This past week, the nation honored the memory of former President Ronald Reagan following his death after a decade-long descent into Alzheimer’s disease. Whatever one’s political perspective, it was difficult not to be impressed with the pageantry with which Mr. Reagan was remembered, and moved by the warm sentiments expressed in his honor by the leaders of our country and the world.

It had been 30 years — former President Lyndon Johnson died in 1974 — since the United States had staged a memorial of this magnitude. (Former President Nixon, who resigned the office, was accorded lesser honors at his passing ten years ago.) With three of the four surviving former Commanders-in-Chief aged 80 (former President Carter and the first President Bush both reach this milestone this year) or above (former President Ford is 91), I’m afraid we’ll see more such occasions sooner rather than later, as the Lord may will.

We do well as a people to recognize and appreciate the service of those who have held our land’s highest office. (Of course, it’s preferable to honor people while they are still alive to receive the honors, but such is human nature that we usually wait to extend others their just due until they’ve gone the way of all flesh. There’s a lesson there, but we’ll leave it for another time.) As I watched the memorials for Mr. Reagan, I could not help contrasting the circumstances of His death with another that occurred nearly 2,000 years ago.

When Jesus of Nazareth died, there were no parades in the streets. No caissons rolled. No flags were lowered. No government employees received a day off work, with pay. No dignitaries wrote glowing letters of eulogy or delivered heartfelt speeches in praise of the One who died. No trumpeter played “Taps,” and no rifle company fired a 21-gun salute. The world did not pause in its daily activities to reflect upon the deceased’s accomplishments. The world, in general, paid no attention at all.

When the Son of God died on the cross at Golgotha, no regiment of crisply-uniformed soldiers in dress attire stepped forward to bear His remains away. Instead, a lone man named Joseph presented himself to the authorities and asked for the privilege of removing Jesus’ body for burial (Matthew 27:57-60; Mark 15:42-47; Luke 23-50-53). Only one other — Nicodemus, who first met Jesus by night near the beginning of His preaching ministry (John 3:1-21) — joined Joseph in the solemn task of embalming the body of Christ, wrapping it in linen, and laying it in a hillside tomb (John 19:38-42).

When Jesus died, the ruling powers did not take counsel together to determine how best to acknowledge Him publicly, or what honors to accord Him in death. Instead, the leaders of the Jews went to the Roman governor Pontius Pilate to demand that guards be set over Jesus’ gravesite, so that His disciples could not perpetrate a hoax by stealing His body, then claiming He was resurrected. Pilate complied with their wishes by furnishing a detachment of soldiers, telling them, “Make it as secure as you know how” (Matthew 27:62-66).

When Jesus’ body was committed to the tomb, no endless queue of mourners filed past to pay their final respects as He lay in state. Because of the Sabbath, even Joseph and Nicodemus left Him without fanfare following their hasty ministrations. On the morning of the third day, when Christ had already — unknown to His disciples — departed the grave, only three women — Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome (Mark 16:1) — came to visit the place where He had been buried. When the women reported His rising, only two of Jesus’ apostles — Peter and John — came to see the marvel for themselves (John 20:1-10).

It’s sad to think how little honor Jesus garnered at His death, compared to many other men. But no matter. The day is coming when every knee will bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord (Philippians 2:9-11; Romans 14:11). The honor may be late on that awesome day, but never more fitting.