An Untidy Resurrection
Mark 16:1-8
1 When the sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought perfumed oils so that they might go and anoint Jesus. 2 And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. 3 They had been saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?" 4 When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. 5 As they entered the tomb, they saw a young person, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. 6 But the youth said to them, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, the One who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. 7 Now go, tell the disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you." 8 So they went out and fled from the tomb bewildered and amazed; but they said nothing to anyone, they were so afraid.
“Women Arrive At The Tomb” by He Qi
The women – Mary the Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, went out into the eerily vacant streets. They walked through the dim light of early morning when all was quiet except that this is when songbirds are most vocal and creation itself begins to stir.
They walked step by step toward the tomb, expecting death. They had prepared and steeled themselves for it, gathered the necessary and practical things for the work at hand – the ritual of anointing, of blessing a love that which was dead and gone. They set about navigating the chaos of loss by seeking peace and grounding in the familiar rhythms of ritual, even when it’s sad.
Along the way, the reality of the obstacles ahead became more pressing. There were going to be large, weighty barriers in front of them. There were significant seemingly immovable obstacles ahead and they had no idea how to get around that.
When they arrived at the place where they knew the rubber would meet the road, where they anticipated that even this bittersweet mercy might come to an abrupt end… they were…surprised, confused, disturbed, alarmed, and perhaps even cautiously hopeful for what they found. They were probably already awash with the raw and mixed up emotions of grief and now they’re hit with another wave, another layer to process through their already frazzled and fried systems. Even if it might be a positive thing, it’s just…a lot…too much.
Somehow…the impossibly heavy weight had been moved. Not gone, but moved in such a way that its weight could never again keep them from goodness, from love.
As they pressed forward and moved in closer, they saw…
…nothing like they could have ever expected,
…something that was different than they’d ever known,
…something they didn’t fully understand
…yet something that shifted everything toward the realization of the impossible.
But still, it wasn’t clear if things were turning toward impossible danger or impossible hope, and that uncertain space between is indeed terrifying.
And into that thick air of a new day, a young voice speaks,
“I can see you’re freaked out. I can hear the internal cries stuck in your throat. Take a breath. Notice that you’re still breathing. The alarm bells have already awoken you; it’s time to hear a different sound. I know what you’ve been through. I know the hurt and harm you’ve seen, the trauma that has marked you. I know why you’re here. I know the mysterious cocktail of love and grief that has mobilized you. I know the buried hope you dare not speak and may even resent. The One who you love, who loves you, who IS love…is not held captive, but is out on the loose. LOVE is not quarantined or confined, but out there with you. Jesus is risen. See for yourselves. Notice how this empty cavernous place has created space for something new, even if you can’t comprehend what that is yet. Look at the things around you and see how they point toward resurrection. And then…get moving too. Tell the others that Jesus is one the move, already ahead of you in the places your heart already knows. That’s where you’ll see the risen God. That’s where you’ll find yourself beside the indomitable mystery of love unbound. That’s what the promise has always been. It was always and will always hold true.”
Other Gospels then turn to overflowing exuberance and with quickened and glad hearts the women run to tell others what they have seen. In the other Gospels, Jesus shows up clearly, pronounces peace, and they get to embrace him if even for a moment.
But that is not Mark’s story. Here, the Gospel ends in a mix of fear and bewilderment that has them stuck in stillness and silence. This is where the words just stop.
In some ways the story feels unfinished.
In some ways it feels unsatisfying.
In some ways this is the most true and relatable Gospel I can imagine.
We want to see, touch, and hear Jesus with clarity. But there is no shining resurrection appearance to speak of – only confusion, fear, and silence. It seems like the women do the exact opposite of the angel’s words: “do not be alarmed, go and tell.” But they can’t help it; they go away afraid and tell no one. I wonder if one of them DID feel a spark of joy but felt too guilty to share or celebrate it while others were still struggling.
What is the Good News of resurrection if it doesn’t provide a tidy bow to gather up all our loose ends and frayed edges?
And in this confounding terrible wonder, I see the resurrected Jesus already ahead of me here, patiently waiting to be recognized.
This living love, this Gospel would always defy concise capture but is wildly and widely found in the ways God brings life – not only at conclusions, but even in the midst of confusion. It is a new kind of healing that arrives not just after but even through the chaos. It cannot be stopped, even by empire or isolation, or death, or silence. The alleluia arises, even if it’s smudged, stained, or broken.
This is a Gospel that breaks the silence even as the sound escapes into freedom in spite of ourselves. We know that the silence did not last forever or we wouldn’t have this sacred story before us.
The resurrection must have happened sometime in the fertile darkness of night, quiet and in-breaking, and it may take us some time to know it in fullness.
But still, it raises us up with Christ.
Still…it beckons, leads, and animates us
as we do the impossible thing of simply putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.
Still…it creates space for transformation -
shaping us, our societies and systems, and all of creation into what we will become from here.
Still…it sings of immutable love
even and especially for overwhelmed hearts.
This is resurrection…for us, in us, and throughout all things. Today and always. Amen.