The Good News Begins

Good news doesn’t tidy up your world; it burns it down and starts again.

Mark 1 The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God,

Mark doesn’t fiddle around with angel choirs, mangers, or genealogies. He doesn’t even clear his throat. He just drops a bomb: “The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God.” Boom. Curtain up, overture roaring, no warm-up act required.

But beware: “good news” in the Bible never means “good because it confirms what you were already hoping for.” No, it’s good precisely because it wrecks your hopes and hands you something scandalously better. Messiah? Son of God? Don’t imagine golden crowns and armies of angels. This Messiah will tramp through wilderness, confusion, betrayal, and a cross. Sonship, as Mark will show us, doesn’t climax with Jesus strutting on a throne—its climax begins with him flipping tables and ends with him strung up on tree.

2 as it is written in Isaiah the prophet:

“I will send my messenger ahead of you,
    who will prepare your way”—

Mark then drags Malachi into the mix: “I will send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way.” Fine, that’s John the Baptist—camel hair, locust legs stuck in his beard. But don’t miss the trick. In Jewish fashion, quoting one verse was shorthand for the whole passage. And what’s Malachi 3 about? Fire. Refining. Judgment. “He will be like a refiner’s fire… I will come to put you on trial.”

Sounds like bad news for all those wicked people out there, right? Wrong. Here’s Mark’s scandalous twist: the furnace doesn’t torch the outsiders—it consumes Jesus. The fire of judgment falls on Jesus himself. The Lord who comes with fire does not burn us to the ground; he lets himself be reduced to ash on the cross. Judgment is not avoided—it is absorbed.

3 “a voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
    make straight paths for him.’”

Next Mark calls Isaiah to the witness stand: “A voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.’” Again, John’s out there yelling at Israel to get ready. But don’t forget the rest of Isaiah’s symphony. What kind of Lord are we preparing for? A conquering general to kick out Rome? A king like David to restore national glory? Not a chance.

Read further in Isaiah: “He was despised and rejected… pierced for our transgressions… by his wounds we are healed.” The “straight path” isn’t a royal procession to a palace—it’s a dirt trail to a cross. Isaiah’s Lord doesn’t ride in with cavalry; he limps in as a Suffering Servant. If you want fireworks, look elsewhere. God’s glory is found in a beaten man, bleeding for the world. That’s the punchline Mark sets up in his opening lines.

In short: Mark’s opening is not a prelude but a punch in the nose. The Gospel begins not with safe religious tidbits but with fire, judgement, and a Messiah whose glory looks suspiciously like failure. Which, of course, is exactly the point.

Reflection Question

Where might you be hoping for a Messiah who confirms your expectations—rather than one who dismantles them in order to give you something better?