Italian
From the luminous depths of Tradition emerges the figure of Saint Mark the Evangelist, not among the first called, yet among the most necessary. Sacred Scripture, with its sober authority, presents him as John, known as Mark, the son of a woman named Mary. A tradition, not supported by solid evidence but equally significant and evocative, identifies him with that young man who the Gospel of Mark — and it is not without reason a peculiarity of his — presents as a direct witness to the capture of Jesus in Gethsemane: “Then everyone deserted him and fled. A young man, wearing nothing but a linen garment, was following Jesus. When they seized him, he fled, leaving his garment behind” (Mark 14:50-52).
In the house of Maria and her son Marco, the first Christian community of Jerusalem gathered (Acts 12:12). This seemingly secondary detail reveals a profound ecclesial truth: Marco is born and grows within the Church, not as an isolated individual, but as a member of a living body, where faith is transmitted in communion and prayer. He is not the solitary figure of the ascetic nor the heroic one of the martyrs of the early days: he is the disciple formed in the concrete fabric of ecclesial life.
Alongside Saint Paul the Apostle, he experiences the early struggles of the mission, participating in the journey to Cyprus and also experiencing human fragility, to the point of temporarily separating from the Apostle. But this apparent weakness, which could have excluded him from the great apostolic work, becomes an opportunity for growth. Time and grace transform the uncertain man into a valuable collaborator, so much so that Paul himself, from Roman imprisonment, will request him to be by his side, recognizing his usefulness for the ministry.
However, it is in the encounter with Saint Peter the Apostle that Marco’s vocation finds its fulfillment. Peter calls him “son,” an expression that in the apostolic tradition indicates an authentic spiritual filiation, not merely affectionate. Marco thus becomes a disciple of the main witness, the custodian of a memory that does not belong to him, but which he is called to preserve and transmit with absolute fidelity.
In Rome, the heart of the Empire and the stage for the supreme testimony of the Apostles, Mark gathers the preaching of Peter and delivers it in written form. Thus, the second Gospel is born, the oldest according to many scholars, the most essential and direct. There is no literary self-indulgence or elaborate theological construction in it: there is the immediate force of the narrative, the concreteness of the event, the power of action. Christ appears in continuous motion, the Lord who acts, commands, liberates, heals. It is the Gospel of decision, of radical following, of the cross that imposes itself without mitigations.
Mark writes in Greek, the universal language of his time, so that the Word does not remain confined but spreads among the nations. He does not interpret, embellish, or soften: he transmits. In this sense, tradition has rightly defined him as “interpreter of Peter,” not in the sense of a simple translator, but as a faithful mediator between the oral announcement and the written form. His work is an ecclesial act, not an individual one; service, not assertion.
After the Roman season, Tradition leads him to Alexandria, Egypt, a crossroads of cultures and a center of intellectual development in the ancient world. Here, Mark would have founded one of the most important Churches of antiquity, giving rise to an apostolic succession that is still recognized today in his figure. In that land, marked by the encounter between Greek philosophy and Christian faith, his proclamation finds fertile ground, but also violent opposition.
The martyrdom, according to ancient traditions, comes as the definitive seal of his mission. Dragged through the streets of the city, humiliated and tortured, Mark fully participates in the fate of the Christ he had announced. He is no longer just a witness to someone else’s word: he becomes the incarnate word himself, a living Gospel, a sign of a faith that does not retreat in the face of death.
His body, spared from destruction and preserved by the faithful, will traverse the centuries until it reaches, according to tradition, Venice, where his presence will take on a meaning that is not only religious but also civic and identity-related. The winged lion, symbol of the evangelist, becomes the emblem of a city and a civilization, a visible sign of a Word that has shaped history.
And yet, beyond the translations, local traditions, and popular devotions, what remains is the essential: Mark as a link between the event and memory, between the Apostle and the Church, between voice and Scripture. Without him, Peter’s preaching would have remained solely in oral form, exposed to the risk of oblivion or distortion. With him, it becomes text, norm, foundation.
In a time when truth risks dissolving in the multitude of opinions, the figure of Marco stands as a testament to a silent and radical fidelity. He does not seek visibility, does not claim authority for himself, does not construct a personal thought: he places himself at the service of what he has received. And it is precisely for this reason that he becomes great.
His holiness does not reside in the exceptional nature of gestures, but in the purity of transmission; not in originality, but in obedience; not in appearing, but in preserving. It is the holiness of the faithful mediator, of one who understands that the Word of God is not property, but a gift to be delivered intact.
Thus, through the centuries, the Gospel according to Mark continues to resonate with its primal strength, calling every generation with the same urgency: to follow Christ without reservations, to recognize Him in His power and in His cross, to embrace His lordship in the concreteness of life.
And in this light, the figure of the Evangelist stands out with an evidence that transcends history and judges the present: for it is not the greatness of man that makes the Word eternal, but the faithfulness to the Word that makes great, before God and history, even the humblest of His servants.
