When You Follow, You Will See Him—Mk 16:1-8

We know the names of the three women.  We know their names because the earliest Christians knew these women.  They could ask Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome to tell them, again, about that day.  Those three never grew tired of telling those events.

The Sabbath was over.  It was time to resume life again: the daily activities, chores, duties, the work.  Those three had the unenviable work of finishing the burial customs for a man who had been dead for more than thirty-eight hours.  They would have undertaken that work only from a sense of duty and because of their love for him.  This duty was going to require courage.  It’s not easy to muster courage; hearts can so quickly falter.

But they make their way to the tomb, together—it’s easier to hold on to courage when there’s someone there to hold on to, when you’ve got someone with you.  The light was just grazing the horizon.  The cool, fresh air was scented with grass and flowers.  It was a gentle, good time of day.  It was that time of possibility and of hope.  Each day brings these gifts, these blessings.

Those three weren’t thinking or feeling such things, though.  They were trying to be brave though they were afraid, strong, though they felt weak, trying to do their duty to their dead loved one, though, honestly, they would have preferred to be doing almost anything else.

At some point far along that walk in the grass-scented cool and the light going peach, it hit them that they were going to have to move the stone closing the tomb.  Oh!  They hadn’t thought about that!  They hadn’t prepared for that!  The courage they were working so hard to keep was so soon faltering, fluttering, failing.  The work was already overwhelming.  This was the last thing they needed.

They had forgotten one, very important thing.  Yes, they had, hadn’t they?  They had forgotten what Jesus had told them, had told them several times.  The thing they did need to remember was the thing they were still forgetting.  They were coming to Jesus’ tomb in love.  They were not coming in hope or in faith.

We sometimes do the same.  We can feel love for Jesus.  He was quite a man, wasn’t he?  He said some beautiful things, didn’t he?  He helped people, and was angry about injustice and selfishness.  We can feel love for Jesus, but hope?  Hope in Jesus?  And faith?  What does it mean to have faith in Jesus?  We have love, but, like that courage those women were struggling to muster and keep, hope and faith may require more than we have to offer.

They were not relieved when they turned the corner and saw that the stone had already been rolled away.  What has happened, here?  Why is that stone rolled away?  How?  Who rolled it away?  Three motivated women nearly lost all their courage and determination because they couldn’t imagine how they were going to move that huge, heavy stone.  Now their courage crumbles even faster, and fear begins to run through the cracks, runs in, and underneath.

That trickle of fear becomes steadier and stronger as they enter the tomb.  They need to know.  What else is different?  What else has changed?  They go in, not knowing what they will see.  What would you have been expecting?  They entered the tomb, and they saw a young man, not a child or an elderly man but a young man, dressed in white, sitting on the right side.  Now that’s specific, isn’t it?  Not standing.  Not on the left.  Not outside the tomb.  But inside, on the right.

This young man has a message.  He is a messenger.  His message is about what has happened in that tomb.  They have to go into the tomb to get that message.  If they’re going to be able to listen, though, they have to be calmer.  Their world is being shaken apart.  It’s not so easy to listen, when you feel like your world is being shaken apart.  “You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.”  Yes, that’s the one, that’s the man.  Oh, yes, he was crucified, and oh, yes, he was dead.  That was certain.  They had seen that much.  There was nothing they were more certain of than that their beloved Jesus was dead.

This strange messenger speaks strange words to them.  “He has been raised; he is not here.”  He tells them to see for themselves, confirm for themselves.  “Look, there is the place they laid him.”

You can love Jesus and not believe what this messenger is saying.  Those women, who loved Jesus, did not believe, except that they then saw for themselves that he was not in the tomb; they then saw for themselves that the stone had already been rolled away; they then saw for themselves this young man sitting inside on the right, who told them, simply, clearly, mysteriously, definitely, that Jesus has been raised.

What the messenger says is quite logical, isn’t it?  How would Jesus be there, if he has been raised?  Those who are raised will not be found in the tomb!  But where to find Jesus, then?  Where is he?

That messenger invites them to see for themselves.  He’s doing more, though: he is making them witnesses.  Three witnesses, assured witnesses who know what they saw, what they heard.  Assured witnesses, who had not gone to the tomb of Jesus that morning expecting to be witnesses of anything other than his dead body, already smelling foul.  Where is he?

That new day, that day of work resumed, life resumed, those three women came because of love and duty.  They had not come in hope of anything.  They had not come in faith.  But that messenger from God, with that message from God for them, personally, made them witnesses, witnesses to hope.  But where to find Jesus?

Witnesses to hope have a message of faith.  That messenger in white, after making those women witnesses, gives them instructions: go and tell.  You will see him, just as he told you.  To see Jesus, the disciples were going to have to follow him, because Jesus was going ahead of them to Galilee.  Where is he?  Follow him, and you will see him.

Those three, who had come with some reluctance that morning, beat a hasty retreat from the tomb; love is hard enough to get, to have, and to hold, in this life.  But hope?  And faith?  That angel, that messenger from God, was telling those disciples to go in love, hope, and faith.  They run, not saying anything, not knowing what to say, or how.  The foundations upon which they had built their lives—dead is dead, God doesn’t speak, love and duty are as close to hope and faith as we will ever get—God shakes these foundations, there at that empty tomb, in that angel’s words.  He’s rolling aside the stone upon which they have been building their lives.  God is showing them, giving them, the true foundation: His power, His grace, His promise, His love, His joy.  Christ, risen.

Mark tells us those women didn’t say a word to anyone.  Not at first.  Not right away.  Then they did.  And here we are because they did.  Here we are, on this day, hearing this word, before this table prepared for us, because God rolled aside that old, heavy foundation stone.  He rolled it aside.  He shows us an empty tomb.  Then he tells us to keep following.  Jesus goes before us.  When we follow, we will see him, just as he told us.  To see him, we have to follow him.

That’s not just a message of love.  That is a message of hope.  That is a message of faith.  The ones who said nothing spoke at some point!  They became the witnesses God made them, that day.  And so shall we.

To the God of all grace, who calls you to share God’s eternal glory in union with Christ, be the power forever!