Prologue to Mark’s Gospel
The first eight verses of the Gospel of Mark act as a form of introduction, a sort of prologue. It is as if the person introducing Mark to the gathered speaks these eight verses, explaining who John the Baptist was, his relationship to Jesus, and showing us his importance by describing his relevance to the fulfilment of scripture, in directly referencing him to the writings of the Prophet Isaiah.
And then at verse nine it is as if Mark himself begins to talk, “In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptised by John in the Jordan”.
At least sometimes I think this is the way that Mark’s Gospel begins. Other times I think the ‘introduction’ goes on to include verse 13. So then it is with verse 14 that Mark’s voice is first heard, “Now after john was arrested, Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the Gospel of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent, and believe in the Gospel.”” I usually prefer verse nine as Mark’s start proper because I prefer to regard verses thirteen and fourteen as a kind of link from the previous ‘John’ section to the following ‘Simon and Andrew’ section that develops and then completes the chapter.
Why do I think in this way? It is because I am very confident that Mark’s Gospel was declaimed to an audience. I say declaimed rather than ‘spoken’ quite deliberately. The long oral tradition which goes back probably into the Bronze Age at least, has at the core of the tradition the telling of stories by one to many. Story telling is not mumbled softly to one-self, nor is it told only to two or three. It is declaimed to an assembly prepared and in the mood to settle down for a long telling in which their own experiences and emotions will be brought by the teller into the very web of the story itself.
Mark’s Gospel is like this. It is patterned elaborately and consists at the lowest level of groups of four to six lines where the first line introduces to the audience a new idea, the following lines develop and expand that idea and then finally the last line provides sufficient closure so that the teller can now move on to the next set of lines to be told. He thus builds up his argument unit by unit, patiently, thoroughly, convincingly and in a deeply involved and intimate way.
An example: Chapter 1 verses (16 – 20).
[16] And passing along by the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew the brother of Simon casting a net in the sea; for they were fishermen.
[17] And Jesus said to them, "Follow me and I will make you become fishers of men."
[18] And immediately they left their nets and followed him.
[19] And going on a little farther, he saw James the son of Zebedee and John his brother, who were in their boat mending the nets.
[20] And immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired servants, and followed him.
From here Mark can go straight to the Synagogue in Capernaum with two linking verses -Chapter 1, 21 -22, (and this linking couplet is perhaps very similar in its developmental function within the story to the couplet at verses 13-14 which I mentioned above). Then Mark proceeds to develop two more six line mini stories each describing a miracle, one inside the Synagogue and one outside the synagogue - Chapter 1 23 – 28 and then 29 – 35. Similar sets of six lines stories about ‘praying in a lonely place’ and the ‘leper who spread the news’, go on to bring the first chapter to a satisfactory close. Jesus has moved from being with the “wild beasts and the angels” to “and people came to him from every quarter”. We have met the disciples and the Baptist, heard of Jesus’ anointing, been with him in the wilderness, in the synagogue and in the hurly burly of the streets of Capernaum, where most of the drama of part one will reside. We are only just at the end of Chapter one. It is clear already that these sixteen short chapters will open up an entire world to us.
Mark has perhaps many story sets in his repertoire and he can draw on them at ease in order to build up the greater story at each telling with a freshness that makes the story vibrant and immediate. Each time he spoke the story sets that he drew upon might be different but they would always be from the canon of accepted Jesus stories. Mark is not trying to sell us an argument of his devising; he is always at the content level telling his audience a well-known series of story sets within an equally well known meta story. Mark’s major contribution in the telling is what the story means to those listening on each occasion.
Jesus as he is told in Mark’s Gospel is evidently no great prince, warrior, or thinker. Though other Evangelists writing soon after Mark would provide Jesus with a suitable lineage and credentials we should note that for Mark at chapter one verse eleven all the credentials Jesus needs is “Thou art MY beloved son; with thee I am well pleased.”
Jesus bursts apparently from nowhere (Nazareth) into Marks telling and Mark knows that it is a big ‘ask’ for shopkeepers, bookkeepers, slaves and servants scattered all over the diaspora to accept that this nobody really is the Christ, and so his whole Gospel is focussed sharply and effectively on providing just that assurance to his audience.
Let me make one thing quite clear, Mark is not making up this story, not even one element of it. His skill is in the telling, not the content. The content comes from things known and shared in and with his audience. That is why he needs not to explain in much detail just who Jesus as a man actually was, his audience confidently knows. The tellers esteem comes from his precise remembering and telling. The sequencing of events is not as important as their accuracy; and the teller is allowed appropriate artistic freedom within the bounds of truth.
I like to think that Mark is telling this story in Rome in the year of the three emperors (69AD). My guess is that the year before Peter had possibly died. Mark used to think that Peter was the only reason he stayed in Rome. He yearned constantly to be back in Alexandria. Somehow Mark felt that there was more time in Alexandria. Here in Rome there was no time at all and every day was a tyranny. You never knew what to expect and things happened so suddenly and often so violently. At least in Alexandria it took usually two or three weeks before any disturbing events in Rome reached the Egyptian ports. By then the reaction of the crowd would be tempered both by the bad news being delayed and also because Alexandria was removed from the heart of uncertainty, the streets of Rome. In Alexandria unless the crisis was a local one reaction was often muted. Sometimes street protests even had to be staged so as not to give the impression that Alexandrians were not as upset as Romans about civic crises.
The current intense and protracted civil disturbances were the result of one emperor after another being killed just moments after his accession. This crisis coming so soon after the tyranny under Nero four years ago spooked the Christian community badly. Everyone in Rome today was nervous and edgy.
When Peter died Mark would have liked to leave Rome, but he couldn’t because his promise to Peter kept him there. Mark loved Peter. Even when later Mark did return to Alexandria he would never forget that Breakfast at Gino’s, because it was the last time he saw Peter before he died.
Mark had entered the coffee shop by the back door. He always did this. The images of the suffering in the terror were still so burned into him that he would, even now four years later, feel faint, nauseous and sick for the day if the memories came too vividly. This was sure to happen if he tried to get into Gino’s coffee shop through the bustling, raucous front entrance which looked out and across to the Coliseum.
But even though he used the backdoor and even though the place was jammed full of workers grabbing early food at the start of the day, he knew where Peter would be, sat in his usual seat, looking fixedly and even morbidly out towards the shop front and then across the one-way street, through the carts and their hot-headed swearing drivers. It was the one place in here where Peter could sit and always have an uninterrupted view, from which every morning he could take in not only the coliseum itself, he could also see both of the lightings posts on this and the far side of the roadway.
Mark winced as he thought about this, and sat opposite Peter facing towards him and away from the street. Unlike Peter he did not want to remember when one of the older women who had tagged on to the Christian community for the sake of her teenage son who had joined them the year before, had suffered so at that first lighting post. Everyone remembered the woman because she had been so tender and kind, quiet and comforting towards her son and his new friends, including Peter himself. No-one could bear to remember how that ghastly night she had dripped from that first post onto the pavement where the shop dogs eagerly lapped up her warm life. And across, on the next post her only son after a couple of hours of being tied there, forced to watch his mother burn, had then been cut down and dragged off, because he was too valuable to waste. The galleys awaited him.
Unlike the rest of us Peter never wanted to forget that night. Mark sometimes thought that he forced himself to relive that night of unspeakable terror every day because somehow it eased that great remorse he had carried away with him from Jerusalem over 30 years ago.
Mark knew what Peter wanted, why he had called him here. Since the terror the communities had developed a renewed interest in his story about Jesus’ crucifixion. No wonder given that not one family in Rome was without a loss to this monstrousness. It was not that they had not noticed Jesus crucifixion before; it was just that now they were living it themselves nail by nail, gasp by gasp. When Mark told the crucifixion story these days he was leading the community in a personal and profoundly sad shared mystery. Every word he spoke mouthed their pain and their suffering. Every word of the Lord he told them lifted their hopes and helped them just for a moment to accept what they could not reject no matter how hard they tried. By his telling it was as if their flesh and the Lord’s flesh had become one in Mark’s words. Mark’s telling of the crucifixion had somehow become sanctified by the love in the Rome community that upheld Mark.
They had started to call this’ flesh becoming word’ that they were experiencing with Mark ‘Gospel’ some time ago. Mark was not always comfortable with that because he felt that he was alone carrying this burden which increased with each telling. After all, he had not been there in Jerusalem when Christ was crucified, he had not seen or experienced any of that which he told first-hand. He
had relied instead on the second hand stories that the community told each other and had come to accept about Jesus, about his life and his terrible death.
But Mark had Peter close by him. Peter knew more than anyone else about Jesus life, but he hardly ever spoke. He had often said that there was only one person he wanted to speak to and he seemed to Peter to be everywhere, all the time. Peter saw him on every street corner, in every brothel, hanging sometimes from every lighting post. Mark could see that now even as a passing boy nudged Peter and he choked a little on his bread and oil. The boy had shouted a long playful sing-song “sorry” as he ran by. Peter grabbed him and while the boy was surprised Peter had painted two big circles of red dyed oil, one on each of the boy’s cheeks. Peter laughed, everyone laughed and the boy ran off trying desperately to clean up his face before his master saw him. Then when the room turned and looked at Peter, they saw how swiftly the laughter faded from his lips and how soon a heavy darkness fell about his eyelids, and so everyone turned away and each one looked elsewhere to re-lighten their mood.
Peter held Marks arm in his still strong hands. Even though he was now nearly 70 he had not weakened physically over the years.
‘I just want you to tell MY story, when you tell about our Lord’s crucifixion. You can start with it. Start where we first met him, by the boats. Surely you can do that!’
It wasn’t easy to look this man in the eye but Mark had grown accustomed to it. They had become good friends over the years, and Peter had clearly heard something in Mark’s telling that stirred him. Little did he know that in order to practise his craft, at each telling Mark had developed and made more accurate the story? He had done so by observing Peter’s every reaction. Mark didn’t think he quite realised it but he had taught Mark everything he knew about Jesus, and that year that Peter went with him to Jerusalem.
Was Peter, getting old as he now was, thinking himself about death? Had he some sort of premonition? Was that why he kept pressing Mark to tell his story? There wasn’t a clue in his eyes. Could he tell as Mark looked at him, what his real line of questioning was? Mark looked away.
Mark knew it was useless asking him to tell his own story. Although you could be certain that everyone would be transfixed if he did, no matter how haltingly and clumsily he told it. Over the years he had lost the will to speak. Mark mused. That boy that had run off just now; he was no Christian or Jew for sure, but Mark knew that no matter how long he lived and how intense his life might later become, he would never forget the face of the kind but stern old man who had once
rouged his cheeks in a Rome coffee shop. Yes, perhaps even he knew Peter was close to death. That’s probably why finally Mark agreed.
Peter straightway flew into a rage.
‘Don’t forget Mark, I DO NOT want you EVER to tell MY story, do I make that absolutely clear.’
No, he wasn’t contradicting himself already. Mark knew him. He knew what he meant by asking Mark to tell his story but not to tell his story. To assure him Mark both readily and reluctantly agreed.
He had lost interest in looking at Mark. His looks were always intense but of very short duration. Instead Mark could tell he was looking at that old woman again and her son across the road. The son was shrieking uncontrollably now. It was a scream Mark could not bear to listen to ever again, and one that no boy should ever have to make. The boy was being dragged and kicked away. His mother it seemed would after all finally die alone. But she wouldn’t die alone, Peter would see to that. As soon as he realised what was happening Peter had walked confidently out from the coffee shop and across the street, and deliberately so that the boy would plainly see him. The boy would know that he, Peter, would climb up onto the post that the boy had earlier been tied and had just been dragged from. Peter would with his eyes and his prayers stay with the boy’s mother until the end.
‘Don’t ever let them doubt, Mark. Don’t ever let them doubt, he suddenly said to me.’
Peter did not want Mark to tell a hero’s story about him and his almost privileged relationship with Jesus. No, he wanted Mark to tell everyone that all of the disciples, and for that matter everyone with Jesus had doubted and that he, Peter especially, had let Jesus down. He wanted the community to know why he lived in such great pain and sorrow.
He felt this most acutely when he spoke to Mark about Jesus mother. It seemed that she had tried really hard to get her son to be quieter in his ministry, to make less fuss and draw less attention to himself. She knew you see where all of this would inevitably lead and she was afraid for him. Of course Jesus would not listen; he would try to show his mother that he loved everyone as much as he loved her.
Peter said
‘But then later, - I can hardly even think let alone talk about this, - when Jesus was up on that cross it was the mothers in our group, and there were other women, they were there for him. We had all run. Mark, when you have Jesus say “Father why hast thou forsaken me” I often leave the room. I try to do so quietly but I can see him there, saying that at the last, and his eyes would have been searching the crowd looking, looking always for me. And I was not there!’
Why did he now want Mark to tell this? Had he figured that if Mark told the true story now that he might finally get some sort of release, some sort of comfort? Like those poor people who had had fathers, brothers and sons cruelly crucified, were they now getting some meagre comfort from Mark telling about the crucifixion of our Lord in dingy rooms in quiet parts of Rome each evening?
Somehow Mark didn’t think so. Peter didn’t want comfort. This pain that he had carried for nearly thirty years was all that he had. It WAS him. If you took this pain away there would be nothing at all left. It was useless to speculate about his motives because he would never tell Mark.
‘Those days before we went to Jerusalem were so wonderful Mark. Jesus was so busy and alive then. The long summer evenings with us on and around the Lake, when the crowds had all gone and it was just us boys, and we were in and out of the boats, how sweet they were. He would tell us how to fish; he had no idea how to fish!’
We both laughed. Peter knew that having travelled so much by sea that I would find it easy to put his youthful sea shanty joys into words.
‘He seemed to come from no-where. But we had heard of him, we knew that he came from the Baptist’s group and that his family were in Nazareth.’
‘We would dodge from village to village, keeping low – well as much as we could. Those he helped (and there were so many) were so exhilarated they would bust if they tried to keep quiet about his deeds. Mind you, often the things he did were amazing, truly miraculous. He was never worried about discovery and the threat of being shut down. But we were, his family were, and we would keep him moving about. Eventually he could tell when we were getting nervous and he himself would then move us on.’
Peter grabbed Mark’s arm again.
‘Jesus never once boasted or made any kind of fuss. In many ways it was his own fault we never understood who he was, he never looked the part you know, or even tried to act it.’
‘Those summer days all along the Jezreel plain, from Capernaum to Nazareth and back and forth were wonderful. The excited villagers, the balmy evenings and the smell of the rich and bountiful earth everywhere just lulled us into a dream world. You would not believe that we constantly ran out of food surrounded as we were by such abundance, but we did, and more than once too. Even this Jesus managed to turn into stories of such profoundness we would sit and blink at each other trying to make sense of it all.’
‘Once we even went deep into Gentile territory in the Decapolis, and another time we went up the coast road into Phoenicia. We just walked and walked and walked. If you didn’t run to keep alongside him you would miss most of his stories.’
Mark had never heard Peter say so much. Mark settled back, waved over the waiter and got him to silently refill their cups. He said nothing.
Peter said. ‘One time I remember we were on the road to Philippi and he was teasing us, asking ‘who do you think I am’ questions. We all answered something or other, like ‘I spy’ really. Then, I don’t know why I just blurted out ‘You are the Christ’. This really hit home with him somehow, he frowned at me. Suddenly his mood changed and he started to talk about death. It was the first time we had really heard him do that, but he would do it again. Then it was my turn to get angry with him, I didn’t like him talking that way, so I tried to tell him off. He could see how upset I was, so then he lightened the mood by pulling my ear and saying
‘Get thee behind me Satan!’
‘Everyone laughed as I blushed. But I didn’t care and we were soon arguing about dinner. A week later I was sure that I saw him with Moses and Elias, we were praying up a mountain at the time. He looked amazing, truly beautiful. Then in an instant it was over and he was arguing with priests because they were trying to persuade the crowd that was following us.’
It all went horribly wrong so quickly once we got to Jerusalem for Passover. I can’t tell you anything about that Mark. You know everything already. It is true; I did abandon him the night before his last day. I ran from the Temple, never went to Pilate’s show trail with all of his usual morbid theatricals.
Peter was thinking now about the game Pilate played with the crowd for fun, Barabbas or Jesus.
‘So, you never saw him again?’ Mark queried.
Peter got up from the table and walked out through the front door of Gino’s into the harsh morning sunlight. Mark knew the answer of course, Peter never actually saw anyone else but Jesus after that.
‘Don’t let them doubt, Mark, Don’t let them doubt!’
Mark never saw him again.