I. The Time of the Beginning (Mark 1:1; Luke 3:1-2)

Mark doesn’t ease us into his Gospel. He opens with the forceful declaration: “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” (Mark 1:1, ESV).  

There’s no mention of mangers or Magi, no angelic announcements to Mary or Joseph. Mark skips the nativity entirely and begins straight in the wilderness with the preaching of John. Why? Because for Mark, this is where the gospel breaks into the world. This is where salvation history begins to unfold.

The word translated “beginning” (, archē,  in Greek) means more than the first point in time. It speaks of a foundational moment, something that undergirds everything that follows. Just as Genesis 1:1 opens with “In the beginning, God created…” and John 1:1 declares “In the beginning was the Word…”, Mark signals that something monumental is happening. But unlike Genesis and John, which point to eternity and creation, Mark roots his beginning in the fabric of history. Real time. Real people. Real events. This is not abstract theology. This is the arrival of “the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” in a weary and waiting world.

When Mark says “gospel,” he is drawing from both Jewish and Roman traditions. In the Hebrew Scriptures, good news is associated with the arrival of God’s salvation. Isaiah 52:7 declares,  “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news… who publishes salvation.”

For Israel, good news meant God’s reign had broken through. In the Roman world, the Greek word , euangelion,  referred to imperial announcements, such as the birth of a new emperor or the victory of a military campaign. Mark intentionally uses this word to proclaim the arrival of the true King, the one who brings a better kingdom.

Mark also loads his opening line with titles that point to the identity and mission of Jesus.  

He refers to him as “Jesus,” the man from Nazareth, a name rooted in his humanity.  

He calls him “the Christ,” meaning the Messiah, the anointed one promised by the prophets.  

He identifies him as “the Son of God,” a divine title that is affirmed at his baptism (Mark 1:11), at his transfiguration (Mark 9:7), and again at the cross, where a Roman centurion says, “Truly this man was the Son of God” (Mark 15:39). This opening statement is more than an introduction. It is the central claim that the rest of Mark’s Gospel will affirm and unfold. 

However, while Mark opens with a theological declaration, Luke begins with the care of a historian. In Luke 3:1–2, he lists names of emperors, governors, and high priests: Tiberius, Pilate, Herod, Philip, Lysanias, Annas, and Caiaphas.

Why all the historical detail? Because Luke wants his readers to understand that these events took place in real time and real space. They did not happen in a world of myth or legend. They happened under the rule of real political and religious leaders. Luke is grounding the gospel in history, showing that the Word became flesh at a specific moment and in a specific context.

Into that world, filled with political tension and religious corruption, the word of God came to John in the wilderness. Just as it had come to Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, God’s voice was once again heard through a prophet. After nearly four hundred years of silence, God speaks again.

Together, Mark and Luke declare a powerful truth, that God has entered the mess of human history. Mark shows us that this is the fulfillment of God’s mission, the moment the prophets were pointing toward. Luke shows us that this happened in the real world, not in the pages of fantasy or fable. Still, both are declaring the same good news: Jesus came. He lived. He died. He rose.

II. The Message and the Messenger (Mark 1:2–6; Matthew 3:1–6; Luke 3:3–6)

As we’ve seen over the past few weeks, both Luke and John have already laid the groundwork for John the Baptist’s ministry. Mark, however, introduces him more abruptly. There is no backstory, no extended context. John appears simply as a man sent from God, a herald appointed to prepare the way for the Messiah.

Mark opens his Gospel with a striking composite of prophetic texts: “Behold, I send my messenger before your face, who will prepare your way, the voice of one crying in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight'” (Mark 1:2–3).  

In these verses, Mark interweaves Exodus 23:20, Malachi 3:1, and Isaiah 40:3. He draws together voices separated by centuries to confirm a single truth: John the Baptist is the one foretold. He is the long-expected forerunner.

In Exodus, God promises to send a messenger ahead of Israel to guard them on their journey. Malachi identifies that messenger as Elijah, who will come to turn hearts before the Day of the Lord. Isaiah envisions a voice in the wilderness, calling for preparation, not as poetic metaphor, but as a real inbreaking of God into human history. John steps into this prophetic role, embodying all three dimensions. He becomes a living megaphone for the redemptive purposes of God.

Mark refers to him as “my messenger” (, τὸν ἄγγελόν μου, ), emphasizing more than a prophetic figure. He is the herald of the eschatological Lord. As Isaiah prophesied, he is “the voice of one crying in the wilderness.” He is not the Light. He is not the message. He is the voice. And he speaks from the wilderness.

The wilderness in Scripture is not incidental. It is the place where God tests, refines, and renews His people. It is where Israel wandered, where they were shaped into a covenant community. Hosea speaks of God alluring His people back into the wilderness to speak tenderly to them (Hosea 2:14). The Qumran community even believed that the final purification of Israel would begin in the wilderness.

This is where John appears. He wears camel’s hair, is girded with leather, and survives on locusts and wild honey (Mark 1:6). His appearance is not a fashion statement but a prophetic image. He resembles Elijah, the prophet who was expected to return before the great and terrible Day of the Lord (Malachi 4:5). John’s life stands as a challenge to comfort and excess. His very presence, his lifestyle, and his message declare one truth: God is near, and His people must prepare.

John’s message is not subtle. It is blunt and urgent: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand”  (Matthew 3:2).   This is not a vague appeal to spiritual improvement. The Greek word “metanoia”  refers to a radical change of mind. The Hebrew term “shuv”  speaks of returning or turning back to God with the whole heart. John’s call to repentance is not moralism; it is a summons to reorientation. It is an invitation to prepare for divine visitation.

Mark describes it as a “baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Mark 1:4). Luke highlights the urgency of coming judgment (Luke 3:7). Matthew emphasizes the nearness of the Kingdom. John’s preaching is bold, fiery, and eschatological. He is not concerned with self-help or social reform. He is calling people to flee the wrath to come and enter the reign of God.

Unlike the ritual purifications of Qumran, John’s baptism is personal, direct, and public. He does not wait for the worthy to come. He calls sinners to repentance. His baptism is not a proselyte ritual, nor is it merely ceremonial. It is unique. It is administered once, by John himself, and it is tied to the heart’s readiness for God’s forgiveness.

Mark writes, “John appeared, baptizing in the wilderness and proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Mark 1:4). Yet John himself makes it clear that his baptism does not grant forgiveness. It signifies a readiness to receive it. John can preach repentance, but only Christ can grant redemption. John’s water prepares the way. Jesus’ Spirit brings transformation.

The impact of John’s ministry is undeniable. Mark tells us that “all the country of Judea and all Jerusalem were going out to him” (Mark 1:5). Matthew confirms the same. Luke expands the picture to include “all the region of the Jordan” (Luke 3:3). What we see here is nothing less than a spiritual awakening. People came, and they came confessing. The Greek verb used implies full agreement with God about one’s guilt. This was not private remorse. It was public repentance. Word and deed matched. That kind of confession has always marked genuine revival, whether in Israel’s history or in the history of the Christian church.

Matthew’s message is piercing: “The kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matthew 3:2).  

The rule and reign of God are drawing near. And when a kingdom comes close, neutrality is no longer an option. One must choose to repent or to resist. John speaks with the voice of Elijah, preparing the way before the Day of the Lord. It is also striking that both John and Jesus begin their public ministries with the same words:  “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matthew 3:2; 4:17).  

The message is unified, even if their roles are distinct. John prepares. Jesus fulfills. John baptizes with water. Jesus will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire. John’s ministry is not the destination. It is the bridge.

There is much the Church today can learn from the ministry of John the Baptist. If we truly desire revival, then we must recover our wilderness voice. We must proclaim repentance without hesitation. We must call people out of empty religion and into real relationship, out of ritual and into new life. Repentance remains the doorway to the Kingdom of God.

The Kingdom has not retreated. It continues to draw near. It is not merely a future hope. While it will be fully realized at the return of Christ, it is also a present reality into which we are invited to live today. Just as John prepared the way for Christ’s first coming, the Church is now called to prepare people for His return.

The message we preach is the same one proclaimed by John and Jesus: “Repent.”  

This is something that is sorely lacking in a great deal of Christian preaching and teaching today. The gospel begins not with celebration but with confrontation. It begins with repentance. But it does not end there. Like John and Jesus, we declare the hope that one day: “Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall become straight, and the rough places shall become level ways, and all flesh shall see the salvation of God”  (Luke 3:5–6).

III. JOHN’S PREACHING (Matthew 3:7–10; Luke 3:7–18; Mark 1:7–8)

Mark 1:7 tells us, “He proclaimed,” using the Greek verb “ekēryssen”, which means he heralded as one sent by God. John was not simply an eccentric figure crying out from the wilderness. He was the prophesied voice spoken of in Isaiah 40:3: “A voice cries: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” His preaching was not a personal mission of religious zeal. It was the divine hinge between the old and the new, between the law and the gospel, between the prophet and the Messiah.

John preached in the wilderness, a stage rich with redemptive meaning. The wilderness recalls Israel’s exodus, exile, and periods of waiting. It is a place where God reveals Himself, shapes identity, and calls His people to renewal. In John’s day, the wilderness once again became the site of divine encounter. His voice rang out not only across barren land, but into barren hearts. His message carried the tone of judgment and the promise of hope, the weight of wrath and the possibility of renewal.

To those who came insincerely, John’s rebuke was fierce and unambiguous. “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” (Matthew 3:7). These words were not spoken with politeness or subtlety. They cut through every layer of pretense. In Matthew’s account, John confronts the Pharisees and Sadducees. In Luke’s Gospel, the rebuke extends to the general crowd. No one was exempt. Religious status, liturgical practice, or family heritage offered no protection.

His words anticipated what Jesus would later confirm: “If you believed Moses, you would believe me, for he wrote of me” (John 5:46). But instead of receiving the fulfillment of the law and the prophets, many used their religious systems to shield themselves from true repentance. As Chrysostom once observed, they honored the prophets in theory but rejected the one who came in fulfillment of their words.

John declared, “Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees. Every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire” (Matthew 3:10). This was not a distant warning. The axe was already in place. Judgment was not a future possibility but a present reality. The only determining factor was fruit. Repentance without fruit is empty. Trees without fruit are destined for fire.

Cyril of Alexandria noted that the unfruitful branches of unbelieving Israel would be cut off, while believing Gentiles would be grafted in. There is no middle ground before God. His holiness demands more than heritage or outward appearance. It calls for transformation.

John also said, “Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father,’ for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children for Abraham” (Matthew 3:9). Their confidence in ancestry was misplaced. God is not limited by bloodlines. He can raise spiritual children from the most unexpected places. Jerome observed that this passage reflects God’s power to turn stone hearts into living hearts, as seen in Ezekiel 36:26. Paul later affirmed this same truth when he wrote, “It is not the children of the flesh who are the children of God, but the children of the promise” (Romans 9:8).

The people, deeply convicted, asked John, “What then shall we do?” John did not speak in riddles. He gave simple, direct answers. First, he called for radical generosity: “Whoever has two tunics is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise” (Luke 3:11). Second, he demanded honesty and integrity. To tax collectors, he said, “Collect no more than you are authorized to do” (Luke 3:13). To soldiers, he said, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or by false accusation, and be content with your wages” (Luke 3:14).

Certainly there were other sins that needed repentance, but these examples reflect the most common issues of the time: greed, injustice, and indifference to others. The French theologian John Calvin once noted that charity is the most visible sign of an inward transformation. John the Baptist would have agreed.

John’s message was not entirely new. The prophets before him had issued the same call. Hosea declared, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings” (Hosea 6:6). Micah, the last prophet before John, summed it up clearly: “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8). Throughout Scripture, sins such as greed, injustice, and a lack of mercy are not the only transgressions, but they are among the most repeatedly and forcefully condemned.

Because of his powerful presence and bold message, many wondered if John might be the Messiah. But John quickly corrected them. “He who is mightier than I is coming, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie” (Mark 1:7). In ancient culture, untying sandals was the lowest servant’s task. John was saying, in effect, that he was not even worthy to be Christ’s lowest servant. He was the friend of the bridegroom, not the bridegroom himself. His role was to prepare the way, then step aside. As he later said, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). This humility marked John’s greatness.

John also made a clear distinction between his baptism and the baptism Jesus would bring. “I baptize you with water for repentance, but he who is coming after me will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Matthew 3:11). John’s baptism was outward, symbolic, and physical. It reflected a heart turning toward God. But Jesus would bring an inward baptism, one that changes the heart itself. He would baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire.

Fire, in Scripture, has a dual purpose. It refines or it consumes. For those who repent, it purifies like a refiner’s fire, as Malachi describes (Malachi 3:2–3). For those who resist, it becomes a fire of judgment. Matthew writes, “His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire” (Matthew 3:12). Luke includes the same words (Luke 3:17). This is the final separation that will occur on the day of judgment. No one can hide in the crowd. Tradition and heritage will not cover a life without fruit. The fire is real, eternal, and inescapable for the unrepentant.

Even with such serious warnings, Luke writes, “So with many other exhortations he preached good news to the people.” Some might not associate John’s message with good news, but it truly was. The gospel includes both the warning of wrath and the hope of salvation. The call to flee judgment is itself an act of mercy. John’s mission was not just to prepare people to hear Jesus. It was to awaken a hunger for Him.

IV. Jesus Baptized in the Jordan (Mark 1:9–11; Matthew 3:13–17; Luke 3:21–23; John 1:29-34)

Finally, we see John’s ministry reach its climax and Jesus’ earthly ministry begin when He appears, now around thirty years old, to receive baptism from John. What is striking is that Jesus does not make a spectacle of this moment. Luke notes that He came “when all the people were baptized” (Luke 3:21), which suggests that He had quietly joined the crowd that had come to John seeking baptism. Mark also records Jesus’ coming in simple terms: “In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan” (Mark 1:9). Even John’s Gospel implies that no one would have thought of Jesus as anything more than another follower of John until the Baptist himself pointed Him out.

The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29).

That declaration matters. The Holy One steps into the line of the guilty. The Judge of all the earth stands among sinners. Yet He does not come to confess sin, but to carry the sins of those who stand around Him.

When Jesus asks for baptism, John’s response is fitting: “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” (Matthew 3:14). John baptized for repentance, but Jesus had no sin to repent of. Still, Jesus insists. “Let it be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness” (Matthew 3:15). As many have rightly observed, Jesus was not baptized for His own sake, but for ours. In this act He consecrated baptism with His body. He fulfilled righteousness by identifying with His people. He revealed Himself as the true Israel, the obedient Son, and the second Adam. Just as He had been presented in the temple and circumcised in obedience to the law, He now obeys again through baptism.

Mark’s Gospel places emphasis on the passive voice: “He was baptized by John” (Mark 1:9). The Son of God submitted Himself to the hands of His prophet. John later explained the significance of this moment when he said, “I myself did not know him, but for this purpose I came baptizing with water, that he might be revealed to Israel” (John 1:31). The act of baptism, then, becomes the moment of unveiling. Jesus does not draw attention to Himself; He is revealed by the Father.

This is one reason why baptism is the first act of obedience in the Christian life. Just as Jesus was publicly identified through baptism, so we are publicly marked as belonging to Him through baptism. Just as His earthly ministry began at the waters of the Jordan, so our life of discipleship begins through the waters of baptism into His name.

When Jesus emerges from the water, heaven responds. All four Gospels bear witness to this moment. Mark writes, “Immediately he saw the heavens being torn open” (Mark 1:10). The word used indicates that the heavens were not gently parted, but violently ripped apart. This same word will later describe the tearing of the temple veil at Jesus’ crucifixion. The separation between heaven and earth is broken.

Then the Spirit descends. Each Gospel describes this moment, but John gives us an important detail: “I saw the Spirit descend from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him” (John 1:32). The Spirit did not merely rest for a moment. It remained. This is important because it fulfills Isaiah’s promise: “The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him” (Isaiah 11:2). Jesus did not receive the Spirit because He lacked it, but because we do. From this moment forward, He is revealed as the One who will pour out the Spirit on His people. As John says, “He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain, this is he who baptizes with the Holy Spirit” (John 1:33).

Why a dove? Early Christian thinkers offered several interpretations. Origen said the dove symbolized gentleness and purity. John Chrysostom pointed to the dove in the story of Noah, which brought back the olive branch of peace. In this case, the dove carries no branch. It points directly to the One who is peace. Others have noted that the Spirit who hovered over the waters in the beginning now descends again over the waters of the Jordan, signaling a new creation.

Then comes the voice of the Father. Matthew records, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). Mark and Luke record the voice addressing Jesus directly: “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:11; Luke 3:22). Both forms are significant. One speaks to the crowd and declares Jesus’ identity publicly. The other speaks personally to the Son. Together, they thunder with divine authority and confirm Jesus’ mission.

This moment echoes the language of both Psalm 2 and Isaiah 42. “You are my Son” identifies Him as the promised King. “My beloved” points to Isaac, the dearly loved son. “In whom I am well pleased” connects Him to the Suffering Servant, the one who would bear the sins of many and bring justice to the nations. John, having seen and heard all of this, concludes his testimony with these words: “I have seen and have borne witness that this is the Son of God” (John 1:34).

This scene is also the first clear revelation of the Trinity in the Gospels. The Son stands in the water, the Spirit descends from heaven, and the Father speaks. Origen described it simply: the Father gives testimony, the Son receives it, and the Spirit confirms it. Augustine said that here the Trinity is revealed so clearly that no room for doubt remains.

Yet this is not only a doctrinal moment. It is the beginning of Christ’s mission. Immediately after His baptism, Matthew tells us that Jesus was led into the wilderness (Matthew 4:1). Just as Israel passed through the waters and entered the wilderness, so Jesus does. But unlike Israel, He will not rebel. Unlike Adam, He will not fall. He will face temptation and overcome. In His baptism, Jesus identifies with sinners, binds Himself to the covenant of redemption, and begins the path that will lead to the cross. He is not baptized to be saved, but to save.

It is a remarkable truth that the same Trinity who was present at Christ’s baptism is present at ours. We are baptized into the name of the Son, buried and raised with Him, and sealed with the same Spirit. What was revealed at the Jordan in visible form becomes ours through faith and the mystery of grace.

Conclusion:

From the thunderclap of Mark’s opening line to the torn heavens at Jesus’ baptism, we are confronted with a Gospel that is anything but tame. It is cosmic in scope, yet grounded in history. It is the fulfillment of ancient prophecy and the unfolding of divine purpose. It is, above all, the arrival of the Kingdom of God through the person and work of Jesus Christ.

Mark and Luke remind us: this is not myth, and it is not metaphor. The Gospel begins not in sentimentality, but in sacred reality. God stepped into time. The long-awaited voice cried out in the wilderness. The Lamb of God stepped into the waters of repentance, not for his own cleansing, but for our salvation. The heavens were torn open. The Spirit descended. The Father spoke. And the Son was revealed.

John the Baptist’s voice may have faded from the Judean wilderness, but the message still echoes: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” This is not a relic of the past; it is the charge of the present. For just as John prepared the way for Jesus’ first coming, we now prepare the way for His return. And we do so by recovering that wilderness voice, bold, humble, clear, and uncompromising.

The Gospel begins with confrontation, but it ends in restoration. The call to repent is not a message of condemnation but an invitation to transformation. And the One who stands at the heart of it all; Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God has come not only to cleanse but to claim, not only to warn but to welcome.