Mark 16:1-8
April
4, 2021
The Lord is risen. He is risen
indeed.
These words will be heard all over
the world today. They will be proclaimed in every language we can think of.
I’ve already seen them offered on social media from friends and family members.
We began our service with them, and we will end our service with them. Yet what
I find interesting and strange is that while Christians all over the world are
literally and figuratively shouting these words from the rooftops this day,
they cannot be found in Mark’s gospel.
When it comes to storytelling, Mark
must have believed that less is best. He does not waste time on a lot of
description. He does not waste words on lengthy narrative explanations.
Compared to the other gospel writers, Mark either leaves a lot of information
out – or he leaves a lot to our imagination.
From the first words of this gospel,
it would seem as thought Mark has brought us into the middle of the story.
Jesus is already born. Jesus is already grown. We immediately know who Jesus
is. There is no space provided or time allowed for us to figure it out on our
own. Mark tells us right off the bat.
“The beginning of the good news of
Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”
Boom. It’s out there. No frills. No
fancy word play. No metaphors or similes to contend with. This is the story of
the good news of Jesus the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God. Mark wants us,
the readers, to know right up front what and who this story is about. There is
no question that Jesus is the Son of God.
Mark’s beginning epitomizes matter
of fact and straightforward, and his ending is much the same. As soon as the
sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome gather
spices together and make their way to the tomb just after dawn on the first day
of the new week. They were worried about the stone that blocked the entrance to
the tomb, and were asking one another, “Who do you think might roll it away for
us?”
But when they reached the tomb
itself, they saw that their worry was not necessary. The stone had already been
rolled away. They entered the tomb and saw a young man, dressed in a white
robe, sitting on the right side. They were alarmed to see him, and he knew it
because he immediately said,
“Do not be alarmed; you are looking
for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here.
Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter
that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he
told you.”
See, just like the beginning. Mark
does not make the reader wait to find out what happened. Jesus of Nazareth, who
was crucified and died, is now raised. He is not here. Tell his disciples and
Peter that he has gone ahead to Galilee. You will see him there, just like he
told you.
Just like he told you. But unlike
the other gospels, the women cannot seem to take this news in. It’s as if they
hear the words of this young man, but they don’t register them. They do not run
to the disciples and Peter with the good news that Jesus has been raised. They
do not tell them that Jesus has gone ahead to Galilee and will wait there for
them, just as he promised. They just run away. They are filled with terror and
amazement and they run away, for they were afraid.
This passage before us is considered
by Bible scholars to be the actual ending to the gospel of Mark. That seems
strange to say because if you have ever read the last chapter in Mark’s gospel,
you’ll know that after the words in our passage comes two more endings: one
titled the Shorter Ending and one titled the Longer Ending. Scholars believe
these are added on, later additions to Mark’s original ending, most likely
written by scribes. As preacher and teacher, David Lose, said,
“Some well-meaning monks just
couldn’t let the gospel end like that.”
It is no wonder that some scribe
wanted to “fix” this original ending in Mark. They could not let it end with
terror and amazement only. They wanted to make sure that the disciples did
indeed get the good news. They wanted to make sure that the disciples and Peter
went to Galilee per Jesus’ instructions. The ending of Mark’s gospel is much
like the beginning, in that it is short and to the point and doesn’t waste
space on paper filling in a lot of details. But that’s what makes it difficult
to deal with. It is the kind of ending that makes you say, “And?” They ran away
in terror and amazement. Okay. They were afraid. All right. And?”
And? What comes next? What happens
then? How is this all resolved? How is the good news proclaimed? When do we
finally hear the joyful shouts of the people saying, “He is risen! He is risen
indeed!?”
But we don’t hear those words. Not
in Mark’s gospel. Not in the original ending. We don’t get the reconciling
moment with the disciples. We don’t get the post-resurrection appearances.
There is no road to Emmaus in Mark’s gospel. There is no Jesus appearing
suddenly in their midst; no showing his wounded hands or feet; no moment of
proof. No, we get an angel telling women to “Fear not,” and the women doing
exactly the opposite.
Fear not. This is the standard
greeting in scripture when a divine being is about to impart dramatic, amazing,
life-changing news to a human who is not expecting it in the least. If you hear
the words, “fear not,” it means that something good is about to happen;
something glorious and God-filled. But the women were not ready to fear not.
They could not suspend their terror and amazement. Fear and grief were the only
things they could wrap their heads around. They were the only emotions they
could feel. Grief drove them away from the tomb. Fear drove them away. They run
away in fear. The. End.
And?
A hard lesson that I have had to
learn over the years is that you cannot rush someone through their grief. You
can’t make someone who is grieving feel instantly better with words, with
platitudes. In our pastoral care classes in seminary, we were wanted not to
jump in too quickly with words of good news when you were offering care to
someone who was grieving. You don’t tell the widower who has just lost his wife
of 50 years that he should feel happy because his wife is now in a better
place. You don’t tell parents who have lost their child that they should feel
glad because this is just all part of God’s plan, or, God must have needed
another angel in heaven.
Honestly, if I had lost my beloved
spouse, I would not want to be told that she’s in a better place – even if I
believed that were true. And I definitely would not want to hear that the death
of my child was due to some unknowable plan of God’s or that God would take my
baby just to fill a spot in a heavenly choir or to meet an angelic quota.
No, we were told, you don’t try to
rush people through their grief. You don’t offer them platitudes or easy
comfort. You sit with them in their grief. You offer them the ministry of your
presence, and you don’t try to find words for comfort when no comfort can be
found. You don’t offer words to try and ease the discomfort of grief. Grief
hurts, but what hurts more is people trying to make us feel better or “get over
it,” when we are grieving. Even the good news doesn’t feel so good when you are
in the midst of loss.
The women were surely grieving. They
were surely overwhelmed with grief and sorrow and loss that their beloved
Teacher, Rabbi, had been so brutally executed. But they were also the first to
hear that their beloved was not dead but raised. Isn’t that the kind of news we
would want after losing a beloved? Isn’t that what we would hope for? That the
unthinkable would happen? That the one we loved had not left us, but was alive
and well and gone ahead to a pre-arranged meeting place?
But even the good news does not feel
like good news when we are grieving. And the women were grieving. They were
afraid. They went to the tomb with burial spices, to prepare their beloved
Rabbi for his final rest, only to discover that in the secret darkness of that tomb,
God had done the unthinkable. God had done the unexplainable. God had raised
Jesus from the dead. But the women were not yet ready to hear or understand,
and it makes sense that the male disciples would not yet be ready for that good
news either. The way Mark leaves it, the way Mark ends his story, makes it
clear that none of the characters were ready. They were still grieving, still
shaken, still afraid. They were too consumed by terror and amazement to do
anything … yet.
Essayist Debie Thomas described
Mark’s gospel as a slow resurrection. He leaves the women in terror and
amazement because that is where they were. Honestly, if I had gone to that tomb
only to find it empty and seen not Jesus, but an angel, I would have been
overcome by terror and amazement too. The good news of the resurrection would
take time to sink in. I think Mark allows that to happen. I think Mark’s ending
makes room for that. I think that the women and the disciples will get there.
But it will take time.
But
even if they don’t, the good news will still be proclaimed. The good news of
the gospel will still be shouted from the rooftops, not because of the people
in Mark’s story or because of us the readers. But because of God. Easter
happened without the disciples or the women or anyone else making it happen.
Easter happens now without me or you or any of us making it happen. Our being
in church today did not make Easter arrive. My preaching this sermon does not
make Easter a reality. God makes Easter happen. God resurrected Jesus. God
brings life out of death. God is doing a new thing, whether we can perceive it
or not.
In
the secret darkness of that tomb, God changed everything. Jesus was
resurrected. Life and love was set loose in the world. In this year of fear,
anxiety, uncertainty, and death, overwhelming death, it is okay if our grasp of
the resurrection comes slowly. It is okay if we feel both terror and amazement.
It is okay if our voices crack and shake a little when we say, “The Lord is
risen. He is risen indeed.” We are still proclaiming this, and more
importantly, it is still profoundly and wonderfully true!
The
Love of God, the Spirit of God, the Power of God is loose in the world. Easter
is happening all around us, even if we are not there … yet. We will be. We will
be. God’s good news is loose in the world. He is risen. He is risen indeed. Thanks
be to God.
Let
all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.
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