What Will You Do with the Empty Tomb? An Easter Sermon. (Mark 16v1-8)

This is the edited text of my Easter sermon at Cottage Church yesterday. The passage was Mark 16v1-8, which you should read before continuing.

What Will You Do with the Empty Tomb?

Think of a time you ran away from something in fear. It could be a metaphorical or a literal running-away. Why did you run?

There are many reasons we flee and fear. Sometimes we’re afraid of getting hurt. Sometimes we’re afraid of losing control. Sometimes we’re afraid of what we don’t understand.

If you’ve ever run away, you’re not alone. A surprising number of people run away in Mark’s gospel. When Jesus drives out a legion of evil spirits from a man, the residents of his village beg him to leave (5v17). When Jesus walks to his disciples on the water they are terrified (6v50). When Jesus is revealed in his glory at the transfiguration Peter, James and John are reduced to a babbling mess (9v6). When Judas the betrayer and his thugs arrived to arrest Jesus in Gethsemane his disciples all deserted him and fled. A young man following Jesus, his tunic caught by the thugs, fled naked—probably the author himself (14v32-52). Peter, fearing that he would die, denied Jesus three times (14v66-72).

Mark’s biography of Jesus ends abruptly with another frightened fleeing. Mary Magdelene, Mary the mother of James and Salome had come to honour the body of the man they had watched die and be buried two nights before. The one in whom they had put all their hopes, the one they believed was sent from God to redeem Israel, was dead. They knew that no dead man could be God’s Messiah; but they came to honour a man who had performed remarkable signs, who had taught them, who had loved them, who had been their friend.

They arrived at the tomb to discover the large stone covering the entrance had been conveniently moved aside. Inside was a young man dressed in white. A living, breathing man is the last thing they expected to find in Jesus’ tomb, and they were unsurprisingly alarmed. ‘Don’t be,’ he says! ‘You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him.’

Obviously this was not at all what they had expected. Nevertheless, their reaction might seem strange to us. Christ is risen! Surely this is good news. Surely they should be jumping for joy, singing praises, rejoicing! But they have no idea how to understand what has happened. They’re frightened, and they flee.

And so the book ends. There is a longer ending (verses 9 to 20), but this is clearly not part of Mark’s original text. It ties up some loose ends and contains information we have in the gospels of Matthew and Luke. It tells us about Jesus’ appearances to his disciples and others, his commissioning them to preach the gospel to the world, and his ascension to the right hand of the father. It’s the kind of ending we might expect to a book that begins with the words ‘The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God’ (1v1).

But that isn’t the way the book ends. Mark finishes abruptly with the women, frightened and trembling, running from the empty tomb.

We might be so familiar with the story that the strangeness of this ending is lost on us. Here’s a little exercise to help us feel it.

Imagine you were seeing a stage production of Mark’s gospel. Jesus has performed miracles. He’s clashed with religious leaders. He has been betrayed, faced trial, and died. Mary Magdalene and the other women come to the tomb to find it empty. They’re told that Jesus has risen. The women run off stage in astonishment. The curtain comes down. The lights go up.

How would the ending leave you feeling? What would you be talking about with the other theatre-goers as you leave?

You’d leave with unanswered questions. And you’d be talking about what clues the play gave as to what the ending might mean. Who is this man? What has happened to the body in the tomb? Mark’s gospel is a book full of different answers people give to those questions. As we read we are invited to give our own answer. By leaving so many questions hanging as the women run from the empty tomb, Mark is posing those questions to us. Who do you say Jesus is? What do you make of the empty tomb?

While the longer ending might be tidier, Mark doesn’t let us off the hook that easily. He wants us answering those questions on the basis of the story he has told. So the abrupt ending turns us back to the story itself. Can what Mark has written down for us make any sense of the empty tomb?

There’s a clue in the commission the angel gave to the women. They were to tell Peter and the disciples that ‘He is going ahead of you to Galilee, just as he told you.’ The disciples might have responded, ‘What do you mean, “Just as he told us?” When did tell us about anything like this?’

As it turns out, Jesus had spoken about his resurrection clearly on at least three occasions. In chapter 8 we read that Peter and the disciples identify Jesus as the Messiah, God’s promised king. Jesus goes on to tell them that the Son of Man must suffer and die, and that on the third day he would be raised. In chapter 9 he makes the same prediction, and we are told that the disciples ‘did not understand what he meant and were afraid to ask him about it’ (9v32), perhaps because of the tongue-lashing Peter received when he’d asked Jesus about it the first time around (8v31-33)! There is a third prediction recorded in chapter 10 as they approach Jerusalem (10v32-34). On the occasion of the revealing of Jesus’ glory at the transfiguration he had instructed Peter, James and John not to tell anyone about what they had seen ‘until the Son of Man had risen from the dead. They kept the matter to themselves,’ Mark reports, ‘discussing what rising from the dead meant’ (9v9-10).

When we read those verses we often want to shake the disciples by the shoulders. What does rising from the dead mean? It means exactly what it means—rising from the dead! But they didn’t know what it meant, and the women at the empty tomb had not a clue what it was that had happened.

What we need to recognise is that something utterly unexpected and completely new had happened. That’s why Mark draws our attention to the sunrise on the first day of the week. As the sun rises on a Sunday morning to start a new week, so the Son of God rises to new life.

The women at the tomb, though slow to realise what had happened, were right to be astonished by what they had seen. These women stumbled upon something that completely upended the way they understood the world. They wondered what it would mean to believe something that challenged everything they thought they knew. No wonder they were afraid: if what the young man in the tomb said was true, then the whole world had changed, and they had to change, too.

But could they really afford not to believe it?

Mark makes clear all the way through his book that what Jesus is doing is fulfilling the promises of God. He sets this up from the very beginning, quoting from Isaiah 40 and 42, situating this story about Jesus in the exile and promised restoration of Israel. All the hopes of Israel for their nation and for the world were coming to fulfilment in this man Jesus.

But if he was dead, none of it mattered. A dead Messiah was no Messiah at all. As Paul says, ‘If Christ was not raised’ – that is, if he remained in the tomb – ‘your faith is futile; you are still in your sins’ (1 Corinthians 15v17). All that Jesus had promised died with him. And so his disciples and the women who saw him dead and buried despaired.

But if the empty tomb meant Jesus was alive, then everything his followers had hoped for is possible.

If Jesus is risen he really can forgive us our sins; because he is risen he really has made a way for the nations to become part of the people of God; because he is risen he really will return to wipe every tear from our eyes. Indeed, every one of God’s promises is ‘Yes’ in Christ Jesus (2 Corinthians 2v20).

If Jesus lives then hope also lives.

The women went to the tomb to honour a man who had died. Instead they were sent out to proclaim that he is very much alive. Their astonishment came in the moment of realizing that if what the young man in the tomb said was true then their hope had been restored.

The story Mark has told us about Jesus is the story of the salvation of the world. His open ending invites you to become a part of that story ourselves. How will you respond? Will you run in fear, unable to face a God who presents such a challenge to our understanding? Or will you come to the empty tomb and find your hope?

It’s all too easy for us to think we understand the resurrection. But if we face it as those women did on Easter morning we see that it challenges everything we thought we knew. How can the empty tomb be possible? Their witness reminds us that God is greater than we ever imagined. Their fear should remind us never to imagine we’ve got our heads around God. In Christ’s resurrection he has done something utterly new. It changes the world.

So whatever your hopes are—for reconciled relationships, for healing from illness and emotional hurts, for the very restoration of the world—they are found in the empty tomb. For God has reconciled everything to himself by making peace through the blood of the cross, and that crucified Lord, the firstborn from the dead (Colossians 1v15-20), is the beginning of new creation.

Today we celebrate the resurrection of the one Mark calls the Messiah, the Son of Man, the Son of God. We like the women must tremble with amazement when we come to the empty tomb. Christ is risen! How wonderful that we may meet the living Lord.

Be strong and courageous, all you who put your hope in the LORD.

New favourite psalm.

For the choir director. A Davidic psalm.

1 LORD, I seek refuge in You;
let me never be disgraced.
Save me by Your righteousness.

2 Listen closely to me; rescue me quickly.
Be a rock of refuge for me,
a mountain fortress to save me.

3 For You are my rock and my fortress;
You lead and guide me
because of Your name.

4 You will free me from the net
that is secretly set for me,
for You are my refuge.

5 Into Your hand I entrust my spirit;
You redeem me, LORD, God of truth.

6 I hate those who are devoted to worthless idols,
but I trust in the LORD.

7 I will rejoice and be glad in Your faithful love
because You have seen my affliction.
You have known the troubles of my life

8 and have not handed me over to the enemy.
You have set my feet in a spacious place.

9 Be gracious to me, LORD,
because I am in distress;
my eyes are worn out from angry sorrow—
my whole being as well.

10 Indeed, my life is consumed with grief,
and my years with groaning;
my strength has failed
because of my sinfulness,
and my bones waste away.

11 I am ridiculed by all my adversaries
and even by my neighbors.
I am an object of dread to my acquaintances;
those who see me in the street run from me.

12 I am forgotten: gone from memory
like a dead person—like broken pottery.

13 I have heard the gossip of many;
terror is on every side.
When they conspired against me,
they plotted to take my life.

14 But I trust in You, LORD;
I say, “You are my God.”

15 The course of my life is in Your power;
deliver me from the power of my enemies
and from my persecutors.

16 Show Your favor to Your servant;
save me by Your faithful love.

17 LORD, do not let me be disgraced when I call on You.
Let the wicked be disgraced;
let them be silent in Sheol.

18 Let lying lips be quieted;
they speak arrogantly against the righteous
with pride and contempt.

19 How great is Your goodness
that You have stored up for those who fear You,
and accomplished in the sight of everyone
for those who take refuge in You.

20 You hide them in the protection of Your presence;
You conceal them in a shelter
from the schemes of men,
from quarrelsome tongues.

21 May the LORD be praised,
for He has wonderfully shown His faithful love to me
in a city under siege.

22 In my alarm I had said,
“I am cut off from Your sight.”
But You heard the sound of my pleading
when I cried to You for help.

23 Love the LORD, all His faithful ones.
The LORD protects the loyal,
but fully repays the arrogant.

24 Be strong and courageous,
all you who put your hope in the LORD.

Text from the Holman Christian Standard Bible, via BibleGateway.com.

Will you keep out all the sadness?

Yesterday I saw Spike Jonze’s film adaptation of the classic children’s picture book Where The Wild Things Are. I’ve seen it twice. It is utterly beautiful (a phrase first attributed to the film by my friend MW, who really should start blogging). The cinematography is stunning. The casting is brilliant. The soundtrack exhibits the talents of the wonderful Yeah Yeah Yeahs front woman Karen O.

Where The Wild Things Are film poster

It is also a deeply sad film. This sadness, as I’ve come to realise is often the case, goes hand in hand with beauty. Sadness is a central concern in Where The Wild Things Are. In the midst of the brawling (both playful and hurtful), the protagonist Max, having run away from his broken home into his imaginary world, is asked to be the king of the Wild Things. In assessing his eligibility, Carol asks: ‘What about loneliness?’ Douglas continues with what for me was one of the most moving lines in the film: ‘What he’s trying to say is, will you keep out all the sadness?’

I have lived a life remarkably free (so far) of suffering. I have a loving family who have remained together, I have benefitted from supportive church communities; I have had only limited experience of deaths in the family. Nevertheless, my friendships have opened me up to the full extent of the sadness of this world. A majority of my close friends have experienced the tragedy of broken families, the death of family members and close friends, or the pain of depression. This world is a sad and broken place.

The question posed in Where The Wild Things Are is a real one for anyone who’s lived long enough to suffer. Is there any hope for a world, as Carol puts it, ‘where only the things we want to happen would happen’? In the words of the Wild Things, is there a king who can keep out all the sadness?

The film’s answer is refreshingly free of escapism. Where The Wild Things Are does not shy away from what we all know, even children: the world is sad place. Max at first attempts escapism. Just as he has escaped into his imaginary world, so he deals with conflict and relational hurt within that world. His first kingly order of business is a command to ‘Let the wild rumpus start!’ When personalities clash and tempers flare, he commissions a friendly war to relieve tensions. But the peace doesn’t last. Escapism doesn’t work.

Instead, the relationships between the Wild Things lead Max to assert that they must love each other, despite obstacles, because they’re a family. K.W. responds by saying that ‘Being a family is hard.’ We all know she’s right. Max knows she’s right. He decides to return home, and amid the sadness of a broken family and a mother’s terror at her son’s flight, we see the beauty of their reunion.

This is a good message for children (and adults) to hear. Love in a world full of sadness is hard work; yet it is both worthwhile and required of us.

Where The Wild Things Are screenshotBut it doesn’t deal with the core issue. An acknowledgement of suffering doesn’t make it go away, and doesn’t make it okay. We do desire an end to sadness; we know instinctively that this is not the way things should be. Is there any hope for a world without pain? Max, as king, had promised to shield the Wild Things from sadness. When everything goes awry, Alex remarks to Max ‘I don’t think there is a king who can do all the things you said.’

Yet there is. The Christian bible testifies about Jesus the Messiah, God’s chosen king. He is one who knows sadness in every way as we do: he suffered a life of rejection, and a horrifying death brought about by the gross injustice of those with political and juridicial authority, betrayed with a kiss by one of his closest friends. I am convinced he did not stay dead, but was raised bodily to new life after three days in the grave.

The testimony of the New Testament is that this same Jesus, now ruling as king from heaven, will return to the earth to establish his kingdom fully and forever. We see a beautiful picture of this in Revelation 21. Describing Jesus’ future return, the writer sees a new heaven and earth. Here God lives side by side with his people. ‘He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will exist no longer; grief, crying, and pain will exist no longer, because the previous things have passed away’ (verse 4). ‘Look!’, says the king, ‘I am making everything new’ (verse 5). The return of this king will see the end of sadness itself, and a new beginning in a place where sadness will not be.

While the world waits for Jesus’ return, aching with all the pain we resist so lamely, we must continue to persevere with loving one another. We must endure sadness; indeed, God uses suffering to grow the Godly character of those who trust in Jesus. Where The Wild Things Are gives us no reason to persevere, because sadness just is; there is no promise of an end to the pain of living in the world.

But there is hope: in Jesus, we have a king who will keep out all the sadness.

Learning to see beauty

I’ve been thinking heaps lately about the way in which Jesus brings great beauty to the brokenness of the world. When we have Jesus before us as we think of the world, we can find real peace when things suck; when we understand what his death and resurrection means, we can appreciate the complex intertwining of both beauty and distress in the world. That through Jesus all things will be reconciled to God (Colossians 1:20) gives us both hope in what lies ahead for the world, and places great value on what we see in the present, marred though it is. Jesus sees enough beauty in what is unlovely that he died for it (and not least me). Comprehending that truth opens our eyes to see the beauty he sees as well.

Some great writers have helped me process this.


Shall I tell you again the new word
the new word of the unborn day?
It is Resurrection.
The resurrection of the flesh.

For our flesh is dead
only egoistically we assert ourselves.

And the new word means nothing to us,
it is such an old word,
till we admit how dead we are,
till we actually feel as blank as we really are.

The New Word, by D. H. Lawrence

I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes to the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. I know this is all mere apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty in it. And I can’t believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great dream of procreating and perishing that meant the whole world to us.

—From Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson

For the creation eagerly waits with anticipation for God’s sons to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to futility—not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it—in the hope that the creation itself will also be set free from the bondage of corruption into the glorious freedom of God’s children. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together with labor pains until now. And not only that, but we ourselves who have the Spirit as the firstfruits—we also groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. Now in this hope we were saved, yet hope that is seen is not hope, because who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with patience.

Romans 8:19-25

Aimless Hope, Dangerous Hope, or Real Hope?

I’m watching The Shawshank Redemption. There’s this great dialogue between Andy & Red, with two conflicting ideas about hope.

Andy: ‘There are places in this world that aren’t made out of stone. That there’s something inside… that they can’t get to, that they can’t touch. That’s yours.’

Red: ‘What’re you talking about?’

Andy: ‘Hope.’

Red: ‘Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.’

The Shawshank Redemption

It stood out to me because I’m also busily reading German theologian Jurgen Moltmann’s Theology of Hope. It explores the hope we can have in Yahweh, the God of the bible. Hope in Yahweh is real hope. Andy and Red’s versions of hope both fall woefully short of the mark. The promises of Yahweh, the one true God, are made of stone. They are made of stone in that they are certain. They are sure. Yahweh is the one who promises, and he is faithful to his promise. Real hope is not waiting for some undefinable, invisible future. Such hope is baseless and powerless. Real hope is in the promise of Yahweh, a certain promise for a certain future, a new reality which God will bring about. Real hope anticipates the future promised by the bodily resurrection of Jesus. Real. Physical. Yes, real hope is within us; but only because of the God who is outside of us, outside of the world, who has come into th world in Jesus to reconcile all things to himself.

Real hope does not drive insane. But it may be dangerous. Whether or not it is dangerous depends on your perspective. Real hope opens our sight to the future reality that God has made possible through Jesus. It gives us strength to persevere. It also gives us a programme. Because real hope looks towards the sure and certain future of Jesus the Christ, we can begin to live in the present in light of that future. Real hope gives us strength to change the present, shaping things that they might also point towards that certain future. As Moltmann says, echoing Psalm 104, real hope sees us as part of God’s work to ‘change the face of the face of the world.’

Dangerous hope? Maybe. There will always be those who want the world to remain as it is. For them, real hope stands as an obstacle to their desire for power and authority which does not rightly belong to them. I, for one, look forward to the return of Jesus the Christ, who will make all things new. In the meantime, I can’t wait to keep enjoying the ways in which God chooses to use my brothers and sisters and I to put real hope into practice.

Development and the Church Part II

Know Hope

Know Hope

In an earlier post (Development and the Church Part I) I talked about my experience building houses in a village in rural Cambodia as part of a church ‘mission trip’, and posed the question: as a Christian, was it worth it?

My answer is a pretty simple ‘yes’. The reason is the particular shape of Christian hope.

Christian hope is based on Jesus’ resurrection: a real, physical resurrection to a new kind of life. The resurrection means that the new creation Christians are looking forward to has already begun in the present. As such, our hope is not simply for the future; it is a hope which makes a difference in the present. Tom Wright explores this idea and its implications much more eloquently than I:

“The message of Easter is that God’s new world has been unveiled in Jesus Christ and that you’re now invited to belong to it. And precisely because the resurrection was and is bodily, albeit with a transformed body, the power of Easter to transform and heal the present world must be put into effect both at the macro-level, in applying the gospel to the major problems of the world.”

Because of this truth, the Church is called to get to work in the present, to give signs of this hope to the world:

“It [Easter] is the story of God’s kingdom being launched on earth as in heaven, generating a new state of affairs in which the power of evil has been decisively defeated, the new creation has been decisively launched, and Jesus’ followers have been commissioned and equipped to put that victory, and that inaugurated new world, into practice.”

-Tom Wright, Surprised By Hope

Building in a Cambodian village

Building in a Cambodian village

Don’t misunderstand what Wright is saying: the new creation that Christians hope for will not come in fullness until Jesus returns. Nevertheless, in and through Jesus, Christians have overcome the powers of darkness, and so have the freedom to work for the good of the world. This isn’t an option for some Christians who are interested in development, social renewal, medical aid; it’s part of the calling of the Church. Wright goes on to say that the Church should pursue justice, beauty and evangelism as an anticipation of the future we wait for; tangible signs of what is to come as we wait for it. They are part of our proclamation, so that the world might know hope, as found in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

It is also, I think, worth pointing out that the works of hope we undertake in the present aren’t simply a sketch of something for the future. Rather, as with Jesus’ resurrection, what we do in the present will last into the new creation. Revelation 21, speaking about the city of the new creation, announces that “The nations will walk in its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. Each day its gates will never close because it will never be night there. They will bring the glory and honour of the nations into it” (21.24-26). What happens in this world is not nothing. Christians know what future is in store, and it guides our actions in the present, while we wait. On Christan hope, theologian Jürgen Moltmann says this:

“In its eyes the world is full of all kinds of possibilities, namely all the possibilities of the God of hope. It sees reality and mankind in the hand of him whose voice calls into history from its end, saying, ‘Behold, I make all things new’, and from hearing this word of promise it acquires the freedom to renew life here and to change the face of the world.”

-Jürgen Moltmann, Theology of Hope

What precisely will last into the new creation from this one, I do not know. I’m open to suggestions! But one thing seems clear: the mission of the Church is to bring hope to the world, doing so always in the name of Jesus Christ.