I was delighted to discover tonight that a new DVD edition of Max McLean’s one-man show, “Mark’s Gospel,” is now available. I interviewed Max about the production last year, when it was running as a live show in the Chicago Theater District. It is a word-for-word dramatic recitation of the entire Gospel of Mark.

I was even happier to discover that the whole performance is available for free online. Each video below represents a chapter of Mark’s Gospel. All said, it runs about an hour and a half in length. I think you’ll find hearing this interpretation—and hearing the whole book at once, rather than just piecemeal—to be an enriching, edifying experience.

via Mark’s Gospel, Performed by Max McLean: Free Online – Justin Taylor.

I’ve put together a playlist of the entire set of 16 videos on YouTube. Click here and then click “Play All” to watch the entire Gospel of Mark in one sitting (much more rewarding than watching one chapter at a time).

2
Then if we whine, look pale,
And tell our tale,
Men are in pain
For us again;
So, neither speaking doth become
The lover’s state, nor being dumb.

3
When this I do descry,
Then thus think I:
Love is the fart
Of every heart;
It pains a man when ’tis kept close,
And others doth offend when ’tis let loose.

—Sir John Suckling, 1609–1642

~ ~ ~

The Broken Rose

Who would love the blossomed rose—
Luster her alluring pow’r,
Fragrance of arousal crowned?
Lovers all ablaze surround—
Bloom and root and stem devour.

Who would want the broken rose?
Seared in sin, in ashes grown;
Tortured pale, her petals torn;
Leaves are lost and left the thorn
Naked on the stem, alone.

Jesus wants the broken rose
While her twisted shape is thrown,
Shriveled, to the wilting scorn:
“Leave, oh, leave her not forlorn,”
Wept and whispered for his own.

Jesus loves the broken rose,
Waters with a bleeding show’r;
Root has gripped the sanguine ground;
Drops of blood, their riches found,
Rise through stem and red the flow’r.

~ ~ ~

Photo by David Garzon

Enjoy Meditation #13 from The Book of Happiness:  An Ode to Puppy Dogs.

It’s a little slice of Revelation 7:9.  And it was even more awesome in person.

I’m tired of American civil religion
Where God is a word in the inauguration
A phrase in the pledge, and a charm on our coins

Our lips honor him, but our hearts are far from him
We curry his favor, and vainly we join
Our freedom, our God and our spite
We’ll do what we want because it’s our right

And that’s the American Dream
Where things just aren’t what they seem
Life enslaved by a pursuit of happiness
Liberty dies in a pursuit of happiness
This is the tyranny of hell
My country, ’tis of thee

I’m tired of the way this is blurring my vision
Convenience being the theme of our nation
We’re sunshine patriots for the kingdom of God

From temples in Texas comes the lucrative witness
The syncretist lessons that bind in a fraud
Our Deity, money, and health
Where God is a tool to bring us more wealth

And that’s the American Dream
Where things just aren’t what they seem
Life enslaved by a pursuit of happiness
Liberty dies in a pursuit of happiness
This is the tyranny of hell
My country, ’tis of thee

Chief among our exports
Chief among our sins
Chief among idolatries
Are idols made from him

How narrow the gates that lead to our manifest destiny
For no one within this land was conceived in liberty
And no one within the world is conceived in liberty
No, no one within the world is conceived in liberty

And we are the tired, we are the poor
We are the huddled masses
We are the tired, we are the poor
We are the huddled masses
Yearning to breathe free
The wretched refuse of the teeming shore
Homeless, tempest-tossed, we come to you
Homeless, tempest-tossed, we come to you

Were I to run, were I to hide away
Dwell in deepest oceans, or fly to break of day
Still you are there, seeing in darkest lands
Lead by your Spirit and hold me in your hand
And hold me in your hand

When I was formed, you had prepared for me
Days you had written before I came to be
Fearfully made, knit by a skillful hand
How vast your wisdom—your thoughts like grains of sand
Your thoughts like grains of sand

Lord, when I see enemies scorn your name
How I hate the wicked—but, Lord, am I the same?
Search all my heart, see where I go astray
Try me and lead me in your eternal way
In your eternal way

Sun, rise
Rise and wane

And the earth remains
As generations are born and die in vain
Rivers return from where they flowed
The winds blow around, around again

In a weary world of nothing new
And unremembered gain
“What is crooked cannot straightened be”
Is the Cursed refrain

End of a world
Evil days
Sun, moon, and every star go out
Heavens hid behind the shroud
The skies have worn away
There at the end

Of a world
Years of pain
Through windows fading, dimly see
Clouds assemble solemnly
Where youth had spent their rain
There at the end

So the silver cord
Is severed by the hand that weaved it whole
Broken by Him
Who breaks the golden bowl
And shattered lies
The pitcher by the weary well run dry
Vain are the words
The mourners wail and cry

End of a world
Fleeting breath
And dust returns to earth and grave
Spirit goes to God who gave
All life dispelled in death
There at the end

If you want an idea of the tune, it’s based on the one here, beginning at 0:27.