I want for us to get close enough to the Gospel of Mark to see that it is a layered canvas, but I do not want to lose the wonderful flavor of the family reunion story. Sure, my telling of family stories may be different from my grandmother’s telling of the same stories, but the meaning and reason for telling them are the same.
Mark’s family first put brush to canvas around 70 AD. The benchmark for this dating is the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. This event made the same impact on the Jewish/Christian community back then as would the destruction of the Capitol building in Washington, DC, in our time.
Some of the brush strokes on the canvas reflect this particular time in history and the pigments themselves do not seem to be much older than 70 AD. This means that the story had been told at family gatherings for around thirty years before someone decided to actually put oil to canvas. The Gospel of Mark is not then a portrait of Jesus painted by someone who was there making sketches during his lifetime. There are too many details left out for that to be true.
The edition of the Gospel of Mark that we have is the picture painted by the family telling the story as they had been hearing it for over thirty years. It is not the original painting but the end result of many layers of colors that had been blended together over the years. That is just the way it is.
Chapter One
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