Mark 16:1-8
When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought perfumed oils so that they could anoint Jesus. Very early, just after sunrise on the first day of the week, they came to the tomb. They were saying to one another, “Who will roll back the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked, they found that the huge stone had been rolled back. On entering the tomb, they saw a young person sitting at the right, dressed in a white robe. They were very frightened, but the youth reassured them: “Do not be amazed! You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, the One who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him. Now go and tell the disciples and Peter, ‘Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee, where you will see him just as he told you.’” They made their way out and fled from the tomb bewildered and trembling; but they said nothing to anyone, because they were so afraid.
This is our most sacred story,
Thanks be to God.
Sermon
They said nothing to anyone,
because they were so afraid.
This is one of our sacred stories;
Thanks be to God.
They said nothing to anyone,
because they were so afraid.
This is our most sacred story.
Alleluia. Amen?
When the Sabbath was over,
the women brought spices
because that was what they knew to do.
They arrived at the tomb,
uncertain how they would even
approach the task,
knowing a boulder stood, sturdy and sure,
between
their willing hands
and the sacred work
they came to do:
the tending of the scarred
and lifeless body
of the one
who had showed them
how to live.
They were looking for
many things,
closure,
a chance to feel they’d
fulfilled an obligation,
a few more moments
in his presence
or the presence of what
used to be him,
a chance to think
with their hands occupied,
a break from the men
who’d been thrown into a
whirlwind
of questions about their own
roles, now,
and who all of a sudden
weren’t quite so sure
as Jesus had been
about these women
and what their role would be now
(they never would be again)
They walked in the darkness
preceding the dawn
arm in arm,
for the pain was still raw,
each holding the other up
from one step
to the next
until they could finish
the work.
Afraid of the darkness
that surrounded them
three women, alone,
out among the tombs;
afraid of the political pushback
that awaited the more zealous
disciples
who had spent the day before
raving about revenge;
afraid of the emptiness
ravaging their spirits,
the gaping hole that was now laid bare
where vision
and purpose
used to live
These women had much cause
to fear
long before they laid eyes
on the stone:
the stone,
out of place
the stone,
rolled away
the stone which no longer contained
the Stone the builders had rejected
the stone which was not where it should be
turning their expectations
upside down
the stone
which marked
this moment
holy
They said nothing to anyone,
because they were so afraid.
This is one of our sacred stories;
Thanks be to God.
They said nothing to anyone,
because they were so afraid.
This is our most sacred story.
Alleluia. Amen.
I’m not sure what it means
that Mark’s story
ends here:
they were afraid,
and did not open their mouths.
Not sure
what Mark meant us to hear
in the void
where proclamation
might have been
but I do know this:
it feels true.
I’ve been
more afraid
of the hopeful unknown
than of the certainty
even of death,
at times,
I have known what it is
to feel more afraid
of this
mystery
than the full force
of his death
what I mean is
sometimes it costs more
to acknowledge
that this isn’t over
that the work goes on,
that it will require more of me,
sometimes it
requires so much
that the pain
of saying goodbye
seems an easier price to pay
The finality of a cross is hard
but then it’s over
This empty tomb is less
an exclamation point
than a perpetual blank
waiting to be filled in.
What this empty tomb tells me
is that the story isn’t finished
and while that’s good news
it also puts me back on the hook
and if I buy that
it won’t be easy
it will require something of me
it will require everything of me
It might even require me
to say something
for if this gospel has nothing
to say
to the world
then it is no gospel at all
for generations crying out
for the church to
say something
for their peers to
say something
do something
do anything
other than cover our eyes
and ears
and move along
as if nothing is wrong
the good news
in order to be good
must have
something to say
to the poor
to the outcast
to the ones who are hurting
to the ones who are
under someone’s thumb
under someone’s knee
under anyone’s power but their own
if the church has nothing
to say
when we see
the abuse of power
at the expense of the powerless
then we have left Jesus
up on the cross
So when we tell his story
when we talk about Jesus
let's agree not to
crucify him
over
and over
to emphasize
Christ crucified
to the point that
the living Christ
can’t get a word in
edgewise,[i]
the Christ who lived
and breathed
and taught about
banquets for lepers
and unseating
the powerful
from their thrones
He had plenty to say
about the upside-down
kingdom of God
about the last
being first
(and it wasn’t a metaphor)
He had plenty to say
about releasing the prisoners
and feeding the hungry
and loving the stranger
He had plenty to say
about those who
avoided these clarion calls
in favor of
a more traditional,
respectable faith.
When we tell this story
may we open ourselves
to be drawn
like the women
on that early Easter morning
toward the emptiness
of the tomb
toward that pulsing
blinking
cursor
waiting for us
to enter
and finish the story
to fill in the blank
for isn’t that what Mark’s ending
to his gospel
truly invites?
They said nothing to anyone,
because they were afraid.
Clearly it can’t be so,
or else, why are we here?
They said something
to someone
eventually.
And whatever it was
it was powerful enough
that we are here
talking about it
today.
May the church today,
likewise,
find
something to say
before those who need
its all-encompassing grace
most deeply
lose heart
and walk away.
And if we don’t know
what to say
may we let our lives speak
listening deeply
to the places we’ve been wounded
to the hurts that have shaped us
listening now
not only for the sake
of our own healing
but for the healing
of the world
They said nothing to anyone,
because they were so afraid.
This is one of our sacred stories;
They said nothing to anyone,
because they were so afraid.
This is our most sacred story.
Alleluia. Amen.
Thanks be to God,
who encompasses our fear
who stands
alongside us
staring down
the abyss
of what
darkness surrounds us
for there is
much
to fear,
and yet we are not
overcome.
Thanks be to God
Who bears with us
in the face of
our sorrow
who bears us up
as we reach for the words
we do not know yet
how to speak,
the words
that bring
fullness of life
from the emptiness
of a tomb.
Amen.
[i] Barbara Ehrenreich, Nickel and Dimed (New York: Henry Holt, 2001), 68-69.