A Sermon by Pastor Tom Lacey . . .
when good news didn’t travel fast
Mark 16:1-8, Preached at Congregational Church of Boca Raton, April 12, 2009
It was time for some Friday night fun and fellowship. When the three couples from church arrived at the steak house, they were assigned a number, sent to the crowded, noisy bar and told to wait there until their number was called. As they waited, a cocktail waitress came by and said, "Welcome to happy hour, what would you like to drink?" The three couples graciously declined anything from the bar. "Just waiting for a table," they said. Fifteen minutes later, the waitress came by again with the same invitation. Again, the couples informed her they were waiting for a table. Five minutes later she returned. One of the men had mentioned to the Sunday school teacher among them that their table was probably being delayed in hopes that they would order something from the bar first. So when the waitress came by with her, "Welcome to happy hour" speech again, the kindergarten teacher informed her, "Dear, we are all Congregationalists and this is as happy as we're going to get, so please tell them to get us a table."
Jesus’ time of trial and crucifixion have come to a happy ending with the resurrection. Christ's glorious resurrection has turned the pain of Good Friday into the joy of Easter Sunday. We all like happy endings, which reminds me of the story of the father who took his little boy to a pet shop to pick out a puppy for his birthday. For a long time the little guy looked at the assortment in the cages, thinking of colors, shapes, sizes, everything important. Finally the dad interjected, "Decided which one you want?" "Yes," the child replied, pointing to one that was enthusiastically wagging its tail. "I want the one with the happy ending."
But you know, we may be rushing things just a little bit this morning. I know the high point of the church year, Easter, is here, no matter the state of the world around us, personally or economically; and yet our resurrection passage is short, mysterious, and leaves us with no appearance of a risen Jesus to put a nice, happy ending to the story. There is an empty tomb—and a promise that Jesus will meet the women and disciples in Galilee. But that’s all. What gives? Well, I’ll tell you this: One of the most significant issues in the study of this Gospel is its ending. Four possibilities are recognized. Mark ends where we stopped, at 16:8, as it does in the two oldest manuscripts. There is the "shorter" ending of the two additional sentences added to verse 8, which doesn't have much support from experts. There is the "longer" ending, vv. 9-20, which are included in many manuscripts, but most scholars point out that the style and language reflect a different author than the rest of Mark. There is also the fourth possibility that Mark intended a longer ending, but he was unable either to write or that he wrote it but it’s been lost. But wait, there’s more. What makes the most likely ending, the one where we stopped this morning, even nuttier is to know it in its original language. In the Greek, verse 8 ends with the word gar, which is our “for,” and in Greek this gar is a part of speech that normally comes second in a clause of several or more words. However, in verse 8 in Greek gar is all you get; there is no word that follows. The Gospel according to Mark ends mid-sentence, or at the very least it is incomplete, which is why someone added that funny two sentence ending. The truth is in all probability this gar is the last word of Mark.
Before we say anything more about the end, let’s go to the beginning, and the women. The same women who witnessed Jesus’ death and burial are now the same women who witness the empty tomb. They know he was put in there. In fact they know so well that they are realistically and seriously concerned about the stone. How are they going to serve Jesus’ by anointing his body when such a huge obstacle stands in their way? God has a solution—and scripture tells us this with the easy, passive phrase, “the stone was rolled back.” Who rolled it back? God rolled it back. Who raised Jesus? God raised Jesus. The entire event, even if it’s never said directly, is understood as God’s doing. Even if we never see the words “Made by God” we do understand that the entire universe, our lives, are not made by human hands; these are all God’s doing.
When the women look inside the tomb they see a young man. Who
he is, we don’t know. But he is at least angelic in the sense that he brings a
message, which is what angels are—message bringers—a message that is the key to
this passage, and the overwhelming story of Mark’s good news. “He has risen, he
is not here.” The women are looking in the wrong place. The one who was dead is
no longer so, and so he’s no longer in need of a tomb. In fact, Jesus is so
alive that he is waiting for them somewhere else. This is what the angel means
when he tells them: “…he is going ahead of you to
But what happens in this story? The women hear a promise—no risen Jesus—just words from an angel, and that is when they take off in terror, amazement, and ultimately fear, never saying a thing to anyone, according to Mark. Not much of a finish, is it? As someone asked, "When is an ending not the end? When a dead man rises from the tomb—and when a gospel ends in the middle of a sentence."
But let’s think about this for a moment. Who can blame the women for running away? Their world was dramatically, suddenly thrown from a course they grieved, but at least it was one that fit into their understanding of how things work. How things work includes both the finality of death and the immovability of large stones. Perhaps they brought along with them even more, something we might be surprised to consider: relief. Even in grief there can be a measure of relief, for many reasons that may include a sense of closure. And it's that closure that brought the relief. They had approached the tomb grieving, but also with a deep relief that they were no longer burdened with the challenge of costly discipleship. But when God shows up, and Jesus doesn’t, instead of being "off the hook," they discover to their terror and amazement that the kingdom dream is not dead, the reign of God is at hand, and in fact there is work to be done and risks to be faced. It's one thing just to be afraid or even to have your world turned upside down, but it's an entirely different thing to have an encounter, an experience, with God's power and presence. No wonder they ran! The challenge still lay before them. It still lies before us. Disbelief is easy. Real belief, real encounter with God, that’s when the rubber hits the road. Are we willing on the power of a promise and faith to go to Galilee, to meet the Risen Lord? Are you ever willing to meet Jesus, a resurrected Jesus, and surrender your life to God?
Someone once said, “The task on Easter … is to tell stories about resurrection in a world where everyone dies.” Richard W. Swanson Eric Butterworth tells about a young soldier who lost his legs in battle. Something died within this young man when he found he would never walk again. He lay in his hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He refused to talk to anyone who tried to help him. He refused to cooperate with doctors or nurses who wanted to help him to adjust. One day another inmate of the hospital strolled in and sat down on a chair near the bed. He drew a harmonica from his pocket and began to play softly. The patient looked at him for a second, then back to the ceiling. That was all for that day. Next day the player came again. For several days he continued to come and play quietly. One day he said, "Does my playing annoy you?" The patient said, "No, I guess I like it." They talked a little more each day. One day the harmonica player was in a jovial mood. He played a sprightly tune and began to do a tap dance. The soldier looked on but was apparently unimpressed. "Hey, why don't you smile once and let the world know you're alive!" the dancer said with a friendly smile. But the legless soldier said, "I might as well be dead." "Okay," answered his happy friend, "so you're dead. But you're not as dead as a fellow who was crucified two thousand years ago, and he came out of it all right." "Oh, it's easy for you to preach," replied the patient, "but if you were in my fix, you'd sing a different tune." With this the dancer stood up and said, "I know a two-thousand-year-old resurrection is pretty far in the dim past. So maybe an up-to-date example will help you to believe it can be done." With that he pulled up his trouser legs and the young man in the bed looked and saw two artificial limbs. The tap-dancing fellow with the harmonica once lay where the young soldier now lay. He himself had known the power of resurrection. He had learned to live life abundantly—even without his legs. Needless to say, the young soldier's own resurrection began that moment.
There is a resurrection for every death, even Death; there is a found for every lost, a healing for every hurt, there is a promise that overcomes every pain. Jesus is loose in the world. He goes ahead of us into the future to meet and claim us, not on our terms, but on his. We can no longer deal with Jesus as a dead body, safely buried in a tomb. There is no containing him and no forgetting him.
Mark's disconcerting ending doesn’t record an encounter with
the risen Christ because he didn’t want to have the disciples see Jesus and then
believe. He ends rather with a promise that if they believe then they will see.
If they believe enough to journey, to journey to
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