From John Piper’s Advent Poem, “Joseph of Arimathea, Part 2”
When all of Joseph’s tears were spent,
And all the secret love, long pent
Behind the bars of fear, was loosed,
And, like a swelling flood, reduced
This polished nobleman to sobs,
And left him weakened and with throbs
Behind his burning eyes, at last
He lifted up his hands and passed
His fingers up and down the stake
Where Jesus hung, as if to make
The gibbet like a lover’s face,
And somehow feel the cost of grace.
The women watched behind the sword
And spear between them and the Lord.
And Mary Magdalene was on
Her knees with all her longings drawn
To Jesus, and, somehow, she feared,
To this strange person who revered
The Lord with fearlessness and pain.Then Joseph stood and raised his plain
And heavy ladder high, and placed
It on the bloody beam, and braced
It just above the Savior’s pale
Gray arm. He bound with rope the frail,
Limp body of the Lord on beam
And post. And then, against a scream
From Jesus’ mother, stifled in
Her hand, he slowly cut through skin
And ligament beside the spikes
With heads made flat by many strikes
From Roman mallets. Then he clenched
The knife between his teeth and wrenched
Each hand of Jesus off its rough
And jagged nail through tendons tough,
But careful not to break a bone.He came then to his feet. They’d grown
To twice their size with blood
And swelling. They were caked with mud
From walking barefoot to the place
Of execution. Joseph’s face
Was ashen as he put his back
Between the women and the rack
Where Jesus feet were nailed. And when
He moved, the feet hung free. Again
He climbed the ladder, tied a rope
Around the Savior’s chest, with hope
That it would bear the weight, cut free
The other cords, and tenderly
Began to lower Jesus to
The ground.With all of this in view,
The sword and spear could hold their ground
No more; and Mary dashed around
The soldier, to the cross. And held
Her arms up toward the corpse, and smelled
The stench of death. But Joseph paused
With muscles taut. What if he caused
The death of this young girl? He saw
The soldier lift his spear and draw
His sword to threaten John and hold
Old Nicodemus back from bold
And reckless deeds. But then it seemed
She would be spared, and no one deemed
Her worthy of their vigilance.
But Joseph stared, as if a trance
Had gripped his mind. “Sir,” Mary said,
“I just would like to keep his head
From lying on the ground.” “You know,”
He said, “I think you’d better go.
If not, you’ll be unclean tonight
When Sabbath comes. And I’ve no might
To save you from His enemies.”
But Mary waved her hand, “O please,
Sir, even if a thousand men
With swords should come, not now or then
Would I depart and leave you here
With cords already cutting near
The bones in your strong hands, and see
The face of my king Jesus be
Defiled by lying in the dirt.
And as for me, I would invert
Your warning: Sir, if I should leave
My bloody Jesus here, and cleave
To law to make me pure, then I
Would be unclean with darkest dye,
Not just tonight but ev’ry day.
Sir, lower him to me, I pray.”
And as the rope slipped through his hands
He said to her, “Your heart demands
An older frame than what I see.
You must have known much misery.
Your hardship has not been in vain;
God does not waste the gift of pain.”
And as she cradled Jesus’ head,
The man picked up the precious dead,
And just before the Sabbath day,
They carried Jesus Christ away.
To read the rest of the poem, “Joseph of Arimathea, Part 2”, click here:
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