Mark

“Because certain scribal puns appear only in Galatians,” says Candida Moss, “we have to consider that they come from the secretary rather than Paul.”

Jesus tells the disciples a hard truth: nothing you see here is going to last.

So many stewardship sermons use the woman of Mark 12—lamentably—as an example of the kind of generosity to which we all should aspire.

The scribe’s question to Jesus is not merely an academic exercise.

There is a tearing at the social fabric when Bartimaeus cries to Jesus.

Equity requires people with power giving some of it up. What if we applied this principle to young adult ministry?

When the world is in peril and the rich are to blame, such preaching becomes essential.

Jesus’ blessing of the children and re-centering them in the midst of the community serves as a sort of Pride parable.

We have become a society of people who cannot prevent our own children from being killed in their classrooms—and who do not much mind the killing of other people’s children by weapons of war.

Jesus seems to have an aversion to the kind of us-and-them boundary setting of his disciples.

Poor disciples. They rarely miss an opportunity to make a mess.

Rather than rebuke the disciples, Jesus takes a little child by the hand.

In Mark 7, a Syrophoenician woman is apparently able to win one with him.

Jesus warns that the real danger lies within our minds and hearts.

An exhausted Jesus responds to the crowd with compassion. I think that’s a miracle.

Who knows what took place in Herod’s guilty heart after John’s death?

The disciples want to know who Jesus is. The people from his hometown do not.

The Gospel of Mark tells the story of a precarious moment.

Seeds do not grow without soil, and soil is a factor of place.

Jesus is in alignment with many rabbis when he asks, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath?”