They fled from the tomb terrified and bewildered and said nothing to anyone because they were afraid.
This is it,
folks.
This is how
Mark tells the story.
It’s so awkward
and jarring that some time around the second century a few other endings were
created for the book that smoothed it out - made it more clean and palatable, with
the disciples and the women on board with it all, and Jesus appearing so it
could be validated that he had indeed risen.
But it is
nearly universally agreed that originally, this is just how Mark ended not just
the passion narrative, but the whole book of Mark. They
fled from the tomb terrified and bewildered and said nothing to anyone because
they were afraid.
Alleluia!
I actually
love that Mark does this. And that it makes future Christians so uncomfortable.
We like to
read the bible for how we’re supposed to be; we compare ourselves and think it
is meant to tell us what we should believe or should do, but Mark doesn’t really
let us do that, because in Mark all of Jesus’ followers are such terrible
examples of faith as we like to think about it, that there isn’t much to aspire
to.
Because this
isn’t a story about us. Or about them. Or about a religion, or a belief system,
or a way to live and behave.
This is the
story of God. God with us. God who keeps on breaking through all our
expectations and rules for how God should be.
First God comes
in, to share this life with us. What?
And then God
dies, by literally allowing those God
created and loves, torture, betray and kill him. Who is writing this script?
And then
just when it’s all over, when these dear women are in grief, with all the
comforting and familiar rituals that attend to it, and adjusting, as we do when
death rearranges the future, when their hopes and aspirations have been reduced
to literally what is right in front of them – how will we move the big rock? –suddenly the fabric of all that
makes sense is ripped open before them.
And I love
how it’s told. When they get there and the rock is already moved for them, they
step gingerly into the tomb and see this young man, calmly sitting there, and
the text says, “they are alarmed.” And so
he says with a steady, even-keel voice, “Do not be alarmed.” And then he walks them through it gently
and carefully as possible:
“You (pointing
at them) are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.
He has been raised; he is not here.
Look, (pointing across from him) 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.’
And they
back out of the tomb slowly, perhaps stumbling over each other and tripping at the
entrance, where adrenaline kicks in and they drop their parcels, hike up their
skirts and high tail it out of there. And then, they said nothing to anyone because this is the most terrifying thing
to ever confront them.
And I don’t
think those women fleeing are so different than we are, because we flee too,
just in semantics and symbols - we sing of victory and triumph, and turn
resurrection into another thing to make us feel secure or safe – like eternal
insurance, a policy we start paying on now that will pay off in the end, and
make the risen Jesus into an idea that helps us back to the security, safety
and success that we really worship.
But Mark’s
telling of the story doesn’t let us do that.
He makes us sit in the discomfort of their fear and confusion, and shows
us that the gospel is anything but business as usual. And this is
uncomfortable.
Because is
no human logic in any of it.
Why should
God come among us?
Why should
God die with us, for us, by our hand?
It is only
love. The logic of love.
God is
determined that nothing, not ever, can separate us from God.
And when we
say that Jesus came to save us from sin, we are not saying that we are bad and
dirty people who need to be washed by a blood sacrifice to be saved. We are saying that given the choice, we will
most often choose ourselves over others. Given the choice, we will most often choose
comfort over generosity. Given the
choice - and we are given the choice - we will most often choose to protect and
preserve or placate ourselves at the expense of anyone else. Safety. Security.
Success. We will claw toward those things even if it eats our souls out, and we
will step on others’ faces to keep our own above water.
This is what
sin is. Sin is whatever blocks us off
from God and each other, whatever tells us we are not worthy of God’s love, or
that we are but someone else is not. Sin
is what breeds competition and fear, isolation, self-centeredness and destruction..
God made the
whole world to be a reflection of God’s love and creativity – every part fitting
together, all the wild and wonderful variety of creation and humanity lifting
up and supporting one another so that all are fed, all are clothed, all are
known and seen and valued, and every voice gets to speak and every person gets
to feel what it means to be seen and known, and to see and know others, and to
be lavishly generous and fearlessly open-hearted creatures made in the image of
God.
But we are
suspicious of such things, and we’re pretty sure that if we let our guard down
we’ll get screwed, so we turn on each other, and insulate ourselves, and shut
out God, and that is what sin is – it
is that thing that says, I don’t need you,
to God, and to each other.
And I don’t
know about you – but I need saving from that.
And when I
look at this world – this precious, breathtaking world, and I hear the languages
and music and see the faces, so alike and so different, reflections of souls,
and let myself begin to witness the astonishing ways love is lived all over
this planet,
when I stop
and recognize God’s creativity poured out and painted in vast canvas and
intricate detail of color and noise and tastes and smells and more beauty and
joy than any one of us could take in in a thousand lifetimes,
and
appreciate that it’s all given freely, it’s all a giant welcome to us from God,
a gift to enjoy together, that it’s all meant to be shared with all these
fellow creatures made in God’s image, capable of incredible depths of love and
pain and hope and vision –
and instead
I see people fleeing across oceans from villages decimated by violence and
brutality, and putting up laws and walls and barriers and blockades to protect
the strong from the onslaught of the weak, and steeping ourselves in cruelty
and corruption and callousness and killing and cutthroat competition, oh my God, save us please! Jesus, come and
save us!
God does.
Not by rescuing some out of it but by plunging right into it, right alongside
us all. There is nothing - no suffering or pain, no sorrow or loss - that God
does not take directly into God’s heart. And the biggest threat of all, the one
all others are designed to either mimic or combat, is death. And so, Jesus goes there. He goes right to the
furthest most terrifying place.
And by our
logic, it makes no sense.
But our
logic is flawed.
Because we
think it’s about climbing, and advancing, and avoiding death, and pain. But
that’s not what it’s about. We’re made to sink in and slow down and open up and
be with each other in whatever comes, because that is where love is. That is
where hope is. That is where truth
is. And life. And Jesus.
Jesus is
right there. In those places.
I love that
the women fled in terror and bewilderment and didn’t say a word to a single
soul because they were afraid. Of course that’s what they did. Who among us
would do otherwise?
But reality
doesn’t hinge on their reaction in this moment. They don’t hold the reigns, God
does. They don’t have the power to change the story or take the truth off
course.
Christ has
risen! And it’s nobody’s job to convince
anyone of that. Because a risen Christ means a living God and God is out there,
out here, meeting us in the flesh, summoning us to love, releasing us from sin
and bondage, reorienting us to the real reality, the Kingdom of God that
endures forever.
Watch for
the risen Jesus! If he looks like fear and condemnation, that’s not him, keep
looking.
But where
you see forgiveness and mercy, there he is.
Where you see compassion and
generosity, Jesus is there.
Where you notice people coming alongside each other
and bearing each other’s burdens – there is the body of Christ, God’s kingdom
in the flesh.
I’ve started
tagging things I see on Facebook with ‘The kingdom of God is like…”
...Pope
Francis washing immigrants’ feet, Christian, Hindu, Muslim, Jewish, and calling
them sisters and brothers, children of God.
The kingdom
of God is like… a woman on a subway sitting next to a stranger who is agitated,
talking to himself, eyes darting around in fear, his body rocking, and because
she’s a mom and recognizes that this man is someone’s son, she gently reaches
out and takes his hand in her own, and he calms down and rests beside her.
The kingdom
of God is like… 300 union plumbers volunteering a whole weekend to install
water filters in homes in Flint, MI, because they have this skill to give and
this community is filled with people who need it.
The kingdom
of God is like… a cook and a janitor staying on when the rest of the staff
leaves an assisted care home that has closed, but a few residents remain with
nowhere to go, so these two men care for the patients around the clock for
several days until the fire department and sheriff take over, and when asked
why, one of them replies, When I was a
child I was abandoned, and I know what that is. I was I was not going to do
that to them.”
The kingdom
of God is like… locals at the Mexican- US border using the border fence- meant
to keep people separated and secure - as a giant volleyball net, connecting
them like neighborhood children.
The kingdom
of God is like… 40 farmers with tractors showing up one morning on the fields
of a neighbor who is laid up with cancer, and while he and his family look on,
harvesting all their crops, because we all belong to each other.
The kingdom
of God is like… my own neighbor, on a day when life feels fragile and scary,
telling me to come over and bring a bowl, then filling it with soup from a
giant pot on her stove, and then the two of us standing there hugging, feeling
the truth that we are not alone, and that life is for sharing.
Jesus
embodies and brings the kingdom of God, and when he dies, and rises from the
dead, the kingdom of God persists and spreads and invades the whole earth and
it is unfolding right now all around
us and between us.
This thing
God is doing is not going to stop.
God is never going to leave or forsake us,
and this life is utterly infused with, and irreversibly headed toward, love, where
it began and where it will end.
This is not
a hypothetical thing.
God is here.
Right here. In this room. Meeting us in the space between us, in the love
within us, in the longing that draws us toward hope.
And God is out there. In the very middle of every
sad and scary thing, with each lonely and frightened person, in every corner of
this earth: Jesus has risen, and there is nowhere that God is not present.
And if you
want to see God, if you want to touch God and hear God and feel God, then join
God. Don’t turn your back on someone
else’s pain or questions. Don’t close
your eyes to the beauty around you; don’t get caught up in the lies that seek
to own you about your own worth or someone else’s, or what makes for a good
life.
But here’s
the truth about our sin and our need for saving: You will turn your back on someone else’ pain and questions, and you will close your eyes to the beauty, and
you will get caught up in the
lies. You will deny him three times
before the rooster crows.
So hear the
good news of the gospel: while we are still sinful, that is, while we are still
buying into the lie and closing ourselves off from others and from God, Jesus
comes into it all for us, with us, and takes on every single thing that divides,
distracts and destroy us. God takes on
death and bears it into the very heart of God.
And then,
when death seems like the biggest and most true thing of all, resurrection
interrupts the deceptive narrative and says,
nope, you’re wrong - life wins and love prevails.
You and I are
going to forget this, and even flee from it from time to time in terror and
confusion, but nevertheless, it is true.
And it’s not up to us to make it so.
It keeps on being true, and God keeps on being here, and love keeps on
being the most real thing, and no amount of our fleeing or fearing can keep us
from being part of the true story.
Because this
isn’t a story about us, or about them. Or about a religion, or a belief system,
or a way to live and behave. This is the
story of God. God with us, Jesus, who join us, whom death could not hold back,
who is out there in the world waiting for us to join him.
Go now,
the calm man sitting in the tomb tells the alarmed women, tell the disciples (and especially Peter!, the one who thought he made
himself unworthy by denying Jesus!), tell them all, that Jesus is alive and out
ahead of you. Go home and you will see
him there.
The kingdom
of God is among us, it is between us and around us and out in the world, and it
is not our job to make that so, it is so.
Amen.
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