Resurrection

Mark 16:1-8

And thus ends the original book of Mark. Later editors felt the need to add more, but the oldest manuscripts end with these verses—and it seems intentional to end in such an unfinished way, because the gospel is never truly finished--

Here we are with three women, an empty tomb, a divine messenger, and the strangest of all: that Jesus isn’t here because he’s risen, and he’s gone to Galilee.

On top of it all, the women are afraid: filled with fear, amazement and terror—not serenely rejoicing in their newfound salvation, not pleased to be serving a risen Lord, not proclaiming a new song to the nations—instead, they are silently running away.

What’s even crazier is that this news comes first to women. All four gospels tell the story of women at the garden tomb. It’s always Mary Magdalene, sometimes alone, sometimes with other women. In 1st century Judaism, women were not actually allowed to be witnesses. In the course of Jesus’ arrest and execution, the men have fled. Peter has denied Jesus. They’ve shown themselves to be vulnerable humans who panic in the face of fear. But the women have watched all of this from a safe, respectable distance. Mark tells us that women have ministered to and with Jesus all along and that many others had come with Jesus to Jerusalem.

The women were there, they were watchful, they prepared spices to care for their beloved rabbi just one last time. Despite the fact that Jesus speaks of being raised and rebuilt several times, it’s clear that no one really expected this to happen—he’s dead and gone and all their hopes are dashed.

And now imagine, as they are trembling with grief, going to the tomb, going through the ritual of burial and preparation, moving and staying busy, hoping the awful truth won’t sink in, hoping against hope that he really isn’t dead . . . and when they get there, the body is gone, they wonder if this is the right place, the right garden, a cruel trick, a mistake . . . after all, when someone dies we wish that she would miraculously come back, we wish that his death was just a dream—a hallucination. But Jesus really did die, they saw him, lifeless and gone, and now this news: he is not here, his is risen, he has gone on before you.

What does this mean exactly? There’s much debate about what Jesus’ resurrection is and what it means for us. Because Jesus’ body is gone, we know that this is a very physical event. In other gospels Jesus does eat and drink, but is also sometime unrecognizable and can pass through locked doors. This is a transformation of the raw physical matter of Jesus’ body into something that is very much the same and yet also very different.

There are various logical explanations out there: one is that Jesus didn’t really die, he faked it or passed out, and then just came too later. Another is that the disciples stole his body. Another is that the disciples experienced the spiritual presence of Christ and talked about it almost as though it was physical.

As for the resuscitation idea: there’s a pretty good chance that Roman soldiers would have made sure he was good and dead. Also, his disciples find Jesus to be utterly transformed, glowing and healed, not half-dead and barely clinging for life.

The disciples never really expected Jesus to rise again. They were confused every time he spoke of it, and are surprised when it actually happens. The enthusiasm and wide spread telling indicate that something happened, something real, that is far beyond conspiracy.
Which leads us to the spiritual experience. This one seems more plausible, after all, that’s our experience of the risen lord today. We don’t physically see Jesus, but experience him in a spiritual sense.

A resurrection of the physical body carries on the validating work of the incarnation. It was Plato who really pushed the idea of escaping the body, and divided the soul from the body, the body as weak, inferior, dirty. But God affirms our bodies, both in original creation, and through the incarnation. It’d be inconsistent for God to affirm Jesus’ human body and then have him escape it in the end.

God is Incarnational, affirming our bodily existence, even beyond death.

In this way, God overturns the human, social order of the world.

In affirming that Jesus is Lord, we affirm that Caesar is not, that no other earthly rulers are Lord and master over us. The Roman government, the Jewish high priests, are all powerless, the one thing they could do is kill Jesus, and, in his rising, they have no satisfaction of execution.

NT Wright, in Surprised by Hope, writes: “And this is the point where believing in the resurrection of Jesus suddenly ceases to be a matter of inquiring about an odd event in the first century and becomes a matter of rediscovering hope in the twenty-first century. Hope is what you get when you suddenly realize that a different worldview is possible, a worldview in which the rich, the powerful, and the unscrupulous do not after all have the last word. The same worldview shift that is demanded by the resurrection of Jesus is the shift that will enable us to transform the world.”[1]

This is good news for the disciples who flee for their lives: Jesus offers them a second chance, especially to Peter, forgiveness, and the chance to learn again what true discipleship means, now, with the ultimate fear of death removed.

We are not likely to be executed for our faith Roman-style, we are not persecuted or shunned, only mildly embarrassed for our faith. But we all fear death, even if we are not constantly threatened by a ruling government. Our lives are in ruin and decline: whether its to sin: to greed and selfishness, to idolatry and covetousness, to addiction and loneliness . . . We are all dying be it from disease, from chronic illness, from cancer, from old age, from the relentless passing of time.

We live with the illusion that the world is getting better, we are curing disease, we are advancing in technology, peace, democracy, we can eradicate hunger and poverty and end the war on drugs—we are moving onward and upward—always improving.

But as soon as we make a new discovery, or find a new solution, there are hundreds of more problems that still exist, or even worse, crop up because of the new solution.

If we feed one person, we discover that there are more who are hungry. If we end one war, another one begins. If we cure one disease, we discover a new one.

Somewhere along the line we will realize that science, technology, medicine, government will not save us: will not create a new earth and a new humanity.

We are constantly in need of resurrection: of recreation and transformation. It’s all beyond us. God is our hope for salvation and recreation.

Think for a moment of something in your life that needs resurrection. Maybe a relationship or situation, an illness, some sort of problem that doesn’t have a solution.

Now try to imagine that fixed, that relationship reconciled, that illness healed, that problem solved . . . not how it would happen or what you should do . . . just imagine it repaired, rebuilt, made right, restored and transformed . . . but in such a way that it is nearly unrecognizable: the people, the substance is the same, but its nature is completely altered and perfected.

I pray that God is at work in this way in all of our lives, in our families, in our friendships, in our community, in our employment, in our church, in our nation, in our world . . .

The resurrection is absolutely crazy, irrational, outside of precedence and scientific possibility: and that is exactly the point. God exists outside of our expectations. God can act in ways we can’t even imagine or hardly believe—the resurrection is supposed to be beyond belief and expectation, and even a little terrifying.


Our story doesn’t end here. It is now up to us, to journey back to Galilee with Jesus, to tell the Good News of a risen savior and to minister in his name to a broken world.

We go with the assurance that Christ has gone on before us and will be with us for all time. THANKS BE TO GOD.


[1] NT Wright: Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church. 2008.