We Stand Before the Empty Tomb (Mark 15.42-16.8)

Every book of the Bible—whether it’s the book of Jeremiah (1,364 verses) or 3 John (15 verses)—was written for a reason. Every book has a goal in mind, and every book intends to elicit a particular response from its readers.

The gospel of Mark is no different.

Mark has two main goals in mind, which we saw at the very beginning of this series. His first goal is to tell us who Jesus is; and his second goal is to explain and defend the universal call of discipleship—that is, to show us what it means to follow this Jesus, the Son of God, the King of God’s kingdom, the Messiah.

Last week, we got the clearest reminder of who Jesus is, given by the Roman soldier, who proclaimed upon Jesus’s death, “Truly this man was the Son of God!” And this week, he’ll remind us of the call God puts upon all of us, to be disciples of Christ.

This will be the end of our series on the gospel of Mark. But before we get into it, we’re going to need to do a bit of work, because there’s one puzzle we’ll need to sort out.

You probably noticed that we did not read v. 9-20 of chapter 16. And we’re not planning on doing that; we’re not going to see those verses next week. To understand why, we need to understand the use of brackets in our modern Bible translations. (I know, this is going to be really fun.)

In most of our modern translations, whenever you see a word or a verse in brackets, that means that the word or verse inside the brackets does not appear in many early manuscripts.

Now, most of the time, that fact makes almost no difference at all. Most of the time, it’s a word or a phrase that was added for clarification or for some other reason, but it changes nothing about the meaning of the text, or its place in the rest of the Bible. The translators include these things anyway, to be thorough, but they’re honest with us—when they put words or phrases or verses in brackets, that’s their way of saying whatever is inside the brackets was quite possibly added later, and not written by the original author.

Verses 9-20 of Mark 16 are like that. These verses do not appear in many early manuscripts; other manuscripts include these verses, but indicate that even earlier manuscripts don’t include them; and many early church theologians (like Origen or Clement of Alexandria) don’t seem to know about them. And there are several elements here which just aren’t in keeping with Mark’s writing style.

Like I said, most of the time this changes nothing, or very little. But in the case of Mark 16.9-20, it actually changes a good deal.

Most of v. 9-20 contains things we see elsewhere in the Bible: Jesus appearing to Mary and the two disciples first; then appearing to the eleven; then telling them to go into all the world and proclaim the gospel; and finally, Jesus being taken up to heaven and the disciples going out and preaching. All of those things, we see in the other gospels or in the book of Acts.

But there are two verses in particular that are problematic—v. 17-18—which says all believers should expect certain things (like being immune to snake bites and poison) that the rest of the Bible never says believers should or will expect. Some churches have based entire theologies off of these two verses alone—they’ve brought in poisonous snakes for Christians to handle. And guess what? Christians have died after being bitten.

So you see the problem. If these verses do not appear in many early manuscripts; if they contain stylistic differences from the way Mark wrote the rest of his gospel; and if they contain elements that are incoherent with the rest of the Bible, then it’s a pretty good sign that Mark did not write these verses—which means these verses shouldn’t be seen as the authoritative, inspired Word of God. There’s still some debate about this, which is why these verses are still included in brackets in our translations, but the debate isn’t very fierce: most scholars agree that Mark didn’t write these verses, and they were added later—and that’s our conviction too.

But I’ll freely admit that this fact brings up another question—and it fundamentally changes the way we read the end of this book.

We have all seen TV series in the modern era, and we’ve all been frustrated by them. The show builds and it builds and it builds and we get more and more invested and excited in the story. And then there’s a huge revelation, or a twist in the story…and the season ends. And we know we’ll have to wait another year, or two, or three, before we get the next installment.

If Mark ends at v. 8, then that’s essentially what he does: he ends on a cliffhanger. We never actually see Jesus resurrected; the women don’t go see the apostles to tell them about the resurrection; the story just ends. We know those things happened, but Mark never tells us about them. (By the way, this isn’t unprecedented in the Bible; the book of Jonah ends in a similar way.)

But if that is the way Mark truly did end his gospel (and I believe that it is), the question we need to ask is, “Why?” Why did he end his gospel in such an abrupt way?

We know enough about Mark by now to know that he leaves nothing to chance; he says as much through the structure of his narrative as he does through the text itself. So what is he trying to tell us through this mysterious ending?

The answer to that question is actually, I think, the main message behind this text—and it’s astounding. I love the way Mark ends his gospel at v. 8 of chapter 16.

So let’s get into it.

We remember the context. Jesus has just been crucified. The King was falsely accused, falsely condemned, crowned with a crown of thorns, and enthroned on a cross…and then he died. The Roman soldier saw his death and recognized that he is the Son of God, and the faithful women who had followed him throughout Galilee are standing there watching.

That is where we pick up the narrative threat again, in chapter 15, verse 42.

The Outsider (15.42-47)

The first thing we see here is the boldness of a quite unexpected disciple.

42 And when evening had come, since it was the day of Preparation, that is, the day before the Sabbath, 43 Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of the council, who was also himself looking for the kingdom of God, took courage and went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus.

Joseph of Arimathea, as Mark tells us, was a respected member of the council. He was a Sadducee—and we remember that the Sadducees are among those religious leaders whom Jesus rebuked so many times over the course of his ministry. The Sadducees were among those who tried to trap Jesus and who called for his death.

But apparently this Joseph was more clear-sighted than many of the others; he wasn’t in the council to maintain political power or the Jewish way of life. He was looking for something bigger—Mark tells us he was “looking for the kingdom of God.” It would seem he recognized something in Jesus that the others did not.

So, Mark says, he took courage. He had to, because going to Pilate meant that he, a Sadducee, was publicly identifying himself as sympathetic to not only a convicted criminal, but to the very enemy his own group had worked so hard to bring down. It was risky. And Joseph’s courage was all the more admirable given the fact that at this very moment, Jesus’s own disciples were nowhere to be found. Joseph was an outsider, showing faithfulness to Jesus when the insiders had disappeared.

So Joseph went to Pilate and asked for Jesus’s body, so that he could bury him. V. 44:

44 Pilate was surprised to hear that he should have already died. And summoning the centurion, he asked him whether he was already dead. 45 And when he learned from the centurion that he was dead, he granted the corpse to Joseph.

Pilate was surprised that Jesus is already dead—sometimes it took days for a crucified person to die—so he sent for the centurion to confirm that Jesus was indeed dead. (That’s important: he got outside confirmation that Jesus hadn’t just fainted, but was really and truly dead.) And when he got confirmation, he allowed Joseph to take Jesus’s body.

V. 46:

46 And Joseph bought a linen shroud, and taking him down, wrapped him in the linen shroud and laid him in a tomb that had been cut out of the rock. And he rolled a stone against the entrance of the tomb. 47 Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where he was laid.

Ever since Jesus was arrested (and even throughout his gospel, really), Mark has been highlighting the irony of God’s plan of salvation. Nearly everything Jesus did throughout his ministry was unexpected. Those who seemed like they should have had a religious advantage—the religious leaders of Israel—were revealed to be the ones who didn’t want anything to do with the Savior God had sent.

And now, in a way, that position has been flipped. Jesus’s own disciples are absent; they’ve all fled. It would seem as if everything Jesus had worked for had come to nothing.

But when the plan looks dead, God raises up unexpected servants, unexpected disciples. The proof of a true disciple of Christ is revealed under pressure. Sometimes the people who look most “established” in the community—in this case, the eleven disciples who had followed Jesus throughout his ministry—end up clinging to safety, while the least likely step into sacrificial courage.

That is what we see in Joseph, and it is what we see in the women as well. We see in v. 47 that Mary Magdalene and Jesus’s mother were following behind to see where Jesus was laid, because they would be coming back.

The Empty Tomb (16.1–7)

Now, in chapter 16, we make a small leap forward in time. Jesus died on Friday. It is now Sunday, the day after the Sabbath. Remember what we saw several weeks ago: Jewish tradition held that the dead would be treated with oils and spices as a way of honoring them, after their death. Given the nature of Jesus’s death, they didn’t have time to do it properly on the day he died, before the Sabbath, so now these women who had followed Jesus are returning to his tomb to treat his body.

When the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. 2 And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. 3 And they were saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance of the tomb?”

A couple of interesting things to note here. We saw these women in chapter 15, v. 40—they were witnesses of the crucifixion, and at least one of them was a witness to Jesus’s burial. Now they are coming to be witnesses of Jesus in the tomb. And their mindset is clear—they’re not expecting anything miraculous. They’ve expecting to find him dead. They’ve brought the spices to treat his body; they’re asking themselves who’s going to roll the stone away from the entrance (the stone was huge). They are still in the grips of grief, not in expectation of a promise.

But God has already solved the problem they expected to face (v. 4):

4 And looking up, they saw that the stone had been rolled back—it was very large. 5 And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe, and they were alarmed.

So first things first: this young man sitting in the tomb dressed in a white robe is not Jesus. Presumably, it’s an angel. Mark says the women are “alarmed”—not mainly because they saw an angel, but because Jesus isn’t there.

V. 6:

6 And he said to them, “Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him. 7 But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.”

Mark, through this young man’s words, packs the entire gospel into three lines.

He says, “Do not be alarmed.” Don’t be afraid. Stop grieving. Stop fretting. This weekend has been horrendous—but there is no longer any reason to be afraid.

He says, “You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen.” The key truth of the Christian faith is not that Jesus died. If Jesus had died, and stayed dead, he would be no Savior at all, because he would not have defeated death. He would have been like any other man—a brilliant teacher, even a miracle worker, but not the Messiah.

But Jesus is risen. He defeated sin on the cross, and he defeated death in the grave. Literally everything we need as fallen human beings—freedom from sin, and freedom from the eternal death that is the consequence of that sin—has been provided for us in him.

He says, “He is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.” Jesus did indeed say this to his disciples, in chapter 14—he said that he would be raised, and go before them to Galilee. Even so, the women could easily have doubted at this point, despite the stone rolled away, despite the absence of Jesus’s body in the tomb. Maybe someone stole his body; maybe this young man was a part of some mysterious conspiracy.

But he sends them out with proof to come—not immediate proof, not the kind we always want, but proof to come. He’s going before you to Galilee, and you will see him there. If the women needed proof, they would get it very soon.

And they would get it in the very place Jesus’s ministry began: in Galilee. The risen Jesus is leading his people back to the beginning. He’s not where they last saw him—he’s not in the tomb, he’s not on Golgotha, he’s not in the Garden of Gethsemane. He’s already ahead of them.

And finally, the young man says: “Go, tell the disciples, and tell Peter.”

This is maybe the part of this whole text that hits me the hardest, because it’s so illogical. Some of you are responsible for teams in your jobs. Imagine you’ve been leading a project, and your entire team fell apart under the pressure. It’s cost you millions of euros, they’re all on medical leave for burnout—and you still need to keep going. The project still needs to happen, quickly.

What do you do in that case? You get a new team. You recruit new people. You don’t call the same folks who have just abandoned you, who have failed you so badly.

Jesus could easily have done that. He had plenty of people who had followed him who weren’t among the eleven. He could have called Joseph of Arimathea. He could have called Nicodemus, the Pharisee (John tells us that Nicodemus helped Joseph bury Jesus). He could have called the women who actually showed up. He could have called any number of people.

Instead, he goes back to those he chose at the beginning. “Go tell the disciples” that Jesus is risen, and he’s going to meet you in Galilee. Even better: “Go tell Peter.”

Peter, who had so recently vowed that even if everyone else abandoned Jesus, he wouldn’t—and who, just a few hours later, denied even knowing Jesus.

Jesus’s goal isn’t just efficiency; it’s restoration. The failures of Friday are not the end; Jesus is looking forward, and he knows exactly what he plans for these people who have failed him. He knows what he’s planning for the church they will establish.

This is the gospel. Jesus is risen, his plan is not finished, and he can use anyone—even the most abject failures—to do his will. The resurrection doesn’t just defeat death; it restores failure.

The Call (16.8)

This is incredible news, of course—so what happens now? You’d expect a lot more out of this story…but, as we saw at the beginning, we have very good reasons to believe Mark gives us only one more verse. V. 8:

8 And they went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

And that’s it. No appearances of Jesus before the disciples. No “and they lived happily ever after.” No matter what the angel has told them, the women are afraid; they are trembling and astonished. They flee from the tomb, and at least at first, they say nothing to anyone. They will—we know this from the other gospels—but at first, they’re just astonished and afraid.

So if Mark really did simply end his gospel at v. 8, as we believe he did, we have to ask: why did he do it that way?

In reality, it’s very much in keeping with what Mark has been doing this whole time—with what Jesus has been doing the whole time. Every time Jesus had told his disciples that he would die and be raised, he followed this announcement with a call to deny themselves in order to follow him. It’s been plain this whole time: after the resurrection, there would be a choice.

And the choice would be made, as Mark’s readers would know. By the time Mark wrote his gospel, the church already existed in its earliest form; his readers would know that the story didn’t actually end here. So they would have understood that the disciples faced this very real choice to deny themselves after the resurrection, and that they made the right choice. What happened next would never have been in question.

Mark is making a deliberate, rhetorical choice. By ending his gospel this way, he forces his readers into the story. The resurrection is announced, but it’s not “finished”. He forces us to stand at the empty tomb, and he asks us to respond.

The women are afraid when they hear the news, and we understand them. Because they are women in Israel, in the first century. Women, at this time in history, would have had no credibility—women weren’t even allowed to be witnesses in a trial. The task to announce Christ’s resurrection to the disciples has been given to them…but why should the disciples listen to them?

Have you ever felt afraid to share the gospel with someone else? Then you know how these women felt. You’ve got this incredible news to share…but what if no one listens?

The resurrection always confronts us with a choice: stay silent, or move forward, and speak. Sooner or later, we all have to make that choice anyway, as these women would—despite our fear, despite our hesitations. Mark’s gospel ends in mid-sentence because he expects his readers to finish it. He ends in uncertainty, not in celebration, because he wants his readers to feel the weight of unfinished obedience.

Jesus is risen! The resurrection has happened!

Now what are you going to do with that incredible news?

I hope you can see why Mark’s choice to end his gospel in this way is profoundly encouraging. All of us will fail, and all of us will have to decide what to do with our faith in the midst of our failure.

If you’re a hesitant disciple of Christ, wanting to move forward but afraid you don’t have all the answers, or afraid that you don’t have the strength in yourself to live for him, God is speaking to you through Mark. He’s reminding you that you don’t need to have “resurrection-level faith” to begin; even frightened disciples, like these women, are invited.

If you’re a Christian living with failure, God is speaking to you through Mark. “Tell the disciples—and tell Peter.” Those men would carry their failure with them for the rest of their lives. But that failure wouldn’t define them; the restoration they found in Christ after their failure would. Our worst moment is not who we are. We are who Christ makes of us.

If you’re a Christian who’s become complacent, a little too comfortable, then God is speaking to you. We can’t assume faithfulness because we’ve grown up in church, or because we belong to a Christian family, or because we “do all the right things. Joseph shows up when the insiders don’t. Our faithfulness shows itself under pressure, not when things are going well.

If you feel like God is absent, and you don’t know how to move forward without him… God is speaking to you too. Jesus is already ahead of you. The silence you feel doesn’t mean that God is absent; he’s before you. He knows exactly where he’s bringing you, even if you can’t see it.

And if you’re hearing this gospel, but you’re still not convinced, you need to understand that you’re standing in front of the empty tomb. Jesus Christ lived, died, was raised…and he’s now calling all of us to follow him. And you’re now faced with that same call, with that same choice.

You see, Mark leaves his gospel open because the resurrection isn’t a conclusion—it’s a beginning.
The empty tomb isn’t the end of the gospel; it’s the place where discipleship truly begins.

So how will we respond?