March 31, 2024

Mark 16:1-8

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. 

 Amazed is an interesting word. In English it means to be overwhelmed with surprise or sudden wonder. It is abrupt, immediate, unexpected. It is paired here with terror, which may seem confusing at first glance. Terror is one way of translating the word tromos from Greek, but it could also be trembling. Trembling and amazed, a physical sensation arising from an underlying sense of wonder and surprise.

The philosopher Soren Kierkegaard famously referred to fear and trembling, the title of one of his works. It is a reference to a line from the Letter of Paul to the Philippians, Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more now in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.

 Going to church and listening to sermons is often a passive matter. You let information and imagery, words and music, wash over you. It can inspire questions, or it can generate a desire to sleep. But a deep feeling of fear, of mounting questions and concerns, that is not usually what happens on Sunday morning. On a good day, we might be uplifted, filled with joy perhaps. Or you might be reminded of the love we feel for God and one another. Trembling is another matter entirely.

Think about what has happened over the span of Holy Week. Jesus was betrayed, suffered, and died. The women have gathered to anoint his body, walking to the tomb with spices and ointments, cinnamon and cassia, myrrh and olive oil. They are walking to the tomb, a stone cave sealed with a great stone. Their hearts were undoubtedly heavy, their faces probably wet with tears. They go there without the men. No men are mentioned in this story and we can assume that is because they are in hiding from the authorities. So, it is the women walking there: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James who is also thought to be the mother of Jesus. And Salome, but not the one who had her difficulties with John the Baptist.

These women, fearful and mourning, came to the tomb. And the great stone had been moved, the tomb now empty. And a man was there, sitting by the tomb in a white robe. They saw the man and were alarmed. In the other Gospels, the man is described as being in a dazzling white robe, a color like the flash of lightning. Quite alarming and quite amazing.

‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here…

Imagine finding out that what you expected was not true, or at least no longer true. He is not here, no longer in the tomb. He has been raised. This strange man, this dazzlingly white fellow, tells you to go off, to spread the impossible news to others. So, the women fled. They fled trembling and amazed.

We think of the events in the Bible as from a different time, an age of miracles beyond our understanding and perhaps for some beyond belief. We are a bit jaded now, insulated from the immediacy of our own mortality by all the technological wonders of an age of scientific miracles.

Jesus died, a death of great principle and conviction to be sure, but one quite unexpected. Unexpected by those who loved him and too soon for those who relied upon his teachings. But, we are told, Jesus was not there. A mysterious man in white announces this puzzling news, not to be seen again. He leaves the women with so many questions, with fear to be sure but with the mounting hope of the impossible becoming possible.

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. 

The Gospel of Mark is unusual because that line is where it ends. Mark does not describe what happens next. He ends with terror and amazement, he ends with the women leaving in secret for they are afraid. Mark does not give us a clear answer; he does not address all our questions. The other Gospel writers do try to answer them, of course. The letters of Paul seek to explain the miracle of Easter. They all provide some version of those sought for answers.

But I must confess that I think Mark ended his story quite well; I might even go so far as to say perfectly. Not merely because he is my namesake. Mark told to us a simple and clear depiction of Jesus, a man who came to teach about what was wrong in the world, who offered us a simple and clear way of thinking. He asked us to love rather than to obey. He suggested that we pray to God more so than preach at each other. Mark distilled Jesus down into the essentials. I appreciate what Mark was trying to do: give us a place to begin.

Begin with love, start with prayer. Seek out the simple truths and study the simple lessons. Begin in simplicity so we may move on with care into complexity. The life of Jesus as presented in the Gospel of Mark concludes with an empty tomb and many unanswered questions. That is a true depiction of life.

The Bible seeks to tell us many things, but much of that can be quite confusing. Questions lead to more questions, and answers are not easy or readily forthcoming. And some people are more than willing to answer those questions for you, to fill in the blanks so you do not have to worry yourselves; to make it all seem rather simplistic rather than simple. And that might be what people are seeking, provided they are not interested in going beyond pre-packaged answers.

The Gospel of Mark ends with fear and trembling and, most of all amazement. That sense of surprise does not come from an easy answer. That feeling of astonishment is not created by a well-worn moral checklist or scripted set of talking points. Jesus surprised us with his life and he amazed us through his death. Mark leaves the tomb open and leaves us open to a sense of wonder and amazement.

Do we want answers? Of course. Where will we find them? Not at the end of the Gospel of Mark, but at the beginning of our own journey into faith. We have to pick up where Mark left off; an empty tomb and an open road, a long journey of hard questions and harder answers. Straightforward solutions are the most welcome in our lives, but they are also often the least satisfying. They are incomplete as applied and indigestible once we chew them over for a while.

A religious life is not about quick and easy answers. It is a lifetime of questions. And it is punctuated by moments of doubt, even as we hold on tightly to faith. It is marked by times of sorrow, even as it can be filled with moments of hope and joy. And it can be difficult in our complicated lives to love, even as we are called upon by Jesus to love widely and well, to love God and to love one another.

And yet if we push aside the negative feelings, the fear and trembling, we also lose the amazement. We lose the faith and the hope, the joy and the love. And strangely the answer to one question will inspire the pursuit of another question. Otherwise, we risk becoming frozen and stiff. We become followers of empty words devoid of emotion or meaning. And we might never again be amazed.

So, we must go forth, wondering at the beauty all around us, surprised by the unexpected joys that find us. The miracle of life unfolding moment to moment. The spectacle of our world all about us, not easily crammed down into simplistic answers to impossibly grand questions.

To question is to explore and to answer is to find new questions, piled higher and higher onto a lifetime of wonder. We wonder what is here in this world and what wonder about what is to come after it.

And so, we gather with faith in the hope and promise of new life, amazed—truly and thoroughly amazed at the prospect of life beyond life. Trembling at the wide vistas that stand open before us, if only we can look up from the easy answers were so eagerly crave.

For there is far more to this life than easy answers. Sometimes we must look into the empty tomb. And sometimes we will walk away amazed and looking for answers. Amen.