St. Mark 16:1-8
April 1, 2018
Easter-B
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Assume for a moment that your assignment is to paint a picture of Easter—to capture the significance of the resurrection on canvass. What would you paint in your picture? What would you want to include? An open, empty tomb with the stone rolled away? Perhaps an angel or two preaching to a small group of faithful women? Or what about the resurrected Christ Himself—radiant and victorious, with peace that passes understanding? Aspiring artists down through the centuries have taken approaches similar to these—sometimes with spectacular results.
But what if I told you that one of the best Easter paintings ever painted contains no Christ and no angel, no women and no garden, no tomb and no stone? Grab a copy of today’s bulletin and take a look at the cover. This work has a rather long title: The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulcher on the Morning of the Resurrection. More often than not it’s just referred to by the shortened form, The Disciples. Now, some of you may have actually seen this painting on display. You won’t find it hanging in the Louvre or
This painting hasn’t always been highly regarded. It was painted in 1898 by a Swiss artist named Eugene Burnand. He was something of an old-fashioned realist at a time when all the cool kids were embracing modernism. For this reason The Disciples didn’t make a big splash when it was first hung. The artist’s style was already considered passé by the 1890s.
But let’s take a closer look at this painting. The colors of the sky tell us that the first blush of dawn is just beginning to tint the clouds. The two disciples pictured are John and Peter. They are rushing to the tomb of Jesus, having just been told by Mary Magdalene that she and the other women found it empty—and that Christ has risen. Her words are ringing in their ears, but their faces and their bodies reveal that they aren’t sure they can believe her.
John is the younger one on the left. He wrings his hands together anxiously. His face looks more troubled than joyful. John has the distinction of being the only one of the twelve who was with Jesus when He died on the cross—the disciple whom Jesus loved—the disciple who took the blessed Mother of Jesus into his own home. John is clad a white garment, looking almost angelic.
But in the center of the painting is Peter—wearing a dark-colored robe, thick, heavy and oppressively mournful. If John was Jesus’ most faithful disciple, Peter was His most faithless. Peter was the only disciple who repeatedly, explicitly, verbally denied even knowing Jesus in His darkest hour. St. Mark’s account of Peter’s threefold denial of Christ is especially brutal and haunting. But this shouldn’t surprise us since Peter himself likely had a hand in shaping much of Mark’s gospel. Peter was never one to shy away from allowing others to see his terrible flaws, his awful judgment, and his soul-crushing sin. In fact, in Mark’s gospel, when Peter denies Jesus for the third time, we learn that he invoked a curse upon himself and he swore: I do not know the man. And with those words Peter placed himself squarely on the road to hell. Peter successfully separated himself from the Savior. And he broke down and wept.
Look at Peter’s face in the painting. How would you describe it? In this picture Peter looks terrified, yet hopeful—guilty, ashamed, and desperate. His eyes are wide open, ready to face what lies in his future. He’s not yet sure he can believe the report that Christ is risen. But he wants to. Oh, how he wants to believe it. With one hand Peter grasps at his heart, perhaps feeling around for the courage which had deserted him just nights earlier. What an amazing array of emotions the artist managed to capture in that one face.
And yet we don’t need to go to Paris to see a face like that firsthand. We just need to look in the mirror. For we are no less complex than Peter. We too are worn, wearied, and ashamed of our sin. We are at the same time disciples of Jesus, following Him in faith, while also bearing the burden of our brokenness, deeply aware and ashamed of all the ways we have denied Jesus—all the ways we have separated ourselves from our Savior—all the ways we have cursed and confessed together with Peter, I do not know the man.
And now on this Easter Sunday we once again find ourselves aligned with Peter—hearing the astounding good news that Christ is risen, leaning in to the promise of the resurrection, hoping against all hope that Christ is indeed risen from the dead, and that He loves us, and that He forgives us. Like Peter in the painting, all we have to go on is a promise—the promise of what is to come (which can’t yet be seen).
Last week I said that the gospel of Mark ends with a whimper, not with a bang. You certainly get a sense for that in the resurrection account you heard earlier—it’s a resurrection account in which Jesus Himself does not make an appearance. And it concludes with the women saying nothing—to nobody—because they were afraid. It’s not what you’d call a grand finale. There’s definitely good news here in Mark chapter 16; you just have to look for it a little harder than you do in Matthew, Luke, or John.
Go back to the painting on the bulletin cover for a moment. Take another look at Peter—how he touches his heart with his right hand. His left hand, strangely, has the index finger extended. It’s strange because his finger is extended, but he’s not really pointing at anything in particular. The two men aren’t looking where the finger is pointing. No, that extended finger simply seems to indicate that Peter is recalling something of singular importance. That finger indicates that something of profound significance was rattling around in Peter’s swirling mind.
You see, Peter himself had been singled out. And we know this only because of Mark chapter 16. In the report that filtered back from the tomb, the angel had said these words: “Go, tell his disciples and Peter that He is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him, just as He told you.” Tell his disciples—AND PETER! Let there be no doubt—Peter had been singled out . . . to be welcomed in. Peter who claimed not to know Jesus . . . was himself still known and still loved by Jesus. Peter the Denier—Faithless Peter—Proud Peter—Peter the supreme sinner—terrified, ashamed, and desperate Peter—the angel called him out by name to absolve him of his sin, to heal his brokenness, to vindicate his feeble faith, to give him hope and courage. The disciples AND PETER. Perhaps Peter’s extended finger is to emphasize and accentuate those two precious words hidden way down deep in the details of Easter. “And Peter.”
And this is the best of news—for all of us who follow in Peter’s footsteps. On Good Friday Christ died for our sins. And on the third day He rose from the dead. And this glorious work was for the salvation of the world. Jesus’ work is primarily one of addition, not subtraction. Jesus comes to seek and save and welcome sinners; not to cast them out—to add, not to subtract. Our faces may at times be grim with grief and shame. But when that happens, learn from Peter—learn from Peter to believe the impossible—to open your eyes in hope and faith and to just lean-in to the promises of our Savior.
Only Peter got a special invitation by name on that first Easter Sunday. Your “by name” invitation came a long time ago when the pastor called you by name and applied water in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then and there you were joined to Jesus—numbered together with John and Peter—learning to trust Jesus Christ, the Savior of sinners. The glorious good news of the resurrection has gone out to the disciples and to Peter—to the most unlikely and undeserving of people: to Peter AND MICHAEL, AND ___________, AND ____________, AND ______________, AND _____________--and on and on and on. Jesus Christ is no longer dead. He lives and reigns to all eternity. And in Him you too will live and reign forever. Alleluia, Christ is risen . . .
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