Text: Mark 16:1-8

The women in the passage we read today were the same women who had been with Jesus on Friday. They had not run away like the other disciples. They had not left Jesus to face his agony alone. They had been there—some distance away, but close enough.

They had seen it all. They would never forget the horror of watching Jesus being tortured to death, his life slowly draining from his body. They had heard it all. They had heard all the taunts of the people. They had heard the religious leaders, who had come not only to make sure he got what they were convinced he deserved, but also to mock him. "You who have saved others, can't you even save yourself? Come down off that cross; do that and even we will call you the Messiah."

The women heard it all—even the most terrible and terrifying cry when Jesus shouted at God: "Why have you forsaken me?" Jesus had not abandoned God; He was still crying out to God, but it was the most agony-ridden cry a faithful man or woman can utter: "My God, my God why have you forsaken me?" Perhaps it was also the cry of these women who stood not so far away and watched Jesus slowly, slowly die.

And even when he died, they had not abandoned him. They had waited, undoubtedly to see what the Romans would do with his body. All that was left for these loyal friends to do was to honor him by preparing his body for burial. The women were there when word came that Pilate was going to allow Joseph of Arimathea to have the body. They followed as Jesus’ dead body was carried to the tomb Joseph owned. They watched as the huge stone was rolled across the opening.

By then it was too late to do anything more. The sun was about to go down, and the Sabbath was about to begin. No work was to be done on the Sabbath; it was in the commandments God had given Moses. The Sabbath was to be kept special—a holy day, a day to remember all that God had done, a day of rest. So, the women went home to keep the Sabbath holy.

I wonder if any of them were able to sleep that night. And what did they do all day Saturday? What did they think about as they waited for the long minutes to pass, as they waited for first day of the week when they could do their last loving chore of preparing Jesus’ body for permanent burial? I wonder if the women were together, and if so, what did they talk about? Did they remember events and experiences with Jesus? Did they talk about what he said? I wonder if they could focus on the good times, the happy times, the times when what he said and did made people whole? I am confident they cried a lot. They probably fell silent in the middle of sentences. After all, what was there to say? After having gone through all they had gone through, what was left to say? And when at last Saturday evening came, were they finally able to get some sleep?

Mark tells us they were up early Sunday morning. I suspect it was not merely their desire to get their work done before the temperature went up and the stench of death grew more sickening. I suspect they got up earlier than usual because in their grief they had been unable to sleep.

Mark indicates that as they walked to the tomb their conversation was the practical kind of talk people who are in grief so often talk. It is the necessary talk of taking care of the final details, the final gestures of love and honor. In funeral homes I have heard such talk many times. "Which casket do you like best?" "When do you think is the best time for the funeral?" "Which of his suits do you think he would want to be buried in?" This is the kind of practical talk loved ones do—must do as they begin to work through their grief.

The women talked about the problem of getting in the tomb. How were they ever going to move that huge stone? At this hour of the morning, who could they get to come help them? As they were talking, the tomb came into their view, and the stone was already rolled to one side. I wonder if they said anything? Or did they just look at one another and keep walking—maybe moving a little faster?

Mark tells us that inside the tomb there was a young man. We do not know who he was. Was he an angel? Perhaps he was the young man Mark mentioned in his story about Jesus’ arrest Thursday evening. In that part of the story, Mark (14:51-52) says that when Jesus had been arrested and all the disciples had run away, a young man followed the crowd that was leading Jesus away. The young man was wearing only a linen cloth, and when the arresting officers seized him, he left them holding his linen cloth and ran naked into the darkness. Was this young man in the tomb that young man? Who knows?

The women saw a young man dressed in a white robe, sitting just to the right as they entered the tomb. He startled them. "Don't be afraid," he told them. 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."

Mark tells us the women went out of the tomb; what he says is that they "fled from the tomb"—like people running from danger. Mark says they fled from the tomb because terror and amazement had seized them. They ran away and said nothing to anyone because they were afraid.

Why were they afraid? Were they afraid of a ghost? Or did they suddenly and intuitively begin to understand what Jesus had been trying to teach them? Were they suddenly and intuitively aware of the cost of discipleship as they had never been before? It takes one kind of loyalty, love and courage to support Jesus in his ministry and to stand by as he was killed. But it takes another type of courage, loyalty and love to take up his ministry—to take up our crosses. Whatever the reason, the women fled from the tomb in fear and said nothing to anyone.

This is where the oldest manuscripts of Mark end. In a little different style of Greek several other verses were added by someone trying to finish the story. For a long, long time students of the Bible have debated whether Mark intended to end his Gospel with the women scared speechless, or whether the original ending got lost and some other Christians tried to recreate what Mark had originally written.

I think either theory is possible. But I tend to believe Mark ended the story with the passage we read today. I think he intentionally left the reader hanging, and asking: "And then what?"

It is in the "And then what?" that Easter is either another religious story or Easter is a profound, personal experience.

The young man in the tomb had told them and us all we really need to know. Jesus who was crucified has been raised. He is not where death is; he is where life is to be found. He is on his way to Galilee, which is where these women and all the disciples lived. Before, when Jesus had talked about the crucifixion and spoken of the resurrection, this is where he had said he would meet them—in Galilee where they lived (14:28). He would meet them in the world of the living, not in a tomb of the dead.

And this is where the risen Christ meets us—in the Galilee where we live. For a persecutor of Christians named Saul, it happened where he lived, on the road to arrest more Christians. In a flash, Christ confronted him with such light that for a while Saul could not see, and when he did see, nothing looked the same because he was no longer the same, and Saul became the Apostle Paul.

For Augustine it happened in a garden where he was living, struggling with his own soul, looking for some direction to his living. It was there in the Galilee of his garden that he became aware of a voice, an inner urging that had to be obeyed. That voice told him to pick up the Bible and start reading. He did, and in that, the risen Christ changed Augustine's life.

For Martin Luther it happened in a thunderstorm; for John Wesley it happened in a Bible study group; for me it was not a sudden discovery as much as an all at once awareness of the Christ having been where I lived all along.

The women were told all they really needed to know. Christ has been raised, and he will meet them in Galilee—where they live.

Mark ends his Gospel with the ending left hanging. The Christ is risen. He is going ahead of us to where we live. And then what?

That is the question, isn't it?

God, help each of us find our personal answer to this troubling Easter question. Amen.

God, we thank you for the gift of Easter, the gift of your victory over sin and death, the triumph of your love over the worst we humans can do. For all this and more that is proclaimed in the reality of Easter, we give you thanks.

And yet, it is difficult for us to believe the Easter message; it is difficult for us to believe your love and goodness finally defeat sin and evil, death and despair. It appears to us that all too often what really reigns is the destructive powers of suspicion, pride, envy, greed, hate, resentment, and bitterness. God, these negative realities that tear us apart and divide us from one another make it difficult for us to believe what Easter proclaims. And, God, when we doubt Easter, we are drained of the energy and courage needed to live lives marked by trust, humility, generosity, love, and forgiveness. We need your help.

God, help us trust what you are telling us in Easter. Help us trust your grace so completely we are able and willing to take up the crosses we must bear, confident in the power and truth of the resurrection.

All this we pray in the name of the one whose resurrection is the proclamation of your victory, the one who taught us to pray: "Our Father . . ."