Helping ordinary people learn to study the Bible
Douglas Sean O’Donnell asks why Mark’s gospel ends without mention of Jesus’ resurrection. The “longer ending” of Mark appears to be a later addition, not original to Mark’s text. O’Donnell has a few theories:
O’Donnell’s brief reflections are well worth your time.
Perhaps I’ve convinced you that part of Bible study requires picking up an author’s train of thought. And you can see it most clearly with instructional texts like epistles, wisdom poetry, and prophets. But what about the narrative books? Do they have a train of thought as well?
Ted McGrath (2014), Creative Commons
Remember that Bible stories are more than stories. While biblical narratives tell a true history of God’s redemption, the purpose of the stories is more than the history itself (or the story itself). Paul uses biblical narratives to provide examples to follow and warnings to avoid (1 Cor 10:6, 11). Jesus uses biblical narratives to draw ethical principles for his day (Mark 10:6-9). And Hebrews uses biblical narratives to inspire and motivate people not to shrink back but hold fast to Jesus despite great affliction (Hebrews 10:39-12:3). Examples, morals, and motivation all come from stories.
What does this mean for our Bible study? How do we find the main points of Bible stories?
Narratives by nature don’t present their material logically. You won’t find many “so that”s or “therefore”s in narratives, so it’s more challenging to trace out a logical train of thought.
But the tools of narratives lie primarily in plot, structure, and climax. Learn to see these things, and you’ll discover the narrator’s train of thought.
Plot: What is the primary sequence of action? Who does what to whom, and what are the results? At what point does the plot hinge and build toward climax and resolution?
Structure: Narratives won’t make clear logical argument, but they structure their material intentionally.
Climax: Where is the highest point of energy in the story? Where do the characters find what they seek or resolve their tension?
Look for these clues, and you’re on your way toward the main point.
This short example begins with a clear title statement: “Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way” (Matt 1:18). The plot immediately thickens as Mary gets pregnant and Joseph tries to do the right thing by her. Suddenly, an angel appears to him in a dream (not an everyday occurrence) and gives Joseph two commands with explanation:
So not only the marriage, but also the child’s name is important here. We don’t hit the story’s climax, though, until we read “All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet” (Matt 1:22), which leads into more talk of pregnancy, birth, and naming of a child – with another explanation of the name (God with us – Matt 1:23).
As the tension resolves, Joseph obeys the angel. And Matthew goes out of his way to tell us that he 1) married her without making love to her, and 2) named the child Jesus (Matt 1:24-25).
We’re not told much in this short tale, but the following things are clear:
What is the point of this short story? God himself has come to deal with his people’s sin. See how the story’s train of thought leads us to this key point?
I don’t have the space to analyze this lengthy passage exhaustively, but I want to show how observing structure helps us to get the point.
Intro: Jesus sends out the 12, creating a crisis for Herod: Who is Jesus? – 6:7-29
A Jesus feeds 5,000 – 6:30-44
B Jesus crosses the sea with his disciples – 6:45-56
C Pharisees argue with Jesus – 7:1-23
D Jesus talks to a woman about bread – 7:24-30
E Jesus heals a deaf man – 7:31-37
A Jesus feeds 4,000 – 8:1-9
B Jesus crosses the sea with his disciples – 8:10
C Pharisees argue with Jesus – 8:11-13
D Jesus talks to his disciples about bread – 8:14-21
E Jesus heals a blind man – 8:22-26
Conclusion: Peter sees and understands exactly who Jesus is – 8:27-30
Seeing this larger structure is what helped me to understand why it took Jesus two tries to heal the blind man in Mark 8:22-26. Mark portrays two parallel cycles of events with the disciples, where they get to experience firsthand who Jesus is. Herod’s initial questions (John the Baptist? Elijah? One of the prophets?) go unanswered until Jesus takes his disciples through these two cycles.
And they don’t get it (Mark 8:21). But in healing the blind man, Mark gives a living parable of Jesus’ healing of the disciples blindness. And then, finally, they see him clearly. Not John the Baptist, Elijah, or one of the prophets – but the Christ (Mark 8:27-29).
The narrative has a train of thought; not only within a particular episode but also across many episodes. Look for this train and hop on board.
When Jesus spoke of the sun being darkened, the moon not giving light, and the stars falling from heaven (Mark 13:24-25), was he talking about the end of the world? Or was he using prophetic terminology for the fall of Jerusalem?
Michael Bird tackles the issue in a lengthy but carefully argued article that would be well worth your time. Looking at the entire “Olivet Discourse,” he argues that:
…the discourse needs to be situated in the context of Jesus’s mission; namely, the preaching of the kingdom (Mark 1:15) and the restoration of Israel (Matt 10:5–6; 15:27; Mark 7:27; Rom 15:8). Jesus announced that Israel was facing a national crisis, that it had to choose how to be Israel. He explained how to be God’s chosen people to some who were choosing the path of violent revolution, to those who were following the pattern and piety of the Pharisees, to those who accepted the status quo of the Herodians, and to those who put put up with the moral and mercantile corruption of the priesthood. He gave them options: follow his way of being Israel, or else find the holy city laid waste and the sanctuary itself desecrated and destroyed.
Bird concedes that Matthew’s version of the Olivet Discourse (Matt 24-25) does contain a preview of the final judgment. But Mark and Luke appear to be squarely focused on events surrounding Rome’s assault on Jerusalem in AD 70.
Bird makes his case from both literary and historical contexts, and whether you end up agreeing with him or not, his article is well worth your time and consideration.
In the “longer ending” of Mark’s gospel, Jesus says, “Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel to the whole creation” (Mark 16:15). Though some dispute the authenticity of Mark’s longer ending, I’m not aware of anyone disputing this fundamental instruction for the Christian Church (Matt 28:18-20, Col 1:23, Rev 14:6).
From this command, we can deduce that the Bible (which preserves and explains the gospel) has relevance to all people in all the world. That, in turn, means that anybody, anywhere, at any time in history can apply the Bible.
Perhaps that fact seems obvious. But what are some of its implications?
Jesus warns that “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26). Practical applications of this warning are generally not terribly controversial in western dignity cultures, but they are far more difficult and excruciating for those in eastern honor cultures.
By contrast, Jesus said that “everyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of sexual immorality, makes her commit adultery, and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery” (Matt 5:32). Eastern honor cultures may tend to follow this command more closely, while those in western dignity cultures sometimes tend to focus more on the exceptions than the rule itself.
Jesus told one person that following him meant leaving his family behind (Luke 9:59-60). He told another person that following him meant returning to his family (Mark 5:19-20).
He told one guy to sell everything and give it to the poor (Mark 10:21-22). He told others to make different use of their money (Luke 16:9).
The point is that many applications that fit your situation will not fit other people’s situations. The same principle (e.g. investing in eternity) may take different expression for different people. Let each be fully convinced in their own mind (Rom 14:5).
A child-like faith is to be commended (Mark 10:15). A childish approach to human relationship is not (1 Cor 13:11, 16:13).
For one person, simply saying “hello” to a stranger might be an act of selfless obedience to Christ. But as that person matures, that “hello” ought to grow into more mature expressions of evangelism and love for neighbor.
Bible application is for everybody. What other implications of that fact can you think of?
“Everyone will be salted with fire,” says Jesus in Mark 9:49. But what does that mean?
Alistair Begg makes skillful use of the literary context (the argument of the larger passage), biblical context (Old Testament background), and cultural context (practices contemporary to Jesus and his disciples) to unravel this mysterious saying.
It’s clear that Jesus deals here with weighty truths. And it’s against the backdrop of verse 48 (in which He describes hell as a place where the “worm does not die and the fire is not quenched”) that His puzzling teaching on salt appears. With the costliness of discipleship and the picture of fire fixed in His disciples’ minds, Jesus asserts, “Everyone will be salted with fire.” How should we understand this peculiar phrase?
All authors employ names and titles to convey meaning in their work. The biblical writers are no exception.
I’m in the middle of a project examining the use of titles and names for Jesus in the Gospels. My first article laid out my methodology and looked at the top 10 titles of Jesus in the Gospels. I recently wrote about the titles of Jesus in Matthew, and today we turn to the Gospel of Mark.
There are 61 titles used for Jesus in Mark, accounting for 13.8% of the titles used for Jesus in all four Gospels combined. As Mark contains 17.9% of the verses in the Gospels, we see that there are fewer titles in Mark than we might expect.
Here are the top five titles in Mark.
The title “Lord” is missing from this list, as it is only used twice in Mark compared to 23 times in Matthew. (“Lord” is the second most-used title in Matthew.) We see “the king of the Jews” only show up toward the end of Mark; it is used three times by Pilate, once by the Roman soldiers, and once on the inscription above the cross.
The author of this Gospel himself used a title for Jesus five times. He called Jesus the “Son of Man” twice and referred to him as “Christ,” “Son of God,” and “Lord” one time each.
We should not skip past these references simply because they are small in number, as two of these titles occupy a key position in the book. Here is the beginning of Mark’s Gospel.
The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. (Mark 1:1)
As Peter Krol has shown in his interpretive overview of Mark, the two titles in this opening verse (“Christ” and “Son of God”) give a road map for the book. Mark aims to show his readers that Jesus is both the Christ (the Messiah) and the Son of God (the rightful king).
When writing about the titles of Jesus, I have emphasized that we cannot learn everything about a Gospel by looking at this small bit of linguistic accounting. And Mark’s writing provides an excellent example.
When Peter wrote about Mark for our feeding the 5000 and resurrection of Jesus series, he noted that Mark is more of a show you book than a tell you book. In other words, Mark uses narrative more than discourse to get his points across.
If this is true, then it shouldn’t be a surprise that Mark contains relatively few titles of Jesus. Many of the times when a character refers to Jesus by a title, it is in the context of a dialogue (often “Lord” in Matthew) or it precedes some extended instruction from Jesus (often “teacher” in Matthew). If Mark uses these narrative tools less frequently, then the use of titles will decrease as well.
But what about Mark’s main point? If he wanted to stress that Jesus is the king, wouldn’t we see more royal titles?
Again, Mark just doesn’t use titles very much. We have “king of the Jews” in the top five, but this is used questioningly or ironically each time.
I will write a separate post on this in the near future, but “Son of Man”—the most frequently used title in Mark—is a royal title. We often assume that “son of God” emphasizes Jesus’s divinity while “son of Man” emphasizes his humanity, but the difference is not quite this easy. Some scholars might even say that “son of Man” is the more exalted, divine title of the two.
While there are some interesting details to notice in Mark regarding the titles of Jesus, this book is a good reminder that titles were never meant to tell us everything. Names and titles are crucial observations to make when studying a passage, but we had better not stop there if we want to understand an author’s meaning!
Zach Hollifield has a wonderful article where he makes a keen observation and asks a crucial rational interpretive question:
It’s when Jesus returns from his own prayer to find them snoozing that he utters the infamous line “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” …
Matthew and Mark go out of their way to make it clear that Jesus says this to Peter and Peter alone. Mark even quotes Jesus as beginning the statement with, “Simon, are you asleep—?” Jesus finds all three sleeping, and yet when he makes the statement about the spirit being willing and flesh being weak, he says it directly to just one disciple. Why?
Hollifield finds in the text compelling answers to his question, leading to some really helpful application. This is a great example of strong Bible study skills.
One of the most important observations to make in a passage is the structure. And the way to observe structure is to first identify the parts of the passage (the units of thought) so that you can figure out how those parts relate to one another. In this post I’ll show you some of the ways to recognize the units of thought in a narrative.
Along with discourse, narrative is one of the three text types in Scripture. A narrative is any sort of passage that describes an event or tells a story in prose (not poetry). It could be a brief episode or a sprawling epic. Either way, most biblical narratives record true events.
That adds some complexity, because we don’t typically write history books today in a narrative format. Even biographies and historical “retellings” are more concerned with chronology and sequence than with plot. But ancient writers, including biblical narrators, saw no conflict between writing true history and telling a compelling (though perhaps dischronologized) story. Such stories became an essential part of the Jewish (and later Christian) cultural consciousness. With that in mind, a few tools will help us to discern the units of thought in that narrative.
The primary building block of a narrative is a scene. A scene is an interaction between characters in a particular place at a particular time. Therefore, the clearest way to distinguish between scenes is to identify major changes in either characters (the main actors) or setting (the time and place).
For example, in Mark 7, the first scene consists of Jesus speaking with or about the Pharisees (Mark 7:1-23). In Mark 7:24, the setting shifts up to the region of Tyre, and in Mark 7:31 it shifts again back to the Sea of Galilee. So Mark 7 has three clear scenes (Mark 7:1-23, 24-30, 31-37) based on the various settings.
In 2 Kings 4, we have an example of clear shifts in who the characters are. In 2 Kings 4:1-7, Elisha serves a widow of one of the sons of the prophets. In 2 Kings 4:8-37, he serves a wealthy woman of Shunem. In 2 Kings 4:38-41, he serves the sons of the prophets themselves during a famine. And in 2 Kings 4:42-44, he serves a man from Baal-shalishah, who himself wishes to serve the sons of the prophets during the famine. So the chapter divides into four main scenes based on the characters involved.
Average scenes in Matthew, Mark, and Luke tend to be quite short, when compared to average scenes in other narrative books (such as Genesis, Kings, John, or Acts). In the case of those three Gospels (called “synoptics”), it’s easier—and perhaps more important—to keep multiple scenes together when studying so we can see how one flows to the next and the next.
For example, there is certainly profit to be gained from studying the solitary scene of Mark 2:13-17 to reflect on Jesus’ mission to be a physician to sinners. But we’re more likely to grasp Mark’s main idea when we observe that this scene is the first of four controversies right next to each other (Mark 2:13-17, 2:18-22, 2:23-28, 3:1-6). And shortly before these four controversies, Mark narrated four healings in a row (Mark 1:21-28, 29-34, 35-39, 40-45). And right in between the four healings and the four controversies is a story that is both healing and controversy (Mark 2:1-12), functioning as a pivot between the two four-part sequences. Therefore, the episode with the paralytic ought to cast its shadow over our interpretation of the entire segment of Mark 1:21-3:6.
Most of the time, biblical narrators write about other characters and the events surrounding them. But with some regularity, those narrators step into the story to share their thoughts on what just happened (or what is about to happen). They do this not only through introductions and conclusions, but something through summaries or assessments. When we come across such narrator insertions, it is not enough to consider what the narrator says. We must also account for why the narrator has inserted himself at this point in the story. Sometimes, such insertions mark off units of thought for us.
For example, Mark uses narrative summaries to mark off the main sections early in his gospel. Mark 3:7-12 summarizes Jesus ministry in Galilee as one involving great crowds coming to hear him and be healed by him. Unclean Spirits attempted to name him the Son of God, but he would not permit them. This summary is not here by accident. It is the narrator’s way of bringing everything since Mark 1:16 to a conclusion before he launches into a new idea in the following section (which ends with a briefer narrative summary at the end of Mark 6:6).
When you’re studying a book with lengthier scenes, such as John, Acts, or Old Testament narratives, the tool of marking scenes will get you only so far. What if a single scene is 20, 30, or 40 verses long? How do you break that scene down further into units of thought to help you determine the author’s main point?
In such cases, the best tool to employ is perhaps the plot structure. Develop the skill of identifying precisely where conflict is introduced, where it is solved, and how the tension escalates on the way from its introduction to its resolution—and you’ll be well-equipped to map out the structure of many biblical narratives.
The bad news is that I don’t have enough space here to elaborate on how to develop these skills. The good news is that I have already done so in another post.
Bible stories provoke the imagination and grip hearts. Bible characters might be used as examples to imitate or avoid (though not as often as you might think!). Bu our chief goal with narratives ought to be discovering the author’s main points in telling them. What is it the author seeks to persuade his audience of?
As you develop proficiency in distinguishing between scenes, observing the logical flow from one to the next, recognizing the structural use of narrator insertions, and tracking plot arcs, you will become equipped to identify the structure of the Bible’s narratives. And once you’ve identified your passage’s structure, you’re well on the way toward drawing credible and defensible conclusions about the passage’s main idea.
As the calendar flips to December, many Christian churches turn to the birth story of Jesus in their teaching and preaching. And though there are four Gospels, one is far underrepresented from the pulpit during this season.
Matthew and Luke both contain the narratives about Jesus’s birth, so the early chapters of these Gospels are in heavy rotation for sermons. We hear from the opening verses of John as well, as the lyrical description of Jesus as the Word made flesh practically jumps off the page. All the while, Mark’s Gospel seems to stay closed.
Beginnings matter, particularly the beginnings of books of the Bible. There the author has the chance to frame their work and set up their argument.
For the sake of this article, let’s refer to “Act 1” of each gospel as all that precedes the beginning of Jesus’s public ministry. What does Act 1 of each gospel look like?
In Matthew, Act 1 stretches through Matt 4:11, a total of 76 verses. There, we read Jesus’s genealogy (Matt 1:1–17), his birth (Matt 1:18–25), the visit of the magi (Matt 2:1–12), the flight to Egypt to avoid Herod’s murderous decree (Matt 2:13–23), John preparing the way for Jesus (Matt 3:1–12), Jesus’s baptism (Matt 3:13–17), and Jesus’s temptation by Satan (Matt 4:1-11). Along the way, a careful reader will notice just how much Matthew’s narrative is driven by fulfilling Old Testament prophecies.
Act 1 of Luke is the longest of all, lasting until Luke 4:13, a total of 183 verses. After his dedication (Luke 1:1–4), Luke writes about the predictions of John’s (Luke 1:5–25) and Jesus’s (Luke 1:26–38) births, Mary’s visit to Elizabeth and song of praise (Luke 1:39–56), John’s birth and his father’s prophecy (Luke 1:67–80), Jesus’s birth and the immediate reaction (Luke 2:1–21), Jesus’s presentation at the temple (Luke 2:22–40), his twelve-year-old venture to the temple (Luke 2:41–52), John preparing the way for Jesus (Luke 3:1–22), Jesus’s genealogy (Luke 3:23–38), and Jesus’s temptation by Satan (Luke 4:1–13). In these opening chapters, Luke shows how God’s blessing is extended beyond physical Israel.
Act 1 of John is shorter, only the first 34 verses of chapter 1. There we read of the Word made flesh (John 1:1–18) and the testimony of John the Baptist (John 1:19–34). After this, Jesus calls his first disciples and followers (John 1:35–51) and then performs his first miracle at the wedding at Cana (John 2:1–12).
Compared to these accounts, Act 1 in Mark is miniscule, a mere 13 verses.
If you haven’t already read Peter’s excellent interpretive outline of Mark, by golly do so post haste. Mark’s aim throughout his Gospel is to show Jesus as God’s king. In the opening act of his book, Mark introduces us to Jesus so that we will see this king.
One of Jesus’s titles in Mark 1:1 is “the Son of God,” a royal title that looks back to 2 Samuel 7:12–16. This king has a long-promised messenger going before him, preparing the way of the Lord (Mark 1:2–3). This messenger, though looking a little rough, was in the wilderness baptizing, preaching, and telling of the glorious one to come (Mark 1:4–8).
Mark doesn’t spend a lot of time in character development. In the same way that John “appeared” (John 1:4), Jesus simply showed up and was baptized (Mark 1:9–11). No human backstory accompanies either man, and yet we do hear from Jesus’s father at his baptism. A voice from heaven calls him “beloved Son” and says “with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:11).
The Spirit that came upon Jesus at his baptism (Mark 1:10) then drove him into the wilderness to be tempted by Satan (Mark 1:12–13). There is quite a cosmic hue to this initial chapter, as we read about the Spirit, Satan, and angels (Mark 1:13).
Finally, John was arrested and Jesus begins to proclaim “the gospel of God” (Mark 1:14). Notice that Jesus is taking part of his preaching cue from John (compare Mark 1:15 to Mark 1:4).
The opening to Mark’s Gospel doesn’t make Advent sense. We don’t know what to do with a story that jumps so quickly into the action at a time where the church calendar says we should be learning to wait.
But because Mark’s is one of the four Gospels, this is one of the ways we should think about Jesus’s beginning. He had a royal herald smooth the way before him and let everyone know of his greatness (Mark 1:7). Jesus was anointed for his kingly mission with water and the Spirit, and he was declared the beloved Son of God, the king (Mark 1:11). He was victorious over the devil in the wilderness and ministered to by the angels (Mark 1:13).
Finally, at the end of Act 1 in Mark, Jesus himself sums up his origin story and his enduring message: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15).
Though Mark’s gospel is the shortest in length, his narratives are typically more vivid than either Matthew or Luke, who recount many of the same episodes. In other words, Mark narrates fewer scenes, but each scene tends to include more detail and description than its parallels do. For example, Matthew, Luke, and Mark all tell the story of a ruler who comes to Jesus, kneels before him, and asks him to heal his dying daughter. But only Mark tells us that Jairus falls at Jesus’ feet upon seeing him (Mark 5:22). And only Mark puts the word “saved” (or “made well”) in Jairus’s mouth and, therefore, his expectation (Mark 5:23).
Some may say the devil is in the details. But St. Mark would say instead that in those details you’re more likely to see the Son of God for who he truly is.
Mark adorns his narrative with such garnished beauty—as befitting the Messiah who rules heaven and earth—that definite markers of distinct sections can be difficult to recognize. Mark masterfully stitches the pieces together and transitions from one scene to the next, thereby leaving few breadcrumbs of any edible size. However, he clearly wants his reader to see Jesus in all his kingly glory, as the first disciples saw him. So he tends to employ those disciples as his chief tour guides.
What do I mean? Mark’s title for his book is clear enough: “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (Mark 1:1). This book presents the first part of the great news about Jesus, known here by two titles: The Christ (Messiah, Chosen One) and the Son of God (ruling king). The book then has two major climaxes where disciples have major aha! moments regarding Jesus’ identity. First, the likely disciple: Peter recognizes Jesus as the Christ (Mark 8:29). Second, the unlikely disciple: The centurion at the foot of the cross recognizes Jesus as the Son of God (Mark 15:39). So, besides the prologue of Mark 1:1-15 and the epilogue of Mark 15:40-16:8, the book divides roughly into two halves, each culminating in a declaration of Jesus’ identity and tying everything back to the opening words in Mark 1:1.
The disciples provide even further tour guidance than this. The book’s first half is structured by the calling and training of the disciples, each section beginning with either their summoning or sending, and each section ending with a narrative summary of Jesus’ work with and through those disciples. The book’s second half is structured by Jesus’ efforts to bring his disciples along with his mission to suffer and die. Three passion predictions reveal three shifts that must take place in the disciples’ expectations. Then Jesus intimately includes the disciples, through sending, teaching, and praying, in the ministry of his week in Jerusalem. For more structural detail, refer to the documents linked at the end of this post.
In the first 15 verses, we’re presented with tense anticipation for the king who has come. His messenger goes before him declaring an end to Israel’s exile, once and for all, if they would but turn aside from what they’ve been doing. When Jesus shows up, heaven itself is ripped open to declare him the beloved Son of Psalm 2 and Isaiah 42. He relives Israel’s early history in the wilderness, doing for them what they could not do for themselves, and emerging with the news that, with him, the kingdom of God has finally arrived.
The king is here!
Jesus first needs to establish his authority as king. Mark shows this through an extended chiasm (where the second half mirrors the first half but in reverse order):
Jesus appears to have the authority to both heal and bring salvation, as exemplified in the central story of the paralytic, which is simultaneously a healing and a controversy. In that story, King Jesus is also shown to have the authority to take on (and perhaps take down) those currently in authority over God’s people.
So in the second section, Jesus lays the groundwork for his new kingdom which will end up replacing the old. He establishes his people as a new Israel (Mark 3:13-35). He gives them a new set of stories to understand what is happening (Mark 4:1-34). And he both models and praises the new kind of faith required of his citizenry (Mark 4:35-6:6). Will they see it? Will they receive him by such faith?
In the third section, Jesus doesn’t simply sit back and watch; he gets his hands dirty by training and discipling his people into the kind of followers he wants them to be. He takes them through the same sequence of events twice (feed a multitude, cross the sea, argue with Pharisees, discuss matters of bread, and heal malfunctioning senses – Mark 6:33-7:37, 8:1-26) in hopes that they themselves will acquire eyes that can see and ears that can hear (Mark 8:18-21). When he heals the blind man (Mark 8:22-26), we must see the living parable playing out in the disciples’ own lives. Do you see anything? It takes two tries? Who do people say that I am? But who do you say that I am?
Part 1 then climaxes with Peter’s glorious confession: You are the Christ. (The Chosen One.)
Ah, yes. He sees! But does he see fully? Does he understand what that means? What sort of Chosen One will this Jesus be?
Jesus now shifts from his basic identity to a fuller exposition of it: “He began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and … be killed, and after three days rise again. And he said this plainly.” (Mark 8:31-32). But Peter will have none of it. So Jesus now takes them through three cycles of training to reverse their expectation. Each cycle has the following pattern:
The three cycles (Mark 8:31-9:29, 9:30-10:31, 10:32-52) result in the following three reversals of expectations: The living must die. The first must be last. The great must serve.
The second section of Part 2 is terribly easy to misread if we fail to follow the book’s argument to this point. Jesus has been talking all along about the new kingdom he’s brought to replace the old one. Now the time has come; the revolution will be televised. Chapters 11 and 12 have the explicit purpose of indicting Israel’s current management. This fig tree will not produce figs, so when Jesus curses it, it will wither and die. Then through the temple controversies and all the way to the widow’s meager mite, the witnesses have testified and the evidence is indisputable: This grand system must come down (Mark 13:1-2). But Jesus will not leave his people in the dark. He explains the signs that will mark this coming doom, and he prepares the fainthearted for the inevitable blame they will receive for it (Mark 13:3-36). Then he goes and picks his final fight to get the whole thing moving (Mark 14:1-11).
The third section (which has many parallels to the second section) shows Jesus doing all that he has said. The living one dies. The first of all puts himself last. The great one serves sinners and gives his life as a ransom for many.
In the end, they will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming with the clouds of heaven (Mark 14:62). But first they want to see the Christ and have missed their chance (Mark 15:32). They wish to see Elijah, but failed to notice him back in chapter 1 (Mark 15:36). And the least likely, the Roman centurion, sees the way Jesus dies and proclaims him to be the Son of God (Mark 15:39).
Mark reminds us that others can also see the truth. Some women saw him from a distance (Mark 15:40). One member of the ruling council was, in fact, looking for the kingdom of God and found it in Jesus (Mark 15:43). The ladies then see the tomb of Jesus empty except for a young man dressed in white, who tells them that their king is not here (Mark 16:5).
But don’t worry. You’ll see him again, just as he told you (Mark 16:7).
Can’t you see that Jesus is God’s chosen king, that you might follow him, even to the death?
Here are links for much more detailed observational and interpretive outlines of Mark’s gospel.
This post is part of a series of interpretive overviews of the books of the Bible.
