Williams-ESPACIO NARRATIVO Y REVELACIÓN ANGÉLICA AL FINAL DEL EVANGELIO DE MARCOS

Article
Journal for the Study of

the New Testament
Narrative Space, Angelic 35(3) 263–284
© The Author(s) 2013
Revelation, and the End of Reprints and permission:
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Mark’s Gospel DOI: 10.1177/0142064X12472118
jsnt.sagepub.com
Guy J. Williams
Wellington College, UK
Abstract
This article draws on spatial theory to analyse the final chapter of Mark’s Gospel,
describing a setting full of religious and cultural significance. The analysis reveals a
narrative of building tension, leading to a decisive angelophany. Three main arguments
are advanced. Firstly, Mark takes a characteristic and subversive approach to space by
deliberately bringing events into the challenging (typically, unclean) setting of a tomb.
Secondly, Mark explores the borderland between life and death through themes of
space and time. Thirdly, the understanding of the tomb space ultimately is transformed,
making it the site of a well-constructed angelic revelation, and casting the women
visitors as prophetic recipients of the Gospel commission. In light of these points, Mk
16.1-8 may be considered a carefully built and decisive ending to the Gospel, based
upon the author’s thoughtful manipulation of narrative space.
Keywords
Narrative space, Mark (ending of), angel, resurrection, tomb
Empty Tomb, Empty Space? The Issue at the End of Mark

Recent scholarship, both within and outside of biblical studies, has seen
significant interest invested in spatial analysis over the last few decades.1 Critical
insights from social theory have been applied to various texts, including the
Gospel of Mark,2 though it might be fair to say that spatial theory is not yet a
1. For a summary of the application of spatial theory to religious studies, see Knott 2005:
94-123; specifically in biblical studies, see Berquist 2007: 1-12 and George 2007: 15-31.
2. For spatial research in Mark, see the history of research in Stewart’s recent monograph (2009).
Corresponding author:
Guy J. Williams, Wellington College, Crowthorne, RG45 7PU, UK
Email: GJW@wellingtoncollege.org.uk
Downloaded from jnt.sagepub.com at Pontificia Universidad Javeriana. Biblioteca Alfonso Borrero Cabal, S.J. on September 10, 2015
264 Journal for the Study of the New Testament 35(3)
mainstream influence among NT exegetes. The focus for this study—the end of
Mark’s Gospel—has arguably received insufficient attention in terms of the con-
struction, comprehension and effect of narrative space. At least, spatial consid-
erations seem not to feature in some significant interpretations of this problematic
section.
For instance, the location of the ending in 16.1-83 has conventionally been
described as the ‘empty tomb’,4 but that setting has largely been ignored in
favour of the event described. This event, we might say, forms a narrative of
absence; the key point is the simple non-discovery of Jesus’ body. By this popu-
lar reading of the text, Mark is really concerned with the plain observation that
Jesus is not present, and so we extrapolate that he has been resurrected. This
attitude is sometimes accompanied by a narrow historical approach: all that mat-
ters is whether Jesus did or did not rise from the dead, so it is of no concern
where or in what setting he did or did not do it. The problem with this agenda is
that it seemingly ignores certain details of the text. Given the ancient context of
Mark, we might suppose that times and places would be loaded with cultural
meaning, and it would only be natural for these to work their way into the narra-
tive structure. So, different and helpful perspectives may be uncovered if we stop
to consider Mark’s construction of space and the way in which characters inter-
act within it.
To help explain the analysis of this article and where it might take us, it is first
worth noting how this may fit (or not) with the current scholarly discussion of
Mark’s ending. This should clarify how a spatial analysis may suggest quite a
different and illuminating reading of the text.
In simple terms, there are two broad and competing camps of interpretation
when it comes to deciphering the end of Mark’s Gospel. These schools of thought
can be distinguished as much by their wider theological agendas as by their read-
ings of this specific text.
The first outlook we might call the ‘liberal’ perspective, which emphasizes the
open-ended and challenging nature of the narrative. After the difficult journey of
following the Lord, the women gather by his tomb. What they find is nothing: no
happy ending, no comforting Jesus. All that is discovered is a young man who
says, ‘he is not here’. Although raised, Jesus is gone. All that Mark leaves is the
3. There is insufficient scope here to give due consideration to the well-worn problem of exactly
how and where the Gospel of Mark should end. Initially, 16.1-8 will be treated as the most
original ending. This contradicts the readings of numerous impressive MSS (including A, C,
D, K and old versions) and the Textus Receptus, but there are still powerful arguments for an
ending in v. 8 (including the witness of ) and B); see Metzger 1994: 102-107. I shall develop
a response to this issue in the conclusion, below.
4. A common description in NT commentaries (Hooker 1991: 382; Yarbro Collins 2007: 779).
Williams 265
hard road of discipleship.5 This mysterious conclusion provides a ‘difficult’ or

‘existential’ ending to an enigmatic book.6
Meanwhile, and by contrast, the ‘conservative’ outlook is concerned with the
concrete historicity of the resurrection, which after all is a traditional Christian
doctrine. The fact that Jesus is absent from the tomb grants credence to the claim
that he is alive. His body is not there and, in any case, it may be that the resur-
rected Jesus is later to be seen (depending on how we see the text-critical issues).7
By this view, Mark reports an empty tomb as an achieved deliverance; this is the
historical fact upon which the faith is built.8
Although these liberal and conservative outlooks form two distinct readings of
Mark, they share a significant common assumption: both build upon the idea of an
empty tomb, an uninhabited space which is the bare departure point for something
else (discipleship or knowledge of resurrection). The essential point is simple in
both perspectives, and so the narrative space is pared down to basics accordingly.
Mark seemingly attempts to end the Gospel with a single unadorned message.
As I have stated, approaching the end of Mark as a narrative of absence, a tale
of an empty tomb, ignores details of the text. The meaning of the location and
wider setting has fallen by the wayside, or it has falsely and uncritically been
assumed that such space is abstract or neutral.9 This article, therefore, takes issue
5. For instance, ‘If you want to see Jesus, then follow where he leads. This is the end of Mark’s
story, because it is the beginning of discipleship’ (Hooker 1991: 394). For many interpreters,
the value of Mk 16 lies in its rejection of triumphal Christology or realized soteriology.
Jesus is not completely, obviously raised, since that would risk complacency and religious
arrogance. Myers goes further, reading Mark’s final chapter as part of a power narrative,
shifting the reader away from imperialist ideology towards striving for justice. Thus, ‘the
power of Mark’s Gospel ultimately lies not in what it tells the disciples/readers, but what it
asks of them’ (1988: 403).
6. A perspective gently mocked by Wright: ‘much better to see Mark as a kind of first century
Kafka’ (2003: 616).
7. The so-called ‘longer ending’ of Mark (16.9-20) includes an account of the resurrected Jesus.
It has good MS support and is the Textus Receptus, but still probably is not original (on text-
critical and stylistic grounds). The ‘longer ending’ may also be derived from Luke; note the
numerous parallels in the NA margin. An alternative view is that another ending of Mark
(now lost) stood in the original text, which included a post-Easter account of Jesus.
8. For scholarly versions of this argument, see Wright 2003: 616-31; Cranfield 1959: 463.
Simply, Mark gives us historical access to a decisive religious event. The resurrection is
factual, regardless of how one responds to it. Contrast this view with the challenge of the
‘liberal’ reading.
9. The idea of ‘abstract space’ is a target for critical spatial theory, which challenges the
assumption that spaces may function as the neutral containers of events. As Knott observes,
‘spaces are both material and metaphorical, physical and imagined’ (2005: 13). So also
George: ‘Space is not simply the neutral medium in which biblical and related narratives and
events took place’ (2007: 29). Thus, the idea of the tomb being the neutral vessel in which the
resurrection happened to occur seems naïve, given the strength of cultural influences in the
construction of space. Spaces contain and define events.
with the perspectives just mentioned for their insistence upon describing and
interpreting an ‘empty tomb’. The tomb in Mk 16.1-8 is not at all empty, but is
full of interesting characters (three women and a young man, in fact). The setting
of this narrative is not a blank backdrop for Easter morning, but the spatiality, the
time and the place themselves, are part of what Mark communicates. Arguably,
Mark has an acute sense of the meaning of the narrative space.
Therefore, developing quite a different interpretation, the analysis of this article
proposes three main claims. Firstly, the ending of Mark’s Gospel produces an
unconventional view of the narrative’s tomb space, overriding traditional problems
of purity and taboo, and deliberately bringing the narrative into the sphere of death.
Secondly, Mark’s narrative explores the borderland between life and death through
motifs of time and space, suggesting the idea that Jesus transgresses or transcends
the bounds of mortal life. Thirdly, the tomb space is radically transformed in Mark,
becoming the site of an angelic revelation to the women gathered there; this care-
fully constructed angelophany in the tomb forms a decisive finale to the Gospel.
Spatial Theory and Exegesis

Before undertaking this analysis of Mk 16.1-8, however, methodological ques-
tions arise. Namely, how can spatial theory be applied to biblical studies? What
tools may it provide for exegesis? And, how might this theory specifically benefit
an interpreter of Mark?
The main focus for this article will be an interpretation of the text, so there is
insufficient space here to do justice in reviewing what is a significant and ongo-
ing academic discussion. However, a few simple points gleaned from recent
scholarship should point the way towards how methodological questions might
be answered, or to where more satisfying answers may be found.
Firstly, it is important to note that some NT scholars have already brought
spatial theory to bear on Mark, uncovering a useful starting point for this study.
That is, as a literary production, Mark clearly is thoughtfully engaged in the con-
struction of space; this is not a random or empty narrative backdrop. For exam-
ple, perhaps the first major spatial study of Mark, that of Elizabeth Struthers
Malbon (1986), brings a structuralist analysis to the binary oppositions of the
Gospel. Malbon sees Mark’s Jesus as occupying the ‘space between’ as a mediat-
ing and resolving figure. Meanwhile, the recent work of Eric Stewart (2009)
contends that previous generations of scholars had more limited interests in his-
torical and theological issues in Markan spaces, and so he proposes a more criti-
cal engagement with ‘ancient perceptions of space’ and attempts to comprehend
the social nature of space in the ancient world. This ultimately is seen as a pro-
cess of the Gospel author being conscious of space: understanding, sometimes
accepting and sometimes subverting spatial ideas. It seems warranted, therefore,
to treat spatial motifs in Mark with some seriousness.
Williams 267
The second point to take from spatial scholarship is that a significant aware-
ness of the meaning of time and space seems to be characteristic of traditional
societies and worldviews. There is a long tradition of this basic point being made
in anthropological and ethnographical studies; famously within the study of reli-
gion, Mircea Eliade argued for the spatial category of the ‘sacred’ as a funda-
mental part of human experience, ‘a mode of being in the world’ (1959: 14).
Positing a sacralized cosmos, Eliade claimed that a man of true religious charac-
ter would see the world in a manner fundamentally different from modern,
scientific observers, living in a world saturated with spatial meaning. Undoubtedly,
this is a very high (perhaps exaggerated) view of how space could be perceived,10
but the basic point still seems to endure: space was loaded with cultural meaning
in antiquity. This aspect ensures that meanings given to spaces—both physical
and mental—continue to influence and evolve within a reading community.11
Thirdly, this leads on to the central observation of the new critical theory of
space, that it is socially created.12 Various social dynamics have revealed this to
the modern scholar: urbanization, globalization, changing identities and so on.
Religion is equally a part of this, as ‘spaces themselves may be constituted by
socio-religious relations’ (Knott 2005: 21) and so the meaning of space is created
by human interaction and behaviour. Put simply, we see the emergence of a ‘rela-
tional concept of space’ (Löw 2001: 264) and this surely further undermines the
assumption of empty or abstract narrative space. Rather, space emerges in cul-
ture and narrative in a complex or ‘synthetic’ way,13 and for the biblical scholar
this means bringing together the physical and conceptual, the symbolic and
mythological (George 2007: 29).
The fourth and final observation is that texts may create spaces (both real and
imagined) that the readers may accept and ‘enter’ through their acknowledgment
of the text and its authority. Any reader may imaginatively place him- or herself
10. The ideal of ‘religious man’ has been criticized in some quarters for reflecting the romantic
and anti-modern character of the scholar. These issues have been dealt with in respect of
Eliade’s biography and scholarship in a piece by his graduate student Ellwood (1999) on
‘nostalgia for the sacred’. Moreover, McCutcheon (1997) gives a wide-ranging critique of the
manner in which Eliade used general patterns in religion to sustain his agenda.
11. An example of how this operates can be found in the construction of spaces within the
Apocalypse. It is a text of palpable spatial controversy, with conflict over heavenly and
earthly territory. The weight of cultural significance in the ancient narrative space opens up
avenues for further interpretations and conflicts. The ideological nature of space in this text is
well illuminated by Pippin (2008).
12. A claim stated in founding works of critical spatial theory (Lefebvre 1991; Soja 1996; Massey
1993).
13. As is well summarized by Löw: ‘Raum wird konstituiert als Synthese von sozialen Gütern,
anderen Menschen und Orten in Vorstellungen, durch Wahrnehmungen und Erinnerungen,
aber auch im Spacing durch Plazierung (Bauen, Vermessen, Errichten) jener Güter und
Menschen an Orten in Relation zu anderen Gütern und Menschen’ (2001: 263).
within a text, but a text that seems to demand some sort of response (i.e. a bibli-
cal testimony) suggests that the narrative space may have a distinct form of real-
ity for the reader. For example, an apocalyptic text may create a space in literature
(heaven, hell, etc.) that—if the revelation is accepted—is a real space for the
reading community.14 The same could be said of Mark: the narrative space may
have a dynamic relationship with the readership, rather than being ignored for
the sake of a supposedly historical focus on unadorned events.
Concluding this brief discussion of spatial theory, it seems that it provides
some valuable insights for NT exegetes. Even a short review of scholarship
shows that space needs to be treated seriously, contextually and with critical
insight. Space is meaningful (not ‘empty’), is socially produced, and dynami-
cally engages the readers of a narrative. To an extent, this theory has already
been brought to bear on Mark, though there is scope for development, and an
analysis of the ending section now follows. The following exegesis will be bro-
ken down into three parts: the approach to the tomb, the stone doorway and the
events in the tomb. This will then lead to wider concluding observations about
Mark’s literary and theological agenda.
Approaching the Tomb

The opening verse (16.1) identifies the three women and lays out the motivation
for their visit to the tomb. The three names given here (Mary, Mary and Salome)
are slightly jarring, given that Mary Magdalene and a different Mary have just
been mentioned in the previous verse (15.47). Conceivably, this means that the
narrative at the tomb was originally a distinct unit in literary or oral form, and
Mark has integrated this as the ending of his Gospel with a somewhat imperfect
transition. However, the agreement in names between 16.1 and the list of women
around the cross in 15.40 may point in the opposite direction: this material origi-
nated with Mark. It is impossible to tell whether this narrative had a pre-Markan
history and perhaps it does not matter. As it stands, it has been deliberately placed
at a key moment in the Gospel story and in its current literary form it has a dis-
tinct Markan feel.15
Before the women even approach the tomb, however, their intentions seem
problematic. Why should they want to buy spices to anoint Jesus’ body in the
first place? Would it not have been anointed at burial? Would they not have
expected the body to be decomposing? Traditionally, commentators have avoided
this dilemma by characterizing the women’s actions as a form of irrational
14. So Lopez 2008: 144. Her article provides valuable insights on this theme.
15. For example, the interchange between different verbal tenses (present, aorist etc.) is typical
of Mark: e1rxontai in v. 2 is followed by e1legon in v. 3 without an obvious change in the
intended time frame.
Williams 269
devotion to their crucified master. It did not make sense, but it was a nice thing
to do. It is possible, then, that Mark is reporting history and that the women may
actually have attempted to perform this curious service.16
However, despite this possibility, we have reason to suspect that Mark is being
artful in his construction of this scenario. As Morna Hooker (1991: 382) sug-
gests, there is an obvious parallel between this attempted anointing of Jesus and
the successful anointing by an unnamed woman in 14.3. She prepares Jesus for
burial while he is alive by pouring ointment upon his head. So, the actions of the
women in 16.1 are also part of Mark’s symbolic world. Indeed, the irony he
achieves is accomplished: the women are trying to anoint a body that has already
been anointed and can now no longer be anointed, because it has been raised. So,
while the purchase of spices may have happened, for our Gospel author this func-
tions more as a signpost for the narrative. The women prepare to seek Jesus
among the dead; their intention to enter into the tomb is marked out.
With that established, the question then arises of what the audience or reader
might assume about the proposed destination: the tomb. Looking at the range of
ideas found in antiquity and early Judaism in particular, we find that attitudes
could be complex. On the one hand, burial was a definite positive and a good
tomb or grave was essential for a restful death.17 Close family were duty-bound
to bring an individual to a suitable resting place.18 Ultimately, serving the dead
with a correct burial was one of the underpinning practices supporting the belief
in bodily resurrection.19 In rare cases, it may have been acceptable to see the
bones of worthy individuals as valued treasures.20 So, for certain specific actions,
a tomb would be the right, fitting and necessary location, a positive spatial frame
16. This is doubtful, however. Notably, such intentions are lacking in Matthew and John. In
Matthew the women merely go ‘to see the tomb’ (28.1), while in John there is no attempt to
explain their motives.
17. A lack of burial was seen as disgraceful (Deut. 7.33; 8.1; 28.6; Ezek. 6.5; 29.5; 39.17). This
idea was manifested in a variety of forms throughout the second-Temple period and beyond.
It could operate as a curse: ‘[may] the bones of the criminals (lie) dishonoured out in the sun.
Let crows peck out the eyes of hypocrites …’ (Pss. Sol. 4.19-20). It could also depict tragedy:
Job’s wife is distraught at her failure to bury her ten children decently (T. Job 39.8-10).
18. This is a repeated element in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, which is preoccupied
with the provision of good burials. The reader is led to believe that the bones of all the
Patriarchs were carried to the family’s cave tomb in Hebron: T. Reub. 7.1-2; T. Judah 26.4; etc.
This coincides with a remarkably positive outlook on death as ‘beautiful sleep’ (T. Jos. 20.4).
19. The belief that ‘Those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life,
and some to shame and everlasting contempt’ (Dan. 12.2). At the end of the second-Temple
period, resurrection is sometimes specified as ‘from the tombs’ (4 Ezra 2.16). Proper burial
secures the idea of a whole body, able to be restored.
20. Extraordinary in Jewish terms is the singular belief that the bones of Elisha could have healing
properties (Liv. Proph. 22.17). Meanwhile, it is debated whether Jews held a commemoration
at the Maccabean tombs, suggested by some as a context for 4 Maccabees (Hadas 1953: 104),
but is disputed by others (Anderson 1985: 534-37).
for a narrative. The common and indeed necessary spatial behaviour of tending
to the dead, then, would inevitably have influenced perceptions of tomb space.
However, running against all of this was the general and negative assumption
that corpses were dangerous sources of pollution.21 This led to a widespread
opinion in early Judaism that one should spend as little time near tombs as pos-
sible.22 This was practically significant, as impurity was inconvenient, but it
was also intrinsically desirable to remain in ritual cleanliness. Meanwhile, Jews
widely feared and despised those who attempted to commune with the dead.
Necromancy was (at least theoretically) punished by death,23 and the Gentile
practice of eating in tombs was considered appalling.24 So, a visit to a tomb
would be a rare occurrence, only undertaken if strictly necessary. Jews avoided
being in physical contact with or even in the same room as a dead person if at
all possible. Certainly, this engagement with burial space would have been
obvious to anybody with significant and regular contact with Jewish
communities.
This religious background of tomb space raises immediate questions for the
actions of the women in Mark’s Gospel. With the body already laid to rest, it is
surprising that Jewish women would want to re-enter a tomb and expose them-
selves to impurity. Furthermore, the desire to spend time with the body of the
21. Any contact with a corpse automatically led to ritual impurity, so only close relatives came
into contact with the body of deceased family members (Lev. 21.1-4). The high priest could
not approach a corpse, not even that of his father or mother (21.10-11). The same rules applied
to Nazirites: no contact with corpses (Num. 6.6-9). Corpse impurity for a normal, observant
Israelite lasted for seven days, but only if appropriate cleansings were performed (19.11-12).
Meanwhile, failure to observe ritual laws for corpse impurity led to the most severe sanctions,
being ‘cut off from Israel’ (19.13).
22. Tombs were whitewashed, so that nobody would accidentally approach one: ‘Woe to you,
scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside
look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and all kinds of filth’ (Mt.
23.27). Note Jesus’ assumption in Matthew that the contents of tombs are impure.
23. Consultation with ghosts or oracles from the dead was prohibited with extreme penalties—a
practice to be eradicated among the nations (Deut. 18.11-12). As Douglas (1999: 99) suggests,
‘The Pentateuch did not just ignore its ancestors. It violently hated to be in communication
with them.’ Meanwhile, in the well-known story of the witch of Endor, the woman reveals
Saul’s policy of executing those in contact with the dead (1 Sam. 28.9). The irony is that Saul
himself is consulting the dead through this woman, an action that compounds the doomed
nature of his reign. ‘In the eyes of the narrator, for Saul to have called upon the necromancer
… is the last, most sinful act of a very desperate man’ (Segal 2004: 125).
24. Particularly in Jubilees, which maintains a negative outlook on Gentile culture: ‘They
slaughter their sacrifices to the dead, and to the demons they bow down. And they eat in tombs.
And all their deeds are worthless and vain’ (Jub. 22.17). It is notable how readily evil spirits
(‘demons’) are associated with places of death, which surely offers part of the explanation
for Jewish concerns about contact with the dead. Presumably, many Jews disapproved of
Roman festivities; for example, according to Ovid, the celebration of the Parentalia included
offerings to the family spirits (divi parentes) at the family tombs (Fast. 2.536-39).
Williams 271
deceased would seem suspicious if not downright wicked in the eyes of society.
So, purely from the point of view of Jewish custom, the behaviour of the women
in Mark is difficult to explain and conflicts with the Torah (possibly, Matthew’s
account seeks to mitigate this).25 It would appear that Mark is not concerned to
restrict the figures of his narrative to the conventions of ritual space, but has a
very different outlook. His narrative runs against the grain of socio-religious
practice, even against some quite definitive routines,26 surely by deliberate
intent.
But what could explain Mark’s surprising attitude? In terms of the narra-
tive’s location (the tomb) we see that he does not give a predetermined or
conventional meaning to this space. This cannot reflect ignorance on his part;
certainly, Mark had some idea of common Jewish attitudes towards tombs.27
Therefore, we could see Mark as deliberately ignoring or even actively chal-
lenging widespread Jewish attitudes towards space and ritual purity. This fits
the journey to the tomb into a wider programme of tension with established
ways of thinking and acting.28 The apparent disregard for corpse impurity or
the dangers of entering tombs also leaves Mark with scope to give a new and
distinct meaning to the tomb setting. As an author, he may be aware of common
expectations attached to burial sites, and yet he is willing to play with these or
even invert such ideas. To the reader or listener, then, the opening verses of ch.
16 may have come as a surprise, which may be what was intended. The case of
Jesus is different or somehow unconventional, a suggestion created by the
manipulation of narrative space.
25. The detail that the women went only to see the tomb (qewrh~sai to_n ta&fon: Mt. 28.1) seems
like an attempt to excuse the women from a deliberate and unnecessary plan to contract
corpse impurity. Possibly, Matthew found Mark’s scheme of seeking contact with the corpse
to be incorrect or improper, and made a scrupulous edit in his Gospel. Another example of
Matthew showing more concern over the dangers of tombs could be seen in his account of
the burial. While Mark merely observes that Jesus was laid in a tomb ‘hewn out of the rock’
(15.46), Matthew adds that it was a new tomb (27.60). Matthew’s account implies that the
tomb of Jesus had been empty and thus free from corpse impurity. Perhaps such issues simply
did not bother Mark, but Matthew may have emended Mark deliberately.
26. For the argument that spatial meaning is constituted by daily routines, see Löw 2001: 263.
27. Mark assumes a connection between tombs and impurity in his narrative of the Gerasene
demoniac (5.1-20), the details of which fit with established Jewish concerns.
28. It is notable how willing Mark’s Jesus is to enter into the ‘wrong’ places or breach spatial
conventions: he eats in the house of a tax collector (2.15), heals the demoniac from among
the tombs (5.3), and attacks those buying and selling in the Temple (11.15). This lack of
sensitivity to spatial taboos is probably a deliberate feature of the Gospel, showing Jesus to
be unbounded by convention. Arguably, this is part of a wider pattern in Mark of disregarding
the constraints of Torah or purity laws, most strikingly put forward in Jesus’ declaration in
7.14-23: nothing outside of a person can defile. Presumably, then, no spatial categories could
defile Jesus or his followers either.
Moving on to v. 2, we see that the approach to the tomb remains perplexing.

The time at which the women arrive is ‘very early … when the sun had risen’.
This presents a problem; by ancient reckoning of time, ‘very early’ (li/an prwi5)29
in the day is not the same thing as just after sunrise, but refers to the time before
the sun rises. We would expect Mark to have had a specific timeframe in mind
for his narrative, so what would account for this confusion?
Although we could see this inaccuracy simply as characteristic of Mark’s
relaxed written style (so Hooker 1991: 384), this explanation is inadequate. The
phrase as it stands is not merely vague but actually forms a genuine tension or
contradiction.30 The better solution may be to take a view adopted by some ear-
lier commentators (e.g. Swete 1913: 395), seeing this as an attempt to note the
passage of time. In other words, the women got up early to go to the tomb and
arrived there as the sun was rising. This is not exactly what Mark has written, but
it provides a good explanation for why he makes points of chronology in two
separate clauses in this verse: it was early, the women were going to the tomb,
and then the sun was up. What this gives us is an attempt to coordinate the nar-
rative setting with a given moment in time; it is an intersection in time and space
(tomb, dawn) that locates the events described.
To really understand this narrative setting, it is first important to note some
characteristic features of ancient timekeeping. True chronography as we know it
today did not exist in the ancient Mediterranean. It is hard to imagine a world
without clocks, a world in which the average person could not realistically make
any numerical representation of the times and dates of events. Yet, this is the
world Mark inhabited. The passage of time was largely measured through astro-
nomical, meteorological and liturgical observations: stars, seasons and festivals.
Time could not be reduced to neutral numerical figures, but each time contained
a particular layer of meaning invested in it by the mode of its reckoning. For
example, a sunset in winter expressed something different from a sunrise in
spring.31 So too for Mark, time itself (like space) would be expressive of some-
thing, or at least might imply certain possibilities or values within a narrative.
29. See BAGD, ‘prwi5’, 732: ‘As the fourth watch of the night … it is the time from three to six
o’clock’.
30. For instance, to say today that we could meet at dawn, at 10 a.m., is not casual but wrong.
If the language is problematic then it requires an explanation, without being dismissed as
unimportant.
31. The importance of time reckoned in this fashion is exemplified in the crucifixion narrative
in Mark. In ch. 15 events pass in curious three-hour slots. Jesus is crucified on the third
hour (15.25), darkness falls on the sixth (15.33), and then three hours later in the ninth hour,
Jesus finally dies (15.34-37). Although it is conceivable that Mark has this timing right, the
symbolic value of darkness at midday is what he is getting at. As is well known, this dramatic
chronology transforms the crucifixion into a neat fulfilment of Amos 8.9-10. The idea of
recording time for time’s sake is nowhere in mind.
Williams 273
These observations lead us to consider the particular meaning of this dawn-

time approach to the tomb. What does Mark seek to convey? In traditional socie-
ties, sunrise can derive its importance from its function as the boundary marker
between the chaos and danger of night, and the order and hope of day. This
applies in Mark’s early Jewish and Christian context. Night is the sphere of evil
and death;32 it is the time of Lilith’s activities.33 This assumption is evident, for
example, in John’s dramatic comment that Satan entered Judas Iscariot ‘and it
was night’ (Jn 13.30). It is precisely the same idea which in later years has led
Anglicans to pray of an evening: ‘defende us from all perilles and daungers of
thys nyght’.34 Sunrise is important because it banishes evil.
The meaning of a particular place, then, is coordinated with the meaning of
the specific time or conditions under which it is entered. This gives us more to
think about with the tomb, since the women approach at a time of symbolic tran-
sition. With the rising sun, the power of Satan wanes and the possibility of new
life emerges. This would be a time of ritual power,35 and the sun suggesting
renewal.36 As any first-century hearer of the Gospel would probably recognize,
if anything good could come from the crucifixion then this would be the time for
it. These chronological details might then challenge the negative associations
that may have been attached to the tomb space in the first place. It creates an
interesting tension between how one would usually behave in relation to tombs
(negatively) and in relation to sunrise (positively).
Therefore, just as the women approach the tomb in the opening verses of ch.
16, Mark has already provided a challenging scene. The simple actions of the
32. In the OT night (hlyl) sometimes represents despair, danger or ignorance. E.g., ‘it shall be
night to you, without vision, and darkness to you, without revelation’ (Mic. 3.6).
33. Although much of the evidence for Jewish beliefs about Lilith is admittedly late, she appears
in two early texts: Isa. 34.14; 4Q510.4–5. Lilith was held to be a malicious and nocturnal
female spirit who sought to ensnare men in sexual sin; see Hutter 1995: 973–76.
34. The Book of Common Prayer, Evensong.
35. Certain rituals in antiquity were only effective if performed at sunrise. E.g., ‘Take the milk
with the honey and drink it before the rising of the sun …’ (Betz 1996: 20). The sun itself
could also be considered a type of power to be harnessed, as early Christian rituals make
plain: ‘Give me the sun as a garment … that it may diminish for me all evil’ (text 59 in Meyer
and Smith 1999: 110-11).
36. The sun was most likely invested with symbolic significance by the community at Qumran,
which preserved prayers celebrating the morning and evening. God is praised, ‘who hast
created the morning as a sign to reveal the dominion of the light as the boundary of the
daytime …’ (4Q408). Compare this with Philo’s account of another apparently sectarian
Jewish group, the Therapeutae. They perform a distinctive sunrise ritual: ‘they stand with
their faces and whole body turned to the east and when they see the sun rising they stretch
their hands up to heaven and pray for bright days and knowledge of the truth and the power
of keen sighted thinking’ (Vit. Cont. 89). For Philo, the sun operates as a Platonically inspired
metaphor, and there is also an obvious sense in which the sun indicates optimism and the hope
for future grace from God.
women stand in tension with entrenched cultural expectations and ritual behav-
iours for avoiding impure tomb spaces. Meanwhile, the negativity that attaches
to tombs (places of death, after all) is balanced by the hope of the risen sun. At
this point, Mark evidently has no simple model for the meaning of narrative
space (i.e. tomb = ‘bad’) but is leaving matters open.
The Stone Doorway

As the women arrive at the tomb in vv. 3-4, their attention is drawn to the way
in. We are presented with a formidable threshold and the question of what this
imposing door between the tomb and the outside world might signify. We find in
v. 3 the women asking who will roll away the stone door for them. This seems
problematic, because of the foolish or pointless nature of the question. The
women make careful preparations to visit the tomb and anoint the body of Jesus,
but it is only once they arrive that they consider how they might get inside. The
historicizing claim that this is a ‘vividly remembered anxiety’ (Cranfield 1959:
465) does not get around the problem that the action is irrational. Again, we could
dismiss this issue through our sympathy for the traumatized women. However,
Mark is not concerned to report their psychological state in this part of the narra-
tive, and so the question posed should be regarded as entirely contrived: ‘who
will roll away the stone for us?’ It anticipates the fact that help will be forthcom-
ing.37 The entrance into the tomb is highlighted, as it fulfils a certain function.38
Mark observes that the stone ‘was very large’ (16.4) and so physically daunt-
ing. In the symbolic sub-text of the narrative, this obstacle may represent the
firmly closed door between the world of the living and the world of the dead.
This casts the journey of the women as a kind of symbolic quest to find life
beyond the door of death. Mark’s construction of the location here thus contrib-
utes to the underlying message or theology, with the reversal of something so
final and terrible as the crucifixion.
37. A more natural question would be ‘will anyone roll away the stone for us?’ (perhaps placing
an indefinite pronoun after the verb), since it would not assume that help will arrive. Mark is
looking forward with his use of ‘who’ (ti/j), as this expects that the action will be performed.
The contrived nature of this question is also noted by Aus; this is ‘one sign that the narrative
of 16:1-8 is artificially constructed’ (2008: 173) because, if Joseph of Arimathea could move
the stone on his own, then the three women should be more than capable.
38. A number of explanations have been offered for the women’s question of who would move
the stone. Its immoveable nature could be emphasized as a reminder of the certainty of
Jesus’ death, and his proper burial. There was ‘no expectation of finding it [the tomb] open
…’ (Hooker 1991: 384). Alternatively, the women’s musings could be a dramatic device to
heighten tension in the approach to the tomb (so Hurtado 1989: 281). However, with the
interrogative personal pronoun (ti/j), an agent of change is expected, which anticipates the
angelic intervention.
Williams 275
In v. 4, the women finally see that the stone has been rolled aside. The door is
open now in both the literal and figurative sense; there is a way open into the
sphere of death. The women look up (a)nable/yasai) or perhaps even look
again39 at the scene presented before them. This may hint that they are given
deeper levels of perception for what they may discover in the tomb. They are
able to see the meaning of the scene laid out before them.
These observations about the way into the tomb give us further insight into
Mark’s understanding of the situation he describes. As we have seen, tombs
could be regarded as sites of danger and impurity. Mark no doubt was aware of
these associations. His Gospel is a product of the ancient world; unsurprisingly,
it lacks the idea of value-free secular space. One of the main ideas of the Gospel
is the all-encompassing and mysterious space ‘the kingdom of God’. On the
other end of the spectrum, tombs and graveyards are identified as dangerous
borderlands between the living and the dead. Such concerns are obvious in
Mark’s heavy-handed emphasis upon the Gerasene demoniac as being ‘out of the
tombs’ (5.2), ‘among the tombs’ (5.3), and ‘night and day among the tombs and
mountains’ (5.5). In that case, Jesus’ power was tested and displayed by his
actions and success within the sphere of tombs. Yet again, then, Mark plays with
spatial conventions, deliberately overriding traditional concerns. This time, how-
ever, it is the women who are untroubled by the prospect of visiting a tomb and
are pleasantly surprised to find it open. Their eagerness to approach and enter the
tomb is disturbing from a Jewish perspective. However, for Mark the women’s
spatial attitude is not only unproblematic, but it even reinforces wider ideas
about the significance of Jesus.
The reasoning behind Mark’s surprising insistence that the women wished to
enter the tomb may be found in the author’s interest in borderline spaces and the
transition between life and death, and vice versa. If we consider the mysterious
opening of the tomb in connection with Mark’s references to time, we find that
the narrative draws upon a dual liminality: the women approach between night
and day (symbolic counterparts to death and life) and they arrive at an unex-
pected way between the worlds inside and outside the tomb. Rather than being
put off by traditional Jewish reservations concerning burial spaces, Mark pursues
the idea that Jesus transcends or transgresses categories or restrictions. The latent
holiness of Jesus cancels out any concerns about impurity,40 while his role as Son
39. The verb here just as well means ‘seeing again’ or ‘regaining sight’ as it does ‘look up’.
See BAGD, ‘a)nable/pw’, 50. There could be a double meaning here, as the women gain a
clearer appreciation of the tomb and the events unfolding. Occasionally, the verb also has the
technical sense ‘spiritual sight’, which could be relevant here (e.g. 2 Clem. 9.2).
40. It is a notable feature of Mark that Jesus possesses such power that he negates the impurity
he encounters (at times, even contrary to Jewish laws). This is reflected in his exorcism of
unclean spirits (to_ pneu~ma to_ a)ka&qarton: 1.23, 26, 27; 3.11, 30; 5.2, 8, 13; 6.7; 7.25; 9.25).
This is also a factor in the touching of a man with leprosy to heal him (1.40-45) and in the
of God allows that he may cross the border between life and death. Simply, Mark
is too deeply interested in the nature of death and life to conduct his narrative at
a respectful, ritually pure distance from the tomb.
Mark’s narrative in the tomb should also be seen in light of his wider under-
standing of space and the role of Jesus. This is something that has been picked
out by Malbon, whose analysis of narrative space finds that ‘the Markan Jesus
has a special affinity for the space between’ (1986: 167), be that a road between
places, or a territory between the Jewish and Gentile worlds. Jesus is a figure
always in motion and never confined to or defined by one space. More recently,
Stewart (2009) has argued that Mark is not so much concerned by territorial
polarities (e.g. Jerusalem/Galilee), but instead defines Jesus’ new movement by
its presence in borderlands and wilderness areas. Mark’s treatment of the tomb
as proposed here seemingly fits with such scholarly perspectives; it is a liminal
space, negotiated and bridged by the extraordinary messianic figure of Jesus.
Neither the tomb nor Sheol can bind Mark’s Jesus, since he always finds a way
beyond spatial (even mortal) limitations.
As we read on, we find that traditional spatial expectations are further con-
founded, as the tomb is transformed. The normal values and associations are
compromised by what the women discover; instead of simply being a place of
death, the tomb receives a different type of function in the narrative (as Malbon
convincingly argues).41 For the ancient listener or reader, there may have been a
jarring oddity to this use of space. Prepared for an entrance into subterranean
darkness, death or Hades, one finds a lack of such murky themes.42 In the last
intriguing healing of the woman suffering from haemorrhages (5.25-34). The woman’s flow
of blood makes her ritually impure, but on contact with Jesus he feels the power go out from
him (5.30). Jesus radiates purity. Mark’s willingness to redefine the spatial meaning of a tomb
in ch. 16 would be consistent with this wider reversal of impurity motif.
41. Her study includes an insightful discussion of tomb space, which this current article draws
upon; curiously, Stewart’s more recent work on Markan space (2009) does not include tombs.
According to Malbon, Mark confounds traditional expectations of the tomb (the place of
chaos, death etc.). The poles of opposition in structuralist analysis which give tomb-space
a negative definition are destroyed. The tomb gains a curious positive function: ‘out of the
chaos of the waves and out of the chaos of the grave, a new order comes’ (1986: 164). The
tomb even contrasts favourably with the Temple (1986: 138). In the exegesis that follows, I
would like to extend Malbon’s arguments and propose how the tomb is transformed by an
angelic revelation.
42. Compare and contrast the three women with the figure of Orpheus. All have lost the person
they love most (Jesus/Eurydice). All mourn for this person and seek him/her in the place of
death or underworld. A good story seems to demand a descent into Hades or some such other
dreadful ordeal, which is what we get with Orpheus. This is a powerful and recognizable
mythic structure. However, Mark cuts loose from narrative expectations and cancels the link
between the grave and death—a distinctive manoeuvre that may reflect subtle manipulation
of narrative space.
Williams 277
four verses, Mark sets out a different use for the tomb, making it a space for a
significant angelic disclosure.
In the Tomb
Moving on to vv. 5-8, already by this point the narrative may have surprised
hearers of the Gospel with its acceptance of a mission into the tomb. However,
the meaning of the tomb space has been modified and one might anticipate
extraordinary events within. Mark, who passes over traditional concerns regard-
ing purity, ignores the potential danger of contact with corpses and instead leads
us to the boundary between life and death. This borderland provides the hope of
new life and the setting for the final dramatic events of the Gospel.
As the women enter the tomb, the scene does not meet with expectations.
Mark does not emphasize the absence of Jesus’ body (contrast Luke and John),43
instead noting that the women found ‘a young man, sat on the right, dressed in a
white robe’. Our attention is drawn to this figure. Mark has no interest in report-
ing the ‘empty tomb’ pure and simple, but he is drawing a scene with distinctive
features which carry their own message.
It is usually assumed by NT scholars that the young man in the tomb is an
angel.44 However, interest in this figure seldom goes further than that. The angel
is present to deliver a brief but important message: Jesus is not here, he has been
raised, and he is going to Galilee. Many would see this specific figure and his
setting only as incidental to that essential point. However, as I have already
argued, Mark’s appreciation of the tomb space is complex, and it seems unlikely
that this could be a neutral backdrop for a straightforward communication. Mark
has already more or less subverted traditional Jewish ideas about burial sites, and
the emergence of this young man takes this further.
Some care has been taken in preparing the way for the appearance of this
figure. The dramatic intervention of a heavenly power has already to some extent
been anticipated; the great stone is rolled away, as the women hoped. This is the
right place and the right time for a heavenly figure; the angel stands on the
threshold as the sun hits the sky.45 An appreciation for the cultural resonance of
the setting demands that we are impressed by this figure.
43. According to Luke, ‘when they went in, they did not find the body’ (24.3). According to
John, without even entering the tomb, the women flee and report back to Simon Peter and the
disciple whom Jesus loved: ‘they have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know
where they have laid him’ (20.2). By contrast, the simple fact of the missing body is not even
noted by Mark but can be extrapolated from what the young man is reported as saying.
44. E.g. Hurtado 1989: 281; Hooker 1991: 384; Yarbro Collins 2007: 795.
45. In some Jewish apocalyptic texts the sun is associated with the angels. It is accompanied
by 150,000 angels in the daytime (2 En. 11.4). Perhaps the clearest expression of this link
is found in the Book of Heavenly Luminaries in 1 Enoch (72–82), in which Uriel provides
It is the appearance of the young man here that most strongly indicates the
transformation of tomb space as a feature of Mark’s narrative. There are a few
indications in this text to suggest that Mark sees this as a genuine revelatory
encounter, and the tomb itself is the site of a carefully drawn angelophany. A
number of interesting details concerning this figure support this idea. Firstly,
Mark could simply have written ei]don a!ggelon, but he did not. The term ‘young
man’ (neani/skoj) as applied to an angel is distinctive but clear.46 The ‘young
men’ of 2 Macc. 3.26, 33 are certainly angels. Similarly, the mysterious ‘young
man’ who appears to Gideon in Josephus’s Antiquities (5.6.2) is also almost cer-
tainly an angel. It may have been this kind of linguistic association which in later
years led to the chief angel Metatron acquiring the title ‘Youth’ (3 En. 4.1).47
Another spatial detail underscores the importance of the young man and the
revelation he brings. Within the tomb, this figure sits on the right hand side. It may
be that Mark intended for this to carry a particular resonance—it is a clarification
and development of the narrative space.48 It is possible that it forms an allusion to
the argument among the disciples as to who would sit at Jesus’ right hand (10.37;
so Myers 1988: 397). The angel’s position could implicitly resolve that debate,
now that Jesus has risen. However, Jesus is not actually present in this scene, so
it is also possible and perhaps even more likely that Mark emphasizes the qualities
of the angelic figure. The position of the right hand was generally one of dignity
and authority in antiquity. This can be seen from the pharaohs of Egypt to Ps. 110
in the Bible.49 We can rely on somebody sat on the right. More than that, though,
the phrase ‘on the right’ in early Judaism and Christianity sometimes operated as
a technical term for angels of superior virtue and power. The clearest explanation
of this is found in the Ascension of Isaiah, where we read:
The glory of those who (were) on the right was greater than that of those who (were)
on the left […] From the sixth heaven and upwards there are no longer those on the
left […] (7.34; 8.7).
a comprehensive guide to the activity of the sun and other celestial objects, presented as
obedient angelic servants.
46. If we see Matthew as clarifying or correcting Mark, then this is another feature that is adjusted.
Not only is the narrative moved outside of the tomb, but also the young man is turned into a
straightforward ‘angel’ (Mt. 28.2). This is probably intended as a simple clarification.
47. The reason given for this in 3 Enoch is that Metatron, having once been Enoch the son of
Jared, is the youngest of the angels. This may only be part of the explanation; this type of
nickname may have developed because the angelic term ‘young man’ was already in use in
Jewish texts.
48. Interestingly, some recent theory emphasizes the importance of hands in spatial thinking and
analysis; they are ‘a space for social relations and communication … being the focus for
various meanings and values’ (Knott 2005: 134). It is highly unlikely that ‘the right hand side’
could just be a throwaway comment for Mark in this important scene.
49. For a detailed discussion of this cultural and scriptural motif, see Hengel 1995.
Williams 279
So, through the spatial comment that the angel was sat on the right side of the
tomb (and also note the white robes),50 Mark is by implication saying that this is
a good and powerful angel. Such details make his presence more important and
legitimize the experience of the women at the tomb, who might otherwise be
accused of seeing ghosts.51 The negativity traditionally attached to burial spaces
here is counteracted by Mark’s positive emphasis upon appropriate angelic and
revelatory features in the story. Mark is redefining and bending accepted cultural
meanings of space, so that the tomb becomes the site of a special, valuable
disclosure.
The message given to the women (vv. 6-7) is simple and yet significant: Jesus
is not here, he has been raised, and he is going on to Galilee. The women must
pass this news to ‘the disciples and Peter’. The angel speaks directly to the
women, who should not be seen merely as passive observers. Mark’s angel is not
attempting to prove the resurrection through an evidential argument, based upon
an empty tomb and sightings of Jesus. It is somewhat patronizing and sexist to
suppose that what the angel says is really only for the reader’s benefit, while the
women are mere bystanders. If we see this as a revelatory episode described in a
striking and yet well-thought-out setting (i.e. the tomb), with carefully drawn
angelic conventions, then the weight of the communication to the women
emerges clearly. The resurrection is revealed to them; they receive a prophetic
commission to bring out the Gospel. What we are told in a tomb is never frivo-
lous; the meaning given to the space in the final narrative contributes to the sense
that the events within the tomb are decisive.
There is one other feature of the narrative that indicates the importance of the
angelophany in the tomb, and that is the fear motif. The women were alarmed by
what they saw (16.5); they fled in terror, saying nothing to anyone (16.8). This
could be interpreted negatively, as a failure to respond to the message appropri-
ately, or as another indicator of weakness among the followers of Jesus. Such an
explanation seems unlikely, however, in view of the care Mark has invested in
describing a credible angelophany in such a powerful narrative space. If we see
50. The white robes are another typical angelic feature. It is intriguing that Jesus also wears white
at the Transfiguration (9.3) and it is possible that Mark intended to draw a parallel. The angel
might thus be representative of Jesus. However, white robes were considered fitting attire for
heavenly figures quite generally, from the Ancient of Days in Daniel (9.7) to the Great Glory
of 1 Enoch (14.20). Other angels also appear in similar garments (e.g. 1 En. 87.2; 90.21; 2 En.
37.1); the ‘seven men in white clothing’ in T. Levi 8.2 are particularly striking.
51. An attempt to validate the angelic young man might be necessary, given the setting of the
narrative. The appearance of a messenger within a tomb might lead to negative conclusions,
with the Christians struggling against charges of necromancy or ghost worship. Critics of
Christianity saw it as dealing with the underworld; setting out the angel’s positive qualities
(white clothes, right-hand side) could be seen as defending the legitimacy of the angelophany.
For Christians facing the charge of necromancy, see Smith 1996.
the final scene of Mark’s Gospel as revelatory, the fear need not be the product
of rejection or confusion, but could instead be the sign of the majesty, power and
authority of what the women experienced.52
The source of the women’s alarm evidently is the ‘young man’ himself,53 and
it is likely that Mark understood that fear would be a natural response to a con-
vincing angelophany. It could be that Mark is observing a literary convention,
but it also seems to have been common opinion that genuine angelic revelations
should be terrifying. We can see examples of this typical response to angels in
the fear inspired by the Seraphim of Isa. 6, or the ‘mighty dread’ of the shepherds
of Lk. 2.54 Like latter day Isaiahs or Elijahs, the women despair upon finding
themselves in a holy place. The power of the message drives them away, making
a satisfying end to the Gospel; listeners and readers know that they can rely upon
what has been heard because of the authentic reaction of those who heard it.
Conclusion: Mark’s Agenda

It now remains to consider what the above analysis tells us about Mark’s agenda.
The most obvious point that spatial analysis underlines is the extent to which
space is subverted in the narrative. Nothing remains as it should: the narrative is
brought into a dark and unexpected location, but then the problems of the tomb
are overridden. The location should be attended to, as it holds many different pos-
sibilities (and the idea of neutral or abstract space must surely be rejected). This is
fundamental to Mark’s agenda but is easily passed over in interpretation; the
reader is supposed to notice and be affected by the narrative space, without
52. This may be a factor of tomb space itself: ‘like a religious space, a tomb is surrounded by
a certain sense of awe’ (Malbon 1986: 139). Mark’s tomb is not just a dark and forbidding
environment; there is also power in this setting. In view of this, we should consider the
broader meaning of fobe/omai in the context of Mark’s understanding of the tomb. This ‘fear’
need not be understood pessimistically, as a lack of faith, but instead is the reverential terror
that is the product of an encounter with God.
53. The women do not fear the absence of Jesus’ body; in v. 5 the alarm follows directly upon
observing the young man: ei]don neani/skon [...] kai\ e0ceqambh&qhsan. This fear of the angel
is taken up in Matthew and Luke, but by contrast John describes the women as distraught
over the missing body. Mark’s essential point is that the angelic young man inspires dread,
which says more about this episode as a revelatory experience than about the weakness of the
women.
54. Terror operates as a conventional response to visions, angelophanies, and tours of heaven and
hell in apocalyptic literature. This is well illustrated in the various books of Enoch: ‘None of
the angels was able to come in and see the face of the Excellent and the Glorious One; and no
one of the flesh can see him […] Until then I was prostrate on my face covered and trembling’
(1 En. 14.21, 24); ‘Two huge men appeared to me, the like of which I had never seen on earth
[…] I was terrified; and the appearance of my face was changed because of fear’ (2 En. 1.4, 7
[rec. J]); ‘But as soon as the princes of the chariot looked at me and the fiery seraphim fixed
their gaze on me, I shrank back trembling and fell down’ (3 En. 1.7).
Williams 281
skipping on to the final commission. Furthermore, it is only by paying attention to

the cultural meaning of space that the reader gets the full sense of what is imparted,
as the imagery is itself creating the message. The hearer of the Gospel may re-
imagine the approach to the tomb (the border-post between life and death) as day
is breaking, seeing expectations reversed (the tomb open, not impure), and enter-
ing to find a revelation from a divine messenger. Mark’s delivery of subverted
spatial ideology opens a dynamic relationship with the reader, who may by turns
be surprised, intrigued, fearful and encouraged. This ending—if that indeed is
what it is—displays a certain amount of skill, knowledge and narrative artistry.
This point then leads on to disseminating the resurrection message. It would
be fair to say that the women who enter the tomb act as vessels for the Gospel;
on the one hand they are instruments of the narrative, used to develop the post-
resurrection scene, while on the other hand they are instruments of the message,
which they must take to ‘the disciples and Peter’ (16.7). Having said that, it
would be a mistake to conclude that the women have secondary significance,
because of the instrumental roles they play. From the standpoint of spatial con-
siderations, the women are the only figures meaningfully positioned and the only
ones acting within this carefully drawn scene. Moreover, they are the direct
recipients of a well-constructed angelophany, which imparts a simple revelation.
It is a moot point as to whether Mark received the women’s witness to the resur-
rection from the tradition, but it is clear that he has made no attempt to hide it
and, quite the reverse, has ensured that this episode is well framed. Self-
consciously, he has placed the women in prophetic roles, receiving a divine com-
mission, mediating the message, and being subject to the fear motif.
Given this claim that Mark has constructed the narrative space in ch. 16 to
reveal the resurrection message, the question then arises of whether the whole
narrative is therefore an authorial construct. Certainly, the setting has been
manipulated to convey the author’s ideas, but is that to say that the narrative is
entirely fabricated? A number of arguments suggest that it might be, including
the notable, recent claim that the tomb narrative was a ‘haggadic composition’,
rooted in Jewish tradition (Aus 2008: 298-99). This is supported by the point that
Paul does not mention the tomb in his resurrection summary (1 Cor. 15.3-9).
Having said that, the pure invention of the tomb tradition still seems unlikely, in
that the narrative has surely caused more problems than it has solved. Were the
Christian witnesses grave robbers, necromancers or hysterical simpletons? These
potential criticisms come into play with the tomb setting and, as has been sug-
gested here, Mark was careful to reverse such negative preconceptions. It might
be argued that Mark exercised a certain amount of spatial critical thinking, to
subvert the problems given to him by the tradition or history.
Finally, if we are to conclude that Mark has carefully but forcefully trans-
formed the narrative space, making the place of death into a place of revelation,
then the question remains as to whether this makes a good Gospel ending.
Although an ending in v. 8 was initially assumed by this article, it now appears
that the analysis itself gives a good justification for identifying 16.1-8 as the
intended final scene—a point contested in current scholarship. That is, the
main objection to an ending in v. 8 seems to be the failure of this ending to
satisfy—the resurrection of Jesus has not been properly presented. The analy-
sis of this article calls that argument into question on two counts. Firstly, rather
than being a hole in the narrative, with essential points missing, the visit to the
tomb in vv. 1-8 in fact forms a narrative climax: tension is built and the divine
power is displayed. Secondly, it is simply wrong to say that the resurrection of
Jesus is missing in vv.1-8. Granted, there are no post-resurrection appearances
of Jesus, but the resurrection itself is still attested vigorously. The whole point
of the angelophany, which has been so carefully put together, is to reveal the
resurrection. It is probably only a post-Enlightenment preoccupation with
material evidence that leads modern readers to demand post-resurrection
appearances. Yet, if we try to leave our modern preferences behind, if we take
the angelic revelation at face value, if we comply with the narrative space that
Mark has created, then the resurrection of Jesus emerges clearly from the nar-
rative as it stands.
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Journal for the Study of

Empty Tomb, Empty Space? The Issue at the End of Mark

hard road of discipleship.5 This mysterious conclusion provides a ‘difﬁcult’ or

Spatial Theory and Exegesis

Approaching the Tomb

Moving on to v. 2, we see that the approach to the tomb remains perplexing.

These observations lead us to consider the particular meaning of this dawn-

The Stone Doorway

Conclusion: Mark’s Agenda

skipping on to the ﬁnal commission. Furthermore, it is only by paying attention to

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