There’s something about burials that feel so final. I remember attending the funeral of a friend who passed away and watching the dust begin to cover her casket brought a new set of tears. I wonder what it was like for Jesus’ followers, who saw his burial as a death to their hopes for the Messiah. (Note: Submit your photos now and tag @OakHouseRetreats #burried)


As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus.  Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body, and Pilate ordered that it be given to him.  Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock. He rolled a big stone in front of the entrance to the tomb and went away. (Matthew 27: 57-60)


Father, what a hopeless moment.  All seemed lost.  All seemed dark.  Yet, the story was not over.  When darkness seems to consume my life, may I remember the sure hope found in you.

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