Mark 16:1-8
1 When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. 2 And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. 3 They had been saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?" 4 When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. 5 As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. 6 But he said to them, "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. 7 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." 8 So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Of the four gospel accounts of Easter morning, Mark’s may be the most disappointing. I mean, the whole Easter morning narrative is just eight verses long. Now, your Bible may continue on to verse twenty, which we call “The Longer Ending of Mark,” or it may include what we refer to as “The Shorter Ending of Mark,” which reads, “And all that had been commanded them they told briefly to those around Peter. And afterward Jesus himself sent out through them, from east to west, the sacred and imperishable proclamation of eternal salvation.” There is little evidence that either of these two endings is original to Mark, and they are therefore considered later revisions, additions added to resolve the tension created by ending the Easter morning account (and thus the entire gospel) with verse 8: “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” After all, who would want to end the “greatest story ever told” that way?
While we’re at it, let’s just be honest about a few of the more than problematic elements we find in Mark’s telling (which is, by the way, the oldest tradition we have in the gospel accounts). For starters, there’s the whole issue of it being only women who come to the tomb. Now, I’m not saying I have anything wrong with the sole testimony of three women, but in the first century, it would have been rather hard to gather a case on the eyewitness testimony of three women. Why I can almost hear some of the folks now, “Well, Mary I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but what did your husband say about it? Did you forget your reading glasses again? I mean, it was early in the morning…Now Salome, you ought to have known better than to go snooping around the cemetery. Why didn’t one of the twelve go with y’all?” Oh yeah, I can hear it now. Of course, today folks don’t do that sort of thing. No, they believe the testimony of a few women—surely they don’t call it gossip or chalk it up to some bout of hysteria. Why, folks will even listen to a group of young folks who gather to give a testimony of what they’ve seen and experienced—surely no one would accuse them of being gullible or fooled by the dim light of early morning. But in Mark’s day, in Jesus’ day, you just wouldn’t want three women to give a testimony, especially to a group of men who should have been there themselves, a group of men who Mark said, “had deserted Jesus and fled.”[1]
No, if you’re going to have some eyewitnesses, you need some with at least a dose of credibility. Matthew did it right: in chapter 28, verse 4 Matthew says, “For fear of [the resurrected Jesus] the guards shook and became like dead men.” He put guards there, hired by the chief priests, who practically fall over dead at the sight of the resurrected Christ: no one would deny their testimony. Or do it the way Luke does, have Peter run to the tomb to verify the women’s story, have Jesus appear and vanish to two (male) disciples on the road to Emmaus, have him reappear to his disciples and show them the scars in his hands and feet and eat a piece of fish—put some detail in the story. Or maybe, maybe do it the way the fourth gospel does it, how it says in John “When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ And after he said this, he showed them his hands and his side…”[2] Then have Jesus breathe the Holy Spirit on them—that’s the way to tell the Easter story: give it some meat, some reputable eyewitnesses—tell how Jesus himself was there, but don’t just leave us with the story of three women who come into a tomb with a young man in sparkling clothes telling them they just missed Jesus, and on top of all that have them run away telling nothing to anyone because they were afraid. That’s just not how you do it!
But that’s what we’ve got this morning: no resurrected, nail-scarred Jesus, no “peace be with you,” no sudden appearances behind locked doors or divine conversations revealed through broken bread, just an empty tomb, three women, and their fear. Now, what about that? Mark is almost redundant in verse 8: “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” They’re afraid. Now I can’t help but ask the question I’m sure some of you must be asking yourselves, “Why are they afraid?” After all, the tomb is empty. Jesus is alive (an angelic presence told them so). The crucifixion didn’t take! So why are they afraid? I’ve wondered about that…
Maybe they’re afraid because they came expecting one thing, and they got something completely different. I don’t know…I do know that when our expectations are interrupted by the harsh turns of reality it can leave us shell-shocked, maybe a bit afraid. Like the man who switched off the television before bed, put the dishes in the sink in the dishwasher, turned off the lamp in the den, and went to bed just as he had done every other night, but just before his eyes closed for the night, the rain came. Then the wind. Then the sound of trees snapping. Then the pressure, the unimaginable noise and the violence of a storm twisting his house loose from its foundation. He expected another restful night, maybe the sound of thunder in the distance, but when the storms came, it wasn’t what he expected, and it left him shocked, afraid.
Sometimes, when we expect one thing and get something totally different, it can throw us for a loop. I can leave us afraid. Maybe that’s why the women were scared—maybe. Or maybe they were afraid because the empty tomb meant they had no control over the situation; after all, if you come early in the morning, with spices and oils to anoint a dead body, you expect to have some sort of knowledge and control of the situation. I imagine as they walked along to the tomb they may have talked about it: Mary Magdalene may have said something to the other Mary (James’ mother), “Now, when we get there, you take these oils and apply them like this—but don’t use too much or it’ll just be a mess,” and I imagine Salome might have said something like, “Well now be sure to use this mix of spices, because we don’t want the tomb smelling like a taco stand or a kabob cart…” You know they’d have had the whole thing planned out, like you do whenever you’re going to do something important, something that means something to you.
Maybe they’re afraid because the empty tomb means they’re not in control. I don’t know…but I do know when you’re not in control, especially when you want to be in control, it can be scary. Like the husband who sits by his wife’s bedside, watching those three numbers on the monitor, wishing he could make them go up, but knowing there’s not a thing he can do about it but pray…like the mother who sits in the courtroom, watching her son with his eyes on the floor, his hands behind his back, and the orange jumpsuit over his shoulders, after she’s tried everything—everything—to straighten him out, to get him to come to his senses, to keep him out of this, yet here she is and there he is…like the man whose done his job the same way for thirty years only to have someone half his age promoted over him because no matter how hard he tries he just can’t figure out that danged computer…maybe they’re afraid because they aren’t in control anymore, because life isn’t playing by the same set of rules they believe it once did. A woman can’t get lung cancer if she’s never smoked…a son shouldn’t wind up in prison after being raised right…a man ought not to have to answer to someone who’s been living fewer years than he’s been working…a body doesn’t just come back from a bloody crucifixion…that’s scary stuff. Yeah, I can imagine that’s why they’re afraid.
Of course, they could be afraid, because now—now they don’t know what to do. I mean, what do you do when you’ve come expecting a dead body, what do you do when you’ve lost all control and understanding of the situation, what do you do when you’ve witnessed a man being crucified, die, placed in a grave, only to find he’s not there anymore? What do you do?! I don’t know; maybe you just go home and pray about it, ask God to confirm what’s happened, you know, give you a sign like a picture of Jesus burned in your hash browns at the Waffle House. I don’t know; maybe you pray for God to change your mind, to convince you that what you saw wasn’t real, that it was just a case of mixing up your blood pressure medicine with your one-a-day vitamins. I don’t know what you do when you go in expecting a dead body and find an empty grave and a shiny white boy telling you the one you thought was dead is now alive. Maybe that’s why they’re afraid, because they don’t know what to do. Maybe, or maybe it was something else…
You see, I’ve learned a few things since becoming a father. I’ve learned it’ll be a few years before I’m able to have a stainless dress shirt again. I’ve learned the names of most of (if not all) of the pups on Paw Patrol. I’ve learned that a chocolate dipped granola bar or a half-eaten pop-tart counts as a complete breakfast, and I’ve learned that even for a three-year-old, words are empty until there’s action behind them. We can threaten Kohl with “time-out,” tell him we’re going to take away his toys or throw his Easter candy in the garbage if he doesn’t eat dinner or pick up his room, but none of those words matter until we do something. When I make a move to pick up one of his toy, or take his candy away, he can turn into the most obedient child this side of Opie Taylor. You see, I’ve learned we can do all the talking, lecturing, threatening, and grandstanding we want, but it’s really only when the promises of those words become reality that it creates a real response, a real change.
And it’s that right there—that response to the realization of promises made—that I believe has these women afraid. They came to the tomb, found it empty, Christ raised from the dead, alive again, just as he said, and they realized that Jesus was exactly who he said he was—and that’s scary! If Jesus is who he said he is then that means that the one who holds the power to forgive sins, the power to make the blind see, the lame walk, the one who has the power to cast out demons, to cleanse lepers, to heal the sick, raise the dead, walk on water, and feed thousands, is the same one who welcomed sinners to the dinner table, who washed the feet of the one who would betray him, who told the religious folks they have it all wrong, who told the rich man to sell all he had and give it to the poor then he’d be on the right path, who told parables about rich men in torment and beggars in paradise, parables about rejected outsiders as the only ones who get it, parables about the righteous being those who give food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, and love to the unloved, not the ones who know all the right answers.
This Jesus is the same one who told those who would ask him what the greatest commandment was, and he said, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind'…And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets."[3] This same Jesus who said, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it,”[4] is the same Jesus who said, "The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again."[5]And he did!
These women are afraid for the same reason so many of us are afraid. It’s not because they think they’ve seen a ghost. It’s not because they think that they’ll be punished by this resurrected Christ, cast into the hell they’ve been hoodwinked into believing is all that matters. Their fear isn’t simply found in their confusion, their up-turned expectations, or their lack of control. No, they’re afraid for the same reason so many of us are afraid, because if this same Christ is back from the dead, if this same Jesus has overcome the grave, then all that stuff about loving your neighbor, all that stuff about giving up yourself, all that stuff about taking up your cross, all that stuff about living a life of selfless sacrifice for your neighbor, the stranger, the foreigner, all the stuff even about loving your enemies—all of it…is true! And friends, that’s scary, because I don’t want to do it, and even if I did, I’m not sure I can do it.
But that’s the thing about resurrection: every time I fail, every time I miss the mark, every day I wake up with the intention to sin, to hurt my neighbor, to ignore the needs of other, every day I wake up with the intent to live in my frustration and fear, every day I let the sun go down on my anger—there is another dawn, another hope-filled chance to make it right, another resurrection. Today, we celebrate the hope that is found in Christ’s resurrection—a hope that is so much more than a change of address on the other side of eternity, a hope that is about so much more than what we have fooled ourselves into believing we can control. Today, we celebrate the hope we have in Christ’s resurrection, that hope that assures us that Jesus is who he said he is and that he meant what he said, and all that other stuff we try so desperately to put in the way, all that stuff we’re afraid of doesn’t matter one, single, bit, for the hope we have is love, and love doesn’t leave room for fear, whether it’s the fear of the other, fear of losing control, fear of uncertainty, or even the very fear of hell—love doesn’t leave room for it. In fact, I believe it says somewhere, “Perfect love casts out all fear[6],” and isn’t that what Jesus bring us, perfect love? So, take heart, and do not be afraid, for Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Amen.
