The body of the King of Life hung dead on the cross.

Violence, fear, and the Roman Empire had executed the Christ, the hope of Israel, indeed the Hope of the world. His body was shredded, pierced, raw, broken. Death had enveloped the living God.

A man stepped forward into Pilate’s court. He was a wealthy man, respected by his community. Pilate may have recognized him as a member of the Sanhedrin, the counsel of political and religious leaders of Judea, ruling under Rome’s heavy hand. Joseph of Arimathea had been there when the verdict was made about Jesus, when the counsel of leaders had decided to have the Roman Empire execute Jesus. He hadn’t consented to their decision, and withheld his vote to kill this man Joseph knew was righteous.

Now, at the end, after the crucifixion and excruciating death, Joseph knew with even deeper conviction that Jesus was righteous and innocent, and that he was part of the machine that killed an innocent man.

While Jesus was alive, Joseph had been a secret disciple of Jesus. Joseph hadn’t been willing to risk reputation, status, wealth, and power to publicly align himself with Jesus, but he had believed Jesus. His devotion had been personal and individual, and it had cost him nothing while costing Jesus everything.

Now, at the end, Jesus had died as an innocent man, and Joseph could no longer pretend. When he stepped forward before Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus, he stepped forward, away from the system of power and oppression that had scapegoated and sacrificed Jesus and publicly protested with his lament.

Joseph and Nicodemus—a Pharisee that had come to Jesus in the night, asking about hope and new birth and who became a disciple of Jesus—took the body to prepare it for a burial, fitting this righteous man.

First, they washed his body, tenderly praying and cleaning the wounds, removing the dried blood and filth for Jesus’ skin. Their actions mirrored what Jesus had done for the Apostles just a day before.

Jesus had gotten up from the table, stripped down, put on a towel, and washed the dusty, dirty feet of his closest followers. Jesus had asked for their bodies, and their dirtiest parts, and tenderly he washed each and every one of them. Jesus told them that they needed to be cleansed by him, otherwise they could have no part of him. He had told them that since he, their master, had taken the role of the lowest of servants, this is how they should act towards each other. The apostles were called to become those foot washers, gently cleaning people for the sake of the Kingdom and human dignity.

Now, these two unlikely disciples of Jesus were the ones doing the washing. Joseph and Nicodemus washed and prepared the body to be laid in a tomb. Tenderly, they wrapped the body in burial spices and linens.

They carried the body into the garden, all the way to Joseph’s personal tomb. There had never been a body ever laid in the tomb carved directly out of the stone. It was a wealthy man’s burial plot. It was an entrance into creation itself, a place where the dead were consumed fully by the earth, laid back in place in the cycle of life and death.

As the stone rolled over the entrance of the tomb, creation sighed. Broken open since the fall from Eden, Mother Earth had been waiting for the seed of life to come and be planted deep in her womb. Creation had asked for and received the broken body of Jesus, because Jesus was the hope of the Earth just as much as the hope of humanity. While Jospeh and Nicodemus laid the body of Christ in the grave thinking death had been victorious, creation knew a secret: this was a planting of the long-forgotten Tree of Life, and its sprouting would change everything.

In the grave, that place of the dead, the source of life began to stir. In a complete act of kenosis, Christ emptied himself fully and descended into hell, into that place the dead were kept in isolation and darkness. Like a mighty morning star, he broke through the gates did the unthinkable: he asked for each and every soul, each and every person.

This was not a harsh demand or some sort of bait and switch evangelism. This was love calling and offering of the fruit of life to the hungry and desperate. To the hopeless, those who had lost all hope, who were beyond hope, Christ came as hope, extending the fruit of life, freeing the captive, giving sight to the blind, and healing the lame.

But here’s the thing: Jesus didn’t come as a savior to fix all the problems of hell. No, Jesus came as one of the suffering, one of those who had been stung by death. On that cross, before Joseph asked for the body, in the midst of the suffering of a state execution, Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus was one of the forsaken, one of the forgotten in the deepest corners of hell.

When Jesus arrived in hell, he didn’t come as a victorious worrier. No, Jesus came as one in solidarity with the pain, the suffering, the abandonment. And it was precisely because Jesus came as the suffering one that he could empty hell because a God who sits in solidarity in hell with the banished declares that in the suffering you will find God, and where God is, there is life.

In the suffering, in the pain, in the abandonment, Godself comes as the fruit of life because Jesus is the source of life. Hell couldn’t contain life and life abundant, so when Jesus asked for the souls, for the complete person of all who were in the abandonment of hell, Jesus was asking them to be with him in suffering, and in the togetherness, joy began to emerge because Jesus gives life.

Jesus still comes to the suffering, the forgotten, the wounded.

Trans people afraid of the next dehumanizing legislation? Jesus is afraid with you.

People shipped off to containment centers based only on the color of their skin? Jesus is in the containment center, waiting for you.

Autistic people who are being lied about under the name of “healthcare?” Jesus is being lied about with you.

If you are forgotten, if you are wounded, if you are suffering, Jesus is there with you, as one of you. When Jesus sits with us on our Holy Saturdays, we are transformed into the ones offered life. It’s not the powerful, the wealthy, the abusive, the leaders who are brought face to face with the fruit of life. Instead, they are asked to lay down their anger, their riches, their privilege and come sit in solidarity with those they hurt and abuse that they might finally find Jesus in the least of these.

Jesus is the wounded one.

Jesus is the suffering one.

Jesus is the crucified God.

There is nowhere you will find God that is free of the painful, the hurting, the wounded, because that is who Jesus is.

And Jesus is continually offering us that fruit of life from the seed that Joseph and Nicodemus planted in that tomb.

When we come to the table, this cross shaped place where all belong, are welcome, are wanted, we are asking once again for Jesus’ body. We ask for the broken flesh of our God knowing that in it we find life.

And that life does something to us. It is a suffering life, a rejected life, a forsaken life, and as we ingest it, we become people who sit in solidarity with each other, feeling compassion and empathy with each other. We share in each other’s sufferings and burdens because Jesus—the body we are asking for—has already shared in each and every one of our sufferings. We ask for the body of Christ, and indeed in the solidarity of suffering we become the body of Christ, knit together by the togetherness and the pain we share.

This is why we carry the fruit of life out into the world: we want everyone to be emptied of themselves and filled with the life that comes from the tomb.

Resurrection is coming, but first we die.

So come, ask for the body of death, the body that was asked for and buried as a seed, the body that was transformed into life by its solidarity with death and suffering. Ask and receive, then go and give. This is how we remember Holy Saturday, how we bear witness to the struggles and wounds and terror of others, the struggles and wounds and terror we all share. When we are honest about our own suffering, we become those who have left hell behind and have come into the land of the living changed and transformed into people who know that fruit of life we call love.