“The Only Thing We Have To Fear. . .”

Mark 16:1-8

April 12, 2009 + Easter Sunday

Pilgrim Congregational United Church of Christ

400 Glenwood Drive

Chattanooga, Tennessee 37404

Rev. David Brown

Great books are often known for the dramatic way they begin and end. Who can forget “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” that begins Charles Dickens’ “A tale of Two Cities” or “Call me Ishmael,” the first words of “Moby Dick”? Great books also have memorable endings. I think of the haunting words that end “The Great Gatsby” by F. Scott Fitzgerald: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

But while the Gospel of Mark begins well enough with the dramatic story of the baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist, the ending of the story is – at least on first reading – a bit of a downer. The women come to the tomb on Easter morning to prepare Jesus’ body for burial. When they arrive, the stone at the door of the tomb has been rolled away, and inside they see a strange young man who tells them that Jesus has been raised from the dead. He is alive and going ahead of them to Galilee where they will see him again. The women are terrified by this strange announcement and run away from the tomb. According to Mark: “. . . they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” And that’s it. That’s the end of the Gospel. That’s the end of Mark’s story of the resurrection. “. . . they were afraid.”

God knows there was plenty to fear in the first century. God knows there is no less cause for fear today: a world-wide economic meltdown, terrorism, loss of homes and jobs, identity theft and other rising crimes, health issues and personal problems. Probably everyone here this morning has a pet fear or two, whether we are willing to admit it to anyone or not. These are fear-full times, times full of fears.

I recently read about two people who sat next to each other on an airplane. In the few minutes before takeoff, they introduced themselves to each other. One was a pastor who was taking his very first trip by airplane. He was as nervous as could be. He kept opening and closing a small copy of the Bible in his hand, wiping the perspiration off his brow with a handkerchief; he was so fidgety he was unable to sit still.

Seated next to him was a businesswoman who was a seasoned traveler and wasn’t frightened at all. This was all routine to her. She was reading the Wall Street Journal,  totally relaxed, but couldn’t help seeing the pastor’s distress. Finally, she asked him what his problem was and he admitted he was terrified at the thought of flying.

“Why is that?” she asked. She told him all the old reassurances we’ve all heard, that statistically we’re safer in the air than on the highway, or even sitting at home. Nothing seemed to work. Finally she said, “You’re a person of faith. Doesn’t the Bible have Jesus saying something like, ‘I am with you always, even to the close of the age?’ If that’s true, what is there to fear?”

The minister thought deeply about what she had said, reflecting on the woman’s point and knowledge of scripture, and then he replied, “That is very helpful, but, you didn’t get the quote exactly right. Jesus says, ‘Lo, I am with you always . . .’ Get it? ‘Lo!” That’s silly. Now let’s get serious.

Almost everybody knows there are four gospel accounts of Jesus’ death and resurrection, one each in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. And probably most of us recall that in some of those familiar accounts there is more to the story than was read from Mark this morning. After the burial of Jesus, Matthew has a scene at the tomb on Sunday morning which includes an earthquake and an angel who frightened nearby guards who had been placed there. The angel spoke with Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary,” so that the women left the tomb “with fear and great joy . . .” and took off running to tell the other disciples. Luke describes the scene without an earthquake or frightened guards, but has two angels greet the women. They are frightened there too, of course, but according to Luke, they run to the eleven disciples with their report. In John, only Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb, followed later by Peter and John, and it is Jesus himself who greets her, though at first she doesn’t recognize him. Matthew, Luke, and John then go on to tell stories of Jesus’ appearances to his disciples following the resurrection.

It seems Mark, the gospel that like most Protestants values brevity above all else, will have none of it. Mark, as we heard this morning, has the women coming to the tomb, finding the stone rolled away, a strange young man who delivers a commission, and then they take off, frightened to death, and say nothing at all to anyone. Then Mark gives us the very last words of his gospel: “for they were afraid.” It appears that for this gospel, fear has the last word.

Now that doesn’t seem like the greatest way to end a gospel. But all of the earliest manuscripts of Mark end with verse eight and that is what they say, “. . . for they were afraid.” It’s a little mystifying, and not just to us. As early as the second century, just a few decades after this book was written (and Mark was the first gospel to be written), the scribes and copyists – who were making additional copies by hand, long before the days of printing presses – were uncomfortable with the original ending so they added two others that you may have noticed in your own Bible: a short one that appears without verse numbers after verse eight. And then there is what is called “The Longer Ending of Mark” that is made up of verses nine through twenty. It includes post-resurrection appearances and other material like the other gospels. These “added on” endings match the traditional picture of what happened that first Easter. But it is virtually certain that Mark didn’t write them. Why would he have ended such a glorious event with a word of fear?

Is it possible that Mark was particularly perceptive about human nature? I think the way the women reacted to the news of resurrection in Mark’s gospel is the way most of us react when we are confronted with a new reality which doesn’t make any sense to us or when we face circumstances that overwhelm us. At such moments it seems as if we are trapped in confusion and time is standing still. We are amazed. We are often immobilized. We are afraid.

As human beings there are so many fears that are likely to afflict us including fear of death, pain, physical and mental illness, loss of livelihood, and loss of reputation. In recent times it has also been suggested that men and women have different characteristic fears. For example, it is said by some researchers that men fear the loss of independence and women fear the loss of significant relationships. Men fear what has been termed, “engulfment,” anything that robs them of power and control while women fear abandonment, isolation, loss of love. (Sam Keen, “Fire in the Belly,” p. 140)

Everyone knows what it is to be fearful, terrified of some public or private demon. I once heard it said that “Fear, not sin, is the great curse [of humanity.] Fear that I’ll be recognized for the fraud that I am – the great imposter complex. Fear that I will fail in some worthy endeavor or fear that I will succeed in some unworthy enterprise. Fear that I will not have enough time to do what I must. Fear that I will hurt or be hurt. Fear that I will not know love. Fear that my love will be painful and hurtful. Fear that the things that I most believe and trust are not so. Fear that I am untrustworthy. Every one of us is a hostage to fear.” (Peter Gomes, “When Life Begins”)

When Mark wrote of the women at this incredibly intense, frightening moment in their lives, when they went out and fled from the tomb . . . and they said nothing to anyone for they were afraid, he knew what he was talking about. Real engagement with life and death is frightening.

Even the promise that Jesus has gone ahead of them into Galilee and they will see him there probably seemed to the women to be a vague promise, not a certain hope. And frankly – let’s be honest now – isn’t that the way most of us approach Easter? We hope it may be true but somewhere deep inside we are afraid it may not be. But let me tell you something even more fearful. If the resurrection is true, it will bring a frightening dislocation to your life and mine.

The story is told of two fishermen making anchor off the Gulf Coast. They went to sleep in their boat, and in the night a storm blew in and dislodged their craft from its anchor. They slept right through the storm, but when one of them awoke the next day, he looked out the window and poked his pal, saying, “Hey Joe, wake up! We’re not here anymore!” In the same way, the resurrection dislodges us from so many presumptions, disorients us as it did to the women at the tomb, so that it is no surprise that we may find “we’re not here anymore.”

And that is the real point of Easter. We are not supposed to stay where we have been. We are to leave the dead and dying past and go forward to meet him in places of new life. Afraid? Of course, we’re afraid. But the answer of the resurrection to our deepest fears is just this: the Risen Christ is not to be found among our deepest fears but in our highest hopes. Christ has gone ahead of us into all our tomorrows, and calls us to follow him there.

The fearful flight of the women that ends Mark’s gospel so suddenly, so unexpectedly, cutting short all the questions we would like to have asked, puts us to work, sends us to our own Galilees where he has promised to go ahead of us. Mark leaves the rest of the story up to us. There is no neatly packaged product ready for the Hollywood sound stage here. We must decide how it will come out. We must become involved in the drama of salvation. We are invited to finish the story of the gospel. It’s not a story that can be closed with words on a page. No written ending can contain him any more than any tomb could. He always goes before us. Always he beckons us forward to a new appearance in the Galilee of the nations, the Galilee of daily life, the Galilee where there is work to be done, the Galilee where there is compassion to be manifested, justice to be established. We go to meet Christ in the Galilee of all the other days of the year that aren’t Easter day. We never know where or when we will meet him. We only know that he goes before us forgiving and redeeming us for what we have been and empowering us for what we shall be.

Frederick Buechner ends a powerful Easter sermon with these words: “The proclamation of Easter Day is that all is well . . . Love is the victor. Death is not the end. The end is life.” Existence has greater depths of beauty, mystery, and benediction than the wildest visionary has ever dared to dream.” (From “The Magnificent Defeat.” Pg. 81)

A great man (Franklin D. Roosevelt in his Inaugural address, March 4, 1933) in times far worse than these said that “The only thing we have to fear . . . is fear itself.” The same challenge confronts us today. Will we live in fear or in faith? Do you remember the old saying? “Fear knocked at the door, faith answered and no one was there.” Of course, no one was there. Christ has gone ahead of us into a future of hope and joy and peace. Now it’s time to go meet him there.