The Beginning of the Gospel

 

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 1:1-8                                                                

 December 6, 2020

Advent 2B                       

Dear saints of our Savior~

          This is the beginning of the sermon.  Today is the beginning of the second week in Advent.  The text for this sermon is the beginning of the gospel according to Saint Mark—Mark chapter one, verse one (which reads): The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  So, let’s begin, shall we . . .

          That first sentence from Mark’s gospel actually tells us an awful lot about Mark’s gospel.  First of all, that first sentence isn’t even a complete sentence.  The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  Hmmmm.  Last time I checked, sentences require verbs; and it doesn’t take an English major to recognize that that verse is verb-less.

          But that verb-less verse is very typical of St. Mark.  His gospel is the briefest of them all, clocking in at a mere sixteen chapters.  Mark has a proclivity for brevity.  He’s the most efficient evangelist.  Although Mark’s gospel does contain a few precious scraps of Advent; it’s got no Christmas at all—no angels, no shepherds, no manger, no Word becoming flesh.

          One of Saint Mark’s favorite words is “immediately.”  And that tells you a lot.  In Mark’s gospel, Jesus is always moving “immediately” from one scene to the next.  The events of Jesus’ earthly ministry just tumble off the pages of St. Mark, one right after the other.  The opening eight verses we heard today contain no prologue, no preface, no backstory to set the stage.  No, Mark just pops the clutch and we’re “immediately” transported into the Judean wilderness, where there’s a long-haired, fiery-eyed preacher doing baptisms down by the Jordan River.

          This is the beginning—the beginning of the gospel.  The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  And as beginnings go, well, this one isn’t very spectacular.  It doesn’t begin with a miracle or an angel.  The gospel doesn’t begin in a palace—not in a church or a synagogue. It begins in the wilderness—in the middle of nowhere.  It begins nowhere with a “nobody” named John.  Or, as Mark puts it in his barebones writing style:  John appeared.

          And John was a busy man.  There at the genesis of the Gospel, John was

preaching—preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.  The gospel—the good news of our salvation in Jesus Christ—it began with preaching—with baptism and repentance and the forgiveness of sins.  That’s how it all started.  That’s how it all began—with sinners leaving ordinary life behind, venturing off to a quiet place (a sanctuary of sorts) where the good news was being preached—where repentance and forgiveness of sins was happening—where sinners were being washed clean in the waters of baptism.  That’s what the beginning of the gospel looked like.

          That’s also what things look like here and now, today!  What began in the Judean wilderness—in Mark one, chapter one—is pretty much how it begins here among us every Sunday.  What started with a wild-eyed prophet clad in camel’s hair and leather centuries ago—the preaching, the baptizing, the repentance and forgiveness—you’ve got it here and now today.  The One mightier than John—the One whose sandal straps no one is worthy to untie—the One we know as Jesus of Nazareth—He comes here to serve you.  The Lord Jesus comes among us bringing a new beginning for every repentant heart.  He’s following a path that runs straight through your heart.  Here the gospel begins again and again and again.

          Now, if by chance, your heart isn’t feeling the fresh newness of the gospel, let me suggest that the problem isn’t with the gospel.  The problem mostly likely lies with you and with your heart.  Repentance was the theme of John’s preaching; and repentance is where we so often run-aground.  The Lutheran Confessions define repentance rather simply:  The phrase “to repent” means . . . to recognize one’s sins, to feel heartily sorry for them, and to desist from them (Tappert 559:8).  To recognize the sin, to feel sorry for the sin, to cease and desist from the sin.  That’s the repentance John preached.  Jesus preached it too, for that matter.  How’s that working out for you?  Is real repentance a part of your Sunday—or any other day?  Or do you glide right through the confession of sins with absolutely no sense of just how far you have fallen short?  Or are you simply too comfortable and too selfish to stop living for yourself, and to begin again in humble repentance and faith?

          There’s not a one of us here today who doesn’t need to re-think our repentance.  The prophet Isaiah puts everything in perspective this morning when he compares our lives to grass:  All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers and the flower fades when the breath of the Lord blows on it.  Our absence of snow this December gives us a glimpse of God’s Law, with all the withering grass and fading flowers.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve been dreaming of a brown Advent.  Because all that brown, dingy, dead landscape out there shows us just what our sin has earned for us—and just how much we have to repent of.  The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.  Whenever and however our lives deviate from that Word of God—that’s where repentance must begin.

          Both John and Jesus preached repentance.  In Mark’s gospel one of the very first words out of Jesus’ mouth—in His very first sentence—He says, “Repent—repent and believe the gospel.”  Repentance alone isn’t worth a bucket of warm spit.  But to repent and believe the gospel—to repent and believe that Jesus Christ has come into the world to save sinners—that makes all the difference.

          But we can’t really understand any of Jesus’ words without also hearing His final words.  It’s those famous last words of Jesus that bring us lasting comfort and confidence when our repentance runs aground and despair closes in.  Hear our Lord cry from the cross that final famous phrase:  It is finished.  What was finished?  His work of fulfilling God’s Law and His innocent suffering and death as your sacred stand-in.  What Jesus endured, He endured for you and for your forgiveness.  And with His final words, He makes it clear that nothing more is needed.  The job is done.  Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled!   It is finished.

          What isn’t finished is Jesus’ work in your life.  What isn’t finished is His love for you and His deep desire that all people including you be saved.  Because Jesus died and rose again in your place, it means that sin and Satan do not get the last word (unless you allow them to).  It means that through the power of preaching—through the power of baptism, repentance and forgiveness, you can have a fresh start, a clean slate, a new beginning.  That may sound trite, but it’s true.  That’s the truth that can set you free.  That’s the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  And you can find that gospel gift-wrapped and waiting for you right here beneath the tree of the cross every Lord’s Day.

          In Mark chapter one, verse one, we have the beginning of that gospel of Jesus Christ.  But nowhere in Mark’s gospel will you find the words, “The end of the gospel.”  In fact, it doesn’t end; it’s open ended.  Go the last page of Mark and what do you read?  The women find the stone rolled away from the tomb, they hear the angel’s message that Jesus is risen, and they flee from the tomb, trembling and astonished and fearful (16:8).  The end?  Hardly!  The gospel never ends.  The power of Jesus to redeem a fallen world never ends. 

          Because of Jesus, your own life is a never-ending story.  You know why.  Because Jesus walked out of the tomb very early on that first day of the week it means that we shall all step out of our graves someday—resurrected, changed, glorified for all eternity.  And on that day you will discover that your entire earthly life—the beginning, the middle, the end—your life which you thought was enough to fill a whole book from cover to cover—well, to paraphrase C. S. Lewis, you will discover that your whole life on earth was really only just the cover and the title page of a wonderful story that will never end—thanks to Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  This—this is the end of the sermon. 

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.