The Two Gospel Writers Who Were Not Apostles

Questioning What We Assume

The search for knowledge must never cease, but more critically, we must question the assumptions we once held as true without ever examining them, until new information challenges a viewpoint we never thought was in dispute.

Last night, I found myself at the end of an interesting discovery. Although I know a great deal about the Bible, in theory, by osmosis, through tradition, and sometimes through an application that makes the reality of God and the salvation of Jesus Christ the most heartwarming experience of my faith, I remain just as ignorant of some fundamentals.

The Twelve Apostles

¹³ At daybreak he called together all of his disciples and chose twelve of them to be apostles. Here are their names:

¹⁴ Simon (whom he named Peter),
Andrew (Peter’s brother),
James,
John,
Philip,
Bartholomew,

¹⁵ Matthew,
Thomas,
James (son of Alphaeus),
Simon (who was called the zealot),

¹⁶ Judas (son of James),
Judas Iscariot (who later betrayed him).
[Luke 6:13-16, reference Matthew 10:1-4]

There are four gospels of the Lord Jesus Christ, attributed to the named authors in the Bible and traditionally accepted to have been written in the order of Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John, between AD 66 and 110. Luke also wrote the Acts of the Apostles. [Wikipedia: Life of Jesus]

An Overlooked Detail

What I never bothered to check, and what you, the reader, might already know, is that Mark and Luke are not in the list of apostles. They were not apostles at all. Luke was known as the physician who travelled with Paul the Apostle, and Mark is mentioned too. [Colossians 4:14, Philemon 23-24]

This is not an exposition of the facts, which have been dealt with extensively and with a scholarly and academic expertise I cannot expect to match. The theological debates belong elsewhere.

A Discovery Worth Sharing

This is, however, a note in my journal and an introduction to a YouTube channel I discovered a few months ago, Deep Made Simple. Its short videos, which deal with topical elements in the scriptures, have brought me insight and enlightenment I cannot keep to myself. The video "The Gospel of Luke: Why a Doctor Wrote the Bible’s Longest Book " had me scrambling for information.

The shock, the realisation, the quest for more knowledge: the small hours of the morning crept upon me as I listened to the video again before playing back the dramatised New Living Translation of the gospel. [Google Play: NLT Bible with Audio]

Luke could have been a gentile, and he was indeed a journalist, a correspondent, and a meticulous historian.

One last thing, I was on YouTube that I learnt to recall the Ten Commandments by counting fingers and hand signals, in 5 minutes.

Note: All Biblical references are taken from the Bible Gateway.

Luke's Place in Scripture

The Gospel according to Luke is not the longest book in the Bible; by English word count, that distinction belongs to the book of the prophet Jeremiah.

However, the gospel is the longest book in the New Testament, and taken together with the Acts of the Apostles, Luke would have contributed more to the standard Bible, in English word count, than any writer except Moses.

Patterns of Truth: Why Are Mark and Luke Not Named as Disciples?

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Men's things XXXIII: Prostate Cancer Screening and UK Black Men

A sobering statistic

The statistics in the UK show that Black men are twice as likely to get prostate cancer and, consequently, twice as likely to die from the disease. In plain numbers, this means that 1 in 4 Black men will encounter the disease in their lifetime.

So, it was quite disappointing when, in November 2025, the UK National Screening Committee (NSC) advised against routine prostate cancer screening for the majority of men.

That advice included the very men most susceptible to the disease, and it was justified by concerns over the overdiagnosis and overtreatment of what might essentially be benign conditions.

Blog - Men's things XXVIII: Shame, no national prostate cancer screening

To withhold the opportunity from a cohort that is most medically affected and usually clinically ignored, especially given the tendency of such men to be culturally diffident on intimate matters, where masculinity, machismo, and sexual virility are taken to demonstrate manliness and personify manhood, was as close to unconscionable as one could get.

Renewed hope: TRANSFORM

It is therefore gratifying that, two days ago, the TRANSFORM prostate cancer screening trial received further funding. The trial, which began in autumn 2025 after being proposed in spring 2024, will now invite men at the highest risk of prostate cancer to benefit from research, early detection, and more effective treatments. [GOV.UK: Major expansion of research and treatment for prostate cancer]

All eligible Black men will be invited to participate in this initiative, which is jointly funded and supported by Prostate Cancer UK and the National Institute for Health and Care Research (NIHR). This should accelerate community engagement and deepen it, particularly amongst Black men.

In June 2026, when stage 2 of the trial commences, all eligible Black men will be invited, including Black men who:

• are aged 45 to 74
• are resident in the UK
• have not had a PSA test or prostate MRI scan in the last 5 years

My own journey

Two years after my prostate cancer diagnosis, and twenty months after completing radical radiotherapy, the prognosis is good. My PSA is at the lowest reading it has been since I was first screened in February 2024.

I urge every Black man to take up this screening opportunity, all the more so if he carries the BRCA2 gene variant and has a family history of prostate, breast, pancreatic, or ovarian cancer.

Know the warning signs

Beyond that, a man should have his prostate checked if he gets up multiple times at night to urinate, waits a while to start, strains to begin, does not feel he has fully emptied his bladder after a visit to the toilet, or has pressing urges to pass urine.

Not every prostate enlargement is indicative of cancer, but it must be investigated by medical personnel. This is good news for Black men; now step forward and take control of your health.

Blog - Men's things XXXII: For the Boys in the Room: Why Your PSA Matters

Blog - Photons on the Prostate: Three Things I Wish I'd Known

Blog - Men's things: Prostate Cancer blogs

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When the Backstop Becomes the Plan

From Doldrums to Hope

The days carry varying degrees of emotional toll, from the palpable to the expectant; the feeling that you may not be pulling your weight gives way to the exhilaration of success, because what was once intractable became resolvable.

We have moved from a week that seemed to present diminishing returns to one that appears to offer appreciating results. While we are not totally out of the doldrums, there is hope on the horizon, and things have been better than expected.

Governance Left Behind

Yet we get embroiled in administrative issues that should have had governance born from contractual obligation, including the clear requirement specifications that would apply to an architectural design, with guidelines for solutions to be crafted on agreed policy.

A backstop activity, meant only to tide us over until automation could take hold, has evolved into the core solution. This is because resources will not be committed first and, evidently, the architectural element is missing altogether.

Shortcuts Over Policy

The project manager, under pressure to deliver, has short-circuited the process, favouring the concept of ease over the policy guidelines that should govern it. The ideas are lifted off a contract statement and put into play, leaving the implementation resting on broad assumptions.

What we hear is that it must be done because the contract demands it; what we do not have is any documentation describing what is actually to be done. The best element of guidance to materialise today came in an email. However, can governance be run from an email, you wonder?

That is why this is being escalated. I am not convinced a proper resolution will be forthcoming before the pressure to act overwhelms the tendency to err on the side of caution; not out of any impossibility to perform, but because of the absence of governance that informs the processes required.

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Twelve Years a Resident, Fourteen Years Away

Memory and the Reason for Writing

Fourteen years begin to tell you how dull the memory really is. I suppose that is why we write things down, and probably why this blog exists as a journal of stories and experiences.

My visit to Amsterdam, both impromptu and incognito, was for the single purpose of maintaining the status of a loyalty scheme; one that gives benefits and privileges money might buy, but at a higher cost.

My preference was Paris, but Brian adamantly withstood me, fully expressing his concern for my safety, and only he could know why.

Returning After Many Years

I was tempted to let people I knew through my Holland odyssey, which began in May 2000 and ran for the twelve years I called the Netherlands home, in on the visit. To think I found a hotel in Hoofddorp, where I started my first job with AUCS Infonet 26 years ago, is quite something. I was charged city tax; Hoofddorp is over 10 miles as the crow flies from Amsterdam.

Back then, I lived in Amsterdam and commuted out to Hoofddorp by train each morning; now, all these years later, I was sleeping in the very town I once travelled out to. So much has changed, and yet other things remain the same.

Arriving in Amsterdam yesterday, I made for the public library that opened on the 7th of July 2007, intending to have a meal at Vapiano, not knowing they had closed their business in the Netherlands the year before.

Then I thought to walk up to my old apartment block in the Oostelijke Havengebied, the eastern docklands. The flat, which I bought in November 2001 and sold on the 1st of May 2012 when I handed the keys over to the new owner, was on the 7th floor and overlooked two stretches of water: IJhaven and Eersthaven.

These harbours separated my building from Java-eiland and KNSM-eiland, the two long, narrow islands that, together with my side, make up the regenerated docklands.

The Lessons Wasted on Youth

The funny thing is, for all the ten and a half years I lived there, I never once walked from the city centre. I took the tram, the bus, or rode my bicycle. If only I had known the benefits of walking back then, but this kind of knowledge is wasted on youth.

I did not have a flood of memories when I got there, but soon enough, a resident from way back then wheeled out from the garage. We both had a moment of recognition and greeted each other.

That was enough; my plan to attend my old church on Sunday was now under review, as I wondered whether I could handle the emotional overload of so many reunions. I honestly was not prepared for that.

A City Subtly Changed

Tram numbers had changed. What was once Tram 10, which had not yet been built when I first moved there, is now Tram 1. Tram 25 to IJburg is now Tram 26, with the terminus moved to the back of the central station, on the IJ River side.

Then another face I recognised, still looking good, not weathered by time and deserving of a compliment, which I gave liberally. The things you think you remember, only to realise that your memory is a bit jaded.

Even so, all these encounters encourage the recollections of people, events, and ideas that made those times significant in their different ways. For instance, I sent a message to an old friend whom I had once helped pick out gilets and outfits for his wedding, drawing on my familiarity with the outfitters around Amsterdam and my comfort with formal wear.

We had gone shopping together on Nieuwendijk, one of the city's oldest shopping streets, running north from Dam Square towards the Central Station.

Walking the Singel

Today, I went looking for a restaurant on the Singel, thinking it was further down the canal. I had walked all the way in the opposite direction before retracing my steps, only to find it was nearer the central station after all, and that I needn't have taken the tram in the first place.

After my breakfast, which had Danish bacon as it should be, but hash browns as something else entirely, I set out on a small adventure into the past. My first residence had been in the Jordaan, where I rented from June 2000 until November 2001, when I moved to the apartment I had bought in the eastern docklands.

The Jordaan place was a large garage converted into a one-bedroom apartment with two separate toilets, on Palmstraat. It was all unrecognisable now; even the old had been seriously gentrified.

The Indignities of Travel

You could easily be housebound in Amsterdam, as I saw no disabled toilets. The public toilets at the central station charged a hefty €1.10, which is just unforgivable, and there were no staff on hand to help out with failed automation. But that was yesterday.

There was a time when wearing glasses was considered a grave disability, so much so that once laser surgery for corrective eyesight became widespread, the Dutch were beating a path to every practitioner offering the service.

On toilet anxiety, today was worse, as I was far from any known facilities, and the accident happened. By the time I eventually found a toilet, my underwear had to be binned. We suffer in silence, hiding the shame that cannot be avoided because of nature or affliction. Yet we must live life as best we can, for that is the better story.

The Living Existence of a Life Story

I can boldly say Amsterdam is not about the lost, but the living existence of a life story; visited by adversity and failure, but blessed by the gift of life, the promise of a bright future, and undying hope that makes every travail transient.

Beyond my expectations, there was even an ocean liner at the passenger terminal. So much for reducing seafaring tourism; the reality bites harder than ideas in a council meeting with harebrained resolutions.

The old lady of green politics in the Netherlands of the days of yore is the mayor of Amsterdam. Femke Halsema, I doff my hat. Respect!

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AI, Only for I: When Shared Abundance Becomes Scarcity

A Generous Gesture Meets Reality

When I read earlier today that Uber had burnt through their AI budget for the year 2026 in just four months, I did wonder whether that burn rate had produced commensurate productivity gains to have made it worthwhile. According to the CTO, the headline figure suggests otherwise; else, it might have been less concerning. [Quartz: Uber's COO says the company's AI spending is getting harder to justify]

In the same vein, news has emerged that Microsoft is scaling back internal Claude Code licences, indicating that reliance on this toolset has burnt through budgets and forecasts to become an unsustainable revenue drain. [MSN: Microsoft retreats from Claude Code as AI costs soar]

My Poe Setup

I use Poe as my interface to a broad range of bots, grouped under official, budget-friendly, search, image, video, audio, and programming categories. My monthly subscription comes with 1,000,000 points and, despite my usage, I would consider myself a tad frugal. I barely use 75,000 points before the month is out.

For value, access to premium services across many platforms through one interface is, for me, the best deal you can get in AI access and provision. There might be better offers out there, but I am quite satisfied with what I have been using for over two years.

Sharing the Largesse

In demonstrating the features of Poe a few days ago, I discovered that I could share my points with up to 99 others: family, friends, or colleagues. I assumed such sharing would carry the kind of usage and frugality of one gentle owner of a vintage car, with little mileage on the clock, and much to enjoy if the pleasure of driving were shared with another.

How wrong I was. In the space of three days, an invitee had already burnt through more than half of the monthly allocation. At that rate, there would be no points left to do anything in another two days. I was in shock. People are doing things with AI bots that it seems I am yet to discover, even when I think my own use of this facility is quite involved.

A Cold Blast of Reality

What to do? I shared a graphic illustration of the spending activity with the invitee, along with a note about how the burn rate puts the idea of fair use into precarity. Beyond that, sharing this largesse based on my frugality cannot be representative of its usage in reality.

Poe only shows the daily usage of points of those with whom the points have been shared, and we all have full access to the pool. As the administrator, I have two options: to share or to remove. Whilst I have not opted for the nuclear option, my enthusiasm for generosity has met a cold blast of the actualité.

Weighing the Options

I could purchase add-on points that are usable for one year, and are not refundable, transferable, or redeemable for cash. However, I want to hope we are not at a crisis point, just a spot of bother and concern.

What is not helpful is the sudden realisation that what looked like abundance could easily become scarce, like a swarm of locusts swooping down on a field close to harvest season. That is devastation on a grand scale; it is the kind of mindset one can ill afford to have.

The thought that I must monitor the points I have left, out of concern that my modest subscription will not last the month, is not the prospect I planned for. Then again, I cannot even share this with Brian, my husband, because the service is not available in Zimbabwe. What luck!

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The Tired of Tired

A Spell of Funk

The past few days have been meh! A total lack of interest or enthusiasm. The usually sunny and hot weather has done little to brighten any sense of existence. In bed last night, I felt the tired of tired, but I had to fight off that feeling. It was not healthy.

I had tried to engage in some activity, beginning with the Africa Day event on Saturday, which left me unimpressed. Then at church the following day, I read the notice for the Whit Walks on Monday and was promptly dissuaded from attending: the preacher invited to minister was lauded not for her ministry, but more for her celebrity and her appearance on Gogglebox. I do not care to remember her name.

A Surfeit of Bad News

It does not help that, with my radio tuned to a BBC news channel, the snippets of interesting stories came laced with a surfeit of depressing news. Abuses, infractions, illegalities, and criminality by those who should know better, yet who would neither be held to account nor held accountable by those who matter, the latter too afraid to take a moral stand for fear of the blowback.

At times, you would think you need a holiday from the world, to a place of peaceful reflection on the beauty around you that you almost always fail to see.

In Search of Tranquillity

On Monday, I did go into the country, hoping for that very escape, but the tranquillity and fun I had expected never quite arrived. Tuesday brought another attempt at engagement: a men's group billed as a dance session.

In practice, it was more body movement and the rather boring projection of closing our eyes and imagining silly things. The only genuine pleasure I drew from it was setting up the table for food.

It was at that group, too, that the broader sense of injustice came home in a far more personal way. A fellow attendee had been attacked, and his assailant had received only a light prison sentence. I could do little more than commiserate with him and offer a hug.

The Weight of Work

On the work front, which brings its own share of excitement, things have been somewhat depressing. There is no wherewithal to achieve; the hours like the deepest, longest night of a nightmare, failing to find a conclusion even as the day breaks.

Unease, dissatisfaction, lethargy, fatigue, and listlessness leave you in recoil from living to the full. Once again, I find myself striving to escape this state of funk, and I know it will pass; I just wish it would pass quicker than I can remember I was ever this disturbed.

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Thought Picnic: Quiet Pursuits of Excellence

Quiet Pursuits of Excellence

Sometimes, I reflect on the fact that I lead a number of public lives which revolve around simply doing what I love, without seeking acknowledgement or reward. Something in my upbringing, in the observation of my parents and mentors, drives me towards excellence.

Much as I seek perfection, I quite frequently fall short. I upbraid myself, accuse myself, and talk to myself in a voice that calls me by my own name, because there is a conversation to be had before someone else has it with me. I would rather be my own critic, so as to be prepared to receive a better critique, one of recognition, of merit, and of acknowledgement.

Stories That Once Scared Me

There are stories from my past that frighten me, where the infirmity registered in the ravine of failure offered no opportunity or facility for recovery. It was unsalvageable wreckage, beyond repair, and utterly hopeless.

Yet, I have a better story to tell. No narrative I share today wallows in helpless resignation, for I am blessed beyond measure with testimonies of goodness, success, victory, and triumph.

The Pleasure of Work

At work, I enjoy what I do, not for the remuneration, of which I have once earned stupendously, but for the satisfaction that the knowledge and expertise I bring to bear on the mundane and the complex still matters.

I get to learn as much as I help others learn. I do what I do, not to get noticed, but to make things work. In the process, acknowledgement, respect, and rewards may well come. My motivation, however, is the pleasure.

Appearance and Carriage

In appearance, I have my own kind of dressing, something I pay attention to, because appearance and carriage matter. There have been times when I have been stopped so that pictures could be taken of me.

Once, a young man, after complimenting me, said he would love to have the confidence to dress like me. I suppose hardly a day goes by without some sort of recognition from strangers, and yet I am not out to attract attention. My motivation is simply looking good.

The Wealth of Expression

On this blog, I write about anything that takes my fancy, not for want of engagement or readership. To think there was a time when I hated writing, even though I had a great deal to say in conversation.

I am easily shy, quite introverted, and socially awkward and nervous in organised meetings where people are networking. It is in the use of words that I truly flourish. My motivation is the wealth of expression.

The Story of a Man

What all this says to me is to keep doing what I know to do, in the best possible way, with every aim to impact, improve, and perhaps impress. I will never be everyone's cup of tea, but I hope those who drink this tea enjoy it tremendously.

Decades of work, portrayal, and expression all become the story of a man. Thank you for coming by.

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