If I know anything at all about life, I know that all of us want significance. We want to know that our lives have had meaning. We want to know, after we have invested a few years, that we have counted for something. We want significance.
Years ago, I heard a lecture by Victor Frankl. Some of you will know that Victor Frankl was a Viennese psychiatrist, a Jew, who was imprisoned in a Hitler death camp. Every day he saw his friends trucked off to the gas chambers. Every day he waited for his own time to come. Victor Frankl did not die because the Allied armies liberated the camp, just in time. But Frankl said that, as he watched his fellow inmates and heard their cries, and as he listened to his own heart, he concluded that the only thing that keeps us alive is our search for meaning. Our search for significance. We are not ready to die until we know that we have meant something to somebody, indeed until we know that we have meant something to God.
We want significance. We do not want to live out our years and imagine someone slapping a cover on a coffin with a nonchalant, “That’s that.” We want more than that. We do not want to work at our jobs and then just get the obligatory gold watch and hearty hi-ho and simply move on. We want to know that we have made a difference.
However, the trouble is that no matter how much we have done or how many people we have touched or how many years we have been at it, we also are painfully aware of our shortcomings. We know where we have failed. Even if when we retire they serve up testimonies, or when we die, somebody reaches into his rhetorical bag of tricks and preaches a eulogy – even then we know better, don’t we? We know that we have failed at far too many points. We know that we have squandered many opportunities to be significant.
John Donne was a preacher and poet in England in the early Seventeenth Century. First a lawyer and then a priest, Donne was appointed by King James to be the Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. John Donne was an exceptionally capable preacher, a fine poet, and a sensitive spirit. In 1623, during a serious illness, when he thought he might not live, he wrote a confessional poem called A Hymne to God the Father. When you hear it, notice that he was making a play on words, using his own name – Donne, spelled d-o-n-n-e, sounds the same as the verb done, d-o-n-e. So listen to John Donne, worrying about significance and confessing his failure:
Wilt thou forgive that sinne where I begunne,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sinne; through which I runne,
And do run still: though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For, I have more.
Wilt thou forgive that sinne which I have wonne
Others to sinne? And, made my sinne their doore?
Wilt thou forgive that sinne which I did shunne
A yeare, or two: but wallowed in, a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
I have a sinne of feare, that when I have spunne
My last thred, I shall perish on the shore;
But sweare by thy selfe, that at my death thy sonne
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, Thou hast done,
I feare no more.
Do you hear in that confessional poem the heart cry of a man who has stopped to evaluate his life, a man painfully aware of his failures? Do you hear in that prayer poem the hope that his will be significant? “I .. fear that when I have spun my last thread, I shall perish on the shore” and that will be that. But do you also hear – Oh, if you do not hear this, then you will miss everything – do you also hear John Donne’s hope of redemption, his faith in the love of Christ? Ultimately, our lives are in the hands of God. In the final analysis, what we have done is for Him to use as He will. But as for now, right here, right now, if we are honest, we know, like the Reverend Donne, that we need to confess and be forgiven.
That’s not easy. That’s not simple. It is not merely a matter of tossing off on God a few glib “I’m sorries”. Confession must go deep. Confession must be far-reaching. John Donne said to God about forgiving his sin, “When thou hast done, thou hast not done, for I have more.” Who cannot identify with that? “When thou hast done, thou hast not done, for I have more.”
Toward the end of Mark’s Gospel, we are introduced to a quiet, behind-the-scenes person named Joseph of Arimathea. A member of the Council of Jewish elders, the Sanhedrin, who, after the crucifixion of Jesus, approaches Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, and asks for the body of Jesus. About Joseph of Arimathea we know all too little; but what is told us is very revealing. It reveals a man who finally got up off his blessed assurance to do what needed to be done, but too little, too late, and too alone. What about his significance?
Read Mark 15:42-47
I
Notice, first, that the text says that Joseph of Arimathea was “a respected member of the Council, … waiting expectantly for the Kingdom of God.” Joseph had sensed that God was up to something, and was waiting to see what it was all about. Other Gospel writers go a little farther and even suggest that Joseph was a distant follower of Jesus, a kind of secret admirer. Maybe in his heart of hearts he sensed that Jesus brought the Kingdom. But – he waited. He waited. That’s the key word, he waited. Joseph was waiting.
It’s good to be patient, it’s good to wait on the Lord, it’s good to be certain about your decisions. But it’s easy to wait too long. It’s easy to let caution rule. Waiting expectantly; that’s fine. But still just waiting.
And so here we are, Joseph, having waited and waited and waited some more, all of a sudden finds that his Messiah is on a cross, dead and gone. Joseph, who saw it coming, knew more than most about the politics. But Joseph still took his own sweet time speaking up – and the next thing he knew, Jesus was dead, and all that he could do was to come out of the woodwork and bury the dead.
It’s good to wait rather than to be impulsive; it’s good to wait expectantly for the Kingdom; but most of us need to ask forgiveness because we wait and wait and wait and wait some more, and then the evil thing is done and all we can do is to bury the bodies. I understand Joseph of Arimathea and his waiting too long; I understand him because I see in him Joseph of Takoma, waiting expectantly and waiting expectantly and waiting and waiting and waiting, a mighty long time.
Fifteen years ago, when I had been called as pastor, in the weeks before I began full-time work here, I would go out of my way driving home from the downtown university campuses; I would stop out here on the street and look over this place and dream dreams about what we could do here. I would drive around these streets and imagine who lived in these houses and what needs we would serve. I would go home and talk about what could be accomplished, I would even brag to my minister friends about this place. Takoma was a church with a reputation for excellence, though a bit tarnished at the time, and I was waiting expectantly for us to shine.
Over these fifteen years the dreams have not diminished, but the accomplishments have been fewer than what we had hoped. Over those years the dreams took flight in the form of proposals and sermons and discussions and letters meetings and memorandums – oh, don’t even go there. I know my reputation for showering you with a blizzard of paper to argue for various ideas.
Some of these things we have done, many we have not. Some of these visions and dreams have come to maturity; many others have not. I need to confess to you this morning that I have been guilty of the sin of waiting. Waiting expectantly for the Kingdom, and that’s good. But waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I have been guilty of not pressing harder our Kingdom agenda. I have been guilty of moving slowly on the things that God wills that we do here.
Sometimes, we find that if we wait too long, the thing we were called to do can no longer be done. It is too late. Too late to do anything but bury dead bodies. Joseph of Arimathea waited to exhibit his faith in Jesus until Jesus was dead, and then all he could do was to bury the body. Joseph of Takoma, after fifteen years, has been slow, too bogged down in the everydayness of running the church, too timid – and therefore we have missed some opportunities that God wanted us to take. I must in my confession echo John Donne:
Wilt thou forgive that sinne where I begunne,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sinne; through which I runne,
And do run still: though still I do deplore?
Oh Lord, forgive the sin of waiting too long to lead your people into ministry, missions, evangelism, spiritual growth, and a score of other things. Wilt thou forgive that sin, and:
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For, I have more.
II
I have more. Go back with me to our friend Joseph of Arimathea. He was a man who waited expectantly for the coming of the Kingdom .. but he kept on waiting and waiting and waiting. In addition Joseph was one of those, and there are many, who get bold and busy when they have to. But they miss the opportunity of empowering others. They miss the chance to bring others into significance.
The text says that Joseph of Arimathea
“went boldly to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus … then Joseph bought a linen cloth, and taking down the body, wrapped it in the linen cloth, and laid it in a tomb that been hewn out of the rock. He then rolled a stone against the door of the tomb.”
Whew! What a day’s work for one man! Did you notice how alone Joseph is in all of this? Let’s count. One, Joseph went boldly to Pilate, Joseph bought a linen cloth, Joseph took down the body of Jesus, Joseph wrapped it in the linen cloth, Joseph laid the body in the tomb. And at the end of the day, when Joseph’s wife was no doubt wondering whether he would ever get home for dinner (huh, Margaret?!), Joseph was out there rolling the stone against the door of the tomb! Tired old Joseph, doing all of this, and he said it was for Jesus! Tired old Joseph, doing it all by himself because, out of some sort of guilt at his failure to do for Jesus earlier, now he tries to be bold and busy on his own and do it all.
What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong about being Superman, leaping tall buildings with a single bound and impressing everyone with your ability to be everywhere? When you do that, you deprive others of possibilities God has for them. Superman works alone, gets tired, and empowers absolutely nobody.
There is something seductive about serving as a pastor. It feels good when people turn to you and say, “I need your help.” It feels good when they tell you at the door, “That sermon helped me.” It feels good when you walk into a classroom and deliver yourself of learned lectures on Leviticus and Lebanon. It’s easy to do it all solo and forget about the sweet singers in Israel that stand with you to minister. When I came to Takoma, some of you told me, “We expect the staff to do it all.” I have been in many a committee meeting where the agenda was, “Let’s vote for the pastor to do this or that.” And guess what? I bought into it. It felt good to be needed.
But Joseph of Takoma confesses that like Joseph of Arimathea, it has been good to be bold and up front when burying dead bodies, fixing things. But it would have been better to prepare others to minister. Joseph of Takoma confesses that the assignment to do every hospital visit, to attend to every bereavement, to tinker with every committee, and to nudge every ministry may have been bold, but it was off course. Why did I not take you along with me to share the gospel with someone who needed to make a decision, so that you could learn to witness? Why did I not gather one of you up with me when there was a death, so that you could learn to comfort others? Why did I not sit at your elbow and coach you to teach, so that you could keep on multiplying Bible classes and discipleship groups?
Someone has said that the besetting sin of pastors is that they have to be like the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral. They have to be up front. I’m not sure that’s where I am. But I do know that we have not trained enough of you to do all that needs to be done. I do know that my style has deprived some of you of the growth that you could have achieved. I do know that we will not be the lively and redemptive church we ought to be if we continue to be dependent on our staff. It is impossible to do with staff what a church needs to do. Church must come from your heart and be done with your skills.
So I do know that I must confess, as John Donne did in his prayer poem, to the sin that leads others to miss the mark:
Wilt thou forgive that sinne which I have wonne
Others to sinne? And, made my sinne their doore?
Wilt thou forgive that sinne which I did shunne
A yeare, or two: but wallowed in, a score?
I made my sin the door of sin for others by not inviting them to be in the life-giving business. Oh Lord, forgive, forgive. And still there is more.
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
III
I do not know where Joseph of Arimathea was that Sunday morning, the first day of the week. It was his garden. It was his tomb. But I am pretty sure that property was the least of his concerns that day. I do not know where Joseph of Arimathea was on that next Sunday morning; but I am confident that what happened was for him. It was just as much for him as it was for the others.
They saw a young man … and he said to them, … “You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. [He is not here]. He has been raised [from the dead] …”
I do not know where Joseph of Arimathea was that morning. I do not know what became of him afterward. Legend says that he took the gospel to England; that may or may not be true, but, if so, he was not the last Joseph to put good news and England together. I do not know the details of his life. What I do know is that Jesus died for him and rose for him; what I do know is that Jesus died to forgive Joseph of Arimathea his sins and Jesus rose to give him new life. What I do know, not just by guesswork nor by reading about it, is that Jesus died to forgive the sins of Joseph of Takoma and Jesus rose to give him new life.
There is one and only one basis on which we have worked together as pastor and people, and that is on the basis of the grace of Christ. Deacon Deloatch asked me the other day whether when I came I planned to spend fifteen years here. After all, that is about five times the average tenure of a Baptist pastor. I told him that neither did I plan to stay nor did I plan to leave, but that I just felt called and that the rest I would leave up to the grace of God. There is only one reason that we have been together for these fifteen years, and that is that over and over again, each of us has clung to the cross and has claimed the forgiving grace of Christ. Christ died for His church. Christ died for each of us individually. And Christ died for His church, corporately.
Christ died because we wait and wait and wait some more, and miss the opportunities He gives us. But in His love, when we confess our sins, He is willing and able to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
Christ died because we do our own thing, trying to be superheroes, demonstrating that we do not need each other, when, in all truth, we need each other desperately. So in His dying love, He points us to each other, He gives us to each other, He prays for our unity, and He loves us to the end.
But, people of God at Takoma, never forget. I have tried to preach this, in season and out of season. Beyond the cross there is the empty tomb. Beyond death there is life. Beyond sin there is forgiveness. Beyond failure there is significance. Beyond where we are now, with our mixed story of successes and failures, of joys and disappointments, of growth and of loss – beyond all of that our Lord Jesus wants to give us new life. He is taking us into a new era, He is inviting us to new horizons, He is filling us with His power. It is time, as pastor and people, to repent of the sins and the failures of the past, it is time to discern the possibilities of the present, it is high time to do the future in a whole new way. And, I tell you, the living Christ has guaranteed that the very gates of hell will not prevail against such a church.
I say, I don’t know what became of Joseph of Arimathea. History records very little. No do I know Joseph of Takoma’s exact future. Like Dr. King said, “I just want to do God’s will.” I am not focused on when I might retire or where else I might go. I simply believe that we are called to be together and to work together for a while longer. I want to have significance. I want significance for you, for myself, for our church. I want grace.
John Donne said it all for me.
I have a sinne of feare, that when I have spunne
My last thred, I shall perish on the shore;
Oh my. Yes, I have been fearful. But grace --
But sweare by thy selfe, that at my death thy sonne
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, Thou hast done,
I feare no more.
