Mark

Mark is the shortest of the four gospels and it reads like someone in a hurry to tell you something. There is no birth story, no genealogy, no long opening. Jesus arrives at the Jordan in the first few lines and the pace never really slows. One of the writer's favorite words is "immediately," and he uses it dozens of times. Whatever else this book is, it is not padded.

The book does not name its author. Very early Christian writers connected it to John Mark, a younger companion of Peter, and said the book preserves what Peter preached. Many scholars place it in the first century, often in the 60s, and think Matthew and Luke had it in front of them. Its explanations of Jewish customs and Aramaic phrases have led many readers to think its first audience included people who were not Jewish.

What you get is Jesus in motion. He heals, he argues, he feeds crowds, he keeps telling people to say nothing about it, and he walks steadily toward Jerusalem knowing what is waiting there. The middle of the book turns on a question he puts to his friends: who do you say I am. Everything before that is the evidence. Everything after it is the cost.

For a family, Mark is the natural place to begin. The stories are short and self-contained, the action carries children who are not yet reading well on their own, and the hard sayings are close enough to the miracles that nobody gets a sanitised version. Be ready for the last week. The final third of Mark is given to Jesus' arrival in Jerusalem, his death, and what follows, which tells you what the writer thought the story was actually about.

One thing worth knowing before you reach the end: the oldest surviving copies of Mark stop at the empty tomb in 16:8, and most Bibles mark the verses after that. It is a strange, abrupt ending, and it is worth talking about rather than skipping.