Engaging Ellipses: An Invitation to the Whole Story

Mark 16:1-8 

I love a good story. I was that child constantly asking questions just to hear the tales of my parents’ past, my family history, and the stories of the world. The older I got I had opportunities to travel and wonder about the unfolding stories of people whose lives were vastly different than my own. One thing I learned about stories is that so much of the story relies on who is telling it. What details does this storyteller deem critical so that the ending that they have in mind is illuminated best? Who gets named in the story versus who is signified by another part of who they are: the mother, the plumber, the neighbor? What senses are being enlivened in the telling of the story? I relish stories where I can smell, feel, taste, hear, see, and experience alongside the characters. 

Have you ever been told a partial story? As you were listening, you thought you were at an ending, but later you realized the storyteller left you in a liminal place. Perhaps, they didn’t do it on purpose, but their perspective could only hold the details that mattered to the end game of their storytelling. This isn’t strange. We tell stories all the time that, layered with different contexts, would have different meanings, but we pull out moments, snapshots, and partial narratives to share in any given moment. It’s the nature of storytelling.   

The gift of robust stories is also a limitation. When we are given a tale, it’s critical to remember that no matter how full it feels, we will always miss a detail or a moment or something that may have been important to us, but the storyteller looked over it. 

Storytelling is a practice of moving between two ellipses. There was something before, and there will be something after. We are invited to grab ahold of what we’ve been told and, perhaps, remain curious about the ways the partial and unfolding have been articulated to us as the full and permanent. When hearing stories, particularly those about marginalized people, it’s critical that we look again and ask, “What am I missing? What is behind the …?” 

In this text, we encounter a story that, when we keep reading, we note a partial story. It is a story of two women who are going to visit Jesus after he has been buried. They are bringing spices so that they can anoint him and honor the traditions that he comes from. The text says that they went to the tomb, encountered “a young man, dressed in a white robe,” and were told that Jesus was raised from the dead. It ends, “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and mazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone for they were afraid.” (16:8) This could have been the end of the story. If we stop reading at the end of the prescribed pericope, all we get is their (very reasonable) fear and their (even more reasonable) silence. This was terrifying. They had witnessed Jesus’ execution (Mark 15:40). They had been present at the burial (Mark 15:47). And now, they had encountered a complete reversal to that which they thought to be true. This was terrifying and tiring.  

This specific pericope tells us something about these women. We know that they cared enough about Jesus and the tradition to come and anoint him. They knew they would be at a tomb and might need some help removing the stone because the tombs were covered to protect those lying in what they thought to be eternal rest. But there is more to this story. When you read before, you know these women had journeyed with Jesus far beyond this moment. When you look after you realize that their fear was a part of the story but not the whole of it. Writers and scholars agree that we don’t completely know the ending of Mark and find possible parts of it in the endings of the other gospels. However, Mark does include a longer ending right after verse 8. Verse 9 tells us that Jesus appeared to Mary Magdalene. She then went out and told those that had journeyed with Jesus, yet no one believed her. A full story says that she was scared, but that wasn’t the end of her witness. A full story reminds us that even if there’s a moment where we choose silence and wish that we hadn’t, we can do something different the next time we are given an opportunity. A full story reminds us that this is also the Mary that knows a bit about tombs meant for death that shift into new life. She was outside the tomb when her brother was called out and invited into a new narrative of his life. A full story reminds us that we are human and will be afraid one day and can still muster up courage the next. 

Too often for women, especially Black women, we miss out on whole stories by telling limited narratives. Black women are often told through the lens of their worst day, not the fullness of all the days. When we choose expansive narratives, the goal is not to glorify the person but to humanize them and allow them to be the full and whole narrative that they are. If you only see the women as terrified and silent, it’s easy to craft a narrative about their lack. However, when you remember they were grieving from the death, that they made sure to show up to the burial, then it makes so much sense in the moment of revelation they were human and scared. Even though that’s a part of their narrative, their bearing witness to Jesus’ resurrection was as well.   

As we move through this season of Lent, I invite you to tell full stories. To seek out details that others might find superfluous but that texture the narratives, especially of women, in ways that allow them to journey, grow, and learn as their evolving and human selves. There is good news in a full story. It reminds us that even on our worst decision days, we might consider that liminal space, not the end of the story. So, I invite you to keep writing your story, keep expanding the stories you heard and perhaps we too might hear good news in the fullness of our human experience and find ways to bear witness to narratives that bring more life, hope, and justice to this world. 

Rev. Dr. Chelsea Brooke Yarborough was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland. In 2012, she graduated from Elon University and then went on to receive her Master of Divinity from Wake Forest University School of Divinity and her Ph.D. from Vanderbilt University in Homiletics and Liturgics. Dr. Yarborough is the Assistant Professor African American Preaching, Sacred Rhetoric, and Black Practical Theology at Phillips Theological Seminary in Tulsa, OK.

Her current research reimagines the nature and purpose of preaching and worship through the rhetorical and ritual practices of Black women throughout history. Her work aims to decenter normative systems of power and paradigms of proclamation by considering platforms beyond the pulpit for the voices of preachers.

Dr. Yarborough is a preacher, an ordained minister in the Baptist tradition, a published poet, and an enneagram coach. Most important to her is that she is a daughter, a sister, an auntie and a friend. Her motto is "live to love and love to live each day” and Dr. Yarborough is excited to continue her journey of cultivating curiosity and helping people find and use their voice in all that she pursues.

They Stayed

Mark 15:42-47 NRSVUE

42 When evening had come, and since it was the day of Preparation, that is, the day before the Sabbath, 43 Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of the council who was also himself waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. 44 Then Pilate wondered if he were already dead, and summoning the centurion he asked him whether he had been dead for some time. 45 When he learned from the centurion that he was dead, he granted the body to Joseph. 46 Then Joseph bought a linen cloth and, taking down the body, wrapped it in the linen cloth and laid it in a tomb that had been hewn out of rock. He then rolled a stone against the door of the tomb. 47 Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where the body was laid.

—

I want to ask you a question… Have you ever thought about what would have happened if the women didn’t stay behind? Like really thought about how our Christian faith might look if the women had left the scene… just like the men.

The women, the most vulnerable in society, not counting children, were known followers of Jesus. There was potential violence for them for simply being there. Their own lives were on the line… But they stayed. They. Stayed…They stayed until the very end. Fade to black…

They stayed and watched the credits roll at the end of the last scene…

Perhaps they had seen Black Panther or another Marvel movie and remembered that after the credits, there was the potential for a surprise or one more miracle. They stayed and risked their own lives for the one called Teacher… they stayed, being consistent in character… remaining faithful, just as they had been when Jesus was ministering in Galilee. They tended to him, looked out for him, and ensured he could do his life’s work.

Because of their laser focus on Jesus, they stayed... They remained with their eyes fixed on Jesus. Alone and without protection. No men. No bodyguard. No security. No weapon. No mace. Nothing to guarantee their safety.

These ordinary women stayed and watched. And watched and stayed. Eyes wide open…Until a member of the Council did what Jewish law commanded and asked the magistrate for Jesus’ body. (I wonder what happened to the others who were crucified… were they still alive? Sorry, that’s for another time.) Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate if he could have the body. (I don’t think he was confident that Pilate would allow him to have it because he didn’t go shopping for the grave cloth until after he was granted permission. Just sayin’.)

Jesus was dead, the centurion said. You only bury dead people… Thus, they handed over the body.

The women still watched… at a distance. They stayed put. They watched this man take down Jesus’ limp body by himself. (I have more questions…) They watched him take the body, struggle with the body, carry the body. Jesus’ body.  I imagine they wanted to go help, but that would have really been out of order. They saw that he was truly dead.

The credits had finished. The music had stopped. The veil in the temple was ripped. Jesus said it himself… it is finished.

The. End.

Yet… they stayed… The women kept watching, for they had one more job of faithfulness to fulfill. They needed to know where his body was going to be held. They wanted to make sure his body would be secure, until they could come back after the Sabbath. On the third day they would be able to anoint his body. On the third day they would be able to clean him up and treat him with dignity… because he deserved it. He deserved better… so much better.

So, they watched, taking note of which tomb he was laid in. The women, all alone, with no men to protect them, as the sun was going down… they watched the stone be rolled in front to secure the body.

These women had no idea that they were the very witnesses that allowed the Gospel message to be secured. Their staying put changed the history of the world. These bold, courageous, silent women are essential to salvation history… just by staying.

Bold, silent, and courageous like Darnella Frasier, who changed history by silently recording George Floyd’s last breaths at the hands of those assigned to protect and serve. Darnella stayed put for over ten minutes. Ten long minutes. And just like Mary and Mary in our text, she made sure someone else knew. She made sure the whole world knew by posting his death on social media.

Many say if she hadn’t recorded, George Floyd’s death would have been just one more Black man lynched by the empire. There would have been no social unrest all around the world. No indictment. No conviction. No jail sentences.

She stayed. She recorded… And she shared.

So, sis… in those uneasy moments in your life. You know, those times that make you want to throw in the towel and just say, “Forget it!” Those times when all hell is breaking loose, and you are unable to can. Yeah, those times.

Sis… remember the two Marys. Remember how they stayed just like Effie White? They stayed and completed their assignment, not realizing it was way bigger than they thought.

Listen to Spirit. What is She saying? Sometimes the moment calls for us to sit in the messiness of life… the messiness of being human.  Be in the moment. See things for what they are.
Sometimes… sometimes… there is purpose in the staying.[1] You never know what is on the other side of the staying… You just might make a difference in someone’s life… maybe even your own.

Mary and Mary stayed until the body was secure. Then they left.

Again…the credits had finished… the screen had faded to black…but the movie wasn’t over. Stay tuned…

___
[1] Let me be clear. I am NOT advocating staying in toxic, violent, abusive spaces. If you are being abused, sis… get help. Get out. Here is the National Domestic Violence Hotline 800.799.SAFE (7233).

Rev. Moya Harris is an itinerant elder in the African Methodist Episcopal church, most recently serving as executive minister at Metropolitan AME Church in DC. She is the fellowship director and church network coordinator at Sojourners. Throughout her 15+ years in ordained ministry, she has served in women’s ministry, health ministry, youth ministry and Christian education. She believes that justice and faith are inseparable and is quick to challenge theologies that oppress and marginalize. Through her scholarship, she is interested in the intersection of womanism, hip hop, homiletics, and rhetoric, hoping to share the genius of Black preaching and oratory with a womanist hip hop sensibility. She earned a Bachelor’s in Science Degree in Nursing from Towson University, a Master of Divinity Degree from Payne Theological Seminary and is currently a fourth year Ph.D. student in the African American Preaching and Sacred Rhetoric program at Christian Theological Seminary.

Let’s Give Darkness a Chance

Mark 15:33-39 is the Gospel passage that most scholars, biblicists, and homileticians argue contains the fourth of seven last sayings of Jesus Christ from the cross. “At three o’clock, Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”[1] For most, the crux of this passage is found here, where we are blatantly shown the human anguish of a divine being hanging from an old rugged cross. Here we find a son calling out to his absentee father. We encounter a God that has turned Her back on her son. We hear a young adult, brown male cry out for his parent in his last breaths before death. We are reminded of George Floyd, Tyre Nichols, and even Dante Wright. In essence, we hear echoes of cries of a child seeking solace, support, and even relief from an invisible parent. This cry from Jesus makes readers wrestle with the accusation and discomfort of viewing God as not seeing about God’s children. Well, if God would do that to Jesus, how can I expect anything different? And it is in this space that I want to speak from this passage – abandonment, disappointment, unanswered questions, and unmet needs. DARKNESS. 

Darkness: In Theology

There are a few things to note about Jesus in this time of darkness. There is an invitation to give attention to the isolation of Jesus instead of the physical pain of Jesus. This is essential to note because this combats the harmful toxicity that is foundational to suffering theology or atonement theology, where violence and pain are catapulted as a badge of Christian honor, as a virtue necessary for access to blessings. This aids in preventing people from only identifying with the corporeal torture of Jesus as a way to be like more Jesus. This verse allows readers also to view the emotional and mental distress and not just the somatic disturbance that this government-sanctioned execution has caused. Though Jesus knew this was the purpose of his existence in the world, it did not negate the feelings and thoughts he experienced while living out his purpose.

Darkness: Cosmos and Confusion

The genesis of this passage begins with detailing the time and weather conditions for which Jesus spoke this fourth phrase. It notes that it was around noon and that darkness came over the region until about three. Jesus’ pending death caused a cosmic response. It happens at noon, and we see that everything goes dark. Darkness, oftentimes, is not received; it is understood to be the absence of light, joy, stability, peace, health, happiness, success, and overall wellness. And we find Jesus in darkness and the people involved with and surrounding this crucifixion in darkness. In this darkness, where their optical abilities were challenged, it seemed as though the darkness also impacted their perception and comprehension. As Jesus called out, bystanders were confused by his words, thinking he was calling for Elijah.

Darkness: A Way for Liberation

In this darkness was also a way made for freedom. After Jesus cries out in a loud voice and gives up his last breath, we find in verse thirty-eight that the curtain of the temple is torn. The Greek word here used for “torn” is [schizo], meaning to be torn apart is only found in two places in Mark.[2] 

The narrative of the baptism of Jesus tells us that the heavens are torn apart, suggesting an irreplaceable breach that cannot be put back together. And that is exactly the point that it should not be put back together: heavens and the veil divides between humans and divine realms as borders, boundaries, and barriers. And these preventions have been destroyed in the dark. This indicates to us that we now have access. We can get to God for ourselves. It also means that God can come to us. God is now loosed in the world. Jesus was an advocate, not a blocker. Access to God has come because of Jesus, and not the temple as in Hebrew scriptures. The temple system was set up in such a way that it claimed to have given exclusive access to God, and the tearing apart of the veil destroyed the system. This is a tearing that only God can do. Only God can grant a tearing down from the top down. [3] 

Darkness: Revisited

Darkness as despair, misunderstanding confusion is reversed in this passage. The structure of the pericope begins with an impending judgment, a concentric circle, a judgment of darkness, three days of darkness, parallel to Egyptian bondage and concludes with a centurion saying as a Gentile that he has gained clarity on Jesus’ identity, amid the rest of the crowd confused about what was happening and what they thought they had heard. And in this darkness of the sky, health, parental relationship, mental wellness attacks, emotional distresses, ability to complete one’s job, the inability to see one’s loved one, none of this stopped Jesus from being who Jesus was. This is a reminder for the Believer to keep moving in the darkness. Do not lose fervor in a season that may feel difficult or alone; know that God is truly there with you and that questions can be answered. Identity can be made clear. Purpose can be fulfilled. God speaks in the darkness. Darkness does not last always, but even if it did, it is not such a bad thing after all. Give darkness a chance.

___

[1] Mark 15:34 NRSVue

[2] Accordance usage; Mark 1 and 15

[3] This is where I invite preachers to explore potential relationships or conversations between this, tearing of the veil from the top down and the building of the temple from the bottom up.

The Rev. Dominique A. Robinson, DMin, a New Jersey native, is a millennial Womanist homiletician and justice advocate. Reared in the Pentecostal tradition, she answered her call to ministry at 13. Dominique earned her Bachelor of Arts in Government from Georgetown University, Master of Divinity concentrating in Biblical Interpretation, and Master of Theology concentrating in Homiletics, both from Candler School of Theology. She earned a Doctor of Ministry degree from Columbia Theological Seminary in Gospel and Culture. Her DMIn dissertation, "iHomileticTM: Preaching that Clicks," was/is a groundbreaking research and consulting service to assist faith leaders with developing impactful ministry that employs technology and social media linguistics.

Dominique is a Ph.D. student at Christian Theological Seminary in the world's first African American Preaching and Sacred Rhetoric Ph.D. program. Her areas of study include homiletics, African American preaching, womanist homiletics, millennial womanism, womanist interpretation, and mental health within the African American community. For her dissertation, Dominique’s research will focus on how depression impacts African American biblical interpretation rooted in millennial womanist discourse.

She is the John E. Hines Assistant Professor of Preaching at the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin, Texas; this is a historical appointment as she is the first African American full-time faculty member of the institution. Dr. Robinson is an ordained itinerant elder in the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Zion Church and a member of the illustrious Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated.

She is continuously humbled by opportunities to share God's Word and desires to march to the drumbeat of God's heart.

A Womanist Moment

Mark 15:6-15, NRSV

Now at the festival he used to release a prisoner for them, anyone for whom they asked. 7 Now a man called Barabbas was in prison with the insurrectionists who had committed murder during the insurrection. 8 So the crowd came and began to ask Pilate to do for them according to his custom. 9 Then he answered them, “Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?” 10 For he realized that it was out of jealousy that the chief priests had handed him over. 11 But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have him release Barabbas for them instead. 12 Pilate spoke to them again, “Then what do you wish me to do with the man you call the King of the Jews?” 13 They shouted back, “Crucify him!” 14 Pilate asked them, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Crucify him!” 15 So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Barabbas for them, and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified.

—————

Womanist moments are those that allow for a radical sense of seeing. It’s a moment that requires intentionality or will be otherwise missed. I remember Dr. Renita Weems describing a womanist moment as a simple “thank you” to the staff that cleans your hotel room. It is an acknowledgment of humanity. Something that society so often neglects. To encounter a woman who big-chopped her hair and say, “I love your hair,” is a womanist moment. To offer a head nod to a complete stranger, from one brother to another, is a womanist moment. To see an elder struggle to walk up a flight of stairs so you grasp their arm under yours to walk together is a womanist moment. To yell out “sang” from the pew when a soloist sings for the first time in front of the congregation is a womanist moment. To restrict womanist moments to only encompassing encounters between black women entirely denies its essence. Womanist moments are for all of us to embrace because it involves seeing the humanity of someone that others have rendered invisible. It just so happens that black women, who have gone generations in a position of invisibility, are masterful at seeing people’s humanity. 

Jesus engaged in a womanist moment on the day before his crucifixion. After supper with his beloved disciples, he did something uncanny to his position as a deity but aligned with his character as a God of love. Jesus humbled himself yet again and washed the feet of his disciples. Jesus, who was their rabbi. Jesus, who led them through storms and parables and teachings so wondrous they could hardly fathom. The one who walked with them, led them, and showed them the way. Jesus, who did not throw his majesty at them but led with love so intimate and special that they recognized his power. That Jesus washed their rugged, worn-out, dirt-saturated feet with his hands. While Jesus was their leader, their God in the flesh, and their counselor, he saw them as his beloved. Jesus knew them, the journey they had taken, and the journey that was before them. He saw them, the confusion they had along the journey, the will of their hearts (some of them) to do what was right, the belief in him and the unbelief, the strengths, the weaknesses, the fallen shorts, the slumber, the prayer, the arrogance, and yet he humbles himself to wash their feet, why? To introduce them and us to a new level of seeing. A new level of love. A commandment that illustrates no matter where you find yourself on the fictitious hierarchy that society creates, we ought to love one another just as Jesus loves us. Every now and then, we need to wash someone’s feet and be reminded of the equity of Christ’s love. Maundy Thursday is a womanist moment of radical seeing. 

Here in our text in Mark the 15th chapter, we witness another womanist moment. The text does not have Jesus saying a mumbling word as the people decide his fate with the empire. However, a silent Jesus in a biblical text is just the ingredient we need in a delicious womanist recipe. How do we interpret Jesus’ silence with this crowd? Jesus, who in the last 14 chapters, engulfed us with his words, sayings, parables, and proclamation. Jesus is not new to crowds nor a stranger to confrontation with misguided authorities. When a crowd came to challenge his works and say that he was working with Satan, Jesus spoke a parable uprooting their ridiculous notions of insanity. (Mark 3:20-30) When there was a large crowd with nothing to eat, Jesus said, “I have compassion for this crowd!” He told them to sit down and then fed the crowd with seven loaves and a few pieces of fish. (Mark 8:1-10) Jesus knows how to handle crowds. When Jesus was surrounded by a large crowd and felt some power go out from him, he addressed the crowd saying, “Who touched my cloak?” Jesus saw a woman through the crowd and said, “Daughter your faith has made you well.” (Mark 5:25-34) Jesus knows how to handle the crowd. When a crowd, including some Pharisees and some scribes, challenged him on the behavior of his disciples. Jesus addressed them and said, “You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to keep your tradition!” (Mark 7:1-16) All throughout Mark’s gospel, we see Jesus handling the crowd. Teaching the crowd, performing miracles in the crowd, commanding the attention of the crowd, proclaiming the good news to the crowd, and yet, at this moment, with this crowd, Jesus is doing something different. 

He does not plead his case. He does not grace us with a performative parable. He doesn’t shout a savvy saying. In Jesus’ silence, I imagine he is looking at some of the same faces he encountered on his ministerial journey. Some of the same faces that sat in the temple as he taught. Some of the same faces that were once fatigued from hunger that he fed. Some of the same faces that received healing for themselves or perhaps a family member. Jesus is recounting the times in which he showed compassion for this so-called crowd that now can only shout, “Crucify him!” But Jesus, while he is not the recipient of seeing in this text, he is involved in his own womanist moment. Even in Jesus’ silence, he is still a savior. Not in the cliché, churchy sense, although he is that too. But in a womanist sense, in that Jesus’ silence saves Barabbas. A man who also finds his fate in the hands of a corrupt empire. We may think, how could the crowd choose to save this criminal over our beloved Jesus? It’s easy for us to succumb to the literary device of the gospel writer who creates a strong contrast between Jesus and Barabbas. While Jesus and Barabbas are not the same in their essence, they are the same in that they are prisoners of corruption. We can’t be so quick to crucify Barabbas when he has been deemed criminal by the same unjust system that has wrongfully convicted Jesus. The NRSV says that Now a man called Barabbas was in prison with the insurrectionists who had committed murder during the insurrection. 

When we hear of insurrectionists, our minds may recollect those who raided the capital on Jan 6th, but I would suggest that these folks are not the same. Those who raided the capital were fighting to uphold their white supremacist “values.” In comparison, the insurrectionists in this text were trying to overthrow a government that was committed to their oppression. We cannot be fooled by the suggested kindness of Pilate and the hoax of a righteous ritual exemplified in this scene. The Roman Empire was a violent force of oppression that practiced economic exploitation and exercised its power by any means necessary. The insurrectionists in this text were anti-roman rule, anti-poverty, and anti-oppression. We can’t be quick to crucify Barabbas, a man that was imprisoned with those who were for the liberation of people. Barabbas could be a Martin Luther King Jr. Barabbas could be a Fannie Lou Hamer. Barabbas could be one of our siblings. Barabbas could be the friend that grew up down the street from us. Barabbas could be one of us who, if we are honest, are only one misunderstanding away from an arrest by corrupt law enforcement. Don’t be so quick to criminalize and crucify Barabbas. Jesus, the womanist seer, believes that even this man deserves another chance. A womanist moment. 

To acknowledge the salvation and deliverance that Jesus grants people even before he gets to the cross is to understand his full power. We thank God for the resurrection power that did not allow the empire, the enemy, and the evils of the world to have the final say. However, before getting to the cross, Jesus was in the saving business. Jesus was practicing a radical form of seeing. Jesus taught, lived, and breathed compassion for those who found themselves in intolerable circumstances. This text shows us that even the people that we deem criminal, the folks that we have counted out, the ones that we are ready to crucify for the sake of ourselves, even they deserve to be seen. Jesus’s mandate forces us to acknowledge that we, too, are a recipient of the Lord’s grace and mercy and, therefore, must reckon with our own unjust proclivities. 

As we reflect on this Maundy Thursday, may we remember the mandate that Christ gives us to live into an ethic of radical seeing and compassion. May we not be so quick to get to the cross that we will sell out anyone to get there, even if it means there’s blood on our own hands. May we not be complicit in the enemy’s schemes but heed Jesus’ seeing and demand that Barabbas deserves to live too. May we never forget that we are one bad encounter away from wrongful convictions and misinterpreted misunderstandings. May we challenge popular notions of exclusivity and engage in a daily practice of foot washing. May we discern Christ’s saving power in the midst of what seems to be his silence. Our prayer today is, Lord, may we never miss another womanist moment. 

Reverend Tamesha Mills is a proud New Yorker born and raised in Queens. She is a woman after God’s own heart and is passionate about preaching and teaching the liberating Gospel of Jesus Christ. Rev. Mills has a Master of Divinity degree from Princeton Theological Seminary, a Master of Arts degree from Hofstra University, and a Bachelor of Arts degree from Adelphi University. In May of this year, she will finish an intensive program in Biblical Studies and earn a Master of Theology degree from Princeton Theological Seminary. She is an Itinerant

Elder in the African Methodist Episcopal Church and serves at The Greater Allen AME Cathedral of NY under the leadership of Senior Pastor, Rev. Dr. Elaine Flake and Pastor Emeritus Rev. Dr. Floyd Flake.

Rev. Mills accepted the call to ordained ministry in August 2018 and preached her trial sermon in May of 2019. Ministry has afforded her the opportunity to flourish in Christian Education and Discipleship through teaching New Members class, offering online workshops and Bible studies, teaching congregational discipleship classes, as well as leading in Young Adult Ministry at the Greater Allen AME Cathedral of NY.

Her research interests are in the Old Testament, Biblical Hebrew as well as the intersections of faith and the Black experience. While at Princeton Seminary she served as Women’s Fellowship Coordinator, Vice President as well as President of The Association of Black Seminarians (ABS) where she successfully led in organizing the campus for the removal of a former slave owner’s name from the Seminary Chapel.

Rev. Tamesha Mills is a proud 15 year-member of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated. She is a current graduate member of Delta Rho Omega Chapter in Brooklyn, NY. Rev. Mills has been blessed to preach, teach and present research internationally and continues to explore the intersection of scholarship and faith for the justice, equity and thriving of all of God’s people.

In memoriam: A Meditation

Sometimes when I come ‘cross an especially bitter passage of scripture, I want to put it under oath and treat it like a hostile witness in a courtroom: “You don’t really belong in the bible, do you? Defend yourself! What good have you done?” I am not the only one who has felt this way, particularly about Mark 14:21 where Jesus announces that one of the disciples will betray him and it would’ve been better if that one had not been born. Perhaps it would be possible to read these words objectively if we were not in the midst of a harrowing mental health crisis and a deadly wave of antisemitism. But we are. And the words Mark puts in Jesus’ mouth are potentially lethal today in a way they may not have been at certain points in the past. I see this as a text that should not be preached. Unless. Unless its purpose is to serve as a mirror. 

Over centuries, Christians have fashioned knives out of this text and other Judas stories, so much so that these passages cannot be read apart from the horror of pogroms, Kristallnacht, the Holocaust, and present-day attacks on Jews. Sadly, there is a religion calling itself Christianity that finds Jesus’ life and teachings inadequate without a scapegoat or pariah who absorbs the hatred of “Christian” avengers. These avengers willfully refuse to see the complexity of Judas’ story—the fact that all four gospel writers struggle with the impossible task of weighing his culpability. His actions are in some sense necessary if not providential. Too often, when Christians don’t know how to hold the jagged edges of scripture, we opt for distorted interpretations. Blowing Judas into a larger-than-life figure who represents contemporary Jews is one tragic example of this reflex. 

During a recent trip to the Netherlands, I joined the stream of tourists at the homes of Anne Frank and Corrie ten Boom, walking up the tight, ladder-like staircases and peering into the airshafts and nooks where Jews crammed themselves to hide from Nazis. Seeing these hiding places impressed on me the unique vileness of antisemitism. And I couldn’t help thinking about the 9x7x3-foot crawl space where Harriet Jacobs, an enslaved woman, hid for seven years from a Christian doctor whose family owned her. And of Henry Box Brown stuffing himself into a crate and shipping himself from Richmond to Philadelphia. And of the many more subtle ways Black women learn to hide talent and ambition to avoid becoming a magnet for hatred. The thing about pariahs is that usually there comes a point where the thirst for one kind of blood increases and any pariah will do—Jewish, Black, queer, disabled… 

Our sacred texts have effects beyond us. We can’t bask in the solace the Passion narrative brings without thinking about the misuse of the story and the effect of that misuse on other lives. Any practice of Christianity that is absorbed with its own catharsis, self-congratulation, or even self-flagellation without being attentive to its external impact is dangerous. 

When Jesus says, “For the Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born” (Mark 14:21), his words should be read with the knowledge that all the disciples scattered and failed him in some way (Mark 14:50). Yes, Judas’ actions set off a dreadful sequence of events, but the betrayal does not stand alone; it stands alongside the actions of Romans who taunted, stripped, and tortured Jesus though the names of those individuals are cloaked in anonymity. Similarly, Jesus’ words in Mark 14:21 should be read alongside “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34) and “It is finished” (John 19:30). 

Ultimately, like Phyllis Trible’s “texts of terror,” Mark 14:21 ought to be read in memoriam, remembering the horror of the past, the evil done today in the name of Christianity, and the many lives lost by Jews and other people who internalized the idea that they shouldn’t have been born due to the weaponization of scripture. So, if compelled to find something wholesome in the text, I’d stress its potential to spur self-examination, which thankfully, is a central aim of Lent. 

Most Black women and girls over the age of five know something about betrayal. We’ve been betrayed by friends, relatives, lovers, classmates, and by policies, institutions, governments, and churches. And we know that in the moment of betrayal one has the capacity to see double: the person you love and the person who hurt you, the future you had and the future disrupted, the person you were before and the person you are now. I just believe Jesus had this same capacity, that despite how livid and crushed he was, he was still capable of seeing Judas’ humanity. 

Jesus looked into Judas’ face and saw another Jewish brother like himself living under the weight of a hostile empire that crucified Jews, a man who shared his own brother’s name, a man with whom he’d eaten, prayed, and discussed Torah. I think he saw a familiar face that was suddenly unfamiliar, the way we look at close friends or family members whose actions shock and anger us. But I still believe Jesus looked into Judas’ face and wanted him to live. Not die by suicide or a nasty fall or in any other violent way. And surely Jesus didn’t want Judas to continue in infamy as a figure whose story warrants violence against other Jews. Jesus wanted Judas to live and find, like so many of us, that there is life after failure and disappointment. We don’t have to be defined by the worst episodes of our lives. Caring pastors and counselors can help us along the path of recovery.

I interpret Jesus’ words to Judas as words of grief that foreshadowed the anguish that was to come—a psychic anguish similar to what our ancestors sang about in the spiritual, “Lord, How Come Me Here” with its haunting refrain, “I wish I never was born.” The spiritual was sung as testimony, as prayer, and as a means of summoning the strength to survive. And it was sung in memoriam for those who died by the hands of people who refused to look in the mirror of scripture. 

How do we hold the sharp edges of scripture? How do we heal the harm done in Jesus’ name?  

______________

[1]  Anna Carter Florence, “Put Away Your Sword!” in What’s the Matter with Preaching Today?, ed. Mike Graves (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2004), 93–97.

[2]  Three insightful texts on this relationship are A.M.H. Saari’s The Many Deaths of Judas Iscariot: A Meditation on Suicide, Hyam Maccoby’s Judas Iscariot and the Myth of Jewish Evil, and Anthony Cane’s The Place of Judas Iscariot in Christology.

[3]  All scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version. 

[4]  Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 2–3.  

Donyelle McCray serves as Associate Professor of Homiletics at Yale Divinity School. A teacher, writer, and Episcopal layperson, her scholarship focuses on ways African American women and lay people use the sermon to play, remember, invent, and disrupt. Her current research projects include a volume on sermon genre and an examination of the preaching and spirituality of the Rev. Dr. Pauli Murray. Before becoming a homiletics professor, Donyelle served as an attorney focusing on wills, trusts, and estates. This work raised existential questions that led her to seminary and then into ministry as a hospice chaplain. Human finitude, compassion, and interdependence remain central theological concerns in her scholarship.

God’s Prophetic Vessel: A Woman Breaks In

Mark 14:3-9 (NIV)

3 While he was in Bethany, reclining at the table in the home of Simon the Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head.

4 Some of those present were saying indignantly to one another, “Why this waste of perfume?

5 It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.” And they rebuked her harshly.

6 “Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me.

7 The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me.

8 She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial.

9 Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”

———

A Prelude to Planned Violence

“But not during the [Passover] festival,’ they said, ‘or the people may riot.’” (Mk. 14:2 NIV)

The writer Mark begins chapter fourteen with a prelude to planned violence — a plot against the life and ministry of Jesus. Some of the chief priests and scribes were “scheming to arrest Jesus secretly and kill him.” (Mk. 14:1) In the verses that follow this disturbing prelude to violence, Mark reveals the in-breaking of God made manifest through a woman’s bold, prophetic action. She perceives the call to do a good work, and as they plot, she prepares.

God’s Prophetic Vessel: A Woman Breaks In

Her name — is unknown.

Her feet — are guided to a certain place.

Her eyes — search for Jesus.

Her hands — cradle an ornate alabaster jar of very expensive perfume — it is oil of nard and

worth about a year’s wages.

Her mind — is steadfast on her daring task.

This woman breaks into Mark’s narrative on the wings of the Spirit after hearing a whisper from

within, “Go and anoint.”

Her ears — are attuned to receive a prophetic word.

Her heart — is open to the Spirit’s call to prepare.

Her memory — cradles the message of Jesus,

“Keep watch!”

The Spirit within her speaks,

“You are called for such a time as this;

to act in this moment —

to perform this sacred ritual.

Go and anoint!”

Her feet, breaking free of societal constraints, ushered

Her in — uninvited to the home of a man named Simon.

Her eyes — find and become stayed on

Jesus.

Her feet approach Jesus at the table fellowship.

Her hands break open the alabaster jar.

Her arms raise her horn of oil.

Her heart utters a silent prayer.

Her hands make small movements, guiding the flow of the lavish, perfumed oil.

Her eyes watch it spill out on the head of a reclining and receptive

Jesus.

Jesus — exhales and welcomes the reverent gesture.

The pores of his skin — open to the feel of the oil.

His eyes — close.

Jesus — inhales and receives the rich scent with gratitude.

He breathes in — the loving gesture.

Jesus — takes time to savor the moment, wrapped in needed, sacred rest.

In His mind — this woman prophet well delivered.

“She did what she could.”

And her prophetic ministry is what he needed before

his feet — led him to the cross.

Her good work is what he needed before

his body — is laid in the tomb.

In the face of an indignant, swollen audience

This woman, a true prophetess, perceives what others miss —

She perceives the “Light of Truth.”

She heeds the move of the Spirit.

The felt whisper — that is the, often unexpected, call of

Jesus.

Then,

Her ears caught wind of their indignant jeers.

Her fingers tightened with determination around the base of the broken jar.

Her stomach turned as they mounted their vile attack, saying to one another,

“Why waste such expensive perfume?

It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages

and the money given to the poor.”

Her lips mouth her silent prayer,

“Jesus — help me.”

The Spirit of Truth fills her thoughts —

“They misuse the principled and valued action

of giving to our impoverished neighbors as a

pretext to admonish your exemplary act of ministry

and unequivocal declaration of

who Jesus is.”

Her lungs took in the fresh air of truth.

Her feet stood firm as

Her attuned ear perceived the next word.

“Finish the task, beloved.

Stand firm in the will of God.”

The Spirit keeps on

speaking truth within her.

Her hands cradle the broken jar as it releases

the last of the fragrant oil on the

head of Jesus.

(Jesus Takes a Stand)

Then,

Amid the indignant jeers and harsh rebuke,

Jesus takes a stand.

“Leave her alone!”

Jesus rises with an indignant reprimand.

“Why are you troubling her?

She has done a good work toward me.

She has poured perfume on my body —

beforehand to prepare for my burial.”

As the oil from her adorned horn runs down his head,

the word of

Jesus — takes a stand.

His words spill over and anoint — her,

just as her fragrant oil anointed — Jesus.

Jesus takes a stand.

His words are a rich renewal;

A sweet savor to her ears —

permeating the air,

covering the odor of malicious attack

on her person and her sacred ritual.

Jesus takes a stand!

“Leave her alone!

She has done a beautiful thing to me.”

Jesus takes a stand.

He speaks —

Truth…and all fall silent.

Jesus takes a stand.

Jesus, standing firm — speaks again.

“Truly I tell you,

wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world,

what she has done will also be told,

in memory of her.”

Her bold action and

Her ministry demonstrate a deep knowing.

Her prophetic awareness

of Jesus — and the hour

shine like a true beacon.

“In remembrance of her.”

Her legacy — connects with the

foregoing preached word of God.

And on her behalf —

Jesus stands.

And He prophesies to our future proclamation of

Her daring and prophetic action.

So,

Woman, preach!

that the prophetic word of her legacy

comes to complete fulfillment.

Preach!

As a way to remember her, and

the beautiful way she chose to remember Him.

Woman, preach!

Go, and anoint —

with Spirit-filled, life-giving words.

Anoint — with a message of healing and empowerment.

Preach!

As exemplars of a

brilliant tradition of prophetic proclamation,

Preach!

And embody a model of “In remembrance of…”

Woman, preach!

Do this in remembrance of Me…

Woman, preach!

To revive our families, communities, and nations.

Preach!

For “whenever the good news is proclaimed,

what she has done — will be told

in the whole world

in remembrance of her.”

And so —

Let us break

the rigid jars of self-doubt and inadequacy.

Let us allow

the sweet anointing of the Spirit to saturate us —

from the top of our heads to the soles of our feet.

Let us break

every chain that confines us — and soar!

Let us soar

on the wings of freedom the Spirit provides.

May we break — free

from our alabaster jars,

and boldly go forth and anoint with

our various and authentic voices.

Woman, preach!

And through your good works, may

the Spirit of God break in.

Her name — is yours.

Her feet — trace a path for our affirmative steps.

Her eyes — provide a sightline to Jesus.

Her hands — are “full of good works” and cradle a sacred legacy of love.

Her memory — recalls her completed divine commission.

Her silent call — behooves us to preach!

Min. Aleah Gathings (she/her) is a teaching minister and spiritual director. Min. Aleah currently serves at Restoration Christian Fellowship and is passionate about studying and teaching the Scriptures. She is interested in the intersection of biblical studies, spiritual practice, and social justice.

Min. Aleah holds a Master of Divinity degree from Princeton Theological Seminary, a Juris Doctor from Loyola University Chicago, and a Master of Public Health from The George Washington University. Prior to seminary, Min. Aleah worked in public health policy and as an advocate for children living with trauma and other behavioral health conditions.

An Open Rebuke to Creation

Following his triumphant entry to Jerusalem, we encounter Jesus in the Mount of Olives, leaving the village of Bethany headed towards the temple. As Mark invites readers to the scene, we discover a hungry Jesus who locates a fig tree full of leaves. Upon further inspection, we learn that the fig tree has no fruit - only leaves. Disappointed by what he has witnessed and encountered, Jesus says, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” [1] Ironically, Mark notes, “it was not the season for figs,”- so what actually happened?[2] Was Jesus just hangry? Did he have unrealistic expectations for the fig tree? Perhaps, his arborist response was intended for more than the biblical audience. I believe that through the reflection of Jesus’ encounter with the fig tree, we can discover pragmatic womanist responses to a creation that refuses to bear fruit.

Expected Fruit Among Leaves

Mentioned throughout the Scripture, the fig tree held nutritional and economic significance in biblical antiquity. Native to the middle east and parts of Africa, the Ficus Sycomorus bears fruit several times a year. The large tree, capable of growing up to twenty meters, initially flowers, produces a smaller fruit, then concludes the cycle with leaves where people can gather. In peak seasons, this cycle is repeated, and a second larger fruit rich in iron is produced. Providing year-round nutrients and shade to its communal context - it becomes reasonable as to why Jesus approaches the fig tree with the expectation of finding fruit. Simply put - where there are leaves, there should be fruit! The absence of fruit among a tree full of leaves indicates that the fig tree had lost its ability to produce. The tree no longer yielded according to and within its intended season. This contradicts the very desired essence of creation - life. The fig tree no longer generated life as anticipated by the embodied Creator - it had become unfruitful. 

Beyond the Fig Tree 

This behavior is a symbolic representation of the civil and religious state of Israel. The first mention of fig trees occurs in Genesis, when Adam and Eve become enlightened to their nakedness following eating from the truth of knowledge. To hide their humanity, they sewed fig leaves together and made loin cloth for themselves.[3] This act of covering identifies one of the many uses of the fig leaves - a means of creation to hide from the Creator. The Old Testament prophets also referred to fig trees when describing the welfare of Israel.[4] Considered the first fruit on the fig tree, in its first season, Israel’s safety, prosperity, and promise are the fruit of obedience to God. In both instances, the fig tree offers a form of divine protection intended for creation. Failure of the fig tree to produce indicated a time of famine and God’s judgment upon the nation. Hence, Mark’s panoramic view of the fig tree full of leaves and no fruit indicates Israel’s attempt to hide their humanity and lack of God’s presence amidst their declining welfare. Ultimately, the fig tree’s inability to produce fruit became an indication of Israel’s inability to fulfill its creation role. 

An Open Rebuke 

In Alice Walker’s definition of womanist, black feminists or feminists of color are depicted as exemplifying “outrageous, audacious, courageous or willful behavior.” [5] Jesus’ prophetic indignation, found in Mark’s Gospel, embodies this willful proclamation. Considering that Jesus could have told the tree to produce fruit, Jesus made a bold and risky pronouncement. He wills his enfleshed God-given authority not to alleviate his hunger but to establish order among a disorderly creation. Nestled within his own humanity, Jesus engages in a radical discourse that addresses the humanity of a nation. This direct protest to his own hunger is an actualized commitment to the wellness of humanity. I don’t know of many who would do the same. To speak to and against the fig tree that has the capacity to feed him is a bold and dangerous undertaking. Growing up, I can recall hearing people say, “desperate times call for desperate measures.” As an adult, I learned this phrase originated from Hippocrates, a Greek physician. Hippocrates wrote, “for extreme diseases, extreme methods of cure, as to restriction, are most suitable.” [6] Jesus’ holy vernacular and rebuke are not ignited by the time but rather a disease of unfruitfulness among creation. 

Jesus’ expectation for harvest on his way to the temple is a sacred social expectation that accompanies creation’s commitment to righteousness. He curses the fig tree on the way to the temple because both creation and Israel have hidden behind the fig leaves of religiosity. Self-aggrandized and self-fulfilling, the fig tree became representative of Israel’s religious and social welfare. Jesus condemns creation and Israel not for the season but for their deceptive appearances. Jesus sees the leaves only and rebukes the fig tree for its pretentious attempt to cover its bareness, similar to the Genesis narrative. This rebuke has nothing to do with the tree’s capacity to produce as Mark notes Jesus cursing the future productivity by using one word … “again.” “Again” indicates that Jesus recognizes the capacity of the tree to produce and yet upholds his judgment for its unwillingness to produce. This is the outcome for those who hide behind leaves and are unwilling to be accompanied by fruit. 

An Empowered Witness 

As the disciples of Christ hear this courageous condemnation, I can only wonder how they processed this moment. Did they dismiss it as Jesus needing a Snickers Bar or as temporary frustration? Did they see themselves within the fig tree? Were they convicted by hearing the rebuke? Were they empowered by his ability to speak up? Or were they simply unmoved by the experience? During this Lenten season, I find myself deeply moved by the actions of Jesus. His words offer a resolve to the contemporary social condition of America and the religiosity of western Christianity. 

Namely, Jesus’ engagement of the fig tree first reminds us that hidden agendas will never bear real fruit. Jesus, an agent of God, calls out the fig tree for having leaves but no fruit. As I look around in my social context as a black woman in America, I readily see leaves but no fruit. Our society has attempted to cover up the humanity of the most vulnerable populations with fig leaves of political agendas. We have marketed particular bodies as the fruit of our labors without ever producing fruit. We have affirmed the degradation of our actions as just, while covering up injustices. We have chosen fake fruit over real truth. Like the plastic fruit that occupied my great-grandmother’s living room growing up, this can never satisfy the hunger of those in need. These fruits offer no real substance; their leaves provide no assistance to the distressed and no nutrients to the hungry. 

The rebuke of the fig tree is a condemnation of religious practices that prohibit the life of creation. As a millennial womanist preacher, the hunger of Jesus and lack of provision by the fig tree authenticates the lived experiences of black women. Long silenced and overlooked, the humanity of black women’s experiences and the needs that emerge from their lived experiences have gone unmet. As Jesus speaks boldly by naming his needs, he establishes his authority and voice. This costly proclamation creates space for those at the intersection of race, gender, and sexuality to express to do the same. This model of prophetic discourse allows black women to reclaim their God enfleshed authority. Through Jesus’ example, black women are normalized in their search for sacred nourishment, given autonomy to name their needs, and held religious systems accountable for the covert ways in which they starve sacred humanity. 

This Holy Monday, may we all be reminded of the role and responsibility of creation to bear fruit. May we become a creation that forsakes our leaves for harvest. May we discern and respond to practices that inhibit life and forsake the needs of humanity. May we engage in righteous rebuke and holy discontent. May we find our voice and authority to openly rebuke unfruitfulness in every area of our life. 

[1] Mark 11:14 New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)

[2] Mark 11:13 NRSV

[3] Genesis 3:7 NRSV

[4] Deuteronomy 8:8-10, 1 Kings 4:25, 2 Kings 18:31, Isaiah 34:4, Jeremiah 5:17, 

[5] Walker, Alice. 1973. In search of our mother’s gardens: womanist prose. San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.

[6] Aphorisms by Hippocrates, 400 BCE, http://classics.mit.edu/Hippocrates/aphorisms.1.i.html

A native of Kings Mountain, NC, Minister Angellica S. Sweat is committed to curating digital safe spaces for transformative ministry at the intersections of womanist theology, millennial ethics, and pastoral care.

Angellica holds an Associates of Arts in Business Administration from Gaston College, a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology from Livingstone College, and a Master of Divinity with concentrations in Biblical Studies, Preaching & Worship from Hood Theological Seminary. She currently is completing a Master of Theology at Duke University Divinity School centered in womanist homiletics.

As a millennial womanist and licensed local preacher, Minister Angellica lives out her call through by supporting pastors and congregations as they develop relevant practices for redemptive loving ministry. She currently serves at the Greater Gethsemane African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church in Charlotte, NC. In addition, Minister Angellica is a proud member of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated.

As a former corporate administrative consultant, Angellica founded Simply Angellica Consulting Group to support others in fulfilling their call. Through this endeavor, Minister Angellica has curated digital content for non-profits, launched virtual sacred spaces for ministries during the pandemic, and cultivated a digital community that is committed to critically engaging in #ThinkingThroughTheology.