More Afraid

Mark 16:1-8

April 16, 2017 (Easter) • Mount Pleasant UMC

I enjoy going to zoos, and when the kids were younger, we would hit up the zoo in just about any city we visited. Several years ago, I chaperoned Christopher’s class trip to the Indianapolis Zoo, and I was assigned to a small group of boys who all were, shall we say, very energetic. We saw the whole zoo…twice. And we ate lunch along the way. It truly was the ADD version of the Indy Zoo; I could barely keep up! But what makes the zoo safe for us to visit, for schoolchildren to run through without any worries? How are we able to go and view all these wild animals, many creatures we would be afraid of if we ran into them in the wild? It’s because of the bars, the cages. We know we’re safe because the animals are contained. But what if they got loose? What if the bars of the cages suddenly swung open? What would happen then? There would be mass chaos. People would run, most of them frightened, some of them just trying to get out of the way. But there would definitely be fear in the air because something wild had been set loose.

That’s what Easter is all about. On that first Easter Sunday, something wild got set loose, something that had been caged up, cooped up for all of human history until that point. Something changed on that first Easter Sunday, something broke loose and got into the world, and the world has never been the same since. But as people approached what became that first Easter, they had no idea what was about to happen. Everything was quiet, over, done with. Jesus had been arrested, put through a mock trial, and executed by one of the cruelest means possible. Late on Friday, just before sundown, he had been put in a borrowed tomb and a stone had been rolled in front of it. And that was it. His friends had hastily prepared the body for burial; normally, there was more time, but the sabbath, the day of rest which began at sundown, was quickly approaching. And so Nicodemus and Joseph of Armiathea, two influential people in Jerusalem, came together and asked for the body of Jesus. Normally, crucified criminals would have been thrown in a mass grave, or left to rot on the cross, but Pilate, the Roman governor, was really done with this Jesus. It had been a long day and Pilate didn’t care what happened to Jesus’ body, so he gave permission for the two men to take it and do whatever they wanted with it. What did he care? So they took the body, but sundown was coming soon, so they had to bury it quickly. They would have wrapped the body in strips of linen, putting ointments and spices in between the layers. They would have to use only what they had on hand, because no one had expected this to happen. No preparations had been made. So they do a rushed job wrapping Jesus’ body, and then they sealed the tomb with a large rolling stone and began their sabbath observance. It was over. Jesus was dead. Everything was done, or at least as done as it could be for that day (cf. Mansfield, Killing Jesus, pg. 194).

At sundown on Saturday, the sabbath was over and some of Jesus’ friends went out to buy the spices and oils that were needed to properly finish the burial. Those things were necessary not so much to control the body’s decay but to mask the smell of it. Judaism in that day practiced a two-stage burial. The body would be placed in a tomb, and then, after a year, the bones would be collected and put in an ossuary—a bone box—so that the tomb could be re-used by other family members. The spices would control the smell for those times when others came to this tomb to bury their loved ones. So the materials were purchased on Saturday evening, and then at first light on Sunday morning, the women headed to the tomb. Mark records three women who go: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome (who must have felt left out because her name wasn’t Mary). There is no mention of the men being interested in going to the tomb early Sunday morning. After all, taking care of the body was women’s work, so the men stayed in bed, sleeping their grief away. The women go to the tomb to finish the burial; the Gospels all agree on this point. They do not go looking for a risen Jesus. It’s almost as if he had never spoken about being raised after his death. Or maybe they thought he was deluded because they knew, every bit as much as we do, that dead men don’t rise. The dead stay dead. And so they go to anoint their friend, to care for his body, to finish the work that had been interrupted by the sabbath on Friday. They expect that the cage of death will still be closed, locked and sealed (Card, Mark: The Gospel of Passion, pg. 188; Wright, Mark for Everyone, pg. 222; Walker, The Weekend That Changed the World, pg. 42).

As they make the short journey from Jerusalem to the tomb, they’re not talking about Jesus, what he said or what we did. They’re not even really talking about what’s happened in the last couple of days, though it’s obviously on their minds. Instead, they’re wondering who is going to roll the stone away. They know it’s heavy; archaeological records indicate the average stone size in that time period was 2,750 pounds. Yes, it’s a round, rolling stone, but the shape was just to help close the tomb. On Friday, it would have been rolled downhill and settled in a groove at the door of the tomb. That would hold it in place, and at least two of these women had watched that happen. They know that moving the stone is going to take a lot more strength than they are capable of. So that is their focus (Peterson, Living the Resurrection, pg. 17): who will roll away the stone (16:3)? Then, they turn the corner and find that problem has already been solved for them. The stone is rolled away (16:4). In fact, it’s nowhere in sight. And more than that, the job they actually came to do doesn’t exist anymore because Jesus’ body is not in the tomb. It’s gone. And even then, they don’t stand there and think, “Oh, of course, resurrection! He’s alive!” Nope, instead they wonder where his body went. And no one saw it happen. The most important event in history has no eyewitnesses! Even Matthew, which gives the most detailed description of what happened at the tomb, doesn’t tell us anyone saw Jesus raised. Matthew says the guards only saw an angel coming down and rolling the stone away (Matthew 28:2). But the stone was not rolled away so that Jesus could get out; other accounts later in the day tell us about how his new body passes through walls and locked doors. The tomb was not opened to let him out. The tomb was opened to let us in, to let us see in so we can know he is not there any longer (cf. Walker 46).

The women next encounter an angel who tells them, “He has risen! He is not here” (16:6). And so then they dance and sing and rejoice and get excited and buy a billboard to tell everyone the good news, right? I mean, that’s the reaction we’re supposed to have, correct? Easter is a day of joy and celebration and proclamation. But that’s not what these first visitors to the empty tomb did. Mark says this: “Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid” (16:8). Even though the angel had told them not to be afraid (16:6), they did exactly the opposite. And so, I would imagine, would we. Do you know why? Because the cage has been opened and something has been set loose in the world. The tomb is empty and the world will never be the same again. No wonder the women were terrified. No wonder they run. They run in fear because something deep inside them tells them everything has changed and life will never be the same again.

Times of great change naturally bring great fear. I remember as a kid having this recurring fear of moving. It seemed like every time there was a budget cut at my dad’s work or some change in the economy, there was always the possibility that he was going to lose his job. I remember hearing my parents talk in hushed tones about what they would do, where we might go. And every time, Dad seemed to be just one position higher in seniority than the group they laid off, so he never did lose his job, but I remember well that fear—fear of change, fear of starting over, fear of something new and different. Of course, God’s irony is that he called me to a career in which moving is part of the deal! God has a strange sense of humor!

That fear comes over us when the doctor comes in with a serious look on his face. It’s at least as bad as you thought it might be, or maybe worse. The diagnosis means you’ll face a long treatment, or a serious surgery, or both. Life is changing, and the fear makes you want to run away. Even when you’ve been pronounced cured or healed, even when the treatments are over, there’s the lingering fear that “it” might come back, or the pain might return. You’ve lived with “it” so long you’ve forgotten how to live without “it,” and the fear remains. Or maybe you’ve known that fear when two people you love tell you they are going to get a divorce. Kids especially go through great fear at that time, wondering what life will look like, how will things change, and so many other questions that they often stuff deep down inside. Since 9/11, many if not all of us live in a state of concern or even unspoken fear of terrorism, that “it” might happen again. It’s become a more violent world; we've even seen that in our own community and schools lately. But on that morning nearly sixteen years ago, the world changed literally in seconds, and we woke the next morning to a whole different kind of world, a world that’s never fully recovered from the events of that day. It’s hard to remember when there weren’t constant news reports of terrorism somewhere in the world, and so this low-level fear resides within us, even if we don’t give it voice. Here’s the point: there are lots and lots and lots of reasons for fear in our world. There are plenty of places and situations that cause or bring fear into our lives. We know what these women were feeling outside the tomb. We’ve felt that kind of fear—fear that the world has been turned upside down and nothing will ever be the same.

When we come to Easter, we expect people to rejoice and celebrate, but the Gospels tell us the most common reaction to Jesus’ resurrection was fear. “In fact, people were more afraid after the resurrection than they were before” (Ortberg, Who Is This Man?, pg. 187). Fear is the most frequently mentioned reaction. In the four Gospels, fear is mentioned six times. Life was turned upside down and they didn’t know how to react, what to do (Peterson 27). Death they understood. Jesus’ death on the cross, horrific as it was, they could deal with. But an empty tomb? That’s truly terrifying. Part of their fear came from the realization that they were, most likely, still in the crosshairs of the political and religious leaders. I mean, if Jesus’ body is missing, someone has to account for that. It would be likely that the followers of Jesus would be blamed, maybe even hunted down, arrested and killed themselves. The cross failed, Pilate failed, Caesar failed, the religious leaders failed—and those in power hate to fail. Who might they come after next?

There’s also the lingering question: where is Jesus’ body? At this point, all they have is an angel’s word to go on, an angel who claims Jesus has been raised. Yet that flies in the face of—well, all of human history. Like I said, dead men don’t rise. So where was the body? In fact, in John’s Gospel, Mary Magdalene runs back to the disciples and says to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” (John 20:2). She doesn’t tell them he is raised. She says “they” have taken him. Whoever “they” are, they’re up to no good. Others are wondering too. In Matthew’s Gospel, the Roman guards are paid a “large sum of money” by the religious leaders in order to say that the disciples stole the body. It’s another reaction out of fear; the guards could be killed for failing in their duty, and the religious leaders don’t want Pilate’s wrath to come back on them (cf. Matthew 28:11-15). So they collude and come up with a story to cover both of them. There’s plenty of fear to go around because Jesus is missing. His body is gone. Life is changed, in some way none of them can begin to imagine right now.

What got released that first Easter morning was hope. “Not hope that life would turn out well. Not even hope that there will be life after death. Hope that called people to die: die to selfishness and sin and fear and greed, die to the lesser life of a lesser self so that a greater self might be born” (Ortberg 190). Hope was released on that first Easter. It continues to transform people and can, in fact, transform the whole world.

They didn’t know it on that morning, but what those women witnessed in the garden was hope for life beyond this. The writers of the rest of the New Testament spent a lot of time reflecting on this truth, especially Paul. He said that if only for this life we have faith in Christ, we are the most pitiful people on earth (1 Corinthians 15:19). But, he goes on to say, Christ’s resurrection is the “firstfruits” of our own (15:20). In other words, because Jesus was raised from the dead, we will be, too. And we will have a body like his, a resurrection body, made to last forever. You know, as a pastor, I have done a lot of funerals in the last twenty-four years. I’ve stood beside a lot of caskets, and people sometimes think I’m crazy when I say I enjoy doing funerals more than weddings. But it’s because I get to remind people of this hope, this hope for life beyond this life, this promise that we will be made new, whole, healed. There are so many times I’m standing by the caskets of dear saints who have suffered greatly, whose bodies have been torn apart by cancer or other diseases, or who have been sick for a long time, and in that setting I get to offer hope. A few years ago, I stood by the bedside of a dear lady who was, as it turned out, in her final days, and when I called her name and told her I was from the church, she just kept repeating, “I pray Jesus take me home. I pray Jesus take me home.” I love being able to stand with families and say with confidence that for those who trust in Jesus, there is hope beyond this life, there is healing beyond this life, that because Jesus was raised, we can be too when we put our trust in him. There is no fear in death anymore because Jesus was raised.

I sometimes get asked what life after this looks like, and I honestly don’t know. We’re only given glimpses throughout the Scriptures. The idea of streets of gold or sitting on clouds strumming harps are taken from brief snatches of Scripture that, I think, are more metaphor than anything else. I don’t think it matters what it looks like, because what we are told is that Jesus will be there and that we will made whole, given a new body that is “imperishable” (15:42). Those of us who get up in the morning and have to stretch the back out so that it doesn’t hurt, or those who walk with a walker or ride in a wheelchair, those who have hidden pains, those who have been abused, those who have been scarred in both visible and invisible ways—all will be healed by the Jesus who is there in the midst of it all, the one who was raised so that we will be raised. This hope is what gets me out of bed in the morning. There is hope for life beyond this life.

But Jesus’ resurrection also gives us hope for this life. Paul didn’t say we should only have hope for the next life. There is hope here, too. In fact, at the end of his discussion of the resurrection life and body, he says this: “Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain” (1 Corinthians 15:58). Hope for this life was also released on that first Easter. Those early Christians didn’t just go back to their upper room and keep this good news to themselves. Even with the threat of death and persecution hanging over their heads, they continued to proclaim Jesus crucified and risen. In fact, those early Christians were compelled by their faith in the risen Jesus to make a difference in people’s lives and in their deaths. John Ortberg points out that the world they lived in was desperately afraid of death, so much so that nobody was allowed to be buried in the city of Rome. We also live in a culture that tends to deny death, but we have nothing on the Roman Empire. The culture didn’t want anything to do with dead bodies, so the church eventually allowed people to be buried on their grounds because they believed death was simply a sleep from which we will one day all wake when Jesus returns. In fact, the word they chose for those places of burial, “cemetery,” is actually a borrowed Greek term for dormitory (Ortberg 191), a place to sleep. More than that, they fed the hungry and cared for the poor, tended the sick and took care of the widows because life here matters. They sought to offer hope and healing and strength to everyone they came in contact with. Hope was released on that first Easter, and it transformed the world.

Our calling is not to just hang out here waiting for heaven. We believe God has a plan for this world and that one day it will be redeemed and even resurrected. So we feed the hungry and care for the poor. We tend the sick and take care of those in need because life here matters. We collect food each month for the 14th and Chestnut Community Center, a place that is making a huge difference in the lives of those who live in that neighborhood. We visit in the hospitals and we have an excellent group of folks who visit in the nursing homes and in shut-in homes each week, offering a reminder of Christ’s love and hope. We have an ever-growing Grace Unlimited Ministry, reaching those who have special needs and, by the way, Jess just announced that we are hosting the Night to Shine again next February. We have sent teams to Haiti and Costa Rica and this summer we will have a team once again going to Guatemala to make a difference in practical ministry. Closer to home, we reach children through Upward Sports and impact families struggling with addiction by way of Celebrate Recovery—and so many other ways people’s lives are impacted. In everything we do, we are to be people offering hope, because hope is what got released on that first Easter, and it must make all the difference in the world in the here and how. Give yourselves fully to God’s work, Paul says, and know that it is not in vain.

The first time I really remember losing really someone close to me was when I was in high school. I had been to the funeral home with my parents many times, visiting friends of theirs who had lost someone, but when I was a sophomore in high school, my Grandma Ticen died. Grandma had been a big part of our lives, having lived just a couple of blocks from our house when we were little. Later, when she moved to the “big town” of Rossville, her house was where we often walked to after school on the days Mom was working. She was very important to Doug and I, and it was hard to imagine life without her. Then she had a stroke and everything changed. She struggled for many years with the after effects of that stroke and several others, and then she got sick and just wasn’t getting any better. So I can’t say I was surprised when Carolyn Mosson, the school nurse, came into Mr. Reed’s geometry class and asked me to come with her. On the way to the office, she told me what had happened. The next several days were a blur, and I don't really remember much about them, nor do I remember much about the funeral itself. What I do remember is standing by the graveside at the Geetingsville Cemetery, and even more than that, I remember not being able to walk away when the committal was over. I couldn’t believe she was gone, and suddenly (or finally) the tears just started to come. Gary Hunt, a friend of our family, took me in his arms and just let me cry it out, then whispered words of reassurance to me. Just what I needed at that time of incredible loss—someone who would be “Jesus with skin on” to me. His presence, and the presence of so many other people in the next few weeks, planted the seeds in me to be able to believe the truth that the worst thing is never the last thing (Hamilton, 24 Hours That Changed the World, pg. 131). That because of Jesus’ resurrection, even death is a defeated enemy, and I can live in hope and not in fear. The worst thing is never the last thing because hope was unleashed into the world on that first Easter and the world has never recovered. Thanks be to God!

So the Gospel of Mark ends, appropriately enough, with fear. In your Bibles, there are probably several other verses after verse 8, but scholars are almost completely agreed that what we have as verses 9-20 were added later. The original Gospel ends here at verse 8, with the women running out of the garden, terrified. Some suggest that the original ending might have been lost, like having a page torn out of a book. But, for me, I like the ending of the Gospel this way, whether that’s the way Mark intended it or not. I like that it’s uncertain, and more than that, I love that the story is left open so that you and I can finish it. The ending of Mark’s Gospel asks us: how will we react to the resurrection of Jesus? How will we respond? In what ways will we complete the story, tell the good news, offer hope and make a difference in the world around us? Resurrection is something we are meant to live out every moment of every day, not just on Sunday and certainly not just on Easter. For those who trust in Christ, resurrection is the way we live every day, bring new life to every situation: life out of death, hope out of hopelessness, victory out of defeat. Hope has been set loose, death has been arrested, and the world has never been and will never be the same.

About three years ago, I was in Jerusalem with my friend Pastor Ken Miller, and we had ended a long day of walking in the Old City at the Church of the Holy Sepulchure, the traditional site of Jesus’ death and resurrection. In the center of that church is what is called the edicule; it’s a monument that stands over the traditional location of Jesus’ tomb. As is usual in that place, there was a long line waiting to get into the edicule, and I asked Ken if he wanted to stand in line. Ken smiled and turned to me and said, “I don’t need to go in to a place where he is not.” That, my friends, is Easter hope. And that hope gives us a reason to sing, to dance, to celebrate, and to no longer be afraid. Jesus is risen; hope is running amuck through the world! Let’s go catch up and share it, shall we? Thanks be to God!