The Gospel of Mark & The Resurrection That Begins in Silence

This Holy Week, I return to the gospel that offers no neat ending—but calls us to go to Galilee, to break our own silence, and speak.

The Stone Was Already Rolled Away

At the end of Mark’s gospel, three women—Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome—go to Jesus’ tomb early on Sunday morning to anoint his body. On the way, they wonder who will roll away the heavy stone at the entrance.

When they arrive, the stone has already been rolled away.

Inside, they find not Jesus, but a young man in a white robe, sitting on the right side. He says:

“Do not be alarmed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here... 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.”

But the women are overcome.

“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 16:8)

And that’s where the gospel ends.

No appearance of the risen Jesus.
No joyful reunion.
Only an empty tomb, a mysterious messenger, and three terrified women—silent.

An Unfinished Resurrection

Mark’s gospel offers what no other gospel does: a resurrection story without resolution.

Matthew includes an angel and a reunion.
Luke gives us the Emmaus road and the breaking of bread.
John gives us Jesus tenderly calling Mary by name in the garden.

But Mark? Mark ends on the run, with fear and trembling and silence.

For years, I didn’t want to preach on Mark’s Easter. It felt too bare. Too bleak. Too uncertain. It lacked the satisfying, radiant conclusion we’ve come to expect on Easter morning—when the lilies bloom, the pews fill, and the choir sings the Hallelujah Chorus.

But I see it differently now.

The Gospel That Started It All

Mark’s gospel is the earliest—written around 70 C.E., during or just after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple. It was the first attempt to shape the story of Jesus into a gospel narrative, the very form others would follow.

And it ended, originally, at verse 8.

Yes, later scribes added alternate endings—unable to tolerate the abruptness of it all. But the earliest believers knew no other ending. They accepted the silence. They saw the empty tomb, heard the messenger’s words, and—somehow—they spoke anyway. That’s how we have Mark’s gospel at all.

The silence did not last. Fear did not have the final word.

Go to Galilee

The man in white says: “He is going ahead of you to Galilee.”

I’ve visited Galilee three times. It’s where Jesus taught and healed and loved—where he gathered an unlikely band of women and men and gave them hope, dignity, and purpose.

Galilee is not just a place. It’s the symbol of return. Of going back to where love began. Of showing up when the story feels uncertain, and the ending not yet written.

In this moment—when women’s lives are under threat, when transgender people are being vilified, when the poor and the immigrant are dehumanized, when cruelty is loud and compassion seems quiet—this gospel speaks.

Right now, I don’t see a tidy ending to what is breaking my heart. So I return to Mark.

Faith That Begins in Silence

I return to a gospel that meets us in unfinished places. In fear. In silence. In uncertainty.

And I remember: The very existence of Mark’s gospel is proof that fear can become witness.

That silence can become story.

That trembling women can become apostles.

And so can we.

A Holy Week Invitation

Where is Galilee for you this Holy Week?

What fear might be asking for your courage?

What silence might you be ready to break?

May the God of the empty tomb walk with us through the unknown.

And may we find our voices again—shaking, perhaps, but faithful. Because resurrection begins even here.