Two well-known people died yesterday (Saturday, June 22, 2002).

Columnist Esther “Eppie” Lederer, more familiar to millions of newspaper readers worldwide under her nom de plume “Ann Landers,” passed away at age 83 following a long bout with multiple myeloma, a cancer of the bone marrow. Darryl Kile, a St. Louis Cardinals pitcher who won 20 games for the team only two years ago, died in his hotel room in Chicago, where the Cardinals are playing the Cubs. Kile’s death appeared to result from natural causes. He was 33 years old.

Late yesterday, the broadcast and online media were filled with tributes to both Mrs. Lederer and Mr. Kile. Family members, friends and associates of both the renowned advice writer and the All-Star baseball player publicly mourned their passings and reflected on their contributions to their fields of endeavor and to the lives of those who knew them. No doubt today newspapers across the nation are featuring countless articles of a similar nature.

I didn’t know Mrs. Lederer or Mr. Kile. From all I’ve heard and read, both were nice folks and beloved by many. But contrast the notice of their deaths with another that occurred nearly two thousand years ago.

On the day Jesus of Nazareth died, the word was not trumpeted in the available communications of the day. Criers did not take to the streets to broadcast the sad news that the Messiah, the King of the Jews, had been murdered (Acts 5:30) by the hands of lawless men (Acts 2:23). Prominent citizens were not sought out by the scribes to record their thoughts about the death of the One whom some called Christ. No proclamations were issued by officials commemorating His life or extolling His memory.

Instead Joseph, a rich man from Arimathea (Matthew 27:57), a Judean city northwest of Jerusalem, privately approached Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, and asked to take Jesus’ body for burial. Joseph was a prominent member of the council (Mark 15:43), a just and good man who had not consented to the decision and deed of his colleagues (Luke 23:50-51). He was waiting for the kingdom of God (Luke 23:51), and in the process had become a disciple of Jesus (Matthew 27:57). Before this moment, Joseph kept his discipleship secret, for fear of the other Jews (John 19:38). Now, in the aftermath of these horrifying events, Joseph summoned his courage (Mark 15:43) and, having made his request, was granted permission by Pilate to take Jesus’ remains away.

Soon Joseph was joined by another solitary figure: Nicodemus, another member of the ruling council and a Pharisee (John 3:1; 7:50). Nicodemus had first come to Jesus under the cover of night to inquire of Him (John 3:2). Now he joined Joseph in the lonely work of embalming Jesus’ body in myrrh and aloes, and wrapping it carefully in linen (John 19:39-40). The two men placed the body in a rock-hewn tomb (Matthew 27:60; Mark 15:46) which had never before been used (Luke 23:53). Joseph rolled a stone over the mouth of the cave (Matthew 27:60) and the two men left. Only two women followed behind to observe where Jesus had been taken (Luke 23:55), Mary Magdalene and another Mary, whose son’s name was also Joseph (Matthew 27:61; Mark 15:47).

That was all. No public outcry; no scrolls read aloud in the city square; no placards posted to tell the tale. All of four people took notice: two highly-placed men who, prior to this hour, had been too fearful to be seen conversing with Jesus or to be identified as His disciples, and two women, who just wanted to see where He would be entombed so they could return after the Sabbath and complete the embalming work Joseph and Nicodemus could only partially initiate in haste.

Today, on the first day of the week, groups of Jesus’ disciples will assemble together to memorialize His death. As on that dreadful day long ago, the prominent, the press and the public will scarcely notice. No fanfare will be sounded, no cries will go up from the street corners, no proclamations will appear in the papers or on the TV news. The overwhelming majority of the world will go on about its business as though the death of Jesus never happened. Even most of those who would call themselves His followers will not bother to remember Him by the ceremony He chose, because they only do that on certain days, once in a great while. For most now living, the day will come and go, and they will remain unchanged and unfazed.

I don’t begrudge people accolades when they die. I don’t mind that their writings are heralded or their earned run averages recorded. This is the way of things. But I am sorry my Lord’s death didn’t attract more notice. I’m sorrier still that it won’t attract much notice today.