takes a small cloth, saturates it with spices, and places it over Jesus’ face. It is done.
Then they step out of the darkness into the cool evening air where Joseph locates a large boulder and calls for a group of servants to roll it across the entrance to the tomb. Hearts full of grief and regret, the two priests embrace in farewell, hurrying to perform sacred duties and join their families for Sabbath.
The Son of Man, who never had a place to lay His head, is now put to rest in a rich man’s grave. The Lamb whose sacrifice on Calvary drifted like a pleasing aroma to the Father is now anointed with sweet-smelling spices fit for a king. As families light the evening candles and pray, the body that once held the Light of the World rots in a cold, dark cave. It seems the final act of humankind’s greatest tragedy has come to an end.
Respond
Consider the heart of Nicodemus. He was a true seeker who asked sincere questions of Christ when he came to Him at night. How hard it was for him to let go of his religious preconceptions in order to trust the truth of Christ’s words. Do you cling to anything today that keeps you from hearing Jesus’ voice to you? Religious works? Spiritual busyness? Christian reputation? Ask God to show you what you must leave behind as you come to Jesus in His death.
In the fourth century, a church leader named Augustine wrote the following words about his own conversion. Read them slowly, savoring their depth.
Write a prayer to Jesus, anointing Him with the aromatic spices of your own words.Belatedly I loved thee, O Beauty so ancient and so new, belatedly I loved thee. For see, thou wast within and I was without, and I sought thee out there . . . Thou didst call and cry aloud, and didst force open my deafness. Thou didst gleam and shine, and didst chase away my blindness. Thou didst breathe fragrant odors and I drew in my breath; and now I pant for thee. I tasted, and now I hunger and thirst. Thou didst touch me, and I burned for thy peace. (Saint Augustine’s Confessions, Book 10)
A Prayer
Lord, they rolled the stone and sealed Your body in darkness. It is so hard for me to grasp that it was only a shell—that You were no part of those burial preparations. I see how often I run after things I hope will bring You pleasure, but I am too late, for I’ve been consumed with dead deeds and lifeless works. I want to learn to hear You in the echoes of silence, dear Lord—to see the flickering flame of love through the darkness of Your seeming distance. I don’t want to miss You, sweet Savior of mine—hold my head to Your heart and let me hear only the sound of it beating in my ear.
Reprinted by permission. Contemplating the Cross: a Forty Day Pilgrimage of Prayer, Tricia McCary Rhodes, 2004, Thomas Nelson, Inc., Nashville, Tennessee. All rights reserved. Copying or using this material without written permission from the publisher is strictly prohibited and in direct violation of copyright law.
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