When
an Ending is a Beginning
By Bishop Paul V. Marshall
April, 2005
I love and hate films that do not actually end. Casablanca is a
good example. Problems are resolved and a few of the characters come
to know themselves in a new way. As the story ends, however, the
main characters go off to face an uncertain future.
Mark seems to have written his Easter gospel in a similar way.
Before dawn on Sunday, women come to anoint the body of Jesus. The
body is not there. A messenger from God tells them that Jesus has
risen and will meet the disciples in Galilee.
Then, Mark concludes: "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 stops his gospel virtually in mid sentence: "They said
nothing to anyone, for they were afraid of..." Our translations
usually smooth that off for us, but it is as I've described. The
reader is left hanging, wondering what will come next.
The early hearers and readers of Mark’s proclamation knew
that he was not so much writing an ending as he was signaling a beginning.
What would happen next in the Easter story was up to them. What will
happen next for contemporary readers and hearers of this Easter gospel
is up to us.
Some ten years ago Ronald Scates wrote an article, Why they Come,
Why They Stay (Reformed Worship, March 1996), in which he reports
that a survey of 26 mainline congregations in the USA revealed that
the number one reason visitors return and eventually become members
is that “the congregation acts like it really believes Jesus
is alive through a collective effervescence that pervades everything
that is done.”
Gimmicks require so much less of us. Scates reminds me that technique
to get people in the door may be well and good; after people walk
through our doors, however, it is not our technique but our faith
that matters most if our mission is to be successful. For mission
to succeed we need, as individuals and as congregations, to live
that effervescence that comes from following a living Lord, an exalted
servant.
That, in fact, is why I have a nearly total lack of interest in
arguments about whether the tomb was empty or not.
I believe it was; even if I did not, however, the "proof" of
the resurrection from Easter Monday on lies not in reconstructing
a past that cannot be reconstructed. The “proof” is in
the present-day encounter Christians have with the person and power
of the risen Christ.
That is what Mark's gospel is trying to get me to see in its unfinished
Easter story.
One of the most beautifully staged operas I've ever seen was the
premiere, some years ago at the Met, of Puccini's Turandot. Puccini
never finished the opera. When he died in 1924, his work was reverently
finished by friends from his notes.
At its Italian La Scala premiere in 1926, Turandot was conducted
by Arturo Toscanini. One of the stories told about this premiere
is that when Toscanini came to the last passage Puccini had written,
the conductor lowered his baton. Turning to the audience, he said
through tears: "This is where the master ends."
Then he raised the baton and said: "This is where the friends
continue." He went on to what has to have been one of the greatest
premieres in musical history.
Easter is a springboard into God's future. It I as though today
we paradoxically remember tomorrow. Jesus is going on ahead of us.
We have the master's notes. In fact, we have the risen master with
us. May we, his friends, continue the story.
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