Mark 16:1-8; March 31, 2024; Easter Sunday
“Lord, by the stripes which wounded thee, from death’s dread sting thy servants free, that we may live and sing to thee: Alleluia!”
- The last verse of the hymn we just sang, “The Strife is O’er”
Alleluia!
Alleluia, indeed.
One of these days I just want to get up here and say, “Alleluia, He is risen!” and then walk off. Because I mean really, what else beats that? What other good news could possibly topple that? Why waste space, and time, when we can just repeat that over and over again. I mean, come on, say it with me now, “Alleluia, He is risen!” He is risen, indeed.
So, I was truly conflicted this past week, when I set out to preach something warm and fuzzy, eloquent and triumphant, only to be met with Mark’s less than triumphant ending.
Now, don’t get me wrong, it is my favorite gospel, and if you’ve been worshipping with us these last several months, you would already know plenty about Mark, as we’ve been in it from its beginning all the way up to its ending.
And boy, what a thud of an ending he gives us, huh? Sheesh.
Instead of a mic-drop moment, it’s like he set off a vacuum instead, and just sucked all of the air right out of the room.
For “they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”
“And, they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid!”
That’s it. That’s literally how it ends. The very last verse of his gospel.
Indeed then, Mark is the most difficult gospel text we have in our scripture when approaching the joy of the resurrection. For on the surface, there is nothing terribly joyous about it.
Three women set out with some spices to anoint Jesus’ dead body, only to find an angel ready to greet them. The angel tells them, look, he ain’t here, he has been raised, go and tell the disciples the good news, and to meet him in Galilee. …But what do they do instead?
“And they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them.”
Terror and amazement had seized them.
Terror and amazement.
Now, I don’t know about you, but even though this is all markedly lacking joy, it yet pretty much nails where we are in the world today, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s all terror and amazement.
I wake up every day next to someone, God bless her, who is full of both terror and amazement. Amazement over the luck we have struck in having such a beautiful, beautiful kid we can call our son; and yet terror, at the world he is slowly stepping into. And I imagine neither she nor I are alone in those feelings. That tension of joy and fear, of excitement and anxiety, of amazement and terror, it’s everywhere.
So, if anyone tells you this Bible isn’t relevant, you know that they are straight up lying and haven’t read it. Because Mark understands something that is absolutely timeless and relevant, that life doesn’t always go the way we want it or expect it, and that even when we should be joyful, sometimes, we just ain’t. For we sometimes we just can’t. And, when we are fearful and afraid, sometimes it’s just so darn hard to see the way forward. Isn’t it?
“And they said nothing to anyone.”
And really, can you blame them? I mean, think about what happened to them for a second:
Along came Jesus, the Son of God, the Savior of the World, and he handpicked these guys to be his own personal friends and followers. Just imagine then the rush they must have felt. Who me? Yeah, you! And follow him they did!
And along the way they saw things they never could have imagined. They heard things more beautiful than poetry. They felt Love more deeply than any dream could have conjured. But then they saw that very Love and person — their friend — brutally tortured and killed, his body bloodied and picked over, and lots cast for his clothes.
I think then I can give them a break for being terrified, even after the angel gives them the good news. For after all, the living Word of good news with whom they had just spent the last three years of their lives with, was now gone. And, he went in the most horrific way possible.
So no, I don’t really fault them in their grief for not trusting in a story that seemed too good to be true. For in grief, it’s sometimes hard to remember what you’ve been told. In grief, it’s sometimes tough to believe in good news. In grief it’s often impossible to do much of anything really, let alone move out from wherever you’ve holed yourself up. And I think that the lot of us here know all too well just how true this is.
I mean, have you ever tried to help someone who is at their lowest point? Their most depressed and terrified moment? Through no fault of your own, nor theirs, chances are that all the good reasoning and hope you can give them just won’t break through. At least not immediately at that.
At least not immediately.
So, it should really come as no surprise then my friends, why our bulletin cover has been smeared with a less colorful, less happy, and less immediately understood depiction of joy on this Easter morning.
Oh yes, my colleagues wanted me to change the cover art. They even held a secret meeting in my absence attempting a coup to do just that! And all of this true (even if it was and is in good humor). Presumably to get something prettier and more flowery and more “Eastery” on it for all of you.
But my friends, there is literally nothing more “Eastery” than being born again from all of the ugly, from the shadows of the uncomfortable and the unsightly.
For the only way we get to today and have it hold any meaning at all is to also recognize what came before and what both he and the disciples went through and suffered, so that we all might come to believe just how special it is that he somehow rose above it. And amen to that!
Joan Miró titled this piece on our cover, “The Birth of the World.” The Birth of the World. He called it a Genesis of sorts, a spark of creation. Whereas just like our God achieved in our Genesis, where God tamed the watery chaos and the dark of night so that both land and light might one day emerge, here in this image, a red balloon (like Banksy’s famous red heart balloon, if you know it…) rises to give us hope, that even in these days smeared with terror and amazement, we too might hope to one day float away above it all.
Truly then what other message is more fitting for today in this world where bridges can collapse without notice? Where war can break out and spread through the Holy Land. Where nature can change course so quicky and lead to fire and flood and families trapped with no place to go or escape. Where even brothers and sisters, neighbors in the same community, are at each other’s throats over politics.
Wouldn’t it be lovely my friends, to just lift off and fly away above it all?
Well, here’s the good news! We don’t need a balloon, red, heart, or otherwise. For Jesus Christ has done this for us already! For in and through his resurrection, we have been given hope that we too can rise. And that one day we will leave all of this terrifying gravity behind… and just escape… in wonder and joy and amazement, for the strife will be over.
So, my friends, even if today democracy feels like it’s being nailed to a cross; or even if tomorrow court rulings seem to roll us right back into a cave; or even if next week you’re just over it all and feeling sick to your stomach, grieved, and depressed; our gospels promise us that darkness will not win, for that light will rule the day.
For just as sure as the morning sun rises to help us believe that today might be better than yesterday, God’s son, Jesus our Christ, rises to give each of us hope that in the end we will all be okay. And again, I say amen to that.
My friends, He is risen! He is risen, indeed!
Alleluia!
Amen
