The Third Day

“…he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures.” (1 Corinthians 15:4)

Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, the Pharisee, asked Pilate for permission to bury the body of Jesus. I can hear them talking each other into it, trying to overcome their fear of the religious leaders: “They’re not going to do anything to us. We’re just burying the body. It’s not like we can follow him now. Even if we wanted to—he’s dead.”

Together, they got permission and took Jesus’s body to the tomb. They did the awful, sacred work—wrapping his broken corpse in linens and spices, placing him gently in the grave.

I imagine they paused. Reflected on his life. Maybe read a scripture. Maybe shared a memory. Nicodemus no doubt said a prayer. Then they rolled the heavy stone into place—and, with even heavier hearts, they went home.

The end.

Or so they thought.

But a few days later, the two of them caught wind of a wild rumor. In my mind, they meet again—tucked into the corner of a quiet café on the edge of town. I can picture it:

“Nicodemus,” Joseph whispers, glancing around, “Have you heard?

“Are you kidding?” Nicodemus replies. “Who hasn’t?”

“What do you make of it?”

“What do I make of it? It’s your tomb, Joseph. What do you make of it?”

Joseph glances over his shoulder before speaking lower. “I went back. To the tomb. It’s… empty.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

“What is going on?”

Joseph rubs his temples. Nicodemus leans back in his chair, eyes closed like he’s trying to make sense of it all.

Just then, the café door opens. Thomas steps inside, spots them in the back corner, and makes his way over.

“What are you two doing here?” Thomas asks, approaching the table.

“What are we doing here?” Nicodemus says. “Haven’t you heard—”

“Stop.” Thomas raises a hand. “Don’t even start. I don’t want to hear it. He’s dead.”

“You don’t think it’s possible?”

“Possible?” Thomas scoffs. “I guess anything’s possible. But true? No. I doubt it. I seriously doubt it. You buried him, Joseph. So how do you explain this?”

“Explain it?” Joseph says. “I can’t explain it.”

Thomas lets out a long breath. “Look, if you want to talk about it, the others are holed up in the house downtown in that upper room. They’re still hiding. Cowards.”

He turns to go, then mutters over his shoulder: “Cowards everywhere.”

Of course, I don’t really know what happened to those two men. Some say Joseph eventually ended up in England, spreading the gospel across Britain. And there is word that Nicodemus was removed from the Sanhedrin and ultimately banished from his previous circles. Most of those stories are unverified, and no one really knows.

But here’s what we do know: for one sacred moment, they stood up. They stepped out of the shadows to do the one thing they could.

All of the apostles must have regretted not being there, not being the last to cradle his head, wipe the blood from his face, and lay his body to rest.

How Mary, his mother, would have wanted to be the one. But Joseph and Nicodemus were in a position to make it happen, and thankfully, they did.

As for Thomas—well, everybody knows the nickname he ended up with. Call him what you will. Of this you can be sure: no one ever called him a coward. Once he realized this was no hoax—once the rumors were confirmed, once he saw the scars—he was all in. Tradition holds that Thomas took the gospel as far as India, where he preached until the day he was killed, speared for his faith. He didn’t die in hiding. He died on a mission—willing to go anywhere and give everything. He followed Jesus to the very end.

And in that way, he was not alone.

What should have been the end of the Jesus’ movement, with this little ragtag group of followers, turned out to be the beginning. They went from cowering behind locked doors, fearful that they would be the next on a cross, to boldly proclaiming the message of Jesus to anyone willing to hear. That message turned their world upside down.

All those men and women—Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus, Thomas—doubters and preachers, skeptics and saints, faithful and faltering but followers of Jesus, all.

After that weekend, the transformation of their lives propelled the proclamation of the death and resurrection of Jesus, and here we are some two thousand years later, still proclaiming the message of what happened on the third day.