Rev. Sandy Lacey
March 31, 2024 – Easter
The original ending of the Gospel of Mark is my new favorite resurrection account. Yes, the other three Gospels accounts tie things up much more neatly, and don’t leave us hanging like this Gospel does, but today I wonder if that might be the point. I do not know when the other two addendums were added or who added them, but most N.T. scholars will tell you that this was the original ending. It’s not hard to figure out why the addendums were added – the story needs “cleaned up” a bit. After all, we’re talking about the resurrection! But what if the original ending is the better option for this Gospel account.
The two Marys and Salome in today’s story set out to do the grim task of cleaning Jesus’ tortured body after his death and the Sabbath is over. The story tells us that they’re concerned about who will help them roll away the heavy stone; and I am sure that they, like us when we are grieving, were probably talking about Jesus and his ministry, about what the future will hold, about whether the disciples will ever leave their hiding place, etc. They had quite a surprise, though, when they got to the burial site. The stone was already moved and a stranger in white told them that Jesus had been raised from the dead and they were to go tell the disciples and Peter to look for him in Galilee (the place where he began his ministry.) Marks tells us that they fled from the tomb and did not tell anyone anything because they were afraid.
Well, I can relate. How about you? Well, for one thing, it just so happens that my faith life has not been, is not now, and likely never will be neat, clean, and perfect. It takes me a while to understand things. There are times that I struggle. There are times that I am so focused on my agenda that I am completely taken aback when something miraculous happens. There are times in which I allow obstacles in my path to keep me from doing what is good and right. There are times in which I feel that I have to take a step back and regroup. There are times that I allow fear to be my guiding principle, rather than faith and joy. In those times I cannot even find the notes, much less the words to sing hallelujahs. I may not be heading to a cemetery to cleanse a body in preparation for a funeral, but I do know something about hanging around in tombs of my own making. I may know (at times) the right things to say and do, but that does not mean I have the strength, vision, and fortitude to say and do them. Sometimes through the gift of God’s grace my faith soars; while at other times, fear, anxiety, uncertainty rules the day. I suspect the two Marys, Salome, and I are not alone with these struggles.
I like this Gospel account because in it, we have a clearer sense of how faith is a journey, a process, in which there are ups and downs, forward movement and no movement at all. There are times in which we stand perfectly still. Today we are invited to use our imagination a bit, to imagine the women’s conversation as they run home. We are invited to imagine their fear and their amazement, to imagine how long it will take them to summon the courage to find the frightened disciples and Peter to tell them what they have seen and heard. I appreciate knowing that I am not the only one who is incomplete. The two Marys and Salome could describe any one of us at any given time.
Some of the best stories we read and hear do not wrap things up at the end, but instead leave a little room for us to wonder and use our imaginations. Like cliffhangers, we’re left to wonder if the good guy or girl will win or if the star-crossed lovers will finally find each other again or if life will go on after an unexpected and tragic death. These stories stay with us, maybe even annoy us as we consider the different possibilities. It could go either way . . . and the story is compelling – is it not?
The second thing I find interesting about Mark’s original ending is the and Peter part of the story. Was Peter separated from the rest of the disciples at this point? We know from our readings on Thursday night that Peter was mortified at his failure to stand by Jesus in his hour of need. In fiercely denying that he ever knew him three times and his remembrance that Jesus had predicted said denial, Peter’s grief was profound. But notice this passage. There is no recrimination for Peter’s denial, no punishment, no “say 50 Hail Mary’s and repent of your sin” kind of thing. In the wording, there is an assumption implied that Peter no longer identified himself as a disciple, that his self-loathing was so profound that he could not see a way forward as Jesus’ disciple. As I mentioned Thursday evening, this understanding of no recrimination is oftentimes not what we want to hear. In our culture, we think people should pay for their sins (or at least repent) before forgiveness can be offered, ourselves included. Sometimes the hardest person to forgive is yourself for what you have done or left undone and we can easily become stuck in this self-loathing trap that keeps us from moving forward. Some translations say “tell the disciples, even Peter.” Mary Luti puts it this way: “In this and other Easter accounts, there is not a single recriminating word about the past, no demands for an explanation, nothing that would settle the score. The risen Christ will chastise the disciples for being slow to believe he is living, but he never holds them accountable for having been cowards while he was dying. That someone would withhold judgment is hard enough for the guilty to accept; but that he would show singular affection to the one who failed most spectacularly is almost unbearable.”[1] She goes on to say that “both our inner and outer worlds are structured for blame, but Easter inaugurates a world free of reprisal. . . No wonder it inspired fear, and even revulsion, in the first disciples. We would all feel better if we got punished”[2] and worse, we would all feel better if we could punish others. Ah, but the Easter story is not meant to fit within our social construct. The Easter story is all about restoration – of Jesus to life, of us to faith and life.
The third thing about this Easter account that is remarkable to me is the white robed man’s instruction to go to Galilee to see Jesus. You may remember that Galilee is the place where Jesus began his ministry. It is also a place that is very different from Jerusalem in that the area was filled with working class folks. The folks from Galilee were not the wealthy elite class of people; instead, they were often the people on the margins of polite society – trades people, fishermen, herders. It’s as if Jesus says, “Go back to the beginning, disciples, and let’s look at my ministry again. Let’s begin again with the people who so need to hear of God’s love and mercy.” So, for me it begs the question – where are we to look for Jesus? Are we to look for Jesus in the marginalized folks of our culture that we are often quick to ignore, placate, or criticize? People who may look and act differently from us may just be the place where Jesus encourages our attention and involvement. Rather than focusing on what they are doing wrong and how we recommend they change; perhaps we need to focus on God’s love and restoration to them. Again from last Thursday, we may just be getting it backwards if we insist that people change or become like us before God (and we) can welcome them home. That is really not our business. Our business is to share God’s mercy, love, and presence with all people and allow God’s mercy to change hearts and lives.
I was thinking about the play and movie, Jesus Christ, Superstar, especially the newer version with John Legend. It has an interesting ending – simply light dawning that permeates everything. Today, we are reminded that a new day is beginning and the light has come. We are reminded in Mark’s Gospel that even though the story is incomplete and even though we are often like those fearful and timid women in Mark’s Gospel; God is not finished yet.
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[1] Mary Luti, “Pastoral Perspective” in Feasting on the Gospels: A Feasting on the Word Commentary on Mark. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.) p. 532,534.
[2] Ibid, p. 534.