 The Gospel of Mark is the oldest of all the Gospels. I love it because it's written by a regular person. Its original language is full of grammatical errors and reminds me of a misspelled tweet that gets shared over and over because that message is just that dope. I love it because it's like an onion, so multi-layered, each story actually encompassing multiple meanings at once. Because it's so subversive, constantly taking jabs at a superpower that is oppressing a people yet, at the same time, it's full of humor. I love it because it paints a portrait of a not-so-perfect Jesus, one who gets angry, one who goofs up. Because it's the closest we get to the original, un-messed-around-with recipe. Because in the earliest versions it ends without resolution, leaving that work to the audience. Because even its writing is a means of railing against perfectionism and the politics of respectability. It wasn't written by a doctor or an aristocrat or someone with authority, but that doesn't stop the Gospel of Mark from being damn near Shakespeare.