Easter in the Historical Present Tense

They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” [Mark 16:3].

As I have joked with many friends, I had some serious concerns when I finally surrendered to Yahweh’s call for me to enter Duke Divinity School back in 1986. Chief among them was whether I’d be required to study Greek.

“No, you’re a Methodist,” was the quick reply from Dr. Paula Gilbert, the Director of Admissions. “Greek won’t be required for you. Now if you were a Presbyterian …,” she added, with a mischievous wink.

In my three years in “Div School,” I learned a lot, including the fact that I am neither a particularly good Methodist nor a good Presbyterian. Indeed, that’s why my FB page identifies me as “Southern catholic.” There is some truth in my reference to that “make-believe” denomination. Remember the creed: “I believe in the Holy Ghost, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, ….”

Do I have any regrets about Div School? Yes, at least one: that I didn’t learn Greek. As many of us rationalized in our seminary years, not many students can actually become proficient in the language. Why learn it anew, when there are already so many good Greek-English translations? Still, I’m sure there are times when my lack of knowledge causes me to miss some beautiful nuances within the Greek text. And Oh! There’s an intriguing one in the Lectionary’s alternate gospel reading for Easter, Year B — Mark 16:1-8. I know, I know, this is Year A — not B — but run with me here for a bit.

You’re all familiar with Mark’s version of the Easter morning story. His is the only gospel to name three women — Mary Magdalene, Mary, the mother of James, and Salome — who rise early on the first day of the week to rush down to the tomb to anoint the body of Jesus.

A close look at the Greek teaches us that Mark isn’t just telling a story about a wondrous event that occurred at some distant point in the past. We might actually draw that incorrect conclusion from most of our English translations, which use verbs in this story exclusively in the past tense. For example, our NSRV text at 16:2 reads: “And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb” [emphasis added].

My notes from a class taught by Dr. “Mickey” Efird at Duke many years ago allow that Mark doesn’t actually use the past tense here in his original Greek. Instead Mark purposefully alters the tense of the verb so as to draw the reader and the listener into the story. Instead of “they went to the tomb,” a more literal translation is, “they come to the tomb.” Scholars like Efird have a name for this special language tool: the historical present tense. It didn’t just happen. As you encounter the text, it happens anew.

We, who come to the tomb — in the present tense — alongside these faithful women, know more, of course, than the women. Here, Mark describes a splendid level of irony. The women worry, not that the body might be missing — that’s beyond their “current” comprehension — but that it might actually be too securely entombed. Indeed, while they rose early on Sunday, gathered the spices, and set out on their task, they’ve left out one not-so-minor detail, “Who will roll away the stone?” [16:3].

Our story continues when they reach the tomb. In verse 4, the NRSV tells us, “When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back.” Again, however, Mark actually employs the historical present tense. The literal translation of the Greek is: “When they looked up, they see that the stone” has been rolled away.

The women peer into the tomb and find, not Jesus’ body, but rather “a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe [obviously some sort of heavenly being, such as an angel], and they were amazed.” [16:5] Ya think?

Mark again utilizes his twist of the verb tense to draw us all deeper into the story. The NRSV reads:,

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 where 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 [16:6-7, emphasis added].

Mark’s actual Greek text would more literally begin with the phrase, “But he says to them. This didn’t just happen to the women long ago. Mark stresses that it happening anew in our presence, in the historical present tense. The instructions aren’t just for the women; they’re for us as well.

As many of you know, there is a “problem” with the ending of Mark’s gospel. Some of the oldest manuscripts conclude the text with verse 8 — the rather unsatisfactory notion that the women run from the tomb, saying nothing to anyone, “for terror and amazement had seized them” [16:8]. Other manuscripts add a short, matter of fact ending statement that the women told Peter and the disciples what they had seen and heard. Still other ancient versions include the verses that we number 9-19 (recall that in the original texts, there were no chapter divisions nor were there verse designations).

No matter which ending one chooses, there is a real sense that Mark leaves matters hanging. I think he does that to be consistent with his use of the historical present tense. The issue for Mark is not only what has happened, but rather what is happening in the world as a result of this earth shattering resurrection of our Lord. I think Mark is intent upon our experiencing Easter in the historical present tense.

I know I don’t speak for you, but for me at least, Easter celebrations in recent years have become rather routine. After all, we all pretty much know where to present ourselves, what to do, how to act, and how to go about worshiping God on Easter Sunday. Our tradition might be to put on our Easter finest, go to church, read John 20, sing the same Easter hymns (“Lift High the Cross” is one of my all-time favorites), and greet worshipers whom we may not see again in church until Christmas. Later, we have the same or a similar “after-Easter Sunday” family gathering, eat the same or similar Easter luncheon and, if you’re a curmudgeon like me, hope that one of the grandchildren will ask you, “Why are they called Easter eggs?” so that you can respond, “I have no idea. Early Christians didn’t dye or hide eggs.”

From the “I’m searching for a sliver lining here somewhere department,” might it be that the coronavirus has joined forces with St. Mark to tempt us into a new form of Easter celebration, a celebration unlike those we’ve experienced in recent years? This year, on Sunday morning, might we actually run to the tomb in our minds and hearts, along with the women, to experience the beauty and power that can only be seen within an empty room? Can we be greeted by an angel who says, “Lookin’ for Jesus? You just missed him. He has too much to do to waste His time in an old burial tomb.”

And here’s the challenging part: In light of those heavenly instructions, can we follow Jesus out into the world around us, in spite of the “safe distancing” challenges around us, to live our lives free from fear as His disciples? Can we not only tell His story, but live that story, so that the world can lose at least a little of its cynicism, its bitterness, its envy? Or, as St. Mark would ask us, “Can we embody Easter in the historical present tense?”