Don’t Be So Surprised
(Mark 16:1-11 TLB)
Before diving into Mark’s narrative, I jot a prayer in my journal.
“Sweep me into their day so that I might see You in mine.”
And I am.
Totally swept into the story of the three women who meet an angel at the empty tomb on Easter morning.
And swept away by the angel’s greeting:
“Don’t be so surprised.”
Or affrighted in the King James.
What in the world kind of greeting is that?
Of course they’re surprised.
And affrighted.
A literal translation might read: Don’t feel so undone.
I suspect these three who witnessed the placing of Jesus in this very tomb have been teetering on the edge of surprise, affright, and coming undone ever since.
But what does this have to do with me?
Or you?
Pondering this I close my journal to step into what I presume will be a normal day.
Instead, I receive a call.
My mom is enroute to the ER.
Where surprise, affright, and undone-ness are commonplace.
A theater of emotions.
But none so extreme today as in the waiting room.
Where a lady is delivering her baby.
Having watched every single episode of Call the Midwife, I feel perfectly willing and able to deliver a baby.
So I’m pretty disappointed that her drama occurs after I’ve passed through the waiting room.
Luckily a security guard fills me in.
Enthusiastically.
Including the part where the dad, totally surprised and affrighted and undone, leaps from his car, engine still running, and never looks back.
But back to the gospel narrative . . .
The angel continues:
“Are you looking for Jesus?”
A spot-on question for them.
And us.
Emotional shockwaves have the power to disrupt complacency and prepare the heart to recognize God there.
On holy ground.
In the midst of surprise, affright, or coming undone are you looking for Jesus?
Am I?
“Of course we’re looking for Jesus,” the three at the tomb internally eye roll. “This is where we last saw Him.”
But they don’t say that aloud.
Best not to interrupt an angel.
It’s probably a rhetorical question anyway.
The angel goes on:
“Look, that’s where his body was lying.”
As if to say, “You witnessed him lying right here, ladies, and you came to your end. Put a period there. Because it felt like a period. From God’s perspective, though, it was a comma.”
How quick we can be to grab a metaphoric pen and, with heavy downward force, gouge a big black period on the page of our circumstances.
Guilty.
Hours and hours later Mom still doesn’t feel great, but she‘s discharged.
A comma where I feared there might be a period.
Early the next morning I reread yesterday’s prayer.
“Sweep me away into their day so that I might see You in mine.”
Where did I see God’s activity in yesterday’s craziness?
You know I love a list.
I title this one Don’t Be So Surprised! and fill the page.
Later, though, I’ll find myself squeezing in one more.
Because Mom has been busy crafting her own title atop an email to me: Smiles All The Way.
Amazingly, she’s feeling completely better.
I picture the angel shaking his head, “Don’t be so surprised . . .”
But I am.
In a good way.
See you in a couple weeks.
Love,
