The Easter Punchline (Or, Denying Closure)--April 2, 2018
"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 16:8]
“…And no one ever told the news that Jesus was alive again. The end.” That’s the last sentence of Mark’s Gospel. No joke.
Seriously, it is. It will turn out that there has been a method to Mark’s madness all along, but this really is the last line. And it turns out that it is, after all, a punch-line. But we have to get there.
Your own Bible may have other “endings” that come after this in your copy of the Gospel of Mark, but you probably will also have a little footnote in your Bible’s margins as well about those extra endings, noting that they appear to be later additions that other Christians wrote because they didn’t like the suddenness and ambiguity of Mark’s ending. So some well-meaning copyists decided to cobble a little bit of Matthew, a little bit of Luke, and some other odds and ends together to create what appears in your Bible as “the shorter ending of Mark” and “the longer ending of Mark.” But it seems, based on the best and oldest manuscripts available, that Mark intended to end his story here, with “…and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”
This can either seem like the worst possible ending of the story of Jesus, or the most hilarious example of divine comedy you’ll find in the New Testament. On the one hand, it sounds so sad and forlorn. Don’t the women ever get to see Jesus? Don’t the disciples eventually get to meet him face to face again? Didn’t the angel say that Jesus promised to meet his disciples in Galilee? Then why don’t we get to see any of that? Why don’t we get to hear that story? And how can Mark end this Gospel on such a sad note: they said nothing to anyone? They were paralyzed with fear? Is that really how the story of Jesus ends?
Well, in a word, no. Of course not.
This is where the hopeless-sounding last verse of Mark turns out to be the punch-line of resurrection hilarity. Think about it for a moment. Just who did Mark say was at the tomb? By my count, there are three people there—Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome—and one angelic messenger. What is crystal clear is that none of those people is Mark, our narrator, the one who actually wrote down this gospel in the first place.
So… how did Mark ever find out?
There is only one inescapable conclusion: somebody eventually told! Someone—one of those three women at the tomb—eventually had their fear silenced and broken, and they went and told! Someone eventually let the big secret slip—Jesus is alive!
Well, now what could possibly have done it? Do you suppose the women just needed some time to “think it over” and decided that they didn’t need to be afraid? Do you suppose they just overcame their crippling fear by sheer willpower, without ever actually seeing the risen Jesus again? No, of course not—the only possible thing that could have changed things for these women is that they eventually met Jesus himself! The risen and living Jesus had to appear—he himself changed their hearts and their minds so that they could eventually bring the news to the disciples, who brought it to others (like, say, Mark himself), who brought it to others still, who eventually brought it to you and me. It’s the greatest punchline in the world for Mark to say, “And nobody ever told…” while Mark himself is proof that someone eventually told, and that only a risen Jesus could have brought about that kind of transformation! “…and they said nothing to anyone…” It’s hilarious! Preposterously, uproariously funny!
And, at the same time, it is also intentionally unresolved. Mark doesn’t tie a bow on the story of Jesus with a concluding, “And they all lived happily ever after,” because as far as Mark is concerned, the story isn’t over. That’s part of what the resurrection means: Jesus is still alive, still loose in the world.
For us who have grown up on sitcom plotlines that wrap up everything in 22 minutes and end with a group-hug freeze-frame while the credits roll to give us “closure,” Mark’s Gospel feels decidedly messier. But it’s intentional—the one thing Mark doesn’t want to give us is “closure,” because the story isn’t done. And if we had a sitcom-style ending we would all thing that the adventures of Jesus were done, just a story to watch on a screen or a book to read and master. But it ain’t any of that. The story of Jesus is an unending, unfolding divine comedy… because Jesus is still alive and isn’t done reclaiming and restoring creation!
Being a Christian, in the end, is being someone who is in on the joke, someone who learns to laugh with sheer and holy delight in the hilarity of resurrection, the hilarity of a kingdom where the last become first, the lowly become the leaders, and crown comes from a cross. And now we are a part of the story, too, a story that doesn’t end with a single period, but with an ellipsis…
“…And nobody ever told, because they were afraid…” Yeah, right. Sure they didn’t, Mark. Good one. April fools… Today, and all our lives long, let it be our constant prayer that God would work his divine comedy in and through us, so that the laughter of resurrection can’t be contained, and so that we, in turn, are the ones who will tell someone else this hilarious, uproarious news.
This can either seem like the worst possible ending of the story of Jesus, or the most hilarious example of divine comedy you’ll find in the New Testament. On the one hand, it sounds so sad and forlorn. Don’t the women ever get to see Jesus? Don’t the disciples eventually get to meet him face to face again? Didn’t the angel say that Jesus promised to meet his disciples in Galilee? Then why don’t we get to see any of that? Why don’t we get to hear that story? And how can Mark end this Gospel on such a sad note: they said nothing to anyone? They were paralyzed with fear? Is that really how the story of Jesus ends?
Well, in a word, no. Of course not.
This is where the hopeless-sounding last verse of Mark turns out to be the punch-line of resurrection hilarity. Think about it for a moment. Just who did Mark say was at the tomb? By my count, there are three people there—Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome—and one angelic messenger. What is crystal clear is that none of those people is Mark, our narrator, the one who actually wrote down this gospel in the first place.
So… how did Mark ever find out?
There is only one inescapable conclusion: somebody eventually told! Someone—one of those three women at the tomb—eventually had their fear silenced and broken, and they went and told! Someone eventually let the big secret slip—Jesus is alive!
Well, now what could possibly have done it? Do you suppose the women just needed some time to “think it over” and decided that they didn’t need to be afraid? Do you suppose they just overcame their crippling fear by sheer willpower, without ever actually seeing the risen Jesus again? No, of course not—the only possible thing that could have changed things for these women is that they eventually met Jesus himself! The risen and living Jesus had to appear—he himself changed their hearts and their minds so that they could eventually bring the news to the disciples, who brought it to others (like, say, Mark himself), who brought it to others still, who eventually brought it to you and me. It’s the greatest punchline in the world for Mark to say, “And nobody ever told…” while Mark himself is proof that someone eventually told, and that only a risen Jesus could have brought about that kind of transformation! “…and they said nothing to anyone…” It’s hilarious! Preposterously, uproariously funny!
And, at the same time, it is also intentionally unresolved. Mark doesn’t tie a bow on the story of Jesus with a concluding, “And they all lived happily ever after,” because as far as Mark is concerned, the story isn’t over. That’s part of what the resurrection means: Jesus is still alive, still loose in the world.
For us who have grown up on sitcom plotlines that wrap up everything in 22 minutes and end with a group-hug freeze-frame while the credits roll to give us “closure,” Mark’s Gospel feels decidedly messier. But it’s intentional—the one thing Mark doesn’t want to give us is “closure,” because the story isn’t done. And if we had a sitcom-style ending we would all thing that the adventures of Jesus were done, just a story to watch on a screen or a book to read and master. But it ain’t any of that. The story of Jesus is an unending, unfolding divine comedy… because Jesus is still alive and isn’t done reclaiming and restoring creation!
Being a Christian, in the end, is being someone who is in on the joke, someone who learns to laugh with sheer and holy delight in the hilarity of resurrection, the hilarity of a kingdom where the last become first, the lowly become the leaders, and crown comes from a cross. And now we are a part of the story, too, a story that doesn’t end with a single period, but with an ellipsis…
“…And nobody ever told, because they were afraid…” Yeah, right. Sure they didn’t, Mark. Good one. April fools… Today, and all our lives long, let it be our constant prayer that God would work his divine comedy in and through us, so that the laughter of resurrection can’t be contained, and so that we, in turn, are the ones who will tell someone else this hilarious, uproarious news.
Who, do you suppose, in your life’s circles, will one day name you as the one who told them the news? Who else will be in on the joke because you were one to tell the story in their lives?
Lord Jesus, we are not afraid anymore, for we have come to know you, alive and risen. Let us be a part of your unfolding, unending reign of joy by telling the news of your resurrection’s divine comedy. Let us follow after you, Lord Jesus, all our days…
Lord Jesus, we are not afraid anymore, for we have come to know you, alive and risen. Let us be a part of your unfolding, unending reign of joy by telling the news of your resurrection’s divine comedy. Let us follow after you, Lord Jesus, all our days…
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