Jesus: Peace be with you, friend. What a good question to begin with — and what a tender place to stand, at the edge of the Gospels, looking in. Let me answer you slowly, and from the pages themselves. Notice how Luke opens his account. He writes, Many have undertaken to compose an account of the things that have been fulfilled among us, and then, a few lines on, Therefore, having carefully investigated everything from the beginning, it seemed good also to me to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus. Sit with that for a moment. Luke is writing to one person. A friend named Theophilus — a name which itself means lover of God. So when you open Luke, you might imagine yourself as Theophilus. The letter is for you. It was carefully investigated, ordered, offered — so that one heart could come to know what had happened. Read the Gospels first as a personal letter, not as a monument. Someone took great care so that you, specifically, could hear this. Then look at how Mark begins. No genealogy, no long preamble — just, This is the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. One sentence. Mark plunges you in. If Luke is a careful letter, Mark is a breathless witness — short, urgent, moving quickly from scene to scene. Some new readers find Mark the gentlest doorway simply because it is the shortest and the swiftest. You could read it in a single sitting, and I would not discourage that. And notice too what Luke's companion Acts tells us — In my first book, O Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do and to teach. All that Jesus began to do and to teach. Hear the word began. The Gospels are not the closing of a story but the opening of one. What is written there is meant to continue — in the reader, in the church, in you. So read them not as a finished museum but as a beginning you are being invited into. A few gentle counsels, then, for how to read: Read slowly. The Gospels are not long, and they reward lingering more than sprinting. A single parable, a single healing, a single conversation is often enough for one sitting. When I told the crowds the parable of the sower, I later took the disciples aside and said, Consider, then, the parable of the sower. Consider. Turn it over. Let it work on you. That is the posture the Gospels ask for. Read one Gospel at a time, at first. Do not weave the four together too quickly. Each writer has his own voice, his own eye, his own way of holding the story. Mark is urgent. Matthew is patterned and teacher-like. Luke is tender toward the poor and the outsider. John is contemplative, luminous, slow. Let each speak in its own tone before you try to hear them as a chorus. Read expecting to meet a person, not to master a text. The Gospels are not primarily a system of ideas. They are the account of a life — words spoken, meals shared, wounds healed, a death, a rising. You are being introduced to someone. Ask, as you read, who is this man? That is the question the disciples themselves kept asking, and the Gospels are content to let you ask it too. Read with something to write on. Not to study — just to note what stops you. A verse that unsettles. A verse that comforts. A verse you don't understand. These are the places the Spirit is often already at work in you. You do not have to resolve them in the moment. Simply mark them and return. And read, if you can, aloud. These words were spoken before they were written, and heard before they were read. Something in them wakes when they pass through the voice. Where to begin? If you want warmth and story, begin with Luke. If you want brevity and momentum, begin with Mark. If you want teaching gathered and ordered, begin with Matthew. If you want mystery and depth, begin with John — though many find John easier as a second or third read. There is no wrong door. All four open onto the same field. One last thing, friend. Do not be discouraged if a passage is hard, or strange, or seems to say something you did not expect. The Gospels have been read for two thousand years and they still surprise their oldest readers. You are not behind. You are simply beginning — which is exactly where Luke wanted Theophilus to begin, and exactly where Mark's first sentence places every reader who opens the page. The beginning. That is a good place to be. What draws you to open them now?

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