A Man with a Message

I invite you to turn with me to the Gospel of Mark. Mark chapter 1. It’s page 707, if you care to use one of our church Bibles. Mark 1:1:

“The beginning of the gospel about Jesus Christ, the son of God.

“It is written in Isaiah the prophet: ‘I will send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way’—‘a voice of one calling in the desert, “Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.”’ And so John came, baptizing in the desert region and preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him. Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River. John wore clothing made of camel’s hair, with a leather belt [round] his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. And this was his message: ‘After me will come one more powerful than I, the thongs of whose sandals I[’m] not worthy to stoop down and untie. I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.’”

Thanks be to God for his Word.

Father, we pray that as we turn now to the Bible, that you will enable us both to speak and to listen in such a way that your Word comes home with conviction and compulsion to our minds, calling us to repentance and to faith and to obedience, and to all the encouragement that is provided for us in thinking again of the good news. Help us to this end, we humbly pray. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Well, as we, in a sense, rebegin our studies in Mark’s Gospel—because I think some six weeks have elapsed since we did an introductory study—I make no apology for beginning as basically as I possibly can. Because I recognize that Sunday by Sunday, in congregations like these, there are people at all stages of understanding when it comes to the things of the Bible—indeed, when it comes to thinking about God at all. So let me begin at the very beginning, since it’s always a very good place to start.[1]

The Bible is ultimately a book about Jesus. In the Old Testament, he is predicted, or promised. And when we read the Gospels, as we do now in Mark’s Gospel, we discover that the Jesus who is promised in the Old Testament is then made known to us, revealed to us, in the New as those Old Testament promises come to fulfillment.

In our Bibles, we have four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Each of them begin from their own vantage point: Matthew beginning with Abraham and the genealogy that follows from there; Luke begins with Adam and Eve in the garden; John begins in eternity past, before the events of time have ever come to be; and Mark, as we discover here, begins with the prophecies of the Old Testament. And in each case, the Gospel writers have the same purpose. Their purpose is not to provide us with a biography of Jesus, nor is it to provide us with simply an historical record. Their purpose in every case is to tell us the good news.

Before Mark, there never was a Gospel. If people had said to Mark, “What are you doing?” and he said, “I’m writing a Gospel,” they would have said, “What is a Gospel?” And he would have said, “Well, if you read this, you’ll know.” And when we read it, we discover that it is the record of who Jesus is, how it is that he has come, what he has come to do, and what he is presently doing.

And each of the Gospel writers gives to us the story of the birth of Jesus, his life and his death, his resurrection, his ascension, and the promise of his return. They are not providing us as the readers with a program, a religious program, to accept, nor even with a philosophy that we might care to adopt, but rather, they are introducing us to a person, and that person is Jesus Christ, the Son of God. And you will notice, if your Bible is before you—and I hope it is open before you—that this is how Mark introduces his Gospel: “The beginning of the gospel about Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Nobody should be in any doubt as to what the theme of this book is going to be; it’s going to be about Jesus. “The good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, begins here,” says Mark, “and I’m going to tell you all about him.”

Now, in these opening verses, I want to identify three factors: first of all, that we notice the promise of a messenger; then we will consider the arrival of the messenger; and then we will consider the message from the messenger. All right?

The Promise of a Messenger

First of all, Mark tells us about the promise of this messenger: “It is written in Isaiah the prophet”—actually, he collates both Isaiah and Malachi—“I will send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way.”

We’re all familiar with the way in which heads of state—visiting heads of state particularly—are welcomed to our nation. It would be very surprising if they were to arrive unannounced, if there were not somebody who would introduce them and who would welcome them. And indeed, that is what happens. Our own president, when he enters a room or into a particular opportunity as the head of state, will often be announced not only verbally but also musically, in the playing of the piece “Hail to the Chief.” And we find nothing surprising about this. It’s so routine, we would be surprised indeed if it didn’t happen.

And so, when we think in terms of God coming down to earth—God incarnate, Jesus Christ, stepping onto the stage of history at this point—it would be very surprising if he were to arrive unannounced. And so, we’re told, he doesn’t. When Luke begins his Gospel, he gives to us the angelic arrival in the surrounding hills of Bethlehem, with the news that absolutely startles the shepherds: “Today is born for you in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign to you: you will find the baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” And when this angelic announcement dawned on them, they said, “Well, let’s get off to Bethlehem immediately and see this thing that has come to pass.”[2]

Mark, of course, doesn’t begin with the birth of Jesus; he begins with the earthly ministry of Jesus. Thirty years have elapsed since the beginning of Luke’s Gospel, but he tells us, again, that Jesus has not come unannounced, but rather that there is a special messenger, a prepared messenger, who is coming before him to announce the commencement of his earthly ministry.

Now, what Mark is doing, of course, years—not too many years, but years—after the ascension of Jesus, is writing down a record of all that took place. And for many of these early-believing Christians, who are wondering about all that they have entered into, this gospel record helps them. And he sets the beginning of his good news by taking us back to the words of the prophets. We might say that he goes forward by going back: “Here is the beginning,” and then immediately he goes back centuries before Jesus: “It is written in Isaiah the prophet.”

Now, I want to pause here for just a moment. Because some of us are very familiar with the Bible, and we’re familiar with biblical terminology. And we’re aware of the fact that God is described as having spoken through the Old Testament prophets. Some of us will know our Bibles well enough to know that Hebrews begins, linking the Old with the New, with the memorable phraseology, “In the past God spoke to our forefathers through the prophets at many times and in [different] ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us [in] his Son.”[3] And because that terminology is familiar to us, we do not recognize just what a revolutionary thought it actually is.

And if you’ve come here today and you perhaps are at the very beginning of considering whether this Bible is to be reckoned with, whether this Jesus is to be considered and so on, I think that you will admit that it is a revolutionary notion that God, who is himself spirit, speaks. That God speaks. In fact, the actions of God and the speech of God cannot be separated. The very beginning of the universe is as a result of God speaking. He said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.[4] Timothy Ward says, “The Old Testament … assumes that God can and does speak in and through … human words, in such a way that those words can truly be said to be his words.”[5]

Now, it’s true that the Bible doesn’t tease this out. The Bible does not even provide for us a theological or a philosophical explanation of this. It just says it. It just assumes it. And anybody standing on the outside looking in might say, “But I find that very, very hard to believe,” and understandably so. But when a man or a woman begins to read the Bible, begins to consider it, they will find, if their hearts are open to it truly, that the Bible, in their endeavors to understand it, is actually proving to understand them; that this book is no ordinary book; that it isn’t like any other book at all. Any other book we may take out and seek to understand it, but here, when we read this Bible, it actually seems in some places to know us. It says things that just seem so apropos. It may uncover things in us that have lain dormant for a long time. It actually gets into the very core of our being. And we might find ourselves saying, “Why is this?”

Any other book we may take out and seek to understand it, but here, when we read this Bible, it actually seems in some places to know us.

Well, the answer that the Bible gives is “Because it is the Word of God”—that God, who created the universe, chooses to relate to us by means of human language; that God speaks in human language. Indeed, the mystery of the teaching of the Bible is that God chooses to use mortal tongues to convey the vastness of his being. And so we discover that when we turn to the pages of Scripture, we have not only communication from him, but as we trust his Word, we have communion with him.

And this, you see, explains why we do what we do Sunday by Sunday and day by day at Parkside Church. This explains why we take seriously the teaching of the Bible. Because it is the conviction conveyed by the Bible that what has been written down for us—what has been recorded in the Old Testament and recorded in the New Testament in the totality of the Bible—is, in some way that is both mysterious and marvelous, the very Word of God. And that is what gives it its significance. It is not the personality of the one who conveys it nor the ability of the one who communicates it but the very truth itself as we have it in our Bibles.

And so, what we discover is that God had spoken to the prophets, the prophets had in turn written it down, and now Mark takes up what Isaiah and Malachi have written down, and he says, “I want you to know that when John the Baptist came as messenger, he came in the fulfillment of the promises.”

Because, you see, there had been three hundred years, essentially, of silence. Between the ending of the last prophetic word and the arrival of John the Baptist here on the stage of human history with this dramatic announcement, generations had lived and died. People had gone to their graves saying, “Well, the prophets said there would be a messenger who would come, but I don’t think he’s come.” They would have said, “You know, there is supposed to be one who will bear away the sins of the world, but for the life of us, I don’t think we’ve seen him.” And many of them died in faith, believing that yet that would still happen. And out of the silence—or, if you like, into the silence—comes the word of God again. And the days into which this word comes were dark days. They were days when the political structures were unfavorable, as you will discover if you want to read in Luke chapter 3.

Now, what had happened was that the events in Bethlehem had stirred the expectations of some. The people who were reading their Bibles—that is, reading the Old Testament—when the events of Bethlehem unfolded must’ve begun to say to one another, “I wonder if there’s something in these events in Bethlehem in these days.” Because the news of the angelic visitation would have been there, the wise men would have been visible in the community, the things that they said in their departure from the community would have been known, they would have spread like wildfire, and the shepherds themselves were still living in the community, and people could’ve said to them, “What really was it that happened that night when you went down there? Because as far as we can tell, the baby that was born there is now living in a carpenter’s workshop in Nazareth. Apparently, he’s the son of Mary and Joseph, and he’s working in carpentry. And what about that other strange birth, the one where the husband was struck dumb? What was his name again? Zechariah? His wife was Elizabeth. Whatever happened to that boy?”

Then somebody must have said, “Oh, he, well, he’s grown up now. Apparently, he went in the desert somewhere. I don’t know where he is. Who knows what he’s doing? Apparently, his mum and dad have—they’ve lost track of him. He’s off in the desert. I don’t know. Maybe he’ll show up some day. I haven’t a clue.” And then all of a sudden, here he comes. The forerunner appears in fulfillment of God’s promise.

You see, John the Baptist is not somebody with a bright idea about religion. John the Baptist is not somebody who has come up with a program. John the Baptist is not somebody who has invented a concept, and he’s managed to find a way to market it and to package it, and great crowds of people are all excited about it. No, John the Baptist is there in the fulfillment of God’s promise in the Old Testament. John the Baptist is written about six hundred years before Christ. That’s the significance. “I will send my messenger ahead of you.” It’s a word from God to his Messiah, the Son, reminding him that there will be a messenger that will precede him like “a voice … calling in the desert, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord, and make [the] straight paths for him.’” The promise of the messenger.

As I traveled down the east coast of Scotland on Thursday morning by train, I was reflecting on how much I enjoy railway travel, and it made me go down certain paths. And I also recalled from my history classes that there was in the mid-nineteenth century an act that was passed called the Locomotive Act, which was the “twelve-mile-an-hour act.” And that stipulated that no locomotive could weigh more than twelve tons, and it was not allowed to be driven at more than twelve miles an hour. Four years later, in 1865, they passed the “two-mile-an-hour act,” which was also known as the Red Flag Act. And this determined that the locomotive could not go at more than two miles an hour through a city or a village or a town, and that a pedestrian carrying a red flag should precede the locomotive at a distance of some sixty yards.

And as we went hurtling down the east coast of Scotland, I just had this picture of a little man with a red flag, you know, just trying to stay in front of the locomotive. He was just, just… You think he stayed sixty yards in front? You bet your life he did! You’ve got twelve tons steaming and breathing and coming right up your tail, he had every reason to stay sixty yards in front! He knew what his job was. “Hey, hey! Hey, hey! The train’s coming!” It’s a joke, isn’t it, really? Because you could hear the train more than you could see the joker with the flag.

But that’s what John the Baptist is doing. He has a flag, as it were. And he steps up on the stage of human history, and his sole responsibility is to wave the flag and to say, “Hey, hey! The Messiah is on his way. Jesus is coming. I want to let you know this.”

The Arrival of the Messenger

Well, here we have his arrival, in verse 4. We move from our first point, the promise of the messenger, to the arrival of the messenger. “And so John came,” verse 4, “baptizing in the desert region and preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”

Now, I would encourage you to read the comparative treatments of John as you find them in Matthew and Luke, and also in the Gospel of John. And when you put the pieces together… Because remember, the Gospels are a bit like newspaper reporters: they all report similar material; sometimes they all report the exact same stuff. But they report it from their own vantage point and from their own perspective. And in the same way that you find the same thing reported by the Washington Post, the New York Times, the LA Times, and so on, and the Wall Street Journal, the same information, but you just say, “Well, I wonder if these two people were at the same event. Because it just appears that there are variations in the way it’s recorded.”

And so it is here. But what you discover, without question, is that the arrival of this messenger was the arrival of a strange man. He was a strange man. He had a very interesting beginning. The details of his birth you can read in Luke 1:41 and following. He had a very strange beginning, but also, he was pretty strange by this point in his life. It’s not usual for people to be identified by their clothes and their diet—maybe the Old Testament prophets, but I can’t think of many in the New Testament whose lifestyle is described for us in this way. And therefore, it must be of note. And verse 6, we’re told that he “wore clothing made of camel’s hair, with a leather belt [round] his waist.”

Now, this is a kind of prophetic look that he had, if you like. People would have said, “Why you dressing up like that? Do you think you’re one of the Old Testament prophets?” And then he said, “Maybe.” Because in one sense, he was. He was like the last of the Old Testament prophets. He bridged the gap over the intertestamental period, and he now stood at the end of the line, at the beginning of the line before the one that he announced was to appear.

Now, it wasn’t a camel blazer. Don’t think that he bought it in… I was going to say “Higbee’s” there, which just proves how long I’ve lived here. Children are going, “Where? Where was that?” No, he’s not wearing.… Listen: he would have been far happier down in Coventry than in Chagrin Falls. Let’s just put it as clear as a bell. You know, you don’t find John the Baptist wearing a striped tie ever in his entire life. No chance. No, he’s in Greenwich Village; he’s not on Fifth Avenue. That’s who he is. And he is a health-food nut before there are health-food nuts. “Locusts and wild honey” are his portion.

He’s not only a strange man, but he’s in a strange place: “And so John came,” notice, verse 4, “baptizing in the desert region.” “The desert region”! If you’re going to start something, why wouldn’t you start where the crowds are? It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Why not go to the temple area? There are lots of people in the temple area. No, he goes to a “desert region.” One commentator describes it as a “hot, uninhabit[able] depression,”[6] for the Jordan Valley started at a certain height below sea level and went down, actually, about nine hundred or eleven hundred feet. And somewhere down in that Jordan Valley was where he had set up camp and where he was engaging in his ministry.

In other words, when you think about the location, you say to yourself, “No one will ever go there to hear him. I mean, shouldn’t he be in a nice suburban location, visible from the freeway, with good access and plenty of parking? I mean, that’s the only way you could get it going, isn’t it? If he had any sense at all, if he really is a forerunner, if he’s an announcer, why didn’t he go where there are people to announce to? What a strange place for such a strange man!”

And yet what we discover is that if numbers are anything to go by, he was the most successful preacher of his generation. In verse 5, we’re told—and even allowing for hyperbole, this is a dramatic statement—“The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him.” They were all going!

The word was going around: “Hey, let’s go down into that hot, uninhabitable depression.”

“Why?”

“Because John the Baptist is down there.”

“Who’s he?”

“Well, he wears this outfit. Man, you gotta see it! And he’s… Yeah, I think you should come! I’m going down. I’ve been down a few times, and I’ve invited a number of people to come. You should’ve been there the last time we were down, because some of the Pharisees came down. Boy, did he give them a ticking off!”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah! You won’t believe it. He actually looked at some of them and he said, ‘Hey, you brood of vipers! Who warned you to come down here and flee from the coming wrath?’”[7]

“Wow! He said that?”

“Yeah!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess he doesn’t like religious formalism. I guess he doesn’t like hucksters. I guess he doesn’t like the exploitation of religion.”

“Well, there’s some wisdom in that. But how was he with other people?”

“Oh, he was nice with other people. But the religious folks? He doesn’t have a lot of time for them. I think you should come down.”

“Oh, well, I will come down, then. I’ll come. I’ll come with you sometime. Certainly.”

And they go down, and what do they discover? That not only are the people coming in droves, but they’re actually paying attention to what he’s saying. And one after another is going down into the Jordan and is being baptized by John. They’re going down, and they’re actually responding to his message.

Now, what he was doing was essentially this: he was calling the people to return to God; calling them to return to God, calling them to get ready to welcome Messiah’s reign. He was calling them to turn their backs on their selfishness and on their sin, and he was calling them to bear testimony to their willingness to do so by being baptized.

He was clear that what was happening in the baptism was not efficacious; it simply pointed to that which would be accomplished in the work of the Messiah. But nevertheless, it was an important step. And so, as he continues to preach and as he continues to urge them, he’s absolutely straightforward.

The Message of the Messenger

And so, in moving to our third point, let us just say that the strangeness of it all does not account for his impact. It’s not as if we can explain this away in terms of “There was a freak show in the desert, and people went down, and they were excited about it for a little while.” No, the effectiveness of the forerunning, preparatory ministry of this character John can be found elsewhere. Where? Well, let me suggest to you, thirdly: in the message of the messenger. Or, if you like, in the very characteristics of the way in which that message was conveyed by the messenger.

Point number one, we have the promise of a messenger. Isaiah prophesies it all those years before. John does not jump out of nowhere. He is in fulfillment of the promises of God. Number two, his arrival is clear and straightforward. No one can mistake what he’s saying. Religious people are offended by him, and others are encouraged by him. And what was he saying? Notice, in verse 7: “After me will come one more powerful than I, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. I [will] baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

John does not jump out of nowhere. He is in fulfillment of the promises of God.

In other words, he knows his place. It’s important to know your place, isn’t it? If you’ve ever been a best man, I hope you remember to be the best man. You’re not the groom. People are not really too interested in you. Don’t turn it into “The Best Man Show.” In fact, that’s just a little word of caution to any of you who are about to be a best man for the first time. Let me warn you against thinking that this is your great moment to shine, let everybody know how good you are with your jokes and all the stories you’re able to tell. We’re not remotely interested. We came to see the bride, mainly, and a little bit of the groom. But you, you’re not even in the game, so I suggest you say as little as possible and get out as fast as you can.

That’s just from me; do with that what you choose. But anyway, I say that because John himself picks up that very picture in describing himself. He said, “You know, I am not here as the groom. I am here as the best man. In fact, I am here, and I have significance in fulfilling the promises of God, but the one who comes after me is the significant one. I,” says John, “can only take you so far. But he will provide the very cleansing that is pictured in this baptism for repentance. The water that I am dealing with, as you are plunged down into it, is a symbol; the Holy Spirit, who will be poured out upon you, is the reality.”

And as he does this, nobody would be in any doubt concerning the integrity of John. His ministry was marked by integrity. It was marked by humility. By humility. When a little delegation was sent to him, John records, to inquire as to who he was, they came to him, and “he did not fail to confess” when they asked him who he was, but he “confessed freely, ‘I am not the Christ.’”[8] “No, I know that you’re looking for the Messiah, but I am not the Messiah.” Well, then they asked him, “Then who are you? Are you Elijah?” Because the thought of Elijah being resurrected and reappearing was part of their thinking. “No,” he says, “I’m not Elijah.” “Well,” they said, “well then, are you the Prophet?” Not a prophet but the prophet. And he answered, “No.” And finally they said, “Well then, who are you? Give us an answer to take back to those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?”[9] Which is a great… Most preachers love that question—you know, “What do you say about yourself?” “Oh, well, let’s just sit down for a little while, and let me answer that for you. I have a tremendous amount to say about myself.”

“Well,” he said, “I really don’t have much to say about myself. I can tell you that I am a voice called to shout. I am a finger called to point: ‘Behold, here he comes, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!’ I am a light, but it’s just like a very small flashlight. I’m a very small flashlight pointing into the darkness and saying, ‘You know, in a moment or two will arrive one who is the very Light of the World.’ No, the one who comes after me is the one who is significant. My significance only lies in serving his appearing.”

His preaching is marked by humility. His preaching is marked by authority. By authority. And his authority lies in being commissioned to do what he does. John begins: “There was a man sent from God.”[10] “There was a man sent from God.” That is the basic authority out of which pulpit ministry emerges. That there have been countless people who’ve banged up against a box—religious fellows speaking with emphasis and interested in doing a nice job for people in the community—that that has happened time and time and time again should not be confused with the nature of the call of God and the equipping of God to be a pastor-teacher to equip the saints and to evangelize those who as yet do not believe.

And the reason that John could speak, for example, with such authority to the religious people was because he knew where he was, and why he was where he was, and he knew who he wasn’t. And it’s because he knew who he wasn’t that he could understand what he was. Until we understand what we’re not, we cannot understand what we are. And his humility is ground into the nature of his authority. “How can he possibly say that?” somebody would have said. “How could he speak to those people like that? Those people are religious people. They are the ones that wear the gowns and the phylacteries on their head. Did you hear what he said? ‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to come down here and try and run away from the wrath of God?’ Where does he get that authority?”

But authority it is. And the authority of contemporary preaching is not the authority that is found in the personality of the preacher. It’s not an authority that is found in the forcefulness of the ability to marshal language and to convey ideas. No, the only authority is right here in this book. This is the basis of authority. This is what we must listen to. This is what we must pay attention to. Why? Because of what we said at the beginning: that God, in a way that is both mysterious and marvelous, has committed to communicating through human language. Through human language. And again, the Bible does not explicate that, but it makes it perfectly clear. And John understood that. Hence his authority.

God, in a way that is both mysterious and marvelous, has committed to communicating through human language.

Also, his preaching and his message were marked by clarity. Clarity. He was clear. He was in some ways like a mother who sees her two sons come home after they’ve been out rummaging around in the shrubbery and in the fields and doing whatever they do that boys like to do, and they just come back, they come in the back door, and she takes one look at them, and she says, “Shower.” She doesn’t say anything else. She just goes, “Shower.” Or “Tub. It’s the tub for you.” And that’s what John was doing.

The people said, “What do we do now?” He said, “Tub.” “What?” “Yes, tub. All of you in the tub.” Nobody could be in any doubt: “Are we getting in, or are we not getting in?” His message was absolutely clear: “I have a baptism for the forgiveness of sins. You know you have sins to be forgiven. Confess your sins, turn from them, and get in the tub.” Clarity. People said, “I’m not going in there. I’m not going down in that Jordan River. I don’t care who he is. I don’t care what his clothing is like. I’m heading back for Jerusalem as fast as I possibly can.”

And that’s what happens every time the Bible is preached. There are those who say, “I have to get out of here posthaste. I don’t want to hear any more of this. I don’t know who that character thinks he is, trying to speak with such authority, as if he had something special to say.” Well, no, you see, the preacher understands. If he has a good wife, if he has children that will be honest with him and a couple of good friends, the preacher understands. And then the preacher understands, “How could God ever use me? Why would God ever use me?” At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

So he was clear, absolutely clear: clear about the need for repentance, clear about the means of forgiveness—the Lamb of God was coming—and clear about the indwelling power of God. And finally, his message was marked by urgency. By urgency.

In other words, he didn’t have a kind of laissez-faire, take-it-or-leave-it approach to his preaching. Many of you are in sales. People always joke with me and say, “Well, you’re in sales as well, aren’t you?” I said, “No, I’m not in sales. I’m giving the stuff away. If I was in sales, it would be different. No, I’m not trying to sell you anything. I’ll give you stuff. I’m here to let you know that this is free. This is a gift.” But if I were in sales, I’d give it a pretty good go. And I admire those of you who do.

But if you don’t know how to close the deal, you shouldn’t be in sales. You know, if you fish, you’re supposed to catch fish, right? I mean, you don’t go home going… Someone says, “Well, how did you do?” You say, “Well, I didn’t catch any, but I influenced a few.” What possible good is that? Do you have fish in your bag or not? Don’t tell me that you’ve got the finest product for roof treatments, and when I say to you, “Do I really need this treatment on my roof?” you say, “Well, I don’t know. I mean, maybe you do, maybe you don’t.” I say, “Well, let me tell you right now: I don’t! So pack up your display and head up the driveway, please.”

But if you tell me, “I’ll tell you what, I can’t imagine having a roof without this product on the roof. And last week I sold it to Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Williamson, and Mr. Harrison, and if you want to give them a ring, they’ll tell you, whew, do they love their roof! You can go and see it. In fact, I have pictures of it right here. If you’ll look at that roof… Look! And here’s where it was before I put it on, and then, look, after we put it on. I mean, what does that look like?”

“Well, I’ve got to admit it looks pretty good.”

“You ought to get yourself one of these roofs!”

“Really?”

“Absolutely!”

Do you realize why people walk in and out of church buildings going, “I don’t really know what went on there”? And I’ll tell you why: because of an absence of integrity, an absence of humility, an absence of authority, an absence of clarity, and an absence of urgency. They walk out the door going, “I don’t think the guy really cares. I don’t think he cares one way or another whether I believe or whether I don’t believe. I don’t think he’s passionate about it at all.”

Not John the Baptist! John the Baptist says, “Fellows, I don’t want you leaving this hot, unhabitable depression until you get down here in this Jordan with me. And I don’t want any of you leaving Sunday by Sunday until you settle the matter of who Jesus is and why he came, until you recognize that what is on offer in the Bible is not a program for you to accept or a philosophy for you to adopt but a person for you to love and to trust and to know.” And that person is the one that John was announcing, and that person is the one that the Gospels announce, and that person is the one whose footsteps we will be following, if God enables us, in the coming weeks to walk down the pathway of Mark’s Gospel.

Let us pray:

Father, we thank you for the Bible, and we want to pause and acknowledge the mystery that is here when we take up this book. We’re not in love with the Bible; we want to be in love with Jesus. We don’t worship the Bible; we worship you, the living God. But we do recognize that in some amazing way, you have chosen to use human language, both in its verbalized form and in its written form.

And so, as we begin these studies in the Gospel of Mark, studies in good news, as we reflect on the promise of this messenger—such a strange and striking individual—as we consider how he arrived and what that meant, and as we are caused to ponder the absolute clarity of his message, we pray that we, like many who listened to him preach, may also repent, may also find forgiveness, may also be prepared to bear fruit that befits our repentance;[11] and that as we’re baptized, pointing away from ourselves to Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.

So, we commend one another to you as we go into this day, asking for your grace in the relaxing times, in the times of responsibility with loved ones and with friends, in the burdens that we feel for our children and our elderly parents, in the sense of sadness we feel for the loss of loved ones, in the often-lonely afternoons of singleness, we look away to you. Such a wonderful friend! Surely “there is no friend like this lowly Jesus, no, not one.”[12]

And so may the love of the Lord Jesus draw us to him. May the joy of Jesus fill our hearts—put a spring in our step and a smile on our faces, even in sadness. And may the peace of the Lord Jesus guard and keep our hearts and minds when things threaten to undo us. And may grace, mercy, and peace from God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, rest upon and remain with each of you, now and forevermore. Amen.

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[1] Oscar Hammerstein II, “Do-Re-Mi” (1959).

[2] Luke 2:11–12, 15 (paraphrased).

[3] Hebrews 1:1–2 (NIV 1984).

[4] Genesis 1:3 (NIV 1984).

[5] Timothy Ward, Words of Life: Scripture as the Living and Active Word of God (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2009), 34.

[6] R. C. H. Lenski, The Interpretation of St. Luke’s Gospel (Columbus: Wartburg, 1946), 176.

[7] Matthew 3:7; Luke 3:7 (paraphrased).

[8] John 1:20 (NIV 1984).

[9] John 1:21–22 (paraphrased).

[10] John 1:6 (KJV).

[11] See Matthew 3:8; Luke 3:8.

[12] Johnson Oatman, “No, Not One” (1895). Lyrics lightly altered.