Guess Who’s Back

Mark 16:1-8

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. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. 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. 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.” 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.

Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed!  These words, or similar ones, will be said at Easter services around the world this weekend.  They are a triumphant declaration of Jesus’ victory over the grave.  And yet, our Gospel story for tonight doesn’t contain any such jubilation, or fanfare, or brilliant brass quartets.  It ends with terror, fear, and amazement.  It ends with those first witnesses of the resurrection fleeing from the tomb and telling no one what they had seen.  So, while that call and response thing we do is pretty catchy, a more biblically accurate way to start to start this service would be to say, “So they fled from the tomb and told no one!”  And then you all would say, “For terror and amazement had seized them!”  Sadly, I’m not sure that’s gonna catch on though.  Luckily there’s always the parody of the Eminem song – “Guess who’s back, back again.  JC’s back, tell a friend.”  So, maybe we can get that one going in years to come.  This ending is actually pretty ironic, given the fact that all throughout the Gospel of Mark there has been this motif that scholars call “The Messianic Secret.”  Basically, whenever Jesus would heal someone, or someone would have an epiphany and realize who he truly was, Jesus would sternly order them to keep it to themselves and not to tell anyone what they had seen – an instruction that we Lutherans have probably taken a little too literally; we’re not always the best at telling people about our faith.  But that wasn’t a problem for the people that Jesus healed, because despite his command to keep it a secret, they went and told everyone they could.  Up until today.  The day when they are actually told to go and spread the good news about Jesus’ resurrection, and instead of doing that, they flee and say nothing to anyone.  Not the best start for that first evangelism team.  Now, obviously they told somebody something at some point, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.  But as odd and anticlimactic as this ending to the story is, I actually really love it.  Because it is such a real, and raw, and honest, and human reaction to something as unbelievable, and scary, and incredible as Jesus’ resurrection.

One of the dangers of listening to this story year after year is that we can so easily forget what a terrifying experience this must have been.  Yes, Jesus had predicted his resurrection a number of times, but it’s a little unfair for us to play Monday morning quarterback, or armchair theologian, and critique those at the heart of the story for not figuring it out.  Hindsight is 20/20 after all, and as much as I’d love to say that, had I been there, “Alleluia” would have been the first thing on my lips, in reality, it’s far more likely that I would have found myself saying, “What? … How? … Huh?” – a truly eloquent response, I know.  And I feel for the women in this story, because fear is such an incredibly powerful force, and that fight, flight, or freeze response is no joke.  I remember this one time I was with my mom visiting my grandparents who lived just outside of Reno, Nevada and the Perseid meteor shower was happening.  So, mom and I decided to drive east on I-80 until we got away from the light pollution of the city and we pulled off onto this pitch-black frontage road.  I got out of our minivan, and climbed up onto the roof, and as I lay there watching that beautiful celestial firework show, my wonder was transformed into terror in mere nanoseconds, when a train that sounded like it was right behind us, but in reality, was probably at least a quarter mile away, blared its horn.  My mom said that she has never seen me move so fast.  I was off that roof and back in the car in record time.  There was absolutely zero conscious thought going on, it was pure reflexive instinct, and I can only imagine that the women who showed up with burial spices in hand early on that Easter morning must have felt something very similar. 

In addition to feeling fear when we perceive danger, or feel threatened, humans also have a tendency to fear things that we don’t understand.  We feel fear in response to things that are different, or new, or outside the realm of our experience.  And that is precisely what happened that morning at the tomb.  The women came expecting to find death.  And although many of us wish it weren’t the case, death is something that we understand.  And by “understand,” I don’t mean that it always makes sense, or that we know everything about it, but rather it is something that we all have experience with.  As much as it hurts, and is uncomfortable, and is something that many people don’t like to think about, we have all experienced death in one form or another during the course of our lives.  As opposed to this whole resurrection business, which was so far outside the realm of anything that anyone had ever experienced.  It was something that was utterly foreign.  Something that we are still trying to understand and process some 2000 years later, so we can hardly blame these women, these disciples (because, sidenote Jesus has female disciples too, despite the fact that we usually only hear about the 12 male ones because you know, the patriarchy), but if we’re still struggling with it, we can hardly blame these disciples for not understanding right away.  There are two certainties in life – death and taxes – and you’re telling me that you just reduced that list by half?  That’s gonna take a minute to sink in.  Given my experience with that train, I completely understand why they ran, I think I might have too. 

What we don’t hear in this story, what is left up to our imagination, is the fact that eventually they had to stop running.  Eventually their dead sprint away from the tomb slowed to a jog, and then to a walk, until they came to a stop and were left to begin processing this world altering news.  They began to wrestle with this brand-new idea that death is not the end, and that new life will always have the final word; which is a realization that changes everything.  The promise of Easter is what makes the words that we hear on Ash Wednesday – remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return – not a curse, but a blessing, a release, a reminder that death is never the end, and that is not where our story, nor Jesus’ story, ends.  Which is good, because as far as stories go, if this truly were the ending, it would need a lot of work.  Generally speaking, we like stories that provide closure, neat and tidy endings, a satisfying resolution.  But what we get with Mark is discomfort and uncertainty.  We’re left leaning forward with bated breath as if to say, “And then what happened?”  In fact, so many people felt so unsettled and unresolved by this ending to Mark’s gospel, that somewhere along the way an additional 12 verses were added.  But through archeological research and study of original manuscripts, scholars eventually realized that what we read today is where the story was meant to end – sort of.  Because actually, this isn’t meant to be an ending at all, but rather a new beginning.  The angel says that Jesus has gone ahead of them and will meet them in Galilee – which is the place where it all started.  Where the disciples were first called.  Where Jesus’ ministry began.  To use the language of musical composition, this is no ending, but rather a repeat that brings us back to the top.  It is a sign that this is not the finish line, but a brand-new starting point. 

And this is the perfect day to contemplate such things.  We gather together tonight on this Holy Saturday because we do not know precisely when our Lord Jesus arose from the tomb.  This day is a liminal space, an in-between space.  Neither here nor there.  Not quite Good Friday, and not quite Easter Sunday, but rather somewhere in-between.  And for some that can be a very uncomfortable place to be, an uncertain place to be, and therefore a potentially scary place to be.  But I’d also like to suggest that this is exactly the place where we are meant to be.  Because in addition to being uncomfortable, and uncertain, this place is also active, creative, and generative.  It is a place of shifting, and becoming, and movement.  A place where we can bear witness to endings that transform into new beginnings, to death that gives way to new life, and despair that becomes joy, and fear that is replaced with hope.  And in this liminal space, as we straddle the divide between Good Friday and Easter morning, we are able to witness the transformative power of God’s love for the world.  A love so strong that even the powers of sin and death are no match for its might.

The truth is, that the resurrection of Jesus is a story that takes some time to sink in, which is why we retell it every year.  In fact, we retell it every Sunday morning.  Each week we proclaim Christ’s death and resurrection.  In part, because it is the ultimate good news for our sin-sick souls, but also because we need time to truly let something that audacious sink in.  To have it soak into the core of who we are.  To become Easter people, resurrection people, and to truly know that God’s love has triumphed over the powers of sin and death.  The conclusion of Mark’s Gospel is an ending that bids us to begin again.  We are invited into the story, because with an ending like this we can’t help but to ask, “And what happens next?”  And that, my dear friends, is up to you and me.  Because what good is good news if no one shares it?  It took a while for those first witnesses of the resurrection to recognize what had happened as being good news.  Their first instinct was to run.  How often is that the case in our own lives?  How often do we run from good things simply because they are a little scary, or foreign, or new to us?  Happens more than I care to admit.  Luckily, immediate comprehension and acceptance are not prerequisites for receiving God’s gift of grace.  Whether you’re ready to celebrate with shouts of Alleluia, or you feel like high-tailing it from the tomb, know that there is a place for you in this story.  And whenever you are ready, Jesus will be there waiting, ready to begin again, for He has risen, he has risen indeed!  Amen.

Photo Credits: https://bethesdalutheranchurch.com/blog/easter-eulogy/, https://endastore.com/product/jesus-guess-whos-back-back-again-shirt/, https://www.soniagallucci.com/en/the-freeze-response-to-stress/, https://www.pinterest.com/pin/294915475568542167/, https://www.sermoncentral.com/church-media-preaching-sermons/video-illustrations-about-death, https://www.oldchurchrd.com/events/easter-vigil/2024-03-30,