How did Mark End his Narrative?

The ending of Mark’s gospel has been endlessly discussed and the late twentieth-century consensus, which in England owed most to R. H. Lightfoot, has the evangelist intending to stop abruptly at 16:8. ¹ It is possible to end a sentence and even a book with gar. ² The older guesses about what happened to Mark’s text before even Matthew and Luke had read it, or why he did not continue as he (supposedly) intended, can therefore be set aside. But the new consensus creates difficulties of its own, as J. M. Creed noted at an early stage in its formation. ³ Writing long before redaction critics extended Wrede’s insights and made Mark sophisticated, Creed did not elaborate a subtle theory to explain v. 8, but he did suggest why the ‘strange incoherence’ in vv. 7–8 is rarely noticed: ‘the reason is that in v.7 our whole attention is concentrated upon the message and the promise which the angel brings: Jesus is risen; the disciples are to see him in Galilee. In v.8 our whole attention is occupied by the awe-struck women…’. ⁴

The problem now is the tension between the angel’s clear instruction in v. 7 and the women’s failure to obey it in v. 8b. Their awe at the theophany is natural, and their flight from the tomb explicable, but their emphatic silence and failure to deliver the message is ‘the exact opposite of the angel’s command and dashes the expectations of joyful reunion which Mark has established…’. ⁵ The Roman lectionary avoids the problem by prescribing only vv. 1–7.

Most readers assume (in the light of Matthew and Luke) that the women got over their shock and delivered the message. Many read 16:1–8 as a fairly straightforward historical report. If the young man in white was an angel (as Mark surely intended, and Matthew rightly understood), even that can be interpreted historically in terms of the women’s religious experience. But Mark does not say that the women recovered and did as they were told. Indeed the finality of v. 8b makes that suggestion seem forced. Both Matthew and Luke who made that assumption had to contradict v.8b in redacting their Markan source. So what was Mark up to?

Asking that question highlights a gulf between most biblical scholarship, which first asks literary and theological questions about Mark’s aims, and most Christian reading of the Gospel which reads it as broadly historical. Some critics think that Mark wrote v. 8b to explain the apparently late emergence of the story of the empty tomb, and that he did not realize that he was creating a problem, whether by adding those six words himself or by inserting v. 7 into an earlier tradition. Others now think he knew exactly what he was doing, but it was only when scholars accepted v. 8 as the ending that anyone saw it. Since about 1960 a variety of parenetic and historical explanations of Mark’s last six words have been explored. These all hinge on explaining the women’s fearful silence in v. 8b as a continuation of the Markan motif of the disciples’ incomprehension during the ministry, recognized by Wrede. ⁶ If that connection is questionable, the historical-conflict theories ⁷ which caused a stir in the 1970s lose their main support. Wrede’s account of Mark’s literary motif did not include 16:8 and the parenetic explanations of the motif (teaching and encouraging discipleship) do not need it either, but the now dominant solutions to the problem of Mark’s ending depend on including v. 8 in that motif.

The conflict theories made ‘the disciples’ in the narrative a code for Mark’s present-day opponents, and so the enemy for Mark’s readers. That depended on a one-sidedly negative interpretation of Mark’s presentation of the disciples. It fits the women’s disobedience at 16:8b, but is surely wrong about the Twelve in the ministry. The parenetic theory rightly explains some of the ministry material (especially in chapters 9 and 10), but struggles to include the much more negative note struck at 16:8b. This anyway sounds more like an afterthought than a punchy climax to a long sequence of bad behaviour. The weak link connecting 16:8 with the disciples failure motif is the weak plank in modern explanations of 16:8b. The possible grain of truth in the conflict theory concerns Jesus’ family at 3:21 and 31–35, and the absence of James (apart from 6:3). That may indicate Markan hostility, as Crossan argued (above, n. 7). Or it may simply be historical. But Mark’s account of the Twelve is more balanced than the conflict theories claim. ⁸ The Twelve are Jesus’ inner group, whatever their failures, and Mark’s Christian hearers and readers are surely meant to identify with them, as the parenetic explanations assume,^c9 not hate them as the conflict theories imagined. The old tag beloved of examiners, ‘Mark hates the Twelve’ was not meant literally.

The negative traits in the fundamentally positive presentation of the Twelve are more varied than the conflict theories must claim and that the parenetic theory also claims when stretched to include and so explain 16:8. Several verses serve as a foil, some to emphasize Jesus’ divine status and wisdom, others his inevitable suffering. The nature of discipleship is clarified by the disciples’ failures in chapters 9 and 10. In the passion narrative, these are part of the plot in which the history remains within God’s plan. Apart from 16:8b they are mostly less negative than the conflict theory demands and may be better explained piecemeal than by a single theory. The failure of ‘those around Jesus with the Twelve’ to understand the parable(s) is noted but hardly criticized at 4:13. Those in the boat at 4:40 are found (‘as yet’?) to lack faith, but this is hardly criticized and their misery (deilos has a range of meanings) is wholly understandable. Unlike the women at 16:8b they are not silent at 4:39–41 or 6:49–50. Their great fear which follows Jesus’ words is a proper religious awe in face of one who commands the wind and sea. The disciples are told not to be afraid at 6:50, but their fear is overcome, not criticized. The disciples are reassured, not judged.

Their failure to understand after the two feedings is attributed to hardness of heart by the narrator at 6:52 and by Jesus at 8:17–21. Opponents are criticized for that at 3:5, but here (as at John 12:40) it may echo Isa. 6:10, suggesting divine agency, as at 4:12, and so be inevitable. The quotation or echo of Jer. 5:21 and Ezk. 12:2 at 8:18 makes the same point. Hardness of heart sounds bad, but it is within God’s plan at work in Jesus’ ministry. The twice-repeated framing ‘not yet’ at 8:17 and 21 (and perhaps at 4:40) may introduce a contrast between the disciples’ incomprehension at this point (during the ministry) and some future when they will understand. That would surely mean after the resurrection, especially if the 12 and 7 baskets of superabundant bread point to the post-resurrection Jewish and Gentile missions. This interpretation of the future reference would support Wrede’s associating the incomprehension motif with his key verse Mark 9:9, which contrasts those two times. A similar contrast is also evident at 2:20; 13:5–23; 14:9 and is implied by the writing of the gospel itself. It may even be present at 4:22 which on its own would suggest the Parousia, but in context, following v. 21 may be intended by Mark to refer to the time of post-resurrection mission when the identity of Jesus and the truth of his kingdom proclamation will be plain to his followers.

Wrede’s messianic secret theory, hinging on the difference between Jesus’ supposed non-messianic ministry and the post-resurrection Christology, was probably mistaken. The injunctions to silence are better explained in terms of Mark’s own Christology. But he rightly saw the disciples’ incomprehension as a literary motif, rooted in the historical ministry of Jesus and developed to make a theological point. That could have included the disciples’ ‘new understanding of Jesus as a result of the Resurrection’. ¹⁰ Wrede’s account of this motif is independent of his theory about the origins of christology, and if this last observation is correct it makes the inclusion of 16:8b in the disciples’ incomprehension motif impossible.

Other incidences of the disciples’ failure to understand are less time-related. They vary more than our blanket word ‘failure’ suggests. Stupidity (4:13) is different from hardness of heart (6:52; 8:17–21), and both are different from ambition (9:34; 10:37), and all three from cowardice (14:50, 66–72). Mark may have bundled these together for his parenetic purpose, but some failures are less obviously linked to that aim than others, making the motif less dominant than monographs explaining it tend to imply. Peter’s well-meaning protest at 8:33 (not Peter himself) is stigmatized to underline the central theme that the Son of Man must suffer (8:31). Consequences for discipleship are drawn from it (8:34–38), with an eye to the post-resurrection proclamation (8:35, cf. 10:29; 13:10; 14:9). The juxtaposition of passion predictions, disciples failing to draw the consequences, and fresh teaching about discipleship in chapters 9 and 10 carry a message that applies both to the time of the ministry and beyond, but Mark 16:8b does not sound similar to these any more than to the earlier passages. The suggestion that Mark included the women’s disobedience to a divine command as part of his literary motif of the disciples’ failure to understand during the ministry is driven by the need to explain 16:8b. It underestimates the differences and is not supported by the context. The women outperform the Twelve at 15:40, 47; 16:1–2, and are not criticized in earlier chapters.

The main reasons for linking 16:8b with the Twelve’s failures are found in ch. 14 by conflict theorists who make Mark judgmental at 14:50 where (as at 16:8) the text does not. Mark knows the disciples will be persecuted (8:34; 10:30; 13:9–13) and does not need to be hard on them. At 14:27–41 Jesus’ gentle rebuke of drowsiness and unintended disobedience can hardly be called a rebuke, and the same applies elsewhere. Even the predestined judgment on Judas (14:18–21) is spoken in character with compassion rather than with a punitive accent. Betrayal, desertion and Peter’s denial are prophesied by Jesus and the first two fulfil scripture. All three are seen as divine necessity, advancing the inescapable plot. Peter’s denial and subsequent implied restoration (16:7) may have parenetic overtones, but the restoration contradicts the conflict theories and is too indirect to justify including 16:7–8 in the discipleship motif.

Unlike some of the earlier material (6:52; 8:14–17) Peter’s denial does not seem superimposed, as part of a literary motif serving a polemical or parenetic purpose. It may well be historical and co-opted to serve Mark’s parenetic purpose. The disciples’ cowardly flight at 14:50 (judged more harshly by some modern critics; Mark saw it predestined), and the young man’s flight at 14:52, are not convincing parallels to 16:8. The repetition of the common word ‘fled’ at 16:8a is not sufficient to link a flight from an armed mob with one associated with awe, any more than with the flight recommended at 13:14. Attaching theological weight to the repetition of the word sindon, around the young man at 14:52 and Jesus at 15:46 is a long shot. Verbal echoes are not always significant. Fear is introduced at v. 8b to explain the women’s silence (not their flight), but even this word fails to make the connection many critics see. The word sometimes denotes appropriate religious awe (that of the disciples at 4:41; 6:50; 9:32; 10:32 and that of others at 5:15, 33, 36). It is associated with a still expected faith at 4:40 and 5:36 without being stigmatized as failure, and 16:8 says nothing about the women’s faith or lack of it. Their flight at v. 8a differs from the desire for self-preservation at 14:50 and 68–72. Their fear at 16:8b is also different from the contemptible fear shown by Jesus’ opponents at 6:20; 11:18, 32; 12:12, even though the failure it explains is serious.

Separating 16:8b from Mark’s motif of the disciples’ failures during the ministry reinforces rejection of the conflict theories without damaging the parenetic explanation of this motif. Conflict theories had good reason for stretching the motif to include 16:8b. Outside these theories the stretch is maintained because v. 8 is there in Mark’s text and badly need explaining. Interpreters make v. 8 make sense by pressing it into the recognized Markan motif. The last six words are made to bear a weight which neither the shape nor the character of the gospel support. The interpretation runs counter to most reading experience which expects a positive conclusion, no doubt influenced by the later gospels, but also by a sense that the disciples’ failure cannot be Mark’s last word. The women’s flight at v. 8a is understandable and would provide an exeunt at the end of the drama. Their disobedience to the divine command at v. 8b is intolerable. Explaining it as an extension of the discipleship motif tips the balances against Mark’s message of hope and good news introduced at 1:1–15 and recovered at 16:7. The encouragement of this promise is a more likely last word to a persecuted community than disobedience, and the possibility that v. 8 does not belong there may be kept in mind despite the manuscript evidence. The Roman liturgists may have a point. But before textual disturbance can be considered as a last resort, more reasons must be given for suspecting that other explanations of 16:8 over-embroider Mark’s intentions. ¹¹

Some recent accounts of 16:1–8 may be suspected of modernizing Mark for a post-Christian society, such as by claiming he ‘offers us an absent Jesus in his newly created anti-tradition of the empty tomb. On earth there are no apparitions but only the harsh negative of the empty tomb and the Lord who “is not here”.’ ¹² Others make him appeal to a generation that rightly enjoys irony in literature and rightly expects conflict in history. Some critics expect Mark’s hearers to react like modern students of literature. Norman Petersen suggests that ‘the juxtaposition of the expectation introduced in 16:7 with the terminal frustration of it in 16:8 requires the reader to review what he [sic] has read in order to comprehend this apparent incongruity and its meaning for the narrator’s message.…’ ¹³ All grasp something of Mark’s overall intentions, but if the connection with the male disciples’ earlier failures is doubtful we may need a different explanation of the last verse. Even the old approach suggesting textual disturbance (that Mark did not intend to end with vv. 7–8) may be worth revisiting and updating in the light of the new consensus that he intended nothing beyond v. 8.

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Creed and others thought that Mark inserted 16:7 (and 14:28—they clearly belong together) into an earlier source or tradition. ¹⁴ Mark’s interest in Galilee is plain, and 14:27–31 and 16:1–8 both read more smoothly without those verses. In 14:29 Peter responds verbatim to the prophecy of Jesus in 14:27, totally ignoring the (for Mark) crucial v. 28. Without 16:7 the women’s response to the theophany was natural, and their disobedience to a divine command disappears from the hypothetical earlier tradition. Its presence in our Mark still needs explaining, but this pre-history would give a lead. Creed thought the evangelist did not notice the problem he was creating by inserting v. 7 and retaining v. 8b.

Most commentators had overlooked the oddity of vv. 7–8 because they believed in a lost ending which would have put it right, or because their focus was more on the presumed history than on the text. Neither form critics, who saw Mark as a collector of traditions rather than an independent thinker, nor conservatives, who thought him a reliable historian and could assume that the message was eventually delivered, worried about the tension between v. 7 and v. 8b. History of traditions hypotheses gave twentieth-century German research new explanatory possibilities but have become less fashionable with the emergence of modern literary approaches to the gospels in North America since the 1970s. Some now think that Mark composed 16:1–8 himself, with or without much historical information. If so, he composed an ending which baffled modern scholars until about 1960, when the two modern competing types of explanation (historical conflict and teaching discipleship) began to dominate the discussion. The possibility that Mark was not troubled by the tension with v. 7 is scarcely considered by those who include 16:8 in the discipleship motif. Against that solution, which would render v.8b unimportant for understanding Mark, they insist that v. 8b contains a message to Mark’s readers alongside the all-important v. 7. Among the recent interpretations which rightly recognize Mark’s literary skill and perhaps wrongly include 16:8b as part of his pastoral aims, and as such a key to the interpretation of the whole gospel, three of the best deserve mention.

Morna Hooker concedes that some will find her kind of interpretation ‘too modern and sophisticated for it to correspond to Mark’s own intention’, but defends ‘an interpretation which corresponds with the experience of many readers of the gospel, whether or not it was in the mind of the evangelist’. ¹⁵ Her insights into the nature of the gospel and of discipleship can plausibly be attributed to Mark. The challenge to the reader posed by v. 7 is ‘whether we, reading Mark’s words, are prepared to hear the angel’s message and follow Jesus into Galilee on the path of discipleship’. ¹⁶ Since failure is inevitable perhaps Mark wanted to emphasize forgiveness and renewal, especially for Peter who has denied that he is a follower. That is not explicit, but it is credible. However, unlike Peter, the women neither repent nor are forgiven, and there is no suggestion that this is necessary. Hooker’s evaluation and explanation of the women’s ‘culpable silence’ at v. 8b, in terms of the typical ‘inability of men and women to respond to the good news’ resorts to the figure of speech which allows a contradiction between what is said and what is meant, and so requires the interpreter to supplement and even contradict the text: irony. ‘Here is Mark’s final irony. In the rest of the story, Jesus has commanded men and women to say nothing about the truth they have glimpsed, and they have frequently disobeyed. Now that the time has at last come to report what has happened, the women are silent!’ ¹⁷ Could Mark have expected his audience to pick up on that supposed irony? It is much less obvious than the discipleship motif in 1:16–16:7 which any attentive hearer could grasp. Markan irony is much less common than the Johannine, and perhaps present only at 15:17–32 (Jesus really is King of the Jews). It is surely overworked in some literary analyses of Mark, and over-defined in others. ¹⁸

Andrew Lincoln and Donald Juel (see above n. 11) interpret vv. 7–8 in terms of the hope-giving promise, and the failure or disappointment that attend all discipleship. The women fail as the male disciples did.

The world into which the reader is invited is one in which people fail. Longed for resolutions do not occur. Loose ends are not tied up. It is as Jesus says: ‘The end is still to come…’. In contrast to Kafka’s door which is finally closed, giving the parable genuine closure and shutting us out for ever, Mark ends with no stone at the mouth of the tomb. Jesus is out on the loose, onthe same side of the door as the women and the readers .… ¹⁹

Most of this would be true had Mark ended at v. 7 or at v. 8a with the door open on the Galilean appearance and future Gentile mission. In addition to v. 8b being an anti-climax, and its disobedience to the angelic command more shocking to an ancient than to a modern reader, and its looking like something tacked on to 8a, and the sense that v. 8 belongs after v. 6 rather than v. 7, a further problem is that v. 8b damages the relationship of the readers to the women that is preserved in vv. 1–7 and even in v. 8a. It distances the women from the reader, as the discredited conflict theories recognized. Unlike the conflict theories the parenetic explanation of the motif depends on readers identifying with the disciples. This is maintained throughout the ministry but is strained if 16:8b is included. The motif does not need to reinforce the truth that later Christians also fail, and including 16:8 in it weakens Mark’s confidence that the post-resurrection situation is in important ways different. If it really is Mark’s last word it feels like Kafka’s door being slammed in the reader’s face. Juel’s contrast of Mark and Kafka illuminates the open ending of v. 7 (or even at 8a), but not v. 8b. He rightly insists that Mark gives his readers reason to remain hopeful, but does not his ‘even in the face of disappointment’ cast a pall, like Crossan’s bleak portrait of Mark (see above, n. 12)?

Lincoln also notes that Mark’s ‘view of discipleship can embrace failure in the form of disobedience and therefore sinfulness’ ²⁰ and so is more realistic than Paul’s. But it was perhaps already adumbrated in the weight given to forgiveness (1:4; 2:5–10; 3:28–29; 4:12; 11:25–26), if not by the literary motif itself. Mark’s account of Jesus’ ministry has the disciples’ post-resurrection situation in mind throughout; the discipleship foil is not enriched by a gnomic parting shot. It is true that ‘even after God’s revelation has taken place in Jesus’ resurrection, mystery, faith and failure remain.… As far as everyday life is concerned, the resurrection has not changed the course of history in any obvious way’. ²¹ But such a gloomy last word sounds more like Ecclesiastes than Mark.

It is not only the memory of Matthew 28:20 and Luke 24 and John 20–21 which leads readers to expect the last word to be one of promise rather than failure. Mark 16:7 implies restoration after earlier failures and disciples will continue to fail and be restored, but that is not a reason for Mark to end his gospel on a miserably negative note. A persecuted church deserves better. Suffering and vindication, failure and restoration, promise and hope are more Markan. His earlier warnings that the post-resurrection church can expect persecution have already made clear that the resurrection would not be followed by an immediate Parousia (contrary to an eccentric reading of 14:28 and 16:7). Making the women fall at the last hurdle would add nothing, and only alienate the audience.

These recent explanations of 16:8b are theologically profound, but unlikely to represent Mark’s intentions. A more drastic solution is therefore worth considering. Textual critics sometimes make conjectural emendations, and some of these have been vindicated by the discovery of new (classical) manuscripts. Exegetes are normally unwilling to tamper with what is agreed to be the best text, but some propose possible glosses which imply a difference between the author’s intention and the best text. ²² Some exegetes veto such conjectures, whether from a residual biblicism or a literary conscience. ‘Had the author of Mark wanted to imply unambiguously that reconciliation with Peter and the disciples would undoubtedly occur, the story could have ended at 16:7. But it does not.’ ²³ Possible textual disturbance is ruled out a priori. Rudolf Pesch is equally apodictic: ‘The peculiar character of the ending is an impetus to interpretation, not to conjectural reconstruction or speculation’. ²⁴

The idea that an exegete who rejects all the available interpretations of the author’s intention may consider such hypotheticals as lost endings or a possible Urkmarkus has apparently become taboo. Clifton Black asks about one resuscitation of Urmarkus, ‘how on earth could one verify a hypothesis like this? It has no textual basis: that is to say, there’s nothing one can recover and identify as an actual Proto-Mark…’. ²⁵ Black appeals to Karl Popper on verification and that is welcome where available, but exegetical suggestions are scarcely ‘scientific’ in Popper’s sense. Historical imagination goes beyond a positivistic ‘setting straight the historical record’ and Black accepts that ‘our evidence implies traditional and literary developments whose complexity far outstrips the explanatory power of a simple two-source theory’. ²⁶ That permits guesses which without further manuscript evidence can never be confirmed, provided these solutions of last resort are recognized as no more than educated guesses.

Creed’s suggestion that Mark was naïve, and did not notice the tension with 16:8b he was creating by inserting v. 7 is rejected by modern critics who rightly insist on his sophistication. The possibility that he was not disturbed by it deserves to be taken more seriously, but if that is rejected as implying too little Markan intelligence, and (as argued here) the association of Mark 16:8b with the earlier literary motif is also rejected as implying too much ingenuity, the textual disturbance type of solution may be the last option standing. But why pursue the holy grail of authorial intention when such attractive literary explanations as those of Lincoln, Juel, and Hooker are available? These exegetes continue to aim at and claim authorial intention but most secular literary critics do not. Comparing Mark with Kafka and Kermode is illuminating no matter what Mark was thinking. Fowler (n. 11) shows how the literary theory of Seymour Chatman throws light on the text if not on the author. The variety of creative interpretations of the texts have made biblical studies more interesting than 60 years ago. Hisako Kinukawa denies there is any ‘persuasive reason to explain why the women are kept silent at the very last moment’, ²⁷ before suggesting that Mark’s androcentric perspective led him to block off the positive evaluation of women as role models. Other feminist readers make no claim to represent the evangelist’s intentions.

Whether authorial intention matters (and to whom) is an issue in the relationship of historical criticism and theology. The exegetical debate about Mark 16:7–8 has been mostly about Mark’s intentions, partly because protestant theological use of scripture as a norm for Christian identity requires the plain or literal sense. The uses of scripture in prayer and in some kinds of preaching do not require this, and, in any case, it is available to scholarly investigation only with greater or less probability. But some controls on religious imagination are essential for community cohesion. Historical exegesis helps preachers be faithful to the intention of the text, even though it cannot on its own adjudicate on the truth of a sermon or of a doctrinal or moral judgment. New Testament theology prioritizes presumed authorial intention over the valuable insights of other disciplines and over modern religious experience. Combining responsibility to the letter with being open to the Spirit allows for a different balance in different contexts but remains a basic competence in Christian reading of scripture. Responsibility to the text and respect for the author (as ‘other’) is compatible with welcoming the blooming of a thousand literary interpretations, but exegetes who doubt these represent Mark’s original intentions may also consider a less excellent way of addressing that particular concern.

Building on the strong hypothesis that Mark 16:7 was inserted into an already existing pericope 16:1–6+8 (or 8a) and allowing, on grounds of vocabulary and style that this pericope may itself have been composed by the evangelist at an earlier stage and that it was known to his audience either way, a minor modification of that hypothesis seems plausible. ²⁸ Instead of inserting v. 7 between vv. 1–6 and 8, Mark perhaps replaced his own earlier or the tradition’s v. 8 by v. 7, thus creating an alternative and more effective ending.

But why would Mark’s colleagues restore the familiar but unsatisfactory ending which Mark discarded?

Habit may have been a factor, but a better explanation is that Mark’s brilliant new (Schweitzerian (n. 16)) ending at v. 7 was too abrupt for his readers who needed a final word from the narrator rather than simply the angel’s joyful message. Less charismatic hearers would need something to happen next. Restoring v. 8a provided a dramatically satisfying exeunt for the characters without requiring a narrative of the appearance which Mark saw as part of the story of the Church, unlike his successors. Only the historical ministry, and passion, and the ineffable mystery that Christians call the resurrection of Jesus, was ‘the beginning of the gospel’ now being proclaimed by Mark and others into all the nations (13:10).

Whether v. 8b was attached to v. 8a and got restored as well, or was added later to explain the late emergence of Mark’s or his predecessor’s empty tomb story remains a question. It is not certain that Matthew and Luke knew it (unless Matthew’s ‘fear’ echoes it), whereas they clearly knew v. 8a. If they did not know v. 8b they did not ruthlessly contradict it.

Without claiming further support for a necessarily speculative suggestion, an unexpected bonus from this solution may be mentioned. On the popular literary theory associating Mark 16:8 with the disciples’ incomprehension motif, the Roman liturgists who ended the lection at v. 7 played havoc with Mark’s intentions. If our alternative suggestion has merit, they intuitively or accidentally got the evangelist right when they mutilated the canonical text. Clifton Black rightly insists that theologians and other exegetes must interpret the canonical text, not the speculative reconstructions of, e.g., Bultmann’s John. ²⁹ But these suggestions do address problems in the best texts and may possibly contain some (unverifiable) historical truth. The canonical text today is that of the best manuscripts and text-critical judgments. The attempt by B. S. Childs to include Mark 16:9–20 in ‘canonical Mark’ on the ground that it was probably added ‘during the process of forming a fourfold Gospel collection’ ³⁰ was misguided and nobody is suggesting shortening the canonical text. But the gospel texts have a pre-history, and this may occasionally explain a difficulty. Historians sometimes make guesses. Theologians who think this guess may just possibly explain Mark 16:7–8 can read and preach on Mark 16:1–7 on Easter Sunday (Year B) without fear of disfiguring Mark.

Most will follow the Common Worship lectionary and the canonical text, but there are consequences. In churches which separate the Gospel reading from the homily with a long pause, procession, allelujahs, etc. the anticlimactic ending can be forgotten and the preacher attend to v. 7 or v. 8a, quietly ignoring v. 8b. Where the sermon follows directly on the reading, spoken not sung, and expects the final punchline to provide the springboard, preachers may be frustrated, and attentive congregations perplexed, by the dip at the end. The literary explanations cannot easily be communicated in a ten-minute sermon, and a homily on the women’s failure (v. 8b) would do nothing for Easter joy. Anyway, authorial support for stopping at v. 7 is not necessary, because both Markan endings are open to valid Christian interpretations. But theologians who again welcome multiple interpretations as religiously fruitful ought not to forget the reasons for taking authorial intention as seriously as the exegetes appreciated here have done. And an exegete who burdens the literature with yet another speculative construction may apologize with Robert Browning’s Bishop Blougram, who ‘believed, say, half he spake’. ³¹