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. Most scholars think it was written first, in the 60s, and that Matthew and Luke had it in front of them. It seems to have been written for readers who were not Jewish: it stops to explain Jewish customs and to translate Aramaic phrases, which you would not do for an audience that already knew them.

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. Mark gives roughly a third of his book to the crucifixion and the days around it, which tells you what he 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.