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Mark 1:1 “The Beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

Tradition has it that the first two Europeans who rode their horses through the forest and appeared on the other side of it to view the Grand Canyon for the first time said one to another, “Something happened here!” The power of understatement is evident in such a small sentence. Billions of years’ worth of nature’s power was wrapped up in a few words from two men who stood looking into a history that dwarfed their tiny existence.

Such is the case as Mark opens his book with a brief sentence that speaks volumes. The word “gospel” means “message about good news.” This sentence is Mark’s neon sign which flashes on and off throughout the entire book. Mark does not pretend that this book is a court stenographer’s rendition of what has happened to a man who is a noble hero; Mark’s story is going to be told more like that of an excited child, all out of breath, who has just come from seeing something that she wants others to witness. This opening sentence chimes out the purpose of the book much like the booming voice that comes over the speakers in a movie theater, and which causes everyone to sit up and take notice.

This is not to be the story of Jesus bar Joseph, the boy who grows up in Nazareth. This story is to be much more. This is the story to mark all of time. This is the story of one Jesus who is the Christ.

Today we say the phrase “Jesus Christ” as if Christ is his last name. The name has become too familiar. But this is no family name. This is a title which is to name a family. Christians are to be the ones who claim this name as their own because they are claimed by the one who is foretold by the prophets. This man is the one, the anointed one. He is not only the Jewish Messiah, which means he is the culmination of God’s plan, but he is the Son of God. If you do not think this is jaw-dropping, stop now, because you are going to read the rest of the book too fast.

If I were to tell you that there is an asteroid the size of Texas coming toward Earth on a collision course, would you simply finish your cup of coffee and say, “Really?” and then go merrily off to work? This opening sentence in Mark’s Gospel is meant to get your attention. This is the out-of-breath child telling you that the sky is falling, come look! This is the news that will make all news different.

This is the Son of God. Now before you get on your horse and ride off, remember that in Mark’s Gospel there is no stable, no virgin birth, no wise men, no star, no angel voices announcing the first silent night. That is later and that’s another story, or at least a different version of the story. The message of Mark is no Nicene Creed arguing the details of how it is that Jesus is the Son of God; Mark’s opening words are an announcement that this man, whose birth is not even mentioned in this first gospel, is the Son of God.

Can you somehow remember how you first felt when you were told that Jesus was the Son of God? Probably not. You can bet that when Mark pens these words, a lot of people have not yet put two and two together. Mark is doing the math for them. Not only is Jesus the long-awaited Jewish deliverer, he is everybody’s deliverer. God not only purchases a full page ad in the Jewish version of USA Today, via the Gospel of Mark, God buys time on CNN to tell the whole world that the son has arrived. This is news.

In Mark’s Gospel Jesus never refers to himself as God’s son. He waits for others to figure it out. God, of course, can’t hold it in, so at Jesus’ baptism, God jumps out of the cake and yells, “This is my boy! Wow, am I proud!”

But I’m getting ahead of myself. We all need to slow down.

The rest of Mark’s Gospel is an unpacking of what the first sentence states. All the miracles, the demon exorcisms, the teaching and preaching, and the need to tell about why Jesus has to die, all are for the purpose of proving the first sentence.

Mark 1:2–8 John of the Desert

Anticipation is half of the joy of a long-awaited event. The aromas of cooking that emanate from the kitchen throughout Thanksgiving morning make the turkey and that favorite casserole all the more flavorful. Much of the joy of what has become of Christmas is looking at that wrapped package under the tree and trying to figure out what it is.

John of the desert is the wrapping on the package. He is not the package. Studies reveal that some people in that day think he is the package. They are anticipating the coming of someone who will get them out of the mess they are in. John fits the picture for many who come to hear him. Extreme times call for extreme measures, and John’s hollering ways appeal to a people who are hungry for some word from God.

The silence of God has been deep and severe. The people figure that the dilemma they are in is of their own doing, and they are looking for some way to relieve their sense of guilt and change the course of their fortunes. The hated Romans and the sterile leaders of their faith make for a desert of belief. It is not easy for the common folks to get to the Temple in Jerusalem on the one hand, nor to pay their taxes to Rome on the other.

When John makes an appearance, he is neither wearing the robes of the scribes and the elders, nor is he exacting money. In his camel hair and leather girdle, he is asking for more than money. He demands repentance from everyone—including the guys wearing the robes—and he offers a water baptism for those who are seeking forgiveness.

John’s way is the way of emptying and self-denial. He practices asceticism as a spiritual discipline. It is one of the ways we may prepare a way in our lives for God. There are times that we need this form of spirituality, especially when our lives become too cluttered and full. This cluttering may even take the shape of the amassing of religious “stuff.” Religion can get in the way as much as it can help if religion becomes the ends rather than the means.

Water baptism is nothing new. The way John does it has flair and sure gets people’s attention, but other groups perform water baptisms as a sign of initiation into their community. The idea of water cleansing someone is not novel. The reality that John’s proclamation has the effect of drawing crowds of people out from the whole Judean countryside says more about the people’s hunger and anticipation than about John’s technique. The people are ready and waiting.

In that day, there is a common belief that Elijah will precede the coming of the Messiah. There is to be a warm-up band before the concert begins. Mark, through his description of John, identifies John with Elijah (see 2 Kings 1:8). John is the one-man-warm-up band.

Many people are so captivated by his performance, however, that he has to make it clear that he is simply getting the crowd ready for the main act. His closing number is a first-century way of saying, “You ain’t seen nothing yet!” He speaks of his baptism being the rain that comes before the lightning. What he offers is water. The one who is to follow him will light up the sky with fire.

“The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” (Mark 1:7–­8). (What the Holy Spirit meant to those people in John’s audience is anybody’s guess.)

In Mark’s Gospel the tension between the baptism of water and the baptism of the Holy Spirit is left to the imagination. Here is a reason to study more than one of the Gospel accounts in order to obtain the whole picture.

In the other Gospels (see Matthew 3:11–­­12, or Luke 3:15–­17, for example), John the Baptist specifies that this baptism of fire will be harsh, “If you think I am a hell and brimstone preacher, you just wait till he gets here.” John’s spirituality was a desert way of spirituality. John may have been thinking that what the Messiah would bring would be a higher volume version of this desert spirituality.

Mark says nothing of this anticipation by John. Mark keeps it simple. From reading further in the Gospel of Mark, we can see that for Mark, Jesus comes to fill life with abundance. What we have between the lines in Mark’s version of the story is a very different kind of spirituality from that of John’s asceticism. Mark’s Jesus goes to dinner parties and weddings. He speaks words about the flowers in the fields, and mustard seeds that grow into the greatest of shrubs, and does not say so much about the barrenness of the desert.

Water baptism, with its symbolic suggestion of death and new life, may be a sign of cleansing and of forgiveness by God, but it also has the ringing words of crusty old desert John as he reminds us of the letting go and emptying that is sometimes necessary for us to un-clutter the way to God. John’s view by choice and design is narrow. The desert sun will do that to a prophet.

We do need the desert way of spirituality at times. The emptying effect is good for balance, but in the Gospel of Mark, the focus is on Jesus’ understanding of a spirituality that is characterized by his words in the Gospel of John: “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)

The baptism of the Holy Spirit is more expansive than some today would have it. The baptism of the Holy Spirit as practiced by Jesus is a baptism of fire, a fire of cleansing, and grants the person baptized the freedom to live abundantly and live out of a sense of sufficiency rather than scarcity. This is the reason that when someone is baptized in the Christian community all those who look on should hear the words, “Remember your baptism and be grateful.”

Mark 1:9–11 The Baptism of Jesus

John’s skin may be parched from the sun in the desert, but now he faces the Son in the desert. This is Mark’s “birth story.” The Son of God is “born” in the midst of the burning heat of the sun in the desert.

Mark has no soft angel’s voice telling a wide-eyed Mary that a son is coming. There is no sweet story of a babe born in a manger. The Son of God is “birthed” in the blistering heat of repentance. How Jesus comes from the womb is of no concern to Mark. Arguments about a virgin birth are washed away in the waters of the Jordan.

Jesus comes out of the waters and hears a proud father say, “This is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased.” And that’s it. What happens before is left a mystery in Mark’s story. All that matters is that from that moment on this young man is now the Son of God as announced by none other than God.

There is no mention of anyone other than Jesus hearing this announcement from the clouds. While in the other Gospels the event seems to be a public disclosure, this earliest Gospel seems to imply that this is between God and his boy. This theme of keeping things quiet is woven all through the gospel of Mark. Jesus’ insistence oftentimes that people not reveal his identity is one of Mark’s trademarks. Scholars call this theme the “messianic secret” motif.

I will not go into all the speculations as to why Mark does this. Not having angel choirs announcing the birth, and foreign “kings” coming from distant countries, fits in with the more subtle nature of Mark’s Jesus.

One could ask if Mark knows of the manger tradition or the Magi tradition and chooses not to use them. The question goes unanswered for sure, although knowing about such occurrences and choosing not to use them seems to modern observers rather beyond imagining. Mark’s depiction of Jesus reflects a figure who is not explicit in advertising who he is.

Even though the writings of Mark were used by Matthew and Luke, who both have birth traditions in their accounts of Jesus, we must allow the Gospel of Mark to stand on its own. That is hard to do for people who have grown up watching bath-robed shepherds, plastic babies in mangers, and tin-foil-crowned kings. We throw the various elements of the story together and blend them like making slaw out of cabbage. That may be fine for a local church Christmas pageant, but it takes away from the unique telling of the story by Mark.

For Mark, the only birth worth telling about is the one that happens to the Son in the desert sun that day of his baptism. The story begins privately and will continue to be private until Jesus decides to go public.

Mark 1:12–13 The Temptation of Jesus

In Matthew and Luke the temptation story is a full-fledged drama. In Mark it is a couple of sentences. Mark leaves the listener asking, “What really happened out there in the wilderness?”

Mark’s version of the temptation of Jesus is a reminder of the loneliness of the true struggle of temptation. We are left alone with our thoughts of what it must be like to be in the wilderness with only the wild beasts and Satan.

This abrupt account which follows the glory of Jesus’ baptism is similar to the story of the young college football star who wins all sorts of honors and acclaim but who suddenly finds himself in training camp at the professional level. Being drafted number one by a team means having to prove oneself in the wilderness of training camp with the “wild beasts.” It may also be a lot like what it would be like to be enrolled in a boot camp. Jesus has to test his ability to withstand what is coming in the days ahead.

The text says that the Spirit “drove” him out into the wilderness. This is not a choice. The only choice Jesus has is to decline the draft. Once Jesus accepts that he is the Son, he has to face the test. I wonder what would happen if this were the pattern for those who joined up to be Christian. Rather than receiving a new member packet and a copy of the church directory, new recruits to the church would be sent to training camp.

Could it be that today we do not believe, as did Mark, that what is involved in being a member of the Christian church is a cosmic struggle between the powers of evil and the powers of God? People who sign up as Christians today seem not to listen to the baptismal vows that are spoken in church which ask, “Do you renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, and reject the evil powers of this world?”

The words are straightforward and clear, but we domesticate them. We tame the wild beasts and reduce Satan to a Halloween costume. In so doing we lose the reality that we are in a battle. The beasts seem tame but in fact sneak up on us in the guise of the lure to be less than who we are by trying to be more than who we are.

Jesus is driven into the wilderness because his Father knows he has to deal with the reality of what he is going to face the rest of his short-lived life. This is to be Jesus’ boot camp. It is an interesting theological point that God figures that Jesus needs this testing. Jesus is not yet equipped to battle the powers of wickedness. He must first experience boot camp.

If Jesus needs to be equipped, I wonder if we need preparation in order to get ready for the work of discipleship. What would our boot camp need to look like in order to make us ready?

Notice that God does not do the tempting. That is Satan’s role. Still is. Wouldn’t it be great if Satan really was in a Halloween costume? Now the rascal has gone underground and reaches up from within to lead us in all sorts of directions. In the wilderness Satan can be seen for who Satan is: that which opposes God and good. Satan no longer needs the costume. The wilderness is always just around the corner.

Jesus does push-ups in the wilderness with Satan standing over in the shade offering him lemonade and attempting to persuade Jesus that all this conditioning work is not needed. Matthew and Luke, in their Gospel accounts, set up the lemonade stand for all the world to see. Mark has the reader fill in what the temptations might look like.

Angels are in the wilderness too. As with the temptations, Mark does not put wings on the angels. For Mark, angels are simply God’s way of getting to Jesus while not preventing him from doing his needed conditioning. The angels offer Jesus lemonade too, but only after he finishes the push-ups. You can bet Jesus has a time of it in the wilderness not only deciding which voices to listen to but when to listen to them. We have the same problem.

Satan and God can sometimes offer us the same thing. Timing is important. Grace is sometimes best utilized after the work is done, especially if the work is the necessary work one has to do on the interior life.

At other times, what God offers and what Satan offers are quite different. The choice is clear, but the problem comes when we have not done our necessary push-ups and therefore find ourselves not being able to resist Satan using only our own strength.

Angels are still available if called upon. Do not expect angels to be winged creatures any more than you can expect demons to be pitchforked, but angels are listening. God knows how lonely the wilderness can get. If Jesus needed help out there, I suppose we do too.

Mark 1:14–15 Jesus’ Message

Mark does not waste words. Perhaps Mark is not the favorite Gospel for preachers. We preachers tend to use a lot of words to get our points across. However, most of us are told in seminary that we need to express the main idea of our sermons in one sentence.

Mark knows how to be succinct. He uses one sentence to set the place, and another to state the main idea. John’s business is done; it is time for the main attraction. For Mark nothing more needs to be said about John.

Other Gospel writers find themselves not able to get rid of crusty old John so easily, but for Mark, John’s role is simply to set the stage and step off. Mark then places Jesus in Galilee where he will spend the next eight chapters. Jesus’ role, according to Mark, is to “proclaim the good news of God.” Here we have a concise phrase which says it all but which can mean many different things.

In the movie City Slickers, a city slicker on vacation is playing at being a cowboy. He and a few friends pay big bucks to be with some real cowboys in a cattle drive. Sitting uncomfortably on a horse, the city slicker looks up into the eyes of Curly, a rugged cowboy of few words who acts as if he just couldn’t care less about these cowboy wannabes from the city.

Curly looks down from his horse into the eyes of the city boy and asks, “You know what the secret of life is?”

“No, what is it?” the intimidated wannabe replies.

Curly raises his leather-glove-covered hand and points to the sky with one finger. Then he gazes at his solitary raised finger and drawls, “It’s this.”

Curious, the city slicker questions,” And what is that?”

With an enigmatic smile, Curly responds, “That is what you have to find out.”

Jesus raises his index finger in the air and tells us that the secret of life is this, the good news of the kingdom of God. And what is this good news about the kingdom of God? Jesus now invites us, “Come and let’s find out.”

Part of the good news is about the timing. It seems that whatever this is, it has “come near,” it is “at hand.” What people in Mark’s Gospel will discover is that the reason this is at hand is that he has come near. Jesus is the dawning of something entirely new.

The good news is that the secret is revealed. The not-so-good news to many who will listen to this secret of the meaning of life is that they are going to have to turn around from their old ways. The word Jesus uses is “repent.”

Part of the secret of life was, and is, to turn around, take a look, and go in a different direction. To stay on the same old, tired course is not what Jesus comes to offer. The kingdom of God has something to do with change and new beginnings. Many will find out that this change is not a matter of a slight alteration but rather a radical change in direction.

This is not going to be a matter of putting a new roof over an old roof. This repentance means tearing off the old roof and first letting the light in. Then comes the new roof. All through Mark’s Gospel Jesus will keep that one finger raised. People will ask what the raised finger means and Jesus will tell them. Some people will start tearing off shingles, other people will try simply to put a new roof over an old one, and many more people will decide that their old roof is fine, “thank you very much!”

Mark 1:16–20 Calling the First Disciples

Do you remember the first time you fell in love? The words in such a phrase are well used because it is usually indeed a falling. And falling in love can be a glorious thing. But what happens when you get up again after falling? Of course no one dares asks such a question. Falling in love is not supposed to be rational. Falling in love is falling into passion. To be blind to reason is part of the fun of falling in love.

Life is full of hard decisions and unexpected tragedy. Falling in love is one of the best parts of the script of life that we do not write. I hope you have been able to fall in love at least once, even if there was pain involved later on—and there usually is.

If you understand falling in love, or understand it as much as any human can, you can remotely understand how the first disciples simply leave everything to follow Jesus. It is a passionate decision. You can bet that Zebedee, the father of James and John, sure tries to knock some reason into his two headstrong, in-love sons. He needs those boys to help run the fishing business and here they are jumping out of the boat and into another life.

Zebedee overhears Jesus saying that he will make his boys “fishers of men.” This frightened father probably says something like, “Well that’s fine, Jesus, but who is going to catch the regular old fish that my family depends on to make a living?”

Falling in love is not about reason. In the other Gospel accounts there may be a hint that the sudden leaving behind of everything by certain disciples necessitates that they already know about Jesus and who he is. Mark’s Gospel is more like a love story in which these disciples are simply swept off their feet by this new man’s preaching about a coming kingdom that is going to change everything.

Peter, Andrew, James, and John are like slaphappy boys who hear the marching band calling new recruits to the glories of fighting for a noble cause. All they hear is the music. They do not hear the distant sounds of guns. Scenes of wounded comrades and lonely nights away from home are drowned out by the sound of joyous music.

“Follow me, now, this instant, and I will have you catching people.” The song sounds too good to pass up. Maybe fishing has grown too ordinary for these full-blooded men. Jesus sees something in their eyes that is worth fishing for—and Jesus is quite a fisherman. He has these young boys hooked before they know what is happening.

He does not bother to tell them that day about a cross. At this moment he wants their enthusiasm. They will need that zeal. Jesus will need that zeal, though he often does not get it from his small band of disciples. The first smell of the battle softens these boys real quick, but the tales of softening come later.

For now, the scene is of an old man standing in a boat shaking his head as his boys and two of their friends walk into the sunset and away from the boats. “What fools they are,” this father thinks ruefully. He is right.