Sermon April 8, 2012

Acts 10:34-43
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Mark 16:1-8

“terror and amazement”

How many of you enjoy surprises? Real surprises?

Can you remember looking forward to the unknown as a child? Can you remember being in real wonder at something unexpected?

Sometimes we enjoy the surprise, but usually we want surprises to be within the realm of expectation. What I mean is that many of us like things the way they are and minor surprises are okay, but major shocks to our system are more than we really enjoy.

Jesus was all about shocking the system during his lifetime, it seems, and especially this week of his life we are currently remembering and celebrating. Each piece, each event of this week was meant to overturn expectation—expectations for the work of the Messiah, expectations for the disciples and expectations of the finality of death.

Together last week, we told the story of Jesus' final week before the crucifixion. As he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey colt, we saw him make a mockery of a Roman triumphal parade—governor on stallions and soldiers keeping order. The palms and the disorderly rejoicing of the crowds were meant to reveal the absurdity of military pomp and imperial authority. One Thursday night, we heard the story of how Jesus, teacher, Messiah, Son of God and Master stripped to the waist and humbled himself to wash his disciples feet. Teachers and disciples had very clear roles in Jesus' day—this would have been scandalous and Peter, for one, was offended by the very idea. Then he was arrested and tried overnight for crimes against the established religion and the Roman Empire—he was stripped and beaten, then held to be guilty enough and so on Friday he was executed by crucifixion. He was crucified, as many were who challenged established power. His death was meant to be an example of what happens to those who challenge authority.

He was dead. Dead according to the expectations of all who had seen, heard and experienced this week in Jerusalem 2000 years ago. Dead to the temple authorities, out of their hair. Dead to the Romans, another troublesome Jew gone. Dead to his disciples, who may have thought he would triumph at the last minute. Dead to the women who watched to see where they put his body, so they could return this morning and finish their loving care of him. That was what they expected—that he was dead. When people had been killed by crucifixion they stayed that way.

A Messiah, according to most believers in Jesus' day, was meant to ride in save the day, but he surprised them. And so this morning, so long ago, they awoke to sorrow and grief at their lost friend and teacher, but also at the loss of hope for the coming revolution which would bring the renewed kingdom at last into all of their lives.

Instead, the women headed out to the tomb to anoint Jesus' body, where they expected it to have remained through the day of sabbath rest. And they expect to do their duty and return home, but more surprises, more shocking news greets them. A young man, according to the gospel of Mark, tells 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.” Because they were shocked and scared—full of terror and amazement—they ran and said nothing to anyone.

But wait a minute, that's not the end is it? According to the best manuscripts of Mark, it is. They left and went home. Did you expect that?

The first time I heard that—probably in seminary—I was shocked and annoyed that no one had pointed this out to me before. I knew the end of the story—I did. But I knew it from the other gospels and I knew a combined version of it.

And when the gospel writers tell a story in a particular way—it means something. It means something that Luke tells us about the shepherds and angels at Jesus' birth and it means something that Matthew tells us about the wise men and the star. It also means something that Mark begins the gospel with Jesus' baptism—like John—and it means something that Mark ends the gospel with the women running in terror and amazement.

It means, perhaps, that the cross was not to be overshadowed by this miracle. In fact, Fred Craddock suggests that Mark's "accent" on the cross is the very reason that he didn't include resurrection appearances that might pull focus away from it as the meaning of discipleship: "For Mark, the resurrection served the cross; Easter did not eradicate but vindicated Good Friday" (Preaching through the Christian Year B). In all of our Easter finery, in our celebration and our Alleluias, in flowers and white cloths, it jars our sensibilities to be reminded of Good Friday, to think that we worship an "executed God":  Megan McKenna quotes Mark Lewis Taylor, reminding us that "To follow the executed God today is to let die the god of religious respectability" (Mark Lewis Taylor, The Executed God, quoted in On Your Mark: Reading Mark in the Shadow of the Cross). At the heart of the Gospel of Mark is the way of the cross.¹

This is unexpected. That's what I thought when I first knew that Mark's gospel ended here. He doesn't say that Jesus wasn't alive—in fact, the young man does say that—but Mark doesn't give us a word picture of what that means beyond shock and fear, beyond terror and awe.

The power of God here shakes us up one more time.

There is no witness to the resurrection itself—we have witnesses to the messengers, and witnesses to an already resurrected body of Jesus, but no one saw it happen. It leaves a little room for mystery. Leaves us in awe and, “In fact, it leaves room for mystery—both in the Biblical narrative and in our own lives. After all, the life and death of Jesus seem fairly straightforward—we all know life, and some of us have seen people die, and we all will eventually die.

The resurrection reminds us of the mysterious ways of God, and the awe-inspiring gift of new life.”²

We left living in hope and assurance of the resurrection of the body—and our participation in that resurrection, according to Paul's witness and proclamation, but still in awe, still in wonder as to how exactly that might happen, when it happens and it will.

And so we celebrate with great joy this day—not pure and unadulterated cheerfulness or that pollyannish kind of attitude that nothing bad or wrong happens, ever—but with joy. Joy as a by-product of faith which tells us that we can trust God, even if we don't always understand. Joy as the mixture of life's events and gratitude for God's presence in them all.

As you might expect, or might not expect, who knows this morning—after the women left the tomb in terror and amazement telling no one—it seems they did tell, someone told. Someone said, “Jesus is risen!” And someone else said, “Christ has been raised.” And some other person said, “I saw him, he is alive!” And others began to experience the presence of the living, risen Christ in their lives—according to Paul's letter 500 people saw him! Including Paul himself, as one untimely born, he says. But better late than never, I guess.

You never know what's going to happen when you live your life in the presence of God. You never know how things are going to turn out when you are walking the way of the cross and following Jesus: Messiah, Teacher, Savior and Friend.

To the glory of our God: source of life and hope now and forever. Amen.

1http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/april-08-2012-easter.html

2http://www.libsandcons.com/5/post/2012/04/theology-of-the-resurrection.html