April 16, 2006: Resurrection (The Rest is Up to Us)
Mark 16:1-8, 1 Corinthians 15:1-11, Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

Eileen Parfrey - Springwater Presbyterian Church

The standard TV sitcom formula is to wrap up the details and pronounce a happy ending, but it's nothing new. Since ancient times, humans have needed stories to end happily. Which is why the ending to Mark's gospel is so disconcerting. There's no wrap-up, no "happily ever after." We just see the final three witnesses to the ministry and death of Jesus running terrified and dumbstruck from an empty tomb. Anything could have happened to the body and, as women, the witnesses aren't even credible. At least in the other gospels the witnesses speak. And their story is vindicated by actual appearances of "the guy-who-was-dead" who eats with them or invites them to touch him. Not in Mark. The story just ends. Scholars agree that the reason there's more to our current version of the gospel than what I read today is because later editors felt a need for a proper ending. In one version we're told that Peter hears, Jesus shows up, the gospel is proclaimed. In the other, we're given a list of appearances, a commissioning, and an ascent to heaven. Now that's an ending we can sink our teeth into.

The story is told of a seminarian who memorized the gospel of Mark to give as a dramatic presentation. The first time he presented, having made a careful study of the text, he used the original ending. "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." Then he stood on the empty stage, shifting nervously from foot to foot, as he realized the audience's eagerness for something more. Jesus shows up! Right? Jesus proves he's alive, everyone is encouraged, the church is formed, and everyone goes home and starts the tradition of a ham dinner for Easter.

But he'd already decided that this ending was not true to Mark's gospel. His scholarship was good, but the drama didn't work, so he says, "Amen!" and walks off the stage. The audience breathes a collective sigh and goes home satisfied, without giving the unpleasant ambiguity another thought. But the seminarian bethinks himself. The next time he presents the gospel of Mark, he uses the same ending, pauses half a beat, and leaves the stage in silence. And the audience is stunned. Uncomfortable, uncertain, they leave buzzing about the experience and what Mark could have possibly meant by such a non-ending. Who was this Mark guy, and why does he leave the news dangling? Of course someone talks! We wouldn't have the gospel otherwise. The Greek end of the gospel is literally, "To no one anything they said; afraid they were for . . ."

One scholar suggests that only the reader can bring closure to the gospel. Not "end" the gospel, but bring closure. The ending is not up to us. If there is anything we learned from Job's story, it is that we aren't in control of our lives. This is reflected in the proverbs, "If you want to make God laugh, make plans" and "Life is what happens while you are making plans." Those are good sentiments, but not theologically sound. They leave out what Job finally gets. God has plans for us, and they are founded, executed, and reflect, gratuitous love. Love with no strings attached. Love just because we exist, not because of what we do or who we become. We aren't in charge of how it turns out, only that we trust the One who plans our ending.

That kind of trust is the basis of hope. When William Sloane Coffin died this week, one of the retrospectives quoted him on the subject of hope. He said that hope is a state of mind contrary to the state of the world, and his conclusion was that hope means we can be persistent even without optimism. That piece was right next to a discussion of rebuilding New Orleans. There are many who believe that rebuilding New Orleans is a necessary hope. There are others who wonder whether it's misguided optimism, an over-confidence in human engineering, or sheer idiocy. What the witnesses to Jesus' death experienced on Friday was anything but hope. Theologians 2,000 years later maintain that what happened on Friday is "a challenge to stand firm in the face of evil and to continue to hope." I'm not sure we find that in Mark's gospel. The cross is a challenge, all right, but I think Mark would say that the empty tomb is what gives us the courage to continue to hope. Knowing that the ending isn't up to us, that's hope.

Not to quibble too fine a point, we already know "the ending" to Mark's gospel. God loves us. The immediate need is for closure, something that resolves the lack of "then what?" And that depends on us. We need to live with an ambiguity of not knowing exactly what happens next, and that only comes from trust that how things turn out is part of God's loving plan. That's the witness of the empty tomb. None of our plans, none of our managing, can keep Jesus behind that stone. Our complicated lives and relationships, our frantic schedules, our misreading of other people's motives, the goals we set and succeed or fail at, the lonely empty holes where our hearts are supposed to be. Not resignation to the inevitable, nor willingness to be victims of our past. None of that can keep Jesus dead and in the tomb. We don't have to know what happens next. We only need to remember that the ending has already been formed, and it is love.

Mark's messenger reminds the women Jesus said he'd meet them in Galilee. "Go back to living," he says. "Return to daily, familiar, ordinary things. Return to the community that loves you. Jesus will meet you there." Sit on the porch with a cup of tea. Clean out the garage. Walk to the park with your friends. Go the Food Bank and measure out bags of beans. Listen to what the kids tell you about school today. Stop scheduling yourself down to the minute. Live. Jesus will meet you there.

And then what? What's Jesus going to want me to do? What's my job? What happens next? We don't know. All we know is that something happens, or we wouldn't have the gospel. According to Mark, the Messiah has been there all along, just hidden from us. In the meantime, go back to living and wait for what happens next. Sometimes you just have to do it scared. Trusting that, whatever "it" is, it has already been founded in love and nurtured in hope, even if we don't see it. Yet.

And there is closure. We call it "trust." Just because God's plans are hidden doesn't mean we aren't part of them, doesn't mean we aren't the heart and center and whole point of them. God is extravagant. And particularly extravagant toward us. That Mark's non-ending leaves us wondering, makes us uncomfortable and uncertain, does not mean the inevitability of total break-up, absolute alienation, lost cause. The story is not completely over. The messenger in the tomb sends everyone back to meet Jesus, and Jesus meets us in our Galilees-in our ordinary lives, our mundane relationships. As we sip our breakfast coffee and chauffeur the kids to school and soccer. As we get up and go to work or do yet another load of clothes or wait quietly in the doctor's office.

The gospel according to Mark has not ended. We are writing the ending. Which begs the question, "What are we writing?" The good news is it's not up to us what we write. The apostle Paul's version of the resurrection story ends in his marching orders. "It was God giving me the work to do. God giving me the energy to do it." The "what's next?" comes in the middle of our living.