Alleluia. Christ is Risen.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.
What a strange ending for a Gospel, yes? We’ll spend most of our time wondering about that, but first a word about our other two readings.
“On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.… he will swallow up death forever.” That captures one of the key dimensions of our Eucharists, and I’ll be using part of it as the Offertory Sentence this Easter season. The mother of all feasts—and each Eucharist is a preview.
And the text contains an important tension that we’ll notice in Peter’s speech. “On this mountain” (not any old mountain) “for all peoples.” Easter’s good news is for everyone; it’s rooted in what God did at a particular moment in human history.
Or, as Peter puts it, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality.” God loves the Roman conquerors no less than the Jewish conquered. Isaiah captured it: “On that day Israel will be the third with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the earth, whom the LORD of hosts has blessed, saying, ‘Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my heritage.’” And this God who shows no partiality offers salvation to all through Jesus of Nazareth, for “All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.” But recently—the last couple centuries—we’ve found it challenging to hold the “no particularity” and Jesus as the source of forgiveness together. Here we might learn from Peter: Easter: good news for all peoples, not just the Christians.
The ending of Mark’s Gospel: readers have long found it perplexing. Perplexing enough that later manuscripts added a variety of “better” endings. The ending at v.8 is odd enough that some wonder if the original ending was lost very early. But Mark seems to like curve balls, so it’s worth wondering what it might mean that he ended with this curve ball.
“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.” Mark’s portrayed these women in a positive light, encouraged us to empathize with them. And as we hear v.8 we may respond “No, please don’t get stuck there.” And if that’s the reaction Mark’s after, he’s employing an old strategy.
Recall how the Book of Jonah ends. God told Jonah to preach to Nineveh. Jonah eventually gets there, preaches, Nineveh repents, God repents of the threatened destruction, Jonah blows multiple fuses, and the book ends with God trying to make a case for divine compassion.
“Then the LORD said, “You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night. And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?” (Jon. 4:10-11)
We’re not told how Jonah responds. Why? The important question is not how Jonah responds, but how we respond. Are we up for living with a God who extends compassion to our bitterest enemies?
Then there’s one of the stories Luke tells. The Pharisees and scribes are grumbling about Jesus welcoming sinners. So Jesus tells some parables, ending with the parable we call “The Prodigal Son” but which might be better titled “The Two Lost Sons.” At the end of the parable the father’s thrown a party to celebrate the younger son’s return and the older son is refusing to participate. Here’s the ending:
“His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’” (Lk. 15:28b-32)
We’re not told how the older son responds. Why? The important question is not how he responds, but how the Pharisees and scribes respond, how—by extension—we the hearers respond.
“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.” And here again the question is not what the women do, but what Mark’s hearers do. In their political climate saying nothing to anyone would have sounded like a really good idea. So Mark’s ending serves as a sort of mirror: if I’m dismayed by the women’s reaction, am I doing any better?
Our political climate is, of course, quite different. But here too saying nothing to anyone can sound like a really good idea. So Easter becomes a celebration of generic newness rather than the shocking announcement that God has raised this convicted Jewish Messiah and named him the benchmark for human striving and the source of forgiveness for all. “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.” And, oh, can I empathize.
Alleluia. Christ is Risen.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.
With Jacob at Bethel 