MARK BLOG 1 This reflection represents what I believe John Mark might have said if he were to introduce his Gospel.

I am Mark—John Mark, as some knew me. I did not walk the dusty roads of Galilee with Jesus, but I feel like I know him as if I did. This came about through the faithful testimony of those who had. Chief among them was Peter, who stood close to Jesus through his ministry. What I have written reflects the Jesus that was instilled in me and proclaimed to me and to the believers around me—the Jesus we came to follow, love, and recognize as the Messiah, the Son of God (Mark 1:1). From the very first line, I wanted readers to understand the entire story through this lens: that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God. This was not just a title but a declaration that would color everything that followed.

At the time I wrote, the world was shaking. Jerusalem had fallen; the Temple lay in ruins. In such an hour, we needed to be reminded that God’s kingdom was not rooted in any earthly institution, but in the risen Christ whose reign would never fail.

From the outset, I wanted readers to know who Jesus is: the Messiah—the Christ. But what that means is different from what many in the Jewish tradition expected. The Messiah, in their minds, was to be a royal conqueror, a deliverer like David, who would crush Rome, restore Israel’s independence, and reign in righteousness. Jesus, however, redefined messianic glory through humility and sacrificial love.

When Peter confessed, “You are the Messiah” (Mark 8:29), Jesus immediately reoriented that title: I, as “The Son of Man, must suffer, be rejected, and be killed” (Mark 8:31). He came not to conquer by force, but to give his life “as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45). The people longed for a military king; God sent a suffering servant.

These revelations did not come easily to us. We wrestled with them—still do. But in his suffering, something deeper was revealed.

Jesus most frequently referred to himself as the “Son of Man,” a title rooted in Daniel 7:13–14—a figure presented before the Ancient of Days, given dominion and everlasting authority. I emphasized this title because it reveals both Jesus’ humanity and divine appointment. He forgave sins (Mark 2:10), suffered and died (Mark 8:31), and foretold his return in glory (Mark 14:62). Through this one title, he revealed a multi-faceted identity: fully human, yet bearing divine authority.

These things were not just spoken—they were embodied. In word and deed, Jesus revealed a power not of this world, yet deeply present within it.

As for the term “Son of God,” it appeared at critical moments: at his baptism (Mark 1:11), where a voice from heaven declared, “You are my Son, the Beloved”; during confrontations with unclean spirits (Mark 3:11); at his transfiguration (Mark 9:7); and finally, in the mouth of a Roman centurion at his death (Mark 15:39). These moments affirmed his divine favor and identity in ways words alone could not.

In earlier Scripture, “Son of God” did not always imply divinity in essence. Israel was God’s son (Exodus 4:22), and Davidic kings were called sons of God (Psalm 2:7). Jesus fulfilled those roles uniquely, I never quote Him as plainly saying, “I am God,” but he lived and acted with a kind of authority that pointed unmistakably toward the divine.

When Jesus forgave the paralytic’s sins, the scribes cried blasphemy—“Who can forgive sins but God alone?” (Mark 2:7). But Jesus confirmed his authority not with argument, but by healing the man (Mark 2:10–11). Was he claiming divinity? Perhaps. Or perhaps he was acting as God’s anointed representative, uniquely authorized to embody God’s presence and power.

And what he received, he did not hoard. Jesus passed this authority on to his disciples, sending them out with power over unclean spirits and to proclaim repentance (Mark 6:7, 12).(1)Their mission reflected his own: restoring what was broken and calling hearts back to God. They acted in his name, just as he acted in the name of the Father.

He came preaching “the good news of God,” saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news” (Mark 1:15). This was no political kingdom—it was a spiritual reign breaking into history through Jesus himself.

To enter that kingdom, one had to be changed. He taught that entering the kingdom required repentance—a turning from sin and an openness to God’s rule. “I have come to call not the righteous but sinners” (Mark 2:17). His parables—the mustard seed (Mark 4:30–32), the sower (Mark 4:3–20), the tenants (Mark 12:1–11)—all unveiled a kingdom growing quietly, even invisibly, with unstoppable power.

And within that hidden power, Jesus called his followers to visible surrender. He called them to radical obedience and humility: to deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow him (Mark 8:34). He welcomed children, lifted up the lowly, and taught that greatness in the kingdom comes through service (Mark 9:35; 10:14–15, 10:43–45).

We understood Jesus to teach that the end was near. “This generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place” (Mark 13:30). He warned of wars, persecution, and false messiahs (Mark 13:5–13), and foretold suffering ahead. The end did not come as we expected—but perhaps it came in a deeper, more cosmic way. The destruction of the Temple in AD 70 fulfilled part of his warning, but his words also pointed beyond that moment, toward a greater fulfillment yet to come with the return of the Son of Man. Jesus’ prophecy held a tension between the immediate upheaval and the ultimate consummation still awaited.

A pivotal moment came when he predicted the Temple’s destruction: “Not one stone will be left here upon another” (Mark 13:2). And indeed, in AD 70, the Temple fell. For Jesus, this was not merely a political tragedy—it symbolized the end of an era, the collapse of the old covenant system. But he also looked beyond, to a future appearing of the Son of Man “in clouds with great power and glory” (Mark 13:26). When or how that will be, I do not know. But I believe his words are true.

Did Jesus believe he was God? I’m not sure. When I wrote my Gospel, that question wasn’t my main focus. Perhaps he saw himself as uniquely united with God’s will and power—leaving the full weight of that claim to be discovered through his life, death, and resurrection and to be developed more fully by future writers.

And it is in the resurrection that everything turned. In rising, he was not merely alive again—he was declared with power to be who we had hoped he was. The silence of the grave was broken by the power of God.

You may have noticed how my Gospel ends: with an empty tomb and fearful women. “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid” (Mark 16:8). That is where I ended—not because the story was incomplete, but because it was just beginning.

Later scribes added longer endings, filled with appearances and signs. I did not write those. They were attempts, I think, to harmonize my account with others like Luke and Matthew. They appeared in manuscripts long after my time.

But for me, the silence of the women spoke volumes. The tomb was empty. Jesus had risen. And now the question passes to you, the reader: What will you do with this news?

Will you stay silent in fear—or go and tell, as the angel commanded?

The Kingdom has come near. The King has risen. The story is unfinished because it continues in every heart that repents and believes.

I left the stone rolled back, the story open—not because it lacked an ending, but because you are part of it now.

May the one who has ears to hear, listen. And may the good news I have written take root in your soul.

—Mark

(1) I do want to point out that the Gospel Writer of John goes so far as to say that the Disciples had the authority to forgive sins.  John 20:21-23.  I added this as a footnote to keep the flow of the paper as only reflecting Mark.