The Kingdom Breaks In
The kingdom comes not with pomp but with a prisoner silenced, a King who shows up in weakness, and a band of fishermen foolish enough to follow him.
1:14 After John was put in prison, Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God.
Mark doesn’t linger over John’s fate. “After John was put in prison…” and that’s it. No dramatic courtroom scene, no dirge of lament. Why? Because Mark’s story isn’t about John—it’s about one Messiah, one upside-down King. Still, the throwaway line speaks volumes. John was the sort of man who made religious folks squirm and political elites nervous. Prophets like him end up behind bars or worse. That’s what happens when you call out the powerful and refuse to play nice. And into that silence, Jesus steps forward, back to Galilee, announcing his own brand of good news.
But let’s be careful: “good news” in Mark doesn’t mean cheerful headlines or happy vibes. John preached good news, and it landed him in prison. Jesus will preach good news, and it will land him on a cross. This Gospel is not safe. It never was.
15 “The time has come,” he said. “The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!”
Then Jesus delivers his first sermon in Mark—short, sharp, and shocking: “The time has come… The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!” In other words: in the midst of wilderness, sin, brokenness, and darkness, God has shown up. The kingdom is near not because evil has vanished but because the King has arrived.
Does this mean all is instantly well? Hardly. Sin still lingers, evil still prowls. What we get is the mystery scholars call the “already but not yet.” The kingdom is planted like a flag of victory, but the battlefield still smolders. Think of those old black-and-white Superman shows: the train’s still speeding toward disaster, the damsel’s still tied to the tracks—but once Superman shows up, you know how it ends. That’s what Jesus means when he says the kingdom is near. The flames may still rage, but the rescue is sure, because the King is here.
16 As Jesus walked beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. 17 “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” 18 At once they left their nets and followed him.
19 When he had gone a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John in a boat, preparing their nets. 20 Without delay he called them, and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men and followed him.
What follows, in the most casually absurd move of all, Jesus calls his first disciples. He doesn’t recruit rabbis or scholars or synagogue leaders. He picks fishermen—blue-collar rascals with calloused hands and probably a few questionable habits. Simon and Andrew drop their nets to “fish for people,” which sounds more like a joke than a mission statement. Then James and John abandon their father in the boat—a clue these boys were young, maybe teenagers—and follow this rabbi who owns nothing and promises everything.
It’s reckless. It’s silly. And yet this silliness is the seed of a movement that will turn the world upside down. A homeless man and a handful of fishermen will launch a kingdom that outlasts empires. And if that feels foolish, well, that’s exactly the point. In Mark’s Gospel, foolishness is the shape of God’s wisdom, and riffraff are exactly Jesus’ cup of tea.
Reflection Question
What would it mean for you to trust that God’s kingdom is already at work—even when nothing looks fixed yet and the people God chooses (including you) seem wildly unqualified?
