Mark 1:1

The Gospel of Mark begins with no manger, no Magi, and no genealogies—just a single, thunderous sentence:

“The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

That’s where the story starts, and that’s where our clarity begins.

This new series through Mark opened with a reminder that the gospel gives us new sight—gospel glasses that help us see Jesus clearly for who He is and why He came. The sermon began with a story about an eighth grader who didn’t realize he couldn’t see until he put on his first pair of glasses. Everything had been fuzzy—trees were green blobs, road signs unreadable—until suddenly, through new lenses, the world came into focus.

That’s what Mark does. His Gospel moves us from vague impressions about Jesus to vivid reality. It’s fast, direct, and urgent—showing that the good news isn’t something to observe from a distance, but someone to behold up close.

Mark begins by declaring that his entire book is “the gospel of Jesus Christ.” That word gospel—in Greek, euangelion—doesn’t mean advice or religious insight. It means “good news,” the kind of public announcement that changes history. In the Roman world, a gospel was proclaimed when a new king ascended to the throne or when victory had been won. Mark is saying: this is the true royal announcement. God Himself has come to reign, and His name is Jesus.

And this news is not just about Him—it is Him. The gospel is both a message and a reality. It’s not simply good advice for living, but good news that transforms living. “The gospel,” as the sermon put it, “isn’t mainly advice to live by—it’s Jesus to live with.”

The opening scene of Mark doesn’t take place in a temple or palace, but in the Jordan River. Jesus steps into the muddy water among a crowd of sinners being baptized by John. He doesn’t need cleansing; He’s the one who will bring it. Yet He stands shoulder to shoulder with the guilty, identifying Himself with the broken, the weary, the ashamed. The only one in the line who didn’t belong there is the one who chose to be there.

Grace begins at ground level. Jesus enters the places that are ordinary, messy, and overlooked. He didn’t have to be baptized, just as He didn’t have to die—but He chose both. His baptism was His first public declaration that He would stand with sinners so He could one day stand for them.

When Jesus comes up from the water, Mark says the heavens were “torn open.” It’s the same word later used when the temple curtain is torn in two at His death. Heaven isn’t closed or distant; God is breaking through. The Spirit descends gently like a dove, and the Father’s voice declares, “You are my Son, whom I love; with You I am well pleased.”

That moment isn’t just for Jesus—it’s for everyone who belongs to Him. In Christ, the same words echo over our lives: You are Mine. You are loved. I am pleased with you. We stop striving to earn what God has already spoken. The heavens have been opened, and the Father’s love is sure.

But the very next verse jolts us: “At once the Spirit sent Him out into the wilderness.” The same Spirit that descended gently now drives Jesus into battle. The Beloved Son is led straight into testing. For forty days, He is tempted by Satan, surrounded by wild animals, and attended by angels. Mark says it simply, but every word is loaded with meaning.

Where Adam fell in a garden of plenty, Jesus stands faithful in a wilderness of danger. Where Israel failed during forty years of wandering, Jesus stands firm for forty days. He is the faithful Adam, the true Israel, the victorious Son. The wilderness isn’t a setback—it’s the stage of His triumph.

And that means something for every wilderness we walk through. Our Savior doesn’t only identify with our sin; He identifies with our temptation. He knows the pull, the pressure, the whisper that says, “Give up.” He knows what it means to be hungry, weary, and alone—and He stood. Which means we don’t fight for victory; we stand in His. We resist not to become loved, but because we already are.

Mark’s Gospel pulls us into motion. It invites us to see Jesus clearly, not as a distant figure or moral example, but as the living, breathing Good News of God. Once we see Him clearly, everything else comes into focus.

The gospel isn’t blurry. It has a name. His name is Jesus—and He has come for us.