MARK BLOG 4 What I Heard In The Teachings Passed Down.

What I Heard In The Teachings Passed Down.

The Words That Disrupted Everything

Next, I will share with you my thoughts on the teachings and parables of Jesus. While his words were clever and coy, he often sounded as harmless as a dove. For a man of such power, this was astonishing. They were not abstract philosophies or moral soundbites. They were the voice of the kingdom of God breaking in—disrupting the familiar, challenging assumptions, and calling people to repentance and transformation.

I preserved them with care, especially the ones I heard from Peter. These stories peeled back layers of tradition to reveal the heart of God’s desire: compassion over ritual, faithfulness over status, and the nearness of God to the least expected.

Jesus didn’t speak in bullet points or commandments. His parables were everyday images—seeds and soil, lamps and baskets, servants and masters—but within them were eternal truths. To many, they sounded like riddles. But to those with ears to hear, they were revelations—windows into the reign of God, inviting us to step into a new way of seeing, living, and loving.

What Kind of Kingdom?

From the beginning, Jesus taught with authority—not like the scribes, who grounded their teachings in inherited tradition and legal precedent. His voice was different. He did not defer his interpretations to anyone; he spoke as if he was the Word itself, grasping its meaning with a clarity those around him had missed. His teaching cut through assumptions and summoned the soul to attention. His first message was simple and seismic: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news” (Mark 1:15).

But what did he mean by kingdom? This was no vague spiritual feeling or promise of heaven after death. In our world, a kingdom meant power, order, and allegiance. It meant a new ruler and a new way of life. We had seen kingdoms rise and fall—Egypt, Babylon, Rome—and we knew the signs: swords, taxes, thrones. But the kingdom Jesus announced looked nothing like that. It came without armies. It spread without banners. And yet, it demanded a deeper kind of loyalty—a reorientation of heart, mind, and action toward God’s rule.

For Jesus, the kingdom of God was God’s reign breaking into real life—in meals shared with sinners, in demons cast out, in lepers restored, in parables that overturned expectations. It wasn’t just a place. It was a movement of renewal—a way of being human under God’s rule, here and now.

When my Lord cried out, “Repent and believe the good news,” he was not merely urging sorrow over sin—though contrition has its place. He was calling us to something far greater: to turn from false hopes, from narrow visions of power, from the pride of ethnic and social elitism. He summoned us to reorient our lives around living out and being a sign of God’s reign—where the low are lifted, the broken healed, and the outcast welcomed. Repentance meant releasing the ways we once thought would bring life, and following him into the costly, surprising path of the kingdom he embodied—a kingdom that would not be lived out on the fringes or in retreat, but right in the middle of the world, often surrounded by opposition. It was a kingdom at odds with the values of those outside, yet it did not seek escape. It took root in contested spaces—among enemies, within empires, under scrutiny—and still, it grew.

Parables That Conceal and Reveal

His parables helped reveal the kingdom—but also, in a way, kept it hidden.

Then came the parables of growth (Mark 4:26–32). The kingdom is like seed that grows quietly, steadily—first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the ear—until the harvest. We do not make it grow by strength or strategy. We plant and water, yes, but the increase comes only by the blessing of God. And the mustard seed—so small at first—becomes a great shrub, giving shelter to birds. They showed me that the kingdom begins in hidden places but grows with sovereign power—quiet, faithful, and unstoppable.

The lamp under the bushel (Mark 4:21–25) followed soon after. A lamp is not lit to be hidden. Just as Jesus himself was the light breaking into darkness, so too must his followers shine. I saw in this a summons to transparency, to truth-telling, to courage—courage to speak boldly, to proclaim the kingdom even when silence would be safer. This was not a shining of expensive production or showmanship; it was the shining forth of truth when it was not popular, when it cost something. Courage to let the light of truth shine through our words and actions, even when those words and actions stirred opposition.

Confrontation and the Cost of Discipleship

Not all of his teachings came in parables.

Perhaps the most piercing teaching came after Peter confessed him as the Christ. Jesus immediately warned that the Son of Man must suffer, be rejected, and be killed (Mark 8:31). Peter told me how this shattered him. But he also said how he had to be shattered to be put back together by Jesus. Peter knew he had to change not through triumph but through self-denial. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mark 8:34). Peter’s story shook many of us to our core.

When his disciples argued about who was greatest, he took a child and placed it in their midst. In that act, I saw the shape of God’s kingdom: humility, dependence, trust. And again, when the rich young man walked away sorrowful, unable to part with his possessions, Jesus declared how hard it is for the wealthy to enter the kingdom (Mark 10:23). His words overturned every assumption about success and favor that so many had had. It was like he was able to see right through the rich young man—through to his very soul—and speak truth.

Love as the Center of the Kingdom

Through all this, I came to see: his teaching was never meant to be mere instruction—it was meant for transformation. Those who listened with humility were changed. Those who resisted, often grew harder still. At the heart of everything he taught was a single thread, drawn from the Law itself: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength… and love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:30–31). There was no command greater than these, he said—and I came to believe it. His entire ministry—every parable, confrontation, healing, and call to repentance—was an embodied demonstration of what it looks like when God’s reign takes root in real lives.

I wrote these things so you might see what we saw—not just a teacher, but the shape of God’s reign, embodied in flesh and blood.

—Mark