The young man in white linen – and the first Easter sermon

This sermon was prepared for a group of churches coming together to celebrate Easter. The gospel is the ending of Mark’s gospel (16:1-8 (printed below))- the last spoken words being the first Easter sermon.

March 31st 2024

This is how Mark’s gospel ends – with three women (call them the spice girls!) fleeing from the tomb, seized by terror and amazement, saying nothing to anyone because they were afraid. There is nothing else. 

People have wondered about this ending. Some have said that we’ve lost the ending. Some have tried to change the ending: we can see when we look in the print versions of our Bibles. Those false endings attempt to correct what they see missing but are so out of character of Mark’s gospel that they have been dismissed by one commentator as “betrayals”. 

They’re also misleading – they take our eye off the ending of Mark’s gospel. Instead of seeing a line drawn under the fear of those three women, our eye is taken elsewhere. If only we could take scissors to those false endings, then our eyes would be taken by what’s there in Mark’s ending, not by what is missing.

What’s there for us to see? There are three women. Mark names them. They are Mary Magdalene, Mary, the mother of James and Salome. And there’s a young man. He plays the lead part. I’ve never paid any attention to him before – my apologies to him. There is no one else.

(There is the usual power dynamic with the young mansplaining to the women – but let’s not get distracted by that, I say mansplainingly!). Mark wants us to see the interplay between them to finish the gospel. 

So, the young man. He’s wearing white linen. Seeing that gives us a smell. There is a perfume called White Linen – a costly fragrance. According to the Estee Lauder website, White Linen captures the very essence of a perfect day: early Spring breezes tinged with the fragrance of fresh flowers and endless blue sky. Blissful. It smells like Easter!

In my mind I’ve called this sermon White Linen because the threads of that white linen weave themselves through Mark’s gospel and on into our own lives. 

We’re going in deep this morning – we have to to bring this gospel to life. I hope you will bear with me in following the threads of this white linen worn by the young man.

The young man is the last person with anything to say in Mark’s gospel. (The women are too afraid to speak.) We’ll look at those words later.

I wonder where he got the linen from. Could it be the grave clothes left behind by Jesus? And where did Jesus get the white linen from? 

Mark tells us that Joseph of Aramathea (one of the ruling council and authorities responsible for Jesus’ crucifixion) bound Jesus’ body in linen refusing him the proper burial rites so that they could bury him in a hurry before the sabbath. Is the young man wearing the linen cloth abandoned by the risen Jesus who was no longer there?

And where did Joseph of Aramathea get the cloth from? Well, Mark tells us that when Jesus was arrested all his followers “deserted him and fled”. Mark singles out from among  them “a certain young man”. “A certain young man was following him, wearing nothing but a linen cloth. They caught hold of him, but he left the linen cloth and ran off naked.”

Is this the same young man to whom Mark gives the last words of his gospel? Is this the same young man the women find? And if so, what happened to the linen cloth that he ran off naked without? Was that what the crowd, with their swords and clubs got hold of? And is that what they gave Joseph to bind Jesus in death when they sealed him in the tomb?

You might think rightly that this linen cloth would be anything but white. It would have been dirty with  dust and sweat – and it passed into the grubby hands of the authorities. But Mark tells us about Jesus’ transfiguration earlier in his gospel, when his own clothes became dazzling white such as noone on earth could bleach them. (9:3)

Do you see the connection? If Jesus’s clothes became dazzling white at his transfiguration, why not at his resurrection? 

So we see the young man in white linen in the intentional ending of Mark’s gospel. 

He is sat at the right hand of the empty tomb. That’s where Mark places him for our imagination to feast on – the seat at the right hand being the seat of power. He’s become the person of power for the church Mark is writing his gospel for. Even though, (even if), this is the same young man who three days earlier was last seen fleeing – deserting Jesus along with all the others, in this last scene of Mark’s gospel, he is highlighted as seated in the seat of power at the scene of glory.

He stands for all those who flee, including those who leave everything behind, even going naked. He stands for the disciples who failed and betrayed Jesus. He stands for those too frightened to speak. 

Mark gives his last spoken words to the young man. They are a challenge and invitation to the frightened, fleeing, failing friends of Jesus to follow again. He says: “Do not be alarmed: you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”

And after that there is not a single word spoken. In spite of the young man’s instruction, “Go, tell”, all there is is a telling silence, and the only sound is the sound of fear. The women, “they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

The ending of Mark’s gospel is abrupt. The other gospel writers detail resurrection appearances in contrast to Mark, who in just a few words, the last words of the young man, promises his followers that they will see him if they follow him. He says “He is going ahead of you to Galilee, there you will see him.” He is going ahead of those who follow. They will see him in Galilee – down to earth, not pie in the sky.

I wonder who the young man is. I wonder if the young man also stands for the church. When the church shares the young man’s words, identifying Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified, who has been raised and who goes before us, who we follow and often fail. Is Mark picturing the church, in the form of the young man, at the right hand of the tomb as the power of God for as long as we say to one another, “Go. Tell. Follow.”

Is that the white linen churches are bedecked with? Is the dazzling white linen on the altar the cloth that draped the young man, that was first snatched from him when he fled naked, that was picked up by the powers that be and used to bind the body of Jesus?

Is what the young man said to the women also intended for us? Surely so. “He is going ahead of you to Galilee, there you will see him.” Galilee was their home. Galilee was where they had come from. Galilee was the place they were troubled, impoverished, exploited and where life was never easy. According to the young man that’s where Jesus headed – to their homes, to their work, to their villages, to their neighbours, to their enemies.  There they would see him if they followed him – not anywhere else.

Galilee isn’t our home. But if we trust the gospel which is Mark’s, we can surely trust that the risen Jesus goes before us to the places where we are troubled, impoverished and exploited, to our workplaces, to our street corners, to our shelters. We will see him there, only ever there, only ever down to earth.

The ending of Mark’s gospel raises so many questions. They’re glorious questions.

But one thing is for sure. That is that Jesus won’t be wearing white linen. He shed that at the tomb for the young man who had failed and fled, and for the women who failed to tell, for all of us who fail and yet still want to follow – and for the church – to pick up the threads. Jerusalem and the tomb was never Jesus’ final destination. He went ahead to Galilee inviting followers. His destination is our everyday. We will find him there, in the rest of our lives, if we follow. Promise.

Mark 16:1-8

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, ‘Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?’ When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.’ 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.

PS I am grateful for the insights of Ched Myers in his commentary on Mark’s gospel, Binding the Strong Man, and for insights from Alan, Jeanette, Karen and Lesley.

O come, Wisdom

This is what wisdom looks like. It is not as we have come to know wisdom which so often comes dressed in cap and gown. Wisdom so often looks serious, powerful and distant. But here, wisdom looks personal, merciful, charitable and child-like. This icon of Our Lady, Seat of Wisdom is by Slovenian artist and theologian Marko Rupnek, and was commissioned by Pope Paul II. This is what wisdom looks like for those who feel betrayed by those who have impersonated Wisdom and for those whose only hope is in a Wisdom, the likes of which we have never seen before.

The prayer for Wisdom is the first of the Advent Antiphons. They are for those who live in lamentable times. There are seven of them, and they are part of Common Worship Daily Prayer for the seven days starting today.

The prayer goes:

O Wisdom, coming forth from the mouth of the Most High,
reaching from one end to the other mightily,
and sweetly ordering all things:
Come and teach us the way of prudence.

Malcolm Guite has composed an appeal for Wisdom as part of his reflections on the Advent Antiphons. This is part of his collection of Sonnets, Sounding the Seasons.

O Sapientia

I cannot think unless I have been thought,
Nor can I speak unless I have been spoken.
I cannot teach except as I am taught,
or break the bread except as I  am broken.
O mind behind the mind through which I seek,
O light within the light by which I see,
O Word beneath the words with which I speak,
O founding, unfound Wisdom, finding me,
O sounding Song whose depth is sounding me,
O Memory of time, reminding me,
My Ground of Being always grounding me,
My Maker’s Bounding Line, defining me,
Come, hidden Wisdom, come with all you bring,
Come to me now, disguised as everything.

When we pray for Wisdom we recognise that we are still seeking her. We know Folly sure enough, but Wisdom is yet to be found. In Matthew’s story of Jesus’ birth we are reminded just how elusive Wisdom is. There, the so-called Wise Men got their directions so wrong that they travelled to Jerusalem before realising their mistake. Worldly wise they expected the special birth to be at the seat of power, and not in a stable. As Brueggemann says, they were nine miles wide of the mark.

But we act as if we are “spot on”.

I am heartened by the attention being given to how we can share concerns about how we are failing (the Harvard Business Review has published its Failure Issue). We tend to protect ourselves by saying what a good job we are doing, and how we are meeting our targets, like Little Jack Horner sat in his corner. Too often we just list our successes to promote ourselves and our organisation. This is hiding the truth. This is foolish. Further questions need asking such as “in what ways are we (am I) failing to do what we feel we should be doing?” That question is far more likely to uncover the truth. Realising the lamentable truth of our lives is the start of our quest for Wisdom. Wisdom’s absence makes our hearts grow fonder for her.

Here is a link to a general post I wrote about the Advent Antiphons which you may like to read.