Easter: Wild Uncertainty

The resurrection of Jesus from the Gospel of Mark

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.

Wild Uncertainty

Jesus is offstage for his own resurrection. And we experience this moment with the women who have come to tend the dead body of their loved one.

First, they are worried about the stone. It’s a large stone, large enough to keep wild animals and casual bandits away from the body. They saw it put in place, and they don’t think that the three of them will be able to move it. But they go anyway. The task they anticipate is emotional, anointing the body of their friend and leader, and likely unpleasant, since he died violently and was put away over a day ago. It’s also dangerous. Would caring for Jesus’ body mark them as rebels too? Would someone else be anointing their bodies tomorrow? They don’t wait to collect more people to help them move the stone–they just go as soon as they can. Maybe following Jesus has taught them to expect miracles.

But they didn’t expect this one. The stone was already rolled away. I can imagine that for the last 36 hours they’ve been trying to figure out how to move the stone, when they weren’t simply grieving. They were trying to figure out how they might move the stone without getting anyone else in trouble. And the obstacle they showed up dreading was already taken care of.

But then, another surprise. The tomb is empty. Not totally empty–there’s this guy in a white robe who narrates what they’re seeing, or not seeing in this case. How many of us are feeling burnt out, running on fumes, or just plain empty? What is the empty tomb to us, when we are so energetically empty?

Well, what was it to Mary, Mary, and Salome? I imagine they’re empty, too. In the last few days, they’ve seen their loved one and leader arrested, tortured, and executed. The other members of their group have scattered in fear–the same could happen to them. This is terrible trauma. And the three of them are the only ones who are daring enough, or heartbroken enough, to stay, watch the whole ordeal, and risk their lives caring for Jesus’ dead body.

Suddenly, they’ve put everything on the line for a body that’s not even there. They’ve given everything they have, they’re empty, the tomb is empty.

This stranger tells them not to be alarmed, but they are. They didn’t know what would happen before, but now they don’t even know what is happening. The text describes their terror, dread, and fear.

They leave the tomb. What they came to do is not possible–they can’t anoint a body that isn’t there–so they leave not knowing what to say.

And there it ends. Not just our reading, but the earliest gospel, the first narrative account of the ministry and miracles of Jesus of Nazareth just stops when Mary, Mary, and Salome leave the tomb. Later editors tacked on endings to make more sense of the moment. Later gospel authors give us time with post-resurrection Jesus. But the gospel of Mark originally ended when the women, Jesus’ would-be mourners, leave the tomb.

I hear a message in that moment for now. We’re on empty, coming from empty, shaped by trauma, and heading out into a future we don’t understand yet.

We don’t know what’s outside the tomb, any more than we could have predicted what was inside. When we don’t know, we can go back to what we do know.

What’s your stone? What obstacles are you dreading right now? What’s the thing that is in your way, preventing you from doing the thing you most need to do?

I can’t speak to your personal answer, but collectively we’re living in a time that might look shockingly familiar to the author of the gospel of Mark, which was written in the Roman empire around the year 70. The Roman empire depended on religious nationalism, on the cult of devotion to the emperor, to stabilize its expanding borders. And here we are watching our government lean into imperialism, Christian nationalism, and senseless authoritarianism. We’re at war in the Middle East, and we remember that for some of us it’s not so remote people in this congregation have loved ones in Israel, in Palestine, in Lebanon, in Iran. We remember that governments go to war but it’s the people who live with the violence and loss.

Mary, Mary, and Salome faced the terror of having to undermine the most powerful empire, which occupied their land, to grieve and tend their dead. We live within the American empire, founded on colonialism, occupation, and exploitation, and it underscores every act of care we try to offer the world. For some reason, call it stubbornness or integrity or even faith, we haven’t given up. We still care for one another. We still try to make the world a better place, even when people in power try to claim the world for themselves.

Being willing to face the obstacle makes it moveable.

So, we arrive already depleted at this tomb, find out that the problem was not what we expected, and now must go back out and figure out how to live in a world turned upside-down. Like Mary, Mary, and Salome, we have each other. We don’t have to do it alone. You have people who will help you through the strangest and most confusing situations. Maybe in other parts of your life, but certainly right here, in this congregation.

We need one another, so we’re there for one another. Universalism comes from the idea that we are all children of God, that God loves everyone so much that of course we’re all saved. So, what are we going to do if we’re not busy trying to get into heaven? We take care of each other. We look for suffering and find ways to help. We cry out for justice in the face of oppression. We try over and over again to learn that us means all of us, not just people like us. We try to put children and disabled people and outcasts at the center of our community, just like Jesus. We fight for the rights of those who suffer and die at the hands of the state, like Jesus did. And we pray. We open to what is larger than ourselves and let it change us.

Oh beloveds, we’re coming out of the tomb, just like Mary, Mary, and Salome did. We’re coming out of the tomb, and there’s so much to do.

Please join me in prayer.

Spirit of life and death, love and belonging, who has spoken to us in many traditions and speaks to us still, we are empty. We are empty and coming from more emptiness. Help us to remember that emptiness is a state of possibility, not just lack. Sound an echo through our empty soul that the vessel itself might sing an alleluia.

In the holiest of names and the sweetest of silences, we pray.

Amen. Alleluia.