Nameless God [1 ed.] 9781443827850, 9781443827072

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Nameless God

Nameless God

By

Hal H. Hargreaves M.Div, Ph.D.

Nameless God, by Hal H. Hargreaves M.Div, Ph.D. This book first published 2011 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2011 by Hal H. Hargreaves M.Div, Ph.D. All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-2707-X, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-2707-2

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface ....................................................................................................... vii Acknowledgements .................................................................................... ix Introductory Comments.............................................................................. xi Introducing Jesus ..................................................................................... xvii Chapter One................................................................................................. 1 The Oral Period Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 15 A Hidden Gospel, Q Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 39 The Gospel of Thomas Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 55 Paul, Craftsman of Christianity Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 89 Two Gospel Fragments Chapter Six ................................................................................................ 97 The Gospel of Mark Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 113 The Gospel of Matthew Chapter Eight........................................................................................... 133 The Gospel of Luke Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 169 The Gospel of John

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Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 205 Searching for Patterns Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 215 Conclusions Bibliography ............................................................................................ 227 Index........................................................................................................ 231



PREFACE

Energy for the project started around my daughter’s kitchen table. She and her brothers wanted to know how my views had changed. It was a lively conversation and shocked them at the time. They adjusted as my study proceeded. Over time, each has charted his/her sense of the religious domain; there is no consensus among the three and they have followed separate paths for years. The whole family encouraged me throughout, putting up with an ex-Episcopal Chaplain become teacher and skeptic. The first jolt to my faith came as part of a strong friendship with Maynard Hutchens, a dynamic teacher at Austin. Texas. He had been afflicted with Hodgkin’s disease for eleven years when we met. He was gracious enough to spend huge hunks of time discussing the faith—me, a wet behind the ears Barthian, him, a follower of Paul Tillich. A telling exchange occurred as we were walking one day: he said, “God can’t be blamed for my disease. If He could, I could not trust Him as much as I trust my own father.” The gravity of that statement sank in when I returned to Seminary. Maynard died three weeks later, and I began to question my hidebound system. A second memory is related to my first teaching assignment. I hired on at Washington State University to teach European philosophy. It was a position flavored with the University’s nod to have someone represent European tradition, and it offered me a chance to finish my dissertation. The philosopher Walter Kaufmann was a guest at Washington State, and I was assigned to acquaint him with the campus. He was also a translator of Martin Buber. I made some appreciative remark about Buber and Kaufmann responded impatiently, “You’re doting over a dead man; move on.” Coming from such a recognized authority, his comment stuck. It marked the beginning of a period in my thinking that was relatively free of religious commitment. Such a liberation meant becoming accountable for my choices and leaving explanations behind, living life more as a journey without maps. Given time and experience the new direction became a positive influence; I renewed my interest in religion, a field now for study if not for commitment. Teaching world religions taught me a measure of tolerance. As perspectives collided and were so different from the immediate scene, it became clearer to me that the histories were examples of creative

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acumen at work, each full of personal and social loyalties, imagination, and energy, but thoroughly human. The reader will find that I still respect the territory beyond the ordinary which I name the mysterious. The fact that we are thrown into this planetary miracle is enough to incite a sense of wonderment. Be assured that this does not mean that I adhere to a complex of theological superstructures. Once they are in human hands, the human element is pervasive and vocal and always will be. So back to the kitchen table: the following conversation will not sound like an informal tête-à-tête, but it pretends nothing beyond that. Have a good read.



ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This essay could not have been written without the help of four of my favorite people: Dr. Charles Y. Glock, a recent special friend, is the shadow influence which affected all my writing. He saw the serious flaws and told me of them; that kind of counsel exerted what I hope was corrective surgery, and much appreciated. Barbara Fairlight was my “comma person” and contributed much in the line of comprehension. Thank you. My unqualified gratitude to Dr. Nancy Gerth, who edited without compromise in order to speak to a general audience. She was an incredible aid and thoughtful critic. And to my wife, who endured my long hours in the study: thank you so much, Ruth.



INTRODUCTORY COMMENTS

At the beginning of the twentieth century, before Albert Schweitzer’s substantive book, Quest for the Historical Jesus, confidence ran high that one could pin down the essentials of Jesus’ life and ministry, integrate the various portraits in the gospels, and read them “in harmony.” Schweitzer wrote his skeptical study in 1906, and it is still in print today. Its sustained survival alone is testament to its revolutionary nature. His findings provoked students and scholars into a century-long effort to see just what could be known about Jesus the person and his mission: “very little,” he had concluded. Scholars addressed Schweitzer’s radical ideas and his conclusions, often for their entire careers. By the middle of the last century, New Testament studies were a frequent choice among serious students. Religion fast became a legitimate topic for scholarly specialization, and findings poured into a collection of new perspectives. Like these students, we shall explore the disagreements and the intense commitments which characterized the birth of the new faith and created an environment for its becoming a new religion. In this quest for the real person of Jesus, academics in various disciplines made a serious effort to apply their tools to the topic. Vital to those projects were historically-informed studies of scripture. With more credible texts, scholars could build new portraits with sufficient confidence that sources would yield much about the man and the very early years. For some, it led to confidence in painting detailed portraits; for others the New Testament’s vast authorial variety led to minimalist views of what could be known from the existing text. Then came 1947. With the surprise power of a mystery film, two small but history-rich libraries were added to the ancient manuscript list—the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Nag Hammahdi Texts. The two collections would exercise considerable influence on “old” canonical texts; already existing texts had to be studied in relation to the newly discovered texts. A revolutionary shift in New Testament studies was taking place. Thousands of scraps were analyzed; some would play a role in establishing new and more accurate guides to the historical landscapes of Christian beginnings. Discoveries indicated there was much more to the beginnings of the young faith than had been previously recognized. Dating of the new sources became very important, and as the reader might guess, simple explanations .

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Introductory Comments

and unanimity took a holiday. Questions arose about previously unquestioned certainties regarding Christian beginnings, let alone the quest for the “Real Jesus.” The field is now crowded with provocative reflections on almost everything having to do with early Christian history, and new finds make the venture even more exciting. The theological debates of the early faith especially captured my interest. The task I have selected for this study is not the same as trying to find the indisputable facts of Jesus’ life. Mine is much more modest. I concentrate on a history of the titles for Jesus, oral and written, canonical and non-canonical, during the first century following his death. But my aim also goes beyond facts: I explore the theological content of these names. It is a study of the controversial titles which portray Jesus as divine. Faith, as I understand it, is heavily influenced by the gospel author’s particular viewpoints. Naming had a long and impressive role in shaping early Christianity. During the century-long period chosen for this study, a cascade of naming took place in the young faith, such as “teacher,” “son of God,” and “son of Adam.” Understanding the uses of these names takes us a long way towards understanding the major themes surrounding Jesus. During the first century – our period for study – names commenced to change with added use. Some became obsolete, while others were embellished with theological lessons and piety. Some names languished and died; no home was found for them. Others flourished, their meaning changing with the changing environment. It is no secret that naming exerts influence in public life, politics, customs, ethnic values, and theological traditions. Think of the value implications of the alternatives “anti-abortionist” and “right-to-lifer.” Plato taught that a word was the sign that presupposed the existence (read “reality”) of a thought; the thought was even more real than the sign. Thoughts, he believed, were responsible for the structure of the physical world – not the other way around. Gospel authors wrote out of reservoirs of faith, and were members of believing communities. What they didn’t realize was that by naming Jesus they created the phenomenon we call Christianity. Their naming serves as a gateway to understanding the essence of the faith; it was formative for theology. All our observations rest on this context: that believers had found in Jesus the essence of binding man to God, and a figure who not only taught about the paths to God but personified the relationship. The names they chose to call him came packed chock-full of their faith. Building on the assumption that every name is an expression of faith allows us to interpret and understand the rich diversity of meanings

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springing from the many names of Jesus. It also takes us beyond the simplistic view that Jesus was an easily described person. We will look at the naming of Jesus in the first century following his death. On our present calendar, those are roughly the years 32 CE (Common Era) through ca. 130 CE. Within that hundred-year period there were actually only eighty years during which we can be sure there was literary activity. Most scholars date the commencement of literary activity at ca. 50 CE with Paul, followed by Mark, the earliest writer who most accept as the oldest “biographical” writer. If there is evidence that a given name was introduced in the first century, it falls within our field of interest; if not, we pass it by. It does not matter whether it comes to us from canonical or non-canonical roots, or whether it had great or minimal influence on the future. Its legitimacy is a question we hold open for the summary. The translation used most heavily is The Scholars’ Version, and the sequence suggested there is followed. I read the first-century documents in calendar fashion; i.e., dating the writers’ works in rough chronological sequence, making comparisons accordingly. I have followed most recent scholarship by translators of the Scholar’s Version in this study because I believe they have been attentive to the pitfalls and most creative in their insights. Reading the documents as having taken place in the wider context is worth the risks. It opens many doors to fresh insights and offers new models for Christian beginnings. In deciding upon these guides, we draw portraits or snapshots of the birth of a new religion.1 The advantages of heeding the newer dating and including the extracanonical pieces is that they probe the earliest years and bring traditionally foreign influences into the picture that is created. The canon had previously been immune from critical study. By bringing the noncanonical sources into interaction with the traditional canon, a marvelous and different face is presented about how Christianity developed. I believe in being inclusive when sorting and sifting the characteristics of earliest Christian belief and practice, as so many factors and influences play a part in shaping that period. We shall come upon a plethora of cultural options, scenery not bound by ancient tradition. New couplings occur with a calendar reading, and the flows of growth in the churches are more clearly seen.   1

We may not find the mind of Christ, but we may discover the attitudes of his followers, and that would be sufficient to give us a platform for observations and conclusions.

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Introductory Comments

Two misconceptions about Christian antiquity were common in the nineteen-fifties. With few exceptions, little recognition was given to the Hellenist world of philosophy and its impact upon Hebrew culture when analyzing the New Testament. It was popular then to think that Christian modalities grew in a vacuum. Its walls of influence, its extension into its surroundings, or its possible absorption of pagan culture were thought minimal. Secondly, not only were Roman occupiers enamored with Hebrew ideas and culture, the occupied Hebrews often became articulate in Hellenism as part of their own education. Pronounced diversity was evident in the earliest congregations and would normalize only as doctrinal issues were addressed, the leaders negotiated, and organizational structures emerged. Naming may have influenced the evolution of the faith, but I focus on it also as an access to a larger issue. I think of naming as a flashpoint that eventually had much to say about our perception of Jesus and God. Names the authors assigned to Jesus are analyzed without attempts at a judgment as to whether they merited permanency or were transient terms that would eventually fade from the scene. I mention the future of many names but not always do I offer suggestions as to their theological value. I refer to Jesus when reading Paul as “Paul’s Jesus,” and for Thomas’ portrayal, “Thomas’ Jesus.” This may not be a traditional practice, but it conveys a tough truth; i.e., Jesus was known through gospel writers. When we read stories about Jesus, we read through the eyes of the authors. They are the sources responsible for our images of him. My critique is appreciative of the commitment invested in the search for the historical Jesus, but it is also, in light of the evidence, inevitably critical of that pursuit. When diversity of naming is acknowledged and believers seek conformity for resolution, disagreements grow like mushrooms, and they center about theology-laden names. Another characteristic of this study is the homage I pay to the historical mindset. The objective or end product of our survey is to articulate a way of dealing with religious questions, and I do not see how we can reach reliable perspectives in that vein unless history is a significant contributor. Historical evidence plays a huge role in sobering the philosophical imagination. It lets us know our limits in the game of adulation. In formal terms, “What is the case?” plays a major part in shaping the values domain—”what ought to be.” The concluding chapter draws together what can be regarded as a position. In the end, it is a philosophical argument; it is mine, and I hope it is plausible. The study of religion is ultimately a matter of the heart and the expression of our deepest loyalties. We may return from a venture into

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comparative religion to comfortable ground where we are “at home” with a faith of our own choosing. Or we may respond to the adage that “you can’t go home again.” But if one really learns from the venture into other faiths, one cannot return without having been transformed in the core of one’s being. The change I am talking about is internal. It occurs because the initial attitude of the student is often that other religions must be human constructs. A sacred zone is reserved for one’s home territory. With greater acquaintance comes greater respect for others’ commitments. When the mental journey back to familiar ground occurs, one realizes that one’s own faith has become saturated with human ingenuity and struggle. The effect of experiencing other names can, with attention, return us to the names we ordinarily use with a new self-consciousness. We begin to see our names as a foreigner might. Our comfort has been permanently challenged.



INTRODUCING JESUS

Jesus, the given name of the man who is the focus of this study and around whom all manner of controversy swirls, first bore a quite common name. There were many by the name Jesus, and I suspect that nothing was read into it before he became locally famous for healings and purported miracles. Almost immediately, however, this name was embellished. Within the hundred years following his death, names and titles sprouted like mushrooms, as we shall see. If we take only one author as an example— Matthew—this Jesus was born to the lineage of King David and Abraham. For Matthew, the lineage of this Jesus marked him as the Messiah. We shall detail this later. The name “Jesus” itself taught a sacred lesson. The Greek name Jesus harks back to the Hebrew “Joshua,” which in turn comes from the label “Yahweh is salvation.” Jesus is deemed legitimate in every sense – by name and by divine choice. It seems appropriate, however, to remind ourselves before entering into the complexities of Jesus’ names and titles that there was a time when Jesus was a name of common use and familiar meanings.

CHAPTER ONE THE ORAL PERIOD

Setting the Stage Before attempting to mine the names from biblical sources, we must recognize that there was a period of vocal activity for nearly a generation following the death of Jesus. For our purposes it is noteworthy that a religion that claims nearly a billion adherents began with storytelling and dinner conversations; its origins, most agree, are shrouded in a cloud of informal exchanges, and they are difficult to analyze and evaluate. As the initial topic, the oral period is the most challenging one in the entire study, because in the strict sense there is no text to study. We will have to wait for our first written source to dig out the first name of Jesus. The twenty years between Jesus’ death and the first documents is a seemingly silent period. But of course it was not silent; it was full of voice-delivered makings of a new faith. We shall find many clues to the character of the period through modern examples, but the absence of a written source requires unusual techniques of analysis. Recognizing its importance is vital, however, if we are to gain a grasp of naming and understand the succession of literary activity. Oral transmission is our portal to the explosion of the names for Jesus. Approximating the crucifixion as our starting point of the years of oral communication, stories about Jesus most likely began with his ministry, i.e., his purported healing and miracle works. But there is no concrete evidence from this period to verify this assumption, so we are left with an arbitrary date. Most scholars agree that the oral period begins approximately 30CE, and that stories about Jesus continued after his death, largely because people believed in his resurrection. Most also think this period lasted, as the major form of transmission, a minimum of twenty years, and perhaps longer. We are not primarily interested in the period’s duration, but we are curious about the characteristics of such a period, namely, how the habits and customs of the oral period affected the explosion of literary efforts of the fifth decade of the CE, and the beginning of a literary tradition.

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Imagine a person relating such impressive accounts and having Jesus there to correct and edit them. What would Jesus say? What stories would be most popular? What would most resemble an original rendition? Our efforts are an attempt to get as close as we can to the experience in order to appreciate how the stories are remembered; in short, to appraise just how effective it is to communicate when the oral form is the only form relied upon. Stories about Jesus were told around campfires and across kitchen tables for nearly a generation. In such an environment the doors are wide open to different forms of expression. Questions to be answered: Were the messengers of the oral period inclined to embellish their impressions? Did memory play any tricks in the time gap? Did the missionaries seek corroboration as reports came in and stories increased? Did some listeners become bards as they converted? Were they inclined to tell things “as is,” without editorial dressing? Establishing standards for faith-talk is probably the most difficult job we face in this study. If the non-literary past—two decades of it—is beyond reach, our study of the period is less likely to render solid information. We need to be prepared to accept the condition that a given answer is unprovable, that it is beyond ordinary means for verification, and that proximate judgments are our only option. In a personal reading, a twenty-year duration, I imagine, passes all too quickly for aging observers. On the other hand, time often “stretches” when everything moves slowly for impatient organizers. If there were a hundred-year period before committing to a written form, we would not expect to retrieve the same level of memory as we would if it were it ten years in length. Duration cannot help but affect our judgments about accuracy, and accuracy is a slippery pig. Twenty centuries of change cannot be disregarded when attempting to understand the material. Both rendition and reception are affected with such a relentless passing of time; in many respects we are quite different from the authors or early recipients of the stories. The readers of every age bring their biases and preferences to a story, so that there is always more than a single narrative in each rendition. The nature of storytelling involves a complexity of voices. But even during the first 20 years there is the consideration of change; for example, the “editing” of the animated speaker’s delivery on successive occasions. Memorable stories were enshrined in the movement. We assume they were told for a purpose—conversion or consent—and they became the spinal cord for later, literary years. Will we ever know if or how they changed with countless occasions and differing environments?

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Since this is a critical and title-focused study, we will restrict our objectives to those hubs of accuracy we can prudently count on in a twenty-year-plus duration. We shall leave the twenty century gap for others to articulate, remaining cognizant of it as a factor in any final evaluation. We shall trim our sails for a stormy ride.

Critical Approach to Oral Sources of the New Testament Studies of oral transmission go back as far as Hermann Gunkel, who initiated scholarly examination of the scriptures while recognizing the importance of oral transmissions. (See Kee 1970 28) The standard approach in the middle of the 20th century was to see oral tradition as having preceded the letters of Paul and the gospel of Mark; it was usually portrayed as a state of literary silence. The assumption was that storytelling was, in general, reliable. Ancient storytelling was thought of as establishing a core tradition that was passed on with consistency as the trend toward writing things down gained momentum. During the twentieth century, a popular assumption was that transition from oral to written was smooth—conflicts were absent and the teaching easily achieved. Alongside the assumption of consistency, the twentieth century viewed the synoptic gospels as written “in harmony.” The attitude toward spoken tradition was frequently that it provided the authors of the canon with an unambiguous source for their picture of Jesus. What emerged was a realistic/romantic painting of Jesus, inevitably contemporary, Caucasian, and free of the presence of peasant laborers. The notion of a coordinated thread running through all the gospels (excepting John) dominated the first half of the twentieth century, but with continued, focused critique of the three synoptic gospels a revolution began. With an increasing use of “form” and “historical” critiques, methods of unlocking the earliest years proliferated. Old harmonies dissolved, and new perceptions were forged in the shops of critical scholarship.1  1

Forms of scholarly activity accelerated and whole new paradigms were introduced throughout the twentieth century. One discovery trumped all others. Through careful reconstruction, a “hidden” document, Q, edited into Matthew and Luke came to light. Q has been located in terms of a communal group and dated as a very early document. Its early date also affects our portrayal of an oral tradition: if Q was written very early and had wide circulation, the oral period may have been shorter, and less purely confined to kitchen or campfire. If Q came later, the forms of oral storytelling may have spanned a longer period. This is but one

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We have mentioned some of the influences on oral transmission; in sum, they make for a rich and varied period. The oral character is part of a larger tapestry—woven into a much more complex cultural scene than we first imagined.

*

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Our brief review of oral exchange is restricted to a theoretical effort. What messages can we expect to emerge from twenty-plus years of reliance upon word of mouth, an embryonic liturgy, and newly formed communities? How strong is the reliability of leaders, disciples/apostles, eyewitnesses, and growing numbers of converts? There is simply no complete record of events. So when we ask, “How did memory behave during this span of time?” we are limited to incomplete information and proximate judgments. The limiting factors in the study should sober and discipline statements of “fact.” There is simply no way to bridge the chasm and recreate a fully accurate cultural picture, but there are ways to draw guidelines for the study, and surprising observations are possible.

Plumbing the Contemporary Memory John D. Crossan draws from contemporary examples to suggest how we might understand the time surrounding the crucifixion.2 Crossan’s first example is situated in the last half of the last century. It seems a peculiar choice at first glance. One would ordinarily assume he would choose a first-century event. But his decision to use our era as a testing ground for ancient memory is well placed. His choice to examine a relatively recent event suggests it is far more open to checking than are the distant events of Jesus’ life. Checking details for memory acuity when separated by over twenty centuries is considerably more difficult than with an event that occurred 30 years ago. If memory behaves in unreliable ways when the time lapse is short, it gives fair warning that the ancient account may suffer from the same or similar flaws. The modern period usually has  example of the interactions we must confront. Scholars continue to debate this controversial document. 2 John Dominic Crossan is a New Testament scholar who deals with the phenomenon of memory from an empirical point of view. His massive study, The Birth of Christianity, deals with the topic in a complete way. His criteria for the evaluation of memory are openly stated and compared to other scholarly positions. He demands of himself—and recommends that the reader also accept—the need for a credible theory of “orality.”

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“checking” procedures to assess credibility. That is the major advantage of using contemporary examples. It is also clear to Crossan that one person’s remembering an event is not the same as the behavior of a group or multitude. Crossan deals with that difference. The contemporary examples sometimes have one reporter and many observers, as is true in the New Testament era. The mixture Crossan selects is quite like that in the ancient sources; he is conscious of the different combinations that are possible in the oral form. When he compares different writing environments, he lets us know which conditions apply. His first case study: Jack Hamilton was pitching for the California Angels against Tony Conigliaro of the Boston Red Sox….he was hit by a first-pitch fastball from Hamilton. ..It was a Friday-night game, the first of four... (Crossan 1998 60)

Hamilton was interviewed approximately 23 years after the fact. What would he remember of the event—a climactic one for both men? In Daniel L. Schacter’s Searching for Memory is the provocative statement: “Experiments have shown that simply repeating a false statement over and over leads people to believe it’s true.” (Schacter 1996 111) Add to that the widely held confidence that the best witness is an eyewitness and we are ready for Crossan’s first assault on the topic: “when fact becomes fiction.” After Conigliaro’s death in 1990, Hamilton was interviewed and said his memory was clear: it was a day game. It was the Angel’s last game in Boston. It was the sixth inning. The score was 2-1. Conigliaro was the eighth batter in the lineup. Did Hamilton get it right? Facts: the California Angels were playing the Boston Red Sox, August 18, 1967, at Fenway Park. It was a night game. It was the Angels’ first of four games in Boston. It was the fourth inning. The score was 0-0. Joe Hamilton was pitching to Tony Conigliaro, the sixth batter in the lineup. Hamilton’s first pitch hit Conigliaro on the left side of his face, damaging his vision among other things, severely enough to terminate his career. Facts: 7, Hamilton’s memory: 2. Hamilton said, “I’ve had to live with it; I think about it a lot.” (Crossan 1998 61) Of the seven facts Hamilton recalled when attempting to recall the event, he got five were way off base. All of the mistakes were details: which game, the time of day, the score, the batter’s line-up, the inning number. The experience was traumatic and the imprint significant for both—the batter’s career was effectively ended by the accident. Crossan is convinced that traumatic events, even recent ones, are subject to factual

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error—seriously so. Probing the distant past uncovers many of the limits we have just noted. Our modern story is a reflection of a similar process in the ancient past. First-century followers of Jesus could not have been more closely related or more privy to the details of the crucifixion than Hamilton was on the occasion in which he hit the batter. Not only were both sets of facts askew, but also the psychological aspects. Hamilton’s testimony reveals that he not only got the details wrong; he saw the event quite defensively, casting blame, to some extent, on the victim. “He’d been hit a lot of times…He crowded the plate.” (Crossan 1998 61) Did Hamilton assume attitudes because he had some agenda? The disciples also misunderstood Jesus’ death and fled Jerusalem. When it comes to pinning down the attitudes of the principals in either event, our guesses are ineffectual. Perhaps to meet the above difficulties head on, Crossan chooses a group’s recollection for his next example. Roger Brown and James Kulik in their article “Flashbulb Memories” (Brown and Kulik 1977) state, “A flashbulb memory is very like a photograph that indiscriminately preserves the scene in which each of us found himself when the flashbulb was fired.” (Crossan 1998 61) Does such an assertion hold under examination? Will memory play its role as the faithful recorder—or as a trickster? The following example throws even more fog into the mix of reactions. An experiment conducted by Neisser and Harsch involved 106 psychology students. They were asked to record their first reception of the Challenger tragedy—where, when, etc. The questionnaire was given to them within 24 hours of the event. A second questionnaire was given to 44 of the 106 two years later and compared. A year later still, a third interview questionnaire was given to 40 of the same group who were willing to participate. A scale was devised to grade the responses for accuracy. Seven was scored as quite accurate; 0, completely inaccurate. The mean level of accuracy was 2.95, less than half on the scale. Twentyfive percent scored 0. Fifty percent scored 2 or less. Seven percent scored 7. Conclusions: “None of the enduring memories was entirely correct, and… many were at least as wide of the mark. Those questionnaires revealed a high incidence of substantial errors.” (Neisser and Harsch 1992 9, 12) Interesting is the level of confidence and “visual vividness” claimed by the respondents—a mean of 4.17 for confidence and 5 for vividness. The participants’ sense of unfailing memory was higher than their scores warranted. Even more interesting is the finding that students who revised their response to the event on the second and third questioning were quite sure that the revised version was the correct one. Even when confronted with the apparent inconsistency, they held firm. “As far as we can tell, the

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original memories are just gone. Flashbulbs illuminate but also blind; neither visual vividness nor confident assertion bore any strong relationship to accuracy.” (Crossan 1998 63) Flashbulb memories, as far as accuracy goes, do indeed seem like phantoms. Inaccuracies increase with time, and so does the observers’ skewed attitude. Another major issue Crossan suggests: Is oral tradition fixed? Or is it fluid, changing over time and subject to the environment? What are the unique circumstances and conditions of an orally grounded society? He envisions the first century’s peculiar condition: Oral tradition in which tradition is received orally and transmitted orally (often by illiterates) within the discipline of creative performance is a different world from scribal tradition transmitted orally within the discipline of exact (as best we could) memorization. (Crossan 1998 51)

Differences in the two forms of communication—songs by bards and memorized scripts—are drawn from Crossan’s personal experience. His own efforts to recite written poetry are contrasted to hearing illiterate bards perform Irish epic poetry, in other words, bards who were examples of an entirely oral tradition. It is the traditions of the bard which hold sway in his presentation. Early Christians, figuratively speaking, also belonged to the world of the Irish bard. Their reliance upon spoken word was complete except for the major qualification stated above: the earliest Christians had Hebrew scriptures, and within a generation they would witness the beginning of their own sacred texts. But in the beginning years, as far as we know, these messengers were relying on an informal and spontaneous environment— their instrument, the spoken word. They were part of their culture’s revolutionary stirrings, its images of a new order, as well as its dynamics of reform. As vital storytellers, they were not concerned so much with accuracy as communicating effectively with their audience. They were preachers and apologists in the sense that they told stories to gain listener acceptance of the message, not simply to entertain. In many ways, however, they were performers; their message was calculated to meet the needs of the listeners. Fluidity was a given. Crossan has problems with scholars who presume that oral performances are fixed. When they assign a written text to oral tradition, one that is grammatically identical in Matthew and Luke, but different or absent in Mark, they misidentify the nature of the oral form. I ask only whether oral memory has anything to do with solving the problem, and more important, whether claiming such a solution betrays a

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Chapter One misunderstanding of memory, orality, and literacy… This presumes that oral versions of an event (if such existed) were so syntactically fixed that they could override the syntactically fixed written versions. It presumes, in other words, that those oral versions were so verbally precise that they could add a five word verbatim sequence at one point in a scribally copied version without disturbing its original content. (Crossan 1998 54)

The attribution of such a text to the oral side of the culture is not only unrealistic; it misunderstands the nature of oral activity. Oral transmission which assumes the absence of a written text simply doesn’t mimic such fixed repetitions. Instead of being as exacting as the written word— concerned with grammar and syntax—oral forms are “creatively reproductive,” more like an improvisational performance, less like a recitation. “Creative reproduction” connotes free expression of the teller, not only in terms of content but also in the storyteller’s inclination to be an active interpreter of the content. This pertains especially to events or persons of recognized importance; the storyteller is a conduit for the charismatic event or person. One might think of the storyteller as the live actor, taking on the voice of the protagonist—without a script. Crossan adds that oral activity is “structural rather than syntactical.” “Structural” preservation refers to broader forms of rendition, where the sense of the event or topic is focused upon, rather than exact details. Details are cited, but they are tools to express the power of the personage, clay in the performer’s hands. In sum, oral transmission has its own characteristics, and they are quite different from the art of the written word. When trying to outline the more subtle levels of oral transmission, we come across the propaganda possibilities so easily realized in the process. This is to say that memory has not only preservation-like powers, but also creation-like capacities when dealing with questions of fact. Another look at the Hamilton affair: Although the remembered details were of scant importance given the trauma of the event and its consequences, the report of Hamilton after fourteen years shows other aspects of memory that support Crossan’s thesis. The pitcher frames the report with interpretative comments: “I’ve had to live with it; I think about it a lot… I know in my heart I wasn’t trying to hit him” and “I had no reason to hit him”… “He’d been hit a lot of times…he crowded the plate.” No matter what the spin or possible shift of blame, whether to support the pitcher or focus on his mental anguish, these items are just as much at issue and part of the event for Hamilton as are the facts he failed to remember correctly. One can see this if the question is, “Does the principal

The Oral Period

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survivor see himself as a prominent player in the death of the batter?” Even though his remarks are pointed towards establishing his own innocence, his remarks reveal the extent of his involvement; emotions cannot be put on the side burner. Memory is creative and the accuracy of recollection after twenty-three years is tenuous at best. Memory not only embellishes the events; it can and does create its own set of “facts” that are meant to carry historical clout. Schacter again: “The general principle… that memories are not simply activated pictures in the mind but complex constructions… also applies to emotionally traumatic memories.” (Crossan 1998 209) Crossan’s much-used example cannot build a complete case, but it helps in the overall effort. His examples have parallels with the ancient events we are concerned with exposing. The pitching accident was traumatic for Hamilton, Conigliaro, reporters, and fans, just as the crucifixion was for Jesus and his followers, and it is reasonable to conclude that the ancients’ recollections may have suffered the same distortions that are evident in the pitching example. Accounts of Jesus’ ministry and passion were bound to express the beholders’ emotional perspectives. Getting the details accurate is not only difficult in ordinary circumstances; it is nearly impossible under stress. Modern and ancient examples share the same burden, an environment of deeply felt surprises and emotional stress. The ancient/modern similarities seem to me a major factor in determining the levels of accuracy we can expect from the ancient documents. It is also apparent that other disparities, such as the absence of a historical concern for accuracy in the gospel writing era—were also influential. We shall deal with “other factors” as we proceed, but Crossan’s observations, so far, lay a good foundation for interpreting ancient conditions. Whereas a baseline of factuality is unquestioned for the modern examples because we have contemporary written sources for verification, nothing so entirely reliable is available for the life and death of Jesus. We have only the later written sources, which come on the heels of a generation of spoken transmission. Among the earliest written sources there is considerable variation. Whatever the condition of those documents is, they are all we have. What we do have is the outcome, the general effects of a spoken tradition. Crossan’s examples are relevant in focusing us on what can be expected from many respondents who retell the story of a traumatic event. It also seems clearer that longer periods of history may suffer the results of the revisionist’s oral rendition or pen. We can never know this under present circumstances. Telling the account in many different situations

10

Chapter One

brings out its power, but its influence is subject to change over time. There is no end to the evolution of a story. A hard-learned skepticism about the ancients emerges when we compare them with more recent, hence more verifiable, recorded interviews. The level of reliability we can expect from distant Christian oral transmission may at times be quite low, but it was luckily succeeded by the literary era; eventually a scribal tradition would emerge. Copyists would take on the difficult job of keeping the canon intact. Eventually translators would, among other things, attempt to render the most appropriate word or phrase. The day of the bard would become a thing of the past. The fact remains that we shall never fully know the events of Jesus’ crucifixion and the early life of the movement from oral sources. Some stories were eventually defined as sacred scripture, the preferred choices were made, and the canon was closed. Our skepticism is justified not only based on editorial perspectives and the tendency towards revisionism, but on the grounds of the long duration involved. It took only three years for contemporary students to wrongly embrace their errors. Perhaps we need not make too much of this, but it is a haunting consideration that memories of Jesus had much more time for embellishment than did the psychology students’ recollection of the Challenger tragedy. We turn now to another aspect of memory more bizarre than altering the meaning and details of an agreed-upon event. It is the strange occasion “that never happened.” Surely this more provocative aspect of our topic is highlighted when it is reported that something occurred that did not in fact happen. With retelling, phantom events are accepted as “factual.” Crossan cites the prevailing assumption about memory that makes this curious process plausible. “It is more comforting for us to believe that somewhere within our brain, however well hidden, rests a bedrock of memory that absolutely corresponds with events that have passed.” (Loftus and Ketcham 1994 190) The popular term is “memory bank.” Whatever occurs is conceptualized as being stored, either as the event itself (naïve realism), or as the emotional/mental image of the event (representational theory). Without going further into memory theory, both of these options teach that the brain can and does store the raw material of experience and that memory is a sort of retrieval service. Do we really possess “ventricles of information” that protect for accuracy and against misjudgment? We are not interested in making final judgments, but the issue is unavoidable. We shall nip at its edges. Ronald Reagan’s campaign story about a B17 pilot who said to his trapped gunner, “Never mind, son, we’ll ride it down together,” was

The Oral Period

11

related as fact. Soon a headline appeared—”Congressional Medal of Honor posthumously awarded.” When a reporter checked the congressional record, there was nothing to suggest a factual baseline for Reagan’s story, but there were other sources that could explain how it came to be accepted as “fact”. The 1944 movie “Wing and a Prayer” had a scene with the same situation and the same remark by the pilot. The trapped victim was, in this instance, a radioman. A similar story appeared in the New York Herald Tribune but the two figures were both gunners, and the reporter added that such an event could not be confirmed. The Reader’s Digest picked up the story but failed to recite its rumor status. Reagan was familiar with both the movie and written sources. Assuming that the president was acting in good faith, it becomes clear that memory invents as well as recollects, invents with confidence and aplomb. Instead of raw experience depositing images into our memory bank, the depositor is most likely our inclination to invent. Another more fantastic occurrence involving invention is the experiment reported by Loftus and Ketcham in The Myth of the Repressed Memory: False Memories and Allegations of Sexual Abuse. They asked, “Would it be possible to make someone believe that they were lost in a shopping mall as a child, when in fact they had never been lost in a shopping mall?” (Loftus and Ketcham 1994 96) Such an experiment seems at best cynical and perhaps destructive for the subjects, so the experimenters created a happy ending to the fantasy event. Would the subjects accept the fantasy as fact? Five subjects were selected, ages eight through forty. They were all told the story as if it were factual. In all cases the false memory was accepted as true and embellished immediately with newly invented details. The subjects’ willingness to expand on the memory and provide details that were not even hinted at in the initial suggestion seemed to indicate that the memory was very real indeed. (Loftus and Ketcham 1994 99)

They all believed the bogus construct and added to it emotional effects on their lives! We have a hard time accepting the bizarre credulity evident here. The thought process in which listeners accept what is pure fantasy is indeed provocative. Crossan’s conclusions are telling. His argument demonstrates his cautious regard for detailed historical accuracy. And it leads him to a critical evaluation of oral accuracy. He is not an ideological skeptic: alongside the casual attitudes towards detailed accuracy is his alternative. He gives us a positive appraisal of the performers’ role in presenting a general meaning of events in question. It

12

Chapter One

holds for both ancient and modern communicator. Emphasizing the creative character of oral transmission, he comes across as a skeptic when addressing issues regarding accuracy of details, but he appreciates the artistry of the bard to deliver the sense of the story. He is disciplined in avoiding theological constructs when interpreting a passage and does not assign any grand structure to the authors. He simply thinks that the poetry of the performer does, indeed, capture the essence of the event or personality. Fallible memory and invention may work hand in hand, but credibility is not lost. The ability to reconstruct the essence of the person or event persists. …all those preceding cases serve, first, to mitigate the serene complacency of common sense about memory and, second, to warn us that, while we do certainly remember, we remember by a reconstructive process. That reconstructive process mixes recollected facts from an actual happening with ones seen, heard, or imagined from similar happenings. That reconstructive process recalls gist rather than detail, core rather than periphery—and then somebody must decide which is which. …That reconstructive process often claims equal accuracy and veracity for what we actually recall and for what we creatively invent. (Crossan 1998 67)

Such are the essentials for building his theory of memory, and they definitely affect the way we evaluate both the oral period and the literary tradition which eventually dominates. A good summation of Crossan’s theory: In the beginning is the tradition. It gives performers three structural elements with which they work creatively, dynamically and interactively. First of all, it gives them the general stories, the overall narratives. …Next, it gives them the themes, which can be mixed and matched into those story frames. Finally, and most especially, it gives them hundreds of formulae, set phrases that can also be mixed and matched to form those themes and those stories. (Crossan 1998 71)

He is thinking about a pure form of oral transmission: tradition that is not related in any way to written pieces, live performances. The stories are told as if they were sung, continuing the ways of the illiterate bard. Of course, in his contemporary examples the performance has been recorded by the researcher. Whereas the story line, the general theme and the culturally specific formulae remain fairly consistent in the examples given, the performances remain “creatively multiform in presentation.” (Crossan 1998 75) In other words, there is no sense of repetition from one rendition to another. The singer is free to fashion his own flourishes and

The Oral Period

13

embellish the tradition without a text. As long as the gist of the rendition is appropriate, the bard is faithful to his calling. Because there is no text behind the performer, the powers of the bard are surely heightened. Unless he/she offends the audience, there is a certain autonomy and expression of preference by the individual bard. When bard meets writer and a record of a performance is made available to the singer/performer, a curious chemistry is introduced. If the details of the performance are different, can the rendition still be faithful? Think of more modern plays with benefit of script. Did the performer remain faithful to the newly written text? Did he add anything, or omit portions? Was there anything to criticize? The answers to the researcher’s queries were all inconclusive. Surprisingly, It is as if the respondent were saying, “The singer is good. If to be good means it’s the exact same version, then that it is; if to be good means it’s different, then that it is. What do you want me to say?” (Crossan 1998 77)

The changes that common sense might expect with the addition of a written text have not occurred; it is as if the rules for the listener remained qualitatively the same as hearing a performance without the text existing. One can only surmise that when oral and written systems coexist, oral flexibility still exerts great power.

*

*

*

Taken together, Crossan’s list of examples shows the subtle drift towards a sea change in how culture is kept alive and transferred to the next generation of literary expression. When the written text is introduced into the mix, gradually a concern for consistency is added to it. Eventually it will prevail. This “victory” by no means entails the demise of oral forms and certainly does not mean that in a society dominated by literary tradition there is no revisionism, etc. If we are to understand the years of Christianity’s infancy, it will be through the interface of an oral tradition with the ancient—then contemporary—literature. Both become subject to the nature of remembering. While there was a Hebrew canon in the wings and gospel writers used it to back up their positions, the scribal tradition had not yet saturated the lives of the new communities. Searching for the early names of Jesus involves acceptance of an extensive oral period in which we should expect the formation of a general narrative, the emergence of themes, and numerous formulae to express them. We should expect diversity to grow, at least for a time when oral habits are dominant. The diversity of a largely oral transmission period in

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growing contact with a written tradition would normally decrease as the influence of the scribes increased. We should be ready for wider swings in the naming of Jesus prior to the efforts at choosing a canon. In sum, memory doesn’t operate like a copy machine; rather, it is reconstructive. Such is a prudent approach to the “oral years” of this great religion. It is for our work below to confirm or modify this view of oral transmission. A reading of the early documents will certainly come into dialogue with the theory, and the theory, if worthy, should make our study of the sources more revealing. We can guess that, just as the pitcher was motivated by his own experience to create and interpret as well as remember, the early Christian writers were also so motivated and influenced by the bard’s inclination to convey a general narrative, pass on themes, and choose the correct names to express them. There may be no single portrait of Jesus in the earliest years, but there is certainly no dearth of suggestive names. What this review leaves with us is a substantial amount of doubt about the specifics of Jesus’ legend. The core, if there is one, is subject to the particular views of the writers. The details are up for grabs. It gives good reason to remain skeptical about a picture of the man we hope to understand. When the soil is prepared with such diverse levels of care, can we know what the garden will grow?

CHAPTER TWO A HIDDEN GOSPEL, Q1

What was once a revolutionary idea has now become commonplace in New Testament scholarship: the recognition of an earlier gospel source than the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. An account of its discovery is germane to our work; its recognition is plausibly the single most significant achievement in New Testament studies. The discovery was readily accepted by those who were veteran scholars, but for 20thcentury lay eyes, its existence was a huge adjustment. It fosters a rediscovery of the very earliest names for Jesus. As higher criticism has revealed fresh ways to interpret New Testament materials, new perspectives also emerged about the beginning of the faith. It is a fascinating story, full of lucky breaks and persistent scholarship. For us, the story of its eventual inclusion in the sacred collection can serve as a model for most of the documents that “made it.” Q’s story is a story of successful entry. Looking at the process of discovery will lead us to the earliest names of Jesus. When one views the gospels side-by-side, it becomes graphically clear that much of the first three gospels are identical in content. If we look at a gospel synopsis (or, gospel parallels), each page is laid out so that one can see the repetitions—they are printed across the page, whereas the materials that are used by only one author stand alone.2 The gospels of Luke and Matthew share a great deal of Mark. They also share a great deal of common material that is not included in Mark. The language of that common material, not in Mark, is remarkably similar, and the sequences identical, [M]ore than one-third of Matthew and one-fourth of Luke consist of common material that is not found in Mark. This common material is characterized by a high degree of verbal similarity and by a close

1 2

“Q, probably an abbreviation of German Quelle, source.” (Bowker 1997 782.) See page 160 below for an example.

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Chapter Two correspondence in order, from the baptismal sayings through the Beatitudes to the final eschatological sayings.” (Kee 1970 79)

Early on, it was a frequent surmise that Matthew and Luke used a common source, in addition to Mark, to aid their storytelling. Burton Mack recounts the history of the finding: Putting all the pieces together, Christian Weisse (1838) proposed the “two document hypothesis,” namely that Matthew and Luke composed their gospels independently, mainly by combining two written sources. One was the Gospel of Mark, the other a source that must have contained the sayings of Jesus. Q had been espied. (Mack 1993 20)

It was an insight of great importance, but it was not immediately recognized. The uniqueness of Q was barely acknowledged. Scholarly focus shifted to the so-called “synoptic problem,” that is, the who, where, when, and how of the first three gospels. But the energy was there to recognize Q as a document in its own right. After it was more firmly established by looking at grammar, word selection, general organization, etc., the focus shifted again to Q’s gathering of sayings embedded in the two gospels. If one were to pick one watershed event in the serpentine journey towards recognition of Q, it would be the Nag Hammadhi discoveries (1945), and particularly the discovery of the Gospel of Thomas. Q had been under the nose of every scholar for twenty centuries, unbeknownst to them, whereas Thomas had only recently been made public in small fragments, a secret through lack of attention. Thomas’ gospel was discovered in its entirety. The whole manuscript was from the fourth century CE, yet there were passages from an earlier vein. So similar was Thomas to Q that comparisons naturally followed. We shall turn to Thomas below, but for now, it is sufficient to say that it piqued the interest of those who knew of Q. Q was early; so were portions of Thomas. Thomas was a compilation of teachings, as was Q. So, as the puzzle grew more detailed, Q rode Thomas piggy-back into popularity. Much of their respective contents were identical, approximately 35%. The curiosity of the critics was permanently aroused. It no longer seemed strange to think of Q as a written, independent source. From a conception that Q consisted of random sayings to recognizing that it was a literary composition with its own structure and message, was a long reach, but the process of discovery had begun. The next hurdle was crossed with John Kloppenborg’s Q Parallels, a Greek version of the gathered sayings, scholarly comments and an English

A Hidden Gospel, Q

17

translation. With his work, Q emerged as a document with defined themes and a sense of thematic structure. And in translation, it was available to the beginning student. The names for Jesus in Q would be familiar to a reader of the gospels, mostly because they were embedded in Matthew or Luke, but sorting them out was a difficult job. Why? The structure of Q was a difficult puzzle. There are prominent sayings that stress the coming end of history, the judgment of God, and the call to prepare for it. These are usually termed apocalyptic or eschatological sayings. In addition, what schoolchildren have been taught to call “the Beatitudes” are also a large part of the corpus and consist of instruction and pronouncements by Jesus. Scholars prefer to label these as sapient sayings—wisdom sayings. Their style and content differ considerably from the apocalyptic sayings. With such different literary purposes, it is no wonder scholarly consensus was long in coming. It looked as if Q might have internal diversity, as well as being “hidden.” After comparing Q to the Gospel of Thomas, (where wisdom sayings are prominent), Kloppenborg challenged a thesis by James Robinson by demonstrating that sayings in Q were layered. The compositional design of the sayings would, he was confident, decide the issue of early and late materials. Kloppenborg proceeded to show that the wisdom sayings were indeed part of the Hellenistic culture prior to the time of the gospels, and more importantly, that Q was influenced by Hellenism and used wisdom traditions heavily. The puzzle was taking shape. The next step was to pin down the evidence that Q’s wisdom sayings were composed prior to the apocalyptic material; a sequence was emerging from Q’s layers. Burton Mack writes of Kloppenborg, He drew upon a wide range of literary-critical and thematic observations to support his thesis that the wisdom material was formed apart from interest in or knowledge of the theme of judgment, but that use of the prophetic and apocalyptic materials presupposed and incorporated the wisdom sayings in Q’s present design. Thus the sequence was established. First there was a collection of sayings organized as sapiential instruction. Later, these were incorporated into a composition that developed the theme of judgment by using prophetic and apocalyptic discourse. There was no literary evidence that suggested a reverse sequence. In Kloppenborg’s study, Q had finally been treated with respect, regarded as a text with its own integrity, and given the careful reading it deserved. (Mack 1993 37)3

It seems obvious from the story thus far that there is a good possibility that the very foundations of the Christian faith, when responsive to the Q 3

Crossan also agrees with this comment. See Crossan 1998 252.

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Chapter Two

tradition, may look different than without it. The puzzle is far from complete, but the inclination to rethink beginnings now seems incumbent upon the student of history. Critical study has opened the likelihood that the earliest influences upon the new Christians came from the wisdom tradition rather than from the apocalyptical or prophetic cultures. What a surprise! From this vantage point, we can proceed to talk about the names of Jesus with, perhaps, more clarity. Scholarly agreement is a rare thing, but there is nominal acceptance of successive periods within Q. The composition sequence in Q points to two layers: an earlier corpus of wisdom (Q1) and a succeeding portion (Q2), on prophetic and eschatological sayings.4 The two parts and each period are deemed “independent.” Three leading writers have devoted much of their efforts to unraveling Q—J. Kloppenborg, J.D. Crossan 1998 and B. Mack—and they agree on the contents of the divided corpus. Beyond agreeing on the Q1, Q2, separation, they part ways; nevertheless, the stages of composition in Q are a key to the character of the early communities, so we shall take time to describe Q’s stage-like evolution, and the surprising developments that affect the naming of Jesus. How can the reader be confident about what is and what is not included in the Q1 (or Q2) corpus? The rules of the game are fairly technical and certainly not error-free, but with literary experience and intimate acquaintance with the languages, much can be done to unravel the ancient documents and reconstruct a near-accurate social picture. The community of critics and specialists in anthropology, sociology, and history of religion also play a major role in making decisions about literary matters, so that disagreement is still normal. Style, grammar, repetitious language, peculiar use of titles, loaded terms and a host of other criteria figure in the selection of appropriate models for dating and authorship.

4

On the issue of Q1 being a written document or a gathering of orally enshrined memories, the evidence is far from complete. Crossan, following Patterson, terms the very earliest source, which he believes constitutes a major portion of Q1, a “Common Sayings Tradition,” and does not presume it to be a written text. The issue is moot for us because, at some point, the corpus of Sayings was redacted into Q2 and became written. The complexities of Q2 and its similar structure in Matthew and Luke make it difficult to picture it as a spoken form of communication. Burton Mack reconstructs what he calls, “The Original Book of Q,” on pages 73-80 of his book, The Lost Gospel. He also has the “full Book,” 81ff, as does the Complete Gospels, 253ff.

A Hidden Gospel, Q

19

Argumentation is a constant factor in making difficult calls, and the process of evidence gathering is the final straw in the bundle.

Q1: Teacher (Rabbi), Master, Son of Man or Adam Q1 is a group of sayings that concentrates on conveying the ethics and values of the new life. I have selected a representative sample of the Q1 corpus from Mack’s translation, The Lost Gospel: The Book of Q and Christian Origins starting on page 73. It describes sufficiently the voice of Jesus, but is also a significant perspective on the community’s remembrances and values. If indeed this singular gathering of early sayings represents a community of sorts, we can make observations in line with those perspectives about the naming of Jesus. Thinking of our review of memory, those decisions will be less than a mirror, but more than a mirage. A hefty sample of Q1 follows. (Mack 1993 73ff.)5 including the use of the names “master,” “teacher,” and “Son of man.” How fortunate are the poor; they have God’s kingdom…. I am telling you, love your enemies…. If someone slaps you on the cheek, offer your other cheek as well… As you want people to treat you, do the same to them. Don’t judge and you won’t be judged. Why do you call me, ‘Master, Master,’ and not do what I say? When someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go,” Jesus answered. “Foxes have dens and birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head.” The harvest is abundant but the workers are few; beg therefore the master of the harvest to send out workers into his harvest… When you pray, say, ‘Father, may your name be holy’ Don’t be afraid of those who can kill the body, but can’t kill the soul. Someone from the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.“ But he said to him, “Sir, who made me your judge or lawyer?” 5

Mack’s translation is taken from both sources Luke and Matthew.

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Chapter Two I am telling you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. Isn’t life more than food and the body more than clothing? The kingdom of God is like yeast which a woman took and hid in three measures of flour until it leavened the whole mass. Whoever does not accept his cross [bear up under condemnation] and so become my follower, cannot be one of my students. Whoever tries to protect his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life on account of me will preserve it.

The simplicity of titles is remarkable for the contemporary reader simply because the later records are so loaded with them. Jesus’ function as the teacher/leader of itinerant disciples does not seem to require elaboration. The following three titles are the entire list in Q1: Master, son of Adam and Teacher. What immediately hits the reader of the earlier corpus (Q1) is its homely but unique characterization of Jesus. His teachings are presented as advice for the immediate future. His statements are short, pithy, and without puzzling double meanings. Discipleship is leaving the old life behind and “doing,” not just believing the teachings, but living in imitation of the leader’s own values and actions. These wisdom sayings, written not for the young initiate but intended for the seasoned follower, are a short manual for those who traveled paths laid out by the teacher. It is highly probable that the lifestyle of a community receiving this sort of values orientation is an itinerant group. They are reminded to leave behind the ordinary amenities of home and hearth, continue traveling when not welcome, and forsake the old life of security for the new kingdom. The kingdom of God is not explained in detail but seems to be an accepted reality: a condition of loyalty to God’s rule and a way of being faithful to the teacher. Any excuses for not living the life of the kingdom are signs of infidelity, and thus forbidden. And Jesus is, without fanfare, the designated leader of the band. Crossan believes that these wisdom sayings are expressions of the earliest oral tradition. He cites Koester, who shares his conception.6 6

“But when we speak of the Q gospel, what type of community are we imagining?”…. “The Q community,” writes Koester, “stood in a demonstrably direct continuity to Jesus’ own ministry—indeed the members of this community seem to have emulated Jesus’ behavior.”… “The most plausible explanation,” responds Koester “seems to be that ‘community’ for these disciples was identical with the relationship of wandering ascetics to each other. Moreover, sayings

A Hidden Gospel, Q

21

Koester’s thesis, which we shall elaborate below, is that the community is made up of wandering ascetic teachers, purveyors of the Jesus ethic, a revolutionary Jewish message. Mack sees a different community reflected in the corpus. His extrapolation, although lengthy, is that a very early group can be identified that is responding to the message of a Cynic-like teacher. Scholars working on early naming agree enough to make some observations with confidence. The wisdom sayings of Q1 are crucial for a picture of what the earliest followers thought about Jesus. He was primarily a teacher, one confident enough to use persuasion to deliver his ethical convictions without threat or judgment. There is concurrence sufficient to believe that the first disciples/believers thought of Jesus primarily as a wise teacher. In Mack’s translation, we are first introduced to the title “Master,” a common term for acknowledging the role of respected teacher. The term is perhaps the earliest of any of the titles we shall meet, and Jesus uses it to call his listeners to attention: the lesson is that words of deference and respect are hollow when the message of the teacher is not followed. Jesus uses the title to teach that a follower must walk the walk; it fits quite well in the context of a gathering of itinerants. The translation “Son of man” is controversial. I prefer “son of Adam.” If there is difference in the two translations at all, Son of man has a more modern Christian ring to it, while son of Adam has closer ties to the Torah. son of Adam, the soon-to-be defining title for Jesus, is to be read here as a shorthand label for “man:” it leaves all theological speculation to the reader. In short, this pregnant term in the later documents is silent about status here. Jesus refers to himself as a Son of man without a home. The last term in Q1 is “teacher” and is used by a critical member of the growing crowd, again without explanation. That is the sum of names assigned to Jesus in what we think is the earliest written record. It is a modest beginning for the flurry to follow. Titles without elaboration are akin to paintings without stylistic hints or easily identified artists. Sometimes the work is innovative and original; sometimes it is a dull copy. We are left to decide its quality without guidance. What is not said in these earliest of sayings is probably of greater worth than what is said. As a wise teacher he was looked upon as a man of great importance and perhaps not as a messiah, i.e., not the person expected to relieve the Jews of the burdens of being an occupied territory, or a heavenly figure who redeemed the faithful at the end of time. There is no assigned to the Sayings Gospel, Q1, tend to emphasize the self-denial of the wandering missionary and are also ascetic prescription for an elite group. (Crossan 1998 405)

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mention of the coming end of history; Jesus never speaks of himself as a savior, and there is no mention of his or anyone’s resurrection. In the face of the silence regarding his divine credentials, it is the teachings that stand out. Could it be that Jesus’ teachings alone were the initial reason for such intense respect and remembrance? Are these brief notations of his character and authority remnants of pre-resurrection memory, i.e., sources recalled from his ministry without benefit of the resurrection? Without something to go on—some literary evidence—it is impossible to tell whether or not these teachings come from the memories of an impressive teacher or a risen icon of the faith. And what of the community of listeners? Were these respondents to his message the same band of disciples who had been Jesus’ companions during the actual ministry? It is an intriguing possibility, and there is no clear answer at present. More certain is our surmise that, if the wisdom sayings are indeed a product of an early community, they named him a “wise teacher.” This title alone is a unique one compared to the other pictures of Jesus taught in the sources and described later in our study. Here, his legitimacy depends on the uniqueness of his instructions, while his divine status isn’t part of the picture. What a different conception this is for those of us who thought Paul’s picture of the risen Christ, or Mark’s secretive son of Adam, were the keys to understanding the real Jesus. The image of a wise teacher is so low-key that it hardly seems possible it could be the cause of explosive missionary growth. Yet there it is, a portrayal that announces its case and begs no fanfare. Jesus’ views are straightforward, and no effort is made to justify his teaching with an assertion of divine authority. This will change soon in Q2; Jesus will accept the title “son of Adam” and use it frequently as a self-reference. Thereafter it falls into lesser use, no longer the primary title to watch. The very existence of Q1 is a lesson in early diversity. We have not yet documented the wide range of views about Jesus, but this earliest of portraits says that theology about the persona of the messenger comes after the content of his teaching is understood. This condition is much like the notion that theory follows practice; explanations follow experience. Sometimes, a chunk of time separates the two dimensions of the movement. In this case, it could be twenty-five years or more between the earlier and later portrayals, depending on the length of the oral period.

A Hidden Gospel, Q

23

Q2 Q2 adds more to the familiar picture of Jesus as an announcer of the Kingdom of God, and has narratives involving John the Baptist. Again, the three scholars agree that this portion of the work is an add-on, or second layer of material with regard to Q1. In Q2’s presentation of John the Baptist the stories seem to have less to do with him than with his relationship to Jesus. One will come after John with “holy spirit and fire.” And when John sends emissaries to inquire if Jesus is the One, Jesus does not respond with pithy teachings, but challenges John to accept what he has done, miracles and all. This is the voice of a movement’s founder, one who defines the community rather than merely inspires it. Throughout the hypothetical Q2, this theme is reiterated in the voice of John; “—whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” The materials below are not entirely like those of the previous corpus. The earlier Q1 has the coherency of being a gathering of wisdom sayings. The scholars’ hypothesis for Q2 is quite different: the extent of their agreement follows the thought that Q2 is a later edition of the earliest sayings, with important clarifications. Kloppenborg’s suggestion that Q is also sequentially layered is matched by Crossan and Mack. We will note only the additions which show the peculiar nature of Q2, but it should be assumed that the earlier Q1 was meant to be read as part of this later, edited document. Q1, in other words, has already been “hidden,” i.e., embedded in Q2. Lastly, it is appropriate to think of the Q2 author(s) as an editor(s) with an attitude; note the harsh outcomes for the unfaithful. Q2’s Jesus is no wimp. John the Baptist predicts: “I am plunging you in water; but one who is stronger than I is coming, one whose sandals I am not worthy to touch. He will overwhelm you with holy spirit and fire.”

John the Baptist’s inquiry: John heard about this and sent his disciples to ask, “Are you the one to come, or should we look for another?” Jesus said, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind recover their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor are given good news.”

Jesus speaks about that age:

24

Chapter Two “To what shall I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplace and calling to each other: ‘We played pipes for you and you did not dance.’ ‘We sang a dirge and you did not wail.’”

Pronouncements against: “I am telling you, Sodom will have a lighter punishment on judgment than that town.”

Praise: “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” “How fortunate are the eyes that see what you see! For I’m telling you that many prophets and kings longed to see what you see and did not see it, and to hear what you hear and did not hear it.”

Warnings: “Whoever is not with me is against me, and the one who does not gather with me scatters.” “Shame on you lawyers! For you load people with burdens heavy to bear, but you yourselves refuse to carry even a light load.” “Every one who admits in public that they know me, the Son of man will acknowledge before the angels of God. But the one who disowns me in public, the Son of man will disown before the angels of God.”

The Way: “Strive to enter by the narrow door, for many I tell you, will try to enter by it and will not be able.” “Many will come from east and west and sit at the table in the kingdom of God. “There will be weeping and clenching of teeth when you see Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets in the kingdom of God and you yourselves excluded.” “And look, the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

Final Judgment:

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“Just as it was in the days of Noah, so it will be on the day of the Son of man. They ate, they drank, they married, they were given in marriage right up until the day when Noah entered the ark. Then the flood came and took them all.” “I am telling you, on that night there will be two in the field. One will be seized and the other left. Two women will be grinding together. One will be taken and the other left.” 7

The differences between this selection of Q and the earlier corpus, Q1, are dramatic and the coalescence between them uneasy. The reader is introduced to apocalyptic pronouncements, the majority of which are threats to the casual believer in the drama of Israel’s redemption. If we are accurate about the “wise teacher” role of Q1, the changes in Q2 are radical. Jesus is no longer the teacher/messenger, but now has the additional function of conquering entirely new territory: his status and authority. Anticipating a bit, the new-found roles in Q2 will never be rescinded; we are headed into the many-faceted world of “Messiah-ship,” from which, in Jesus’ case, there is no return. Unlike Q1 with three modest titles, each used but once, Q2 has a growing number of instances, twenty-four in all, most of which are devoid of full explanations. The leader now plays the role of doer in the divine plan rather than serving as the conveyor of the message. In other places, Q2’s Jesus is named as “Master” (1 time), “the one who is to come” (1), “the one who sent me” (1), “Holy Spirit” (3), “Teacher” (1), “son” (3), “God’s son,” (2), “Lord” (1). Jesus also names God as the/my “Father” (4), and “Heavenly Father” (1). Most notably, for the very early period, Jesus uses the title, “son of Adam” a total of nine times. As for the proliferation of new titles, it begins in earnest with the temptations, where Satan calls Jesus, “God’s son,” twice. (Luke 4:3, 9) The context is that Jesus is challenged to prove his authority by performing some supernatural act. Jesus refuses on the grounds that tempting God is illegitimate, yet at the same time he twice uses the enigmatic term “Lord your God.” (Luke 4:12, 5:8) Could he possibly be referring to himself? If so, Jesus is breaking all the rules of his religious training: any use of the name of God tainted by an association with human characteristics is idolatry. Confusion over this in Jesus’ ministry was to be his undoing. We must be careful not to assume the worst about the confusion that Jesus’ use of this title evokes.

7

All the above selections are from Luke. (Mack 1993 81 ff.)

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The devil taunts Jesus as “God’s son”—. (Luke, 4:3) But Jesus returns the barb: “Human beings are not to live on bread alone.” The devil persists in his taunt, and Jesus persists in responding with the sacred name. I do not think the author consciously implied that Jesus identified himself as the Lord God, but the casualness in Jesus’ use of the title is remarkable; without further clues, it is plausible that he is using it as a self reference. First impression: the devil is addressing Jesus, and Jesus is responding as if being addressed. The devil said to him, “To prove you’re God’s son…” (Luke 4:3) Jesus responded to him, “It is written, ‘Human beings are not to live by bread alone.’”(Luke 4:4) [Devil:] “To prove you are God’s son”…(Luke 4:9) [Jesus:] ‘You are not to put the Lord your God to the test.’ (Luke 4:12) [Devil:] “So if you will pay homage to me”… (Luke 4:7) [Jesus:] “You are to pay homage to the Lord your God and to revere him alone.” (Luke 4:8)

This extended passage tells us one of two things: either the editors were lax in their efforts to have a clean, non-confusing doctrine of Jesus, or the communities were in that stage of discovery which admitted new titles without much concern for right teaching. Assuming our modern translation is accurate and Jesus is answering the devil’s challenges as if he were the embodiment of the Godhead, the encounters make some sense. But Jesus’ response as if he were God (nowhere else in Q2 is such an intimation present) sets a radically new standard for the rest of Q2, wholly different from the portrayal of Q1. The title “son” conveys a distinctive relation to “the/my Father” labels and probably needed little or no explanation. Where Jesus talks about his father or heavenly father, the son’s role is further clarified. In all these instances, no interpretative effort is made to clarify or explain the murky nuances of the titles. We are tempted to conclude that the writing was indeed so early that memories filled in the gaps—there must have been elders who kept the (oral) campfires alive.

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Son of Adam To know Jesus is to acknowledge his most popular title as Son of man (Adam), and to remain ignorant or in denial of that status is to be in grave jeopardy on the coming day of judgment. See the example under “Warnings” above. Not all of the titles have this flavor (see Luke 10:16 ff., 11:9, 12:ff., 13:18, etc.), but the themes are all subject to the day of reckoning, and there will be harsh decisions on that occasion. The title son of Adam is intimately related to this key scene. As we noted in our listing above, it is the “son of Adam” title that has the highest profile and range of meanings. It pops up early, it pops up late. It is the name that will dominate Q2’s teachings. “Son of Adam” is first used in the sermon of Luke 6:22 in an unusual way: Jesus speaks to listeners, complimenting them because of their loyalty to the son of Adam. No further explanation is offered, and no mention of the title occurs until Luke’s eleventh chapter, Verse 30. Q1’s use of the title seems almost casual: “so the son of Adam will be a sign for this generation.” The “sign” is not elaborated, and when Matthew uses the same passage, he feels no need to fill in the literary blanks; in this passage he ignores the title and substitutes the bland pronoun “he.” Jonah is the model for Jesus’ death: three days in the belly of the whale, and as the people of Nineveh were revived at judgment day, so it will be for this generation. They will repent. Has Luke confused the reader unnecessarily? The Jonah image hardly fits. This is an odd association for the son of Adam image, which originally comes out of Daniel’s eschatological vision.8 A less convoluted image is the next occurrence of “son of Adam”— Luke 12:1. A heavenly tribunal is envisioned, with those who readily acknowledge Jesus as the son of Adam gaining acceptance, while those who don’t face condemnation. The context is parallel to the original source (Daniel), and the function of the son of Adam familiar. A Christian caveat is contained in the second mention of the name, namely a proviso that negative words against the son of Adam will be “forgiven,” whereas any claims against the Holy Spirit will not.9 8 That is a good example of what I mean by “casual” use; it was an unfamiliar and awkward context for the title and so begged for explanation. When a title is used casually, as if every reader understands what is meant, it is more likely to confuse. 9 This is a very early use of the term “holy spirit,” if it is part of Q’s original writing and not a later editorial addition. If it is indeed part of the original text, the Holy Spirit doctrine is not so late a comer to Christian thinking as some have thought. It is beyond the scope of this study to resolve this question.

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The final four uses of the name have to do with a cluster of prophecies: Jesus talks about the coming of the son of Adam. In Luke 17:22, 25, 26, and 30, Jesus anticipates the day of Coming. It is not a pretty picture. Those who do not prepare are summarily destroyed in the same manner as those who missed Noah’s departure. The image of Sodom is also recalled to teach the lesson of sufficient preparation; those who fail are “carcasses.” Q used the son of Adam title in a loose sense, that is, with no strict, single theological message. Others would add preciseness and “edge,” but not right away. Q demonstrates that theological definition was yet to be worked on, an understandable condition for the earliest tradition. No dates for the composition or editorial fixes of Q have been verified. Scholars cannot agree on the question of whether Q arose as a written document or an oral tradition. It remains a hypothetical manuscript, as its existence depends on linguistic evidence in Matthew and Luke. Summarizing Q’s character at this point is like trying to hit a moving object. Some markers, however, have emerged. Q1, the earliest writer, provided the clearest picture of Jesus as the wise and inspirational teacher. His function was to develop a “curriculum for the last days.” He was restricted to teaching the disciples a code of conduct. Q2, fast on Q1’s heels, added the last-day element, focusing upon what teaching should be prominent, aligning disciples with the messianic plan, and living with him in spirit. Q3 is a redactor/editor who tried to harmonize the materials contained in Q1 and Q2. (He may also have produced Q2 doing his work as an editor.) In this earliest of hypothetical records, the lack of a single editorial message is a good sign. It was an effective image. The sense of random lessons and the absence of a definitive outline may well say that there was no call for them, and I imagine that there was a generous attitude towards Jesus’ mission and purpose. In short, the blossoming faith did not have a theological axe to grind. Jesus was relatively fresh in their memories and there was no need to argue—yet. The last four uses of “son of Adam” are a first. They set a new tone: openly apocalyptic and focused on Jesus’ special relation with the Father. Given the early date of composition, they are the first hint we have of a concern about Jesus’ office, his status as leader, which will grow. (See SV Q 17:22, 25, 26 and 30) This secretive relationship will echo in Matthew’s gospel and be a mainstay in John. It is the beginning of the exclusive relation between Jesus and the Father, or should I say, the elevation of the

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leader to play a central role in executing God’s massive salvation plan for humanity. Throughout this source we hear Jesus called the “Lord” (Luke 7:19, 17:37) and Jerusalem welcoming him as “one who comes in the name of the Lord” (Luke 13:35). Q2’s use of the titles is not elaborated, but their introduction into the tradition means that the communities are growing in confidence and probably in numbers. Although these names often imply great respect for Jesus, they do not imply divine status. But their leader is more than a teacher—he is an icon focusing their messianic hopes. This elevation, or transition, is abundantly clear in the growing adulation expressed in Jesus’ title “Son of man.” It is used ten times in Q2, and in most of the instances, the title implies a messianic office. We can learn much from the name which dominates concern for Jesus’ status as icon, judge, and savior. The time for refinement and debate had come. The move to divinize was out of the gate and gained as the century progressed. Q2 was, relative to its successors, conservative about the use of titles. Non-theological names (those having no sacred status) have a strong place in the scheme: teacher, master, and lord. Although they are not used in abundance, as would be true in the later gospels, they fit their context, and most seem appropriate. Provocative titles are prominent in the portions dealing with the identity of Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come?” and “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” Reading these titles in their gospel context alone, it would be difficult to say just what they meant. An informed student of Judaic expectations in the first century, however, would have known their significance even without a description; the gentile convert could have benefited from a guide. Of the ten mentions of the phrase son of Adam by Q2’s author(s), three suggest an apocalyptic nature and five are unquestionably apocalyptic in context. In all the uses of the title, Jesus is the speaker and is talking about himself.10 It should help to specify who is writing what as we proceed. I can give Mack’s best hunch with regard to Q1 and Q2, but no one has come up with a personification of a Q3 who may have edited a final mesh to the Q1 and Q2 sources. There may be no one. Perhaps it is Luke, or it may be Q2 who did the editing; we shall identify where we can. Luke 7:34: “The son of Adam appeared on the scene both eating and drinking.” I am not sure of the theological import of this passage. The son 10 All citations in this chapter are from The Complete Gospels Scholars Version (SV).

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Chapter Two “appeared”—he came from elsewhere, but he also behaved like an ordinary man, eating and drinking and associating with the lowly tax collector. Luke. 9:58: “Foxes have dens, and birds of the sky have nests, but the son of Adam has nowhere to lay his head.” This verse has little or no impact on the image of Jesus. Son of Adam is here best translated, “this man,” a title showing respect, but not deification. Luke 11:30: “—just as Jonah became a sign for the Ninevites, so will the son of Adam be a sign for this generation.” Scholars think this reference to Jonah has to do with the city’s repentance. That image fits the traditional role of the apocalyptic son of Adam coming on the clouds, cast in this role early on, and it has popular staying power in most sources, Paul excepted. Matthew adds his interpretation, which only muddies the water further as to the most likely parallel between Jesus and Jonah. See Matt.12:38-42. Luke 12:8 … “everyone who acknowledges me in public, the son of Adam will acknowledge in front of God’s messengers, but whoever disowns me in public will be disowned in the presence of God’s messengers.” This grim challenge to remain faithful is a reiteration of the third instance, but the purpose in bringing it up is quite different. Above we see the powerful presence of the son of Adam; here we realize his mission is to cut out the chaff and welcome the faithful. The heavenly judge is not all sugar and spice. Luke 12:10 “And everyone who utters a word against the son of Adam will be forgiven, but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit won’t be forgiven.” The image of Jesus remains basically the same, but here the rules have changed: in the case of saying something negative, not just failing to admit one’s loyalties, it is the Holy Spirit who is offended, and the offender not forgiven. The ethics of denial are different from those surrounding put-downs. Lest we forget, this all takes place after the end of history; it is a vision of the collective after-life. Luke 12:40 “You too should be prepared. Remember. The son of Adam is coming when you least expect it.” Warning: the time is not predictable. Apocalyptic in every way. Luke 17:22 “There’ll come a time when you will yearn for the days of the son of Adam,” a negative image of 14:26 and 12:49. Q2 anticipates a cataclysmic ending to history, where families are divided and spectacular natural events are visited upon Israel.

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Luke 17:24 “For just as lightening flashes and lights up the sky from one end to the other, that’s what the son of Adam will be like in his day.” No one is sure when, but the drama of the expected end will affect everyone. Luke 17:26 “And just as it was in the days of Noah, that’s how it will be in the days of the son of Adam.”

The parallel is somewhat stretched as in the Jonah material, but Luke uses it nonetheless. Perhaps Luke is following Matthew’s willingness to stretch things, but Matthew takes the time to explain both examples and Luke doesn’t. Matthew’s rationale: the people of Noah’s day were oblivious to the coming deluge, so God’s flood swept them away. (See Matt. 24:37ff.) Luke’s parallel (and Matthew’s) about Noah does not “agree” with the Jonah excerpt in that in one the people repent and in the other they are massacred: one a holocaust, the other a redeeming act. It is a confusing scenario. Luke 17:30 “But on the day Lot left Sodom, fire and sulphur rained down from the sky and destroyed them all. It will be like that on the day the son of Adam is revealed.” Another image of destruction; the vicious God appears before the peaceful, compassionate redeemer.

What a series of natural (and supernatural) events! Had they come off as predicted and expected, the world would have had a different trajectory, but they did not occur as hoped, and that fact would eventually present the growing churches with a dilemma. When would the long-expected day arrive? Ever? Surely this would occur to the early authors, but it didn’t make very good press. As long as the time of arrival was just around the corner, the son of Adam role was appropriate, but when the day became less sure, the image of the son would fade. This explanation is pure speculation, but it seems plausible. The son of Adam paradigm dominated the first hundred years; until the very last of our period of study its use surpassed all other titles combined. This uncontested leadership was bound to affect the early churches in matters of doctrine. In this passage Jesus speaks of himself in the third person, where in the previous segment Jesus spoke in the first person. There is something notable in his use of the third person: a sense of the teacher’s distance, an element of resignation, perhaps—the insider’s understanding of his mission that can be understood by others as well. We cannot read too much into it but do believe that a remark like this is telling. The focus has subtly shifted from teachings to teacher; not only is his message different, but so is the conception of Jesus’ authority. It was a striking image and it spread its influence mightily.

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The title’s early popularity is expressed in its frequency of use: it surpassed all other titles combined. This uncontested leadership was bound to affect the early churches in matters of doctrine. Jesus’ speaking is geared more to preparing for the coming world than to living in the present one. The audience is harder to describe because there are a number of them. Those who accept the founder are favored; those who do not are “scattered.” This generation is not to be trusted. They shall be dealt with according to their fidelity to the leader. Some, like Sodom, will be punished, but not as severely as the unreceptive town. Pharisees and lawyers are singled out for special condemnation. All separate leaders are given some prospect in the coming age, but loyalty and devotion to the son of Adam’s authority and message are the only tickets to a favorable end. Most significant is a change in Q2’s tone, especially the heaviness of the coming day of judgment. At the table of the kingdom, only those who have remained faithful will sup. The others will be summarily excluded. The faithful will be seized—the others “left.” It is an uncompromising scene Q lays out for the reader. Although we have noted the differences between Q2 and Q1, it should be remembered that however unlike the two are, they were brought into the later, expanded Q. We are just entering the era of diversity as the naming process grows. What of the communities that are reflected, if only dimly, in the later edition? Grouping the scholars already cited becomes increasingly tenuous. Mack is the most adventurous of the three. He sees a fledgling community beginning to experience tension and discord within. They are still the same Galilean followers who heard the cynic-like teacher of Q1, but have now become a people being rejected by their peers. Concern for the authority of the movement’s founder is rising. In one telling passage, Mack pictures the possible conditions. It is clear that the Q community had begun to imagine their world as a huge courtroom. What one said in private would be made public. What one said in public would be questioned before the assembly. What one said before the assembly would determine one’s fate in the heavenly court or final judgment. In this situation of trial, one would be required to give an account of oneself as a member of the Jesus community. (Mack 1993 167)

Other new elements singled out for notice by Mack are the first mention of the term holy spirit and the use of the title Son of man. The mention of the holy spirit occurs only once in Q2 and should not, Mack believes, be associated with the later frequent references to the trinity or

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connected to charismatic gifts. His sense of its use relates to the possession of wisdom, the community’s acceptance of Jesus as the person of wisdom. In other words, the term is devoid of the later orthodox meanings and harks back to the wise teacher theme of Q1. Mack’s exegesis of the Son of man title is parallel to this. For him, the Son of man image always had primary associations with the figure in Daniel: a heavenly, victorious messenger of judgment, bringing new life to the faithful. Because of the peculiar context in which the title is used in Q2, Mack thinks this image is not operative. The Son of man term is used in a different context, namely, the believer standing trial. The message is that the believer is not to waffle on the issue of Jesus’ authority, but can be excused if followers hesitate to recognize Jesus as the Son of man. “This means that, although the Q community agreed on the importance of saying they were loyal to Jesus, not all were clear about the idea of the Son of man and his relation to Jesus.” Mack’s conclusion seems to imply that this early community was aware of and used the mythology of the Son of man but did not associate it with the Eschaton and the coming of the Son of man on the heavenly clouds. A significant difference is that a city will suffer and, in Jesus’ case, an individual will die. If we are correct about his interpretations, there is room for dissent. Surely he is right about Q2’s heavy use of the title, and there is widespread agreement that early conceptions are less “theological” than the later ones. Mack stretches his case unnecessarily in holding that the older Jewish notion of an apocalyptic, heavenly messenger had not yet been adapted extensively to the newer circumstances. His view of the naming process implies a cautious entry into the world of Jewish philosophy/theology. It is well founded, especially his use of the courtroom environment, although I find no reason why the heavenly court is inappropriate for him. It is a court beyond the ordinary; a final judgment is being rendered. That element is well supported in the citations—the dramatic setting and Jesus’ role—parallel to the image in Daniel. The most controversial element in Mack’s reading of Q2 is that of the centrality of the final judgment. Jesus thrust into the eschatological age takes priority over all other themes. Q2 frames Q1’s focus on practical values and behavior with the immanence of the coming age. The teachings which had once stood on their own are now part of a much larger scene of redemption; the teachings are still vital as a way of being with Jesus, but now they are also measures for entry into the kingdom. Mack attributes this dramatic shift not to the teachings’ content but to the community’s tendency to create myths, and especially the myth of “the end.”

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The image of Jesus as the revealer of his special, esoteric, and transcendent nature Knowledge of all the world and human history did not evolve because the people of Q had been mesmerized by a charismatic guru. It was an accidental accumulation of wisdom created by the simple device of mythmaking in the genre of instruction…the teacher’s wisdom eventually included a unique self-understanding. The writers of Q had imagined a final judgment in order to communicate their sense of threat from the world outside. But judgment is judgment and the standard was set. It was keeping the words of Jesus that mattered. But they really had to keep them now. Not to keep them would have grave consequences indeed. (See Mack 1993 163) Mack’s views about the inevitability of mythmaking in a community of faith are well founded, but agreement on that should not be confused with his particular views on his reading of Q2. For us, the trend toward an end time theology is apparent in Q2, and should not be missed. Crossan takes a much more conservative approach in identifying a community behind Q2, and his conceptualization is considerably more complex than Mack’s. Like Mack 1993 he readily accepts the newer layer of apocalyptic pronouncements, but he refines that notion considerably. Q2 shows a line of development that Crossan called secondary apocalyptic eschatology. Even when Q2 is added to Q1 and the entire Q Gospel is proposing an apocalyptic eschatology, it is more additive than constitutive, more corrective than determinative, more secondary than primary. It is, in other words, a rather different brand of apocalyptic eschatology from that of Paul or Mark. (Crossan 1998 264)

Crossan’s idea will require some explaining and rethinking of Q1 contents, but it may lead to a clearer view of the evolution of Q and a sense of Q’s origins in modern scholarship. Primary apolcalyptic eschatology “says not to buy a mortgage because the end is coming soon.” Apocalypticism in the second understanding says, “...and if you do buy a mortgage you shall surely roast in hell.” (Crossan 1998 264) “Buying a mortgage” is added on as a coercive and cosmic threat to obtain obedience to what one should be doing in any case. “My term, therefore, for the completed Q Gospel is secondary apocalyptic eschatology.” (Crossan 1998 265) Crossan argues for a Common Sayings Tradition discovered not only in Q1 and the Gospel of Thomas but also reflected in the much later

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Didache. What we have thus far called “Q1” he prefers naming the “Common Sayings Tradition” (CST). And it is this corpus that Q2 redacts into the full Gospel of Q. How does he reconcile the obvious differences between Q1 and Q2? The Common Sayings Tradition is neither apocalyptic nor Gnostic, as is Thomas. ...we already know what that ‘early tradition’ is not. It is neither esoteric ascetical eschatology nor secondary apocalyptic eschatology. What theology or ideology is present in the CST? That is, what is the view of the earliest albeit hypothetical piece of Christian literature? (Crossan 1998 374)

His answer to this question is vital to his entire thesis and is repeated many times throughout the book. I have chosen only one quotation to represent it here. CST has its roots in the oral tradition and ultimately in a memory of the historical Jesus, provided that we include all the caveats deemed appropriate by Crossan. Later in his argument he will call this the Life Tradition, and for the more technically inclined reader, he chooses the term “ethical eschatology.” (Crossan 1998 374) Ethicism, short for ethical eschatology, is ethical radicalism with a divine mandate based on the character of God. What makes it radical or eschatological ethics is, above all else, the fact that it is nonviolent resistance to structural violence. It is absolute faith in a nonviolent God and the attempt to live and act in union with such a God. (Crossan 1998 287)

CST has in it a healthy dose of the call to relieve the poor and minister to the needy in the knowledge that this is, in fact, the kingdom in action. The CST community (Q1) is a gathering that trusts that the kingdom of God is inevitable and will be realized by faithful adherence to the teacher’s wisdom and lifestyle. This background is essential for Crossan’s view of unique redaction of Q2. Q2 takes this ethical tradition and transforms it into secondary apocalypticism. In simple words, “Imitate the life of Jesus and wait for the end.” Whereas Q1 was content to focus on the imitation of the teacher, Q2 added the promise of an imminent end. Again Q2 adds onto the this-worldly ethics “a coercive and cosmic threat.” (Crossan 1998 264) In worldly terms, the community was being rejected and turned itself towards an escape to the world to come. The fact that similar perceptions are constructed by the two scholars we are working with is enough to shed light on the phenomenon of naming. Crossan has made a similar argument to Mack’s but has addressed

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the tough issues regarding the nature of the apocalyptic message in Q2. This makes Crossan the preferred critical source, even though Mack’s courtroom and the last judgment are complimentary contexts for Q2. With the later Q2, we are introduced to a Jesus who is bringing a message of danger and foreboding to the earlier notion of discipleship. The courtroom image is dark and full of angst; its setting is immediately after the end of history. Scattering the inattentive, leaving behind the irresolute, it brings not only a new picture of Jesus, but reflects a different and potentially disturbing image of God. Both Mack and Crossan place Q2 in rural Galilee, presumably among the same core of followers as Q1. Mack dates Q1 at ca. CE 52-55, and Q2 at ca. CE 65. Crossan dates accordingly, so that the full gospel of Q is contemporary to Paul’s letters. But it is there that the semblance between the two groups breaks down. The separation of Q1 from Q2 satisfies the need for two groups, the later one waiting for the end. We have therefore a very early tradition in written form that is not only divergent from Paul’s letters, but is also shrouded by the very gospels in which it is “hidden.” Taken together, Q1 and Q2 are nevertheless remarkable windows on the beginnings of Christianity. Assuming that the community is the same or similar for both, the shifts of perspective show the evolution from a band of wandering devotees to the very earliest marks of an organization with members. In terms of naming Jesus, the early “wise teacher” who instructs his followers to live on the edges of society while traveling soon becomes in Q2 the founder of a faith that for the devotee has roots in communal customs. Membership means confessing the authority of the leader, perhaps during trial. The believer’s world view also morphs from one of living the Jesus ethic without thought for the past or future (Q1), to living in anticipation of the end of history (Q2). In Q1, there is little to suggest the birth of a new religion, no sense of it being anything but a fresh approach to Jewish ethics—not substantially new, but fresh in energy. There is no reference to the messiah and certainly no mention of a savior. In Q2 we catch the hint of messiahship in the title “Son of man,” but it is not explicitly related to the image in Daniel. Was the then-contemporary reader led to infer such a connection? Yes, probably. The influence of heavenly judgment is felt in most of the son of Adam quotations. No general resurrection is implied, and Jesus’ ministry is still centered on the teachings, although his miracles have entered the picture. In the two layers, there is ample evidence to conclude that we have an evolutionary phenomenon, a transitional document representing the growth of a fledgling faith. Q, in its entirety, is a sort of bridge document, a kind of clock for the earliest years.

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Again, the fact that there is no overriding plan for the document implies that diversity is not only tolerated, but is celebrated. It is fine testament that the churches were finding their own paths amongst the many remembrances, and consistency was just not a priority. I admit the heavy element of guessing on this claim, but sometimes what is absent argues more loudly than what is present. It also means that the communities did not immediately feel impelled to divinize Jesus with proofs or force of argument. Evidently Jesus’ divine image did not drive the very earliest writers to think of that divinity as a contentious issue. The question arises—what or who is responsible for this unmistakable trend? Or we may put it differently—is this a “natural” development or one orchestrated by a divine plan? The evidence is firmly in the camp of naturally discernable pressures and developments. There were external events which affected the authors’ interpretation of Jesus’ teaching and place in God’s plan; I think of the fall of Jerusalem. It was a watershed event, and yet we hear nothing of it directly in the first hundred years. Its fall to Rome had dire consequences and waves of end-time expectation for the new churches. Lest we leave this portion of our study without due recognition of its importance for the process of naming Jesus, the evolution of images within the corpus is revolutionary as a view of Christian beginnings. Q1’s teacher may have looked upon himself as a wise teacher and no more. Recognizing such an early period is truly a shaking of orthodox foundations. If earlier is better, and this does meet the criteria for being very early, the implications are potent. Christianity had a significant period of time when it regarded its leader as a creative teacher—and no more. As it developed its infrastructure and sense of place, its second phase, led by a heavenly judge, was a move to establish the movement as a separate religion, a development that surprised even the elders. Our journey to name the names of Jesus has just begun, but already we have encountered diversity and shifts in naming. The time is only a few decades from the crucifixion and the locale, Galilee. There is much more to come.

CHAPTER THREE THE GOSPEL OF THOMAS

The Long Journey to Recognition We spent considerable space looking at the recognition of Q as a significant document, because it set the stage for a new look at Christian beginnings; it also forms the core teaching of two canonical Gospels, Matthew and Luke, and contains a trove of early names for Jesus. The Gospel of Thomas falls in a different category for most contemporary believers: it is not a narrative, it adds very few titles, and most importantly, it has never been part of “the canon.” In its present form, Thomas is saturated with Gnostic piety. Early on it was deemed heretical; the gospel’s punishment was to be excluded from all acceptable portrayals. People are still put off by it because of the stigma of its ancient rejection, yet its value is evident, both as a fresh look and because it is an example of another form of hiddenness. Thomas’ earliest portions originated during Christianity’s earliest years. The views expressed in the text are apropos for us; they read well in our time and open up the diversity question, one may say radically. Instead of being “lost” because of its contents, it was more like being “stashed away,” hardly recognizable because of its Gnostic framework and available only in snippets. During those early years, converts were free to regard other sayings gospels such as Thomas on their merit. That this gospel survived is indicative of its being deemed worthy of saving by its adherents; its existence points to a community of support which considered itself Christian—educated to a higher path, an elitist position to be sure but tucked away in the lonely privacy of the desert. In the first century, Christian leaders, with the exception of Paul, enacted no restrictions or penalties on what a body of believers might consider sacred reading. There was no structure or governing body in the first century to set apart a canon, and there is no evidence that the gospel of Thomas was rejected early on because of its teachings. That would occur later, but for the earliest Gospel listeners, the first hundred years was a period of exploration, expansion, even a welcoming attitude, not of narrowing and

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normalization. To understand it, some of its historical background should be presented. Converts did not use any of the sources we are examining; they had only Paul's letters, and we are not entirely sure of that. Likewise, there was no certified body of literature to guide or regulate their reading, a “standard,” an orthodox measurement device or process for entry into a tradition. The Jewish community had their own canon, the Septuagint (the Greek version of the Torah), and the earliest Christians often co-opted it as their sacred text. That condition would last until the thirteenth century, when the Masoretic text became the norm for their sacred text. But in the first century many early Christians were Jews, and disputes frequently involved Jewish converts, so it was natural for them to turn to the Septuagint/Torah. The gospels are a case in point; each gospel writer had a way of relating the Torah to the new faith. Matthew, especially, refers to it for justification of its message. All the gospels, and Paul’s letters assumed they were an extension of the Hebrews’ Promise, used the Greek-Hebrew texts to validate their case. Gnostic thinking provided a unique environment for earlier Christians, a soil in which they could plant their seed, when practice may already have been oriented around a pre-existing Gnostic philosophy. The 1947 find of an urn full of complete manuscripts confirmed scholars’ expectations that a full document did exist, and it accelerated the critical study of Thomas. Howard Clark Kee, again, is a good example of its initial (1970) reception. He recognized that the Gospel of Thomas contained logia [sayings] that stand very close to those attributed to Jesus in the tradition. Some scholars have even suggested that the Gospel of Thomas may contain older forms of Jesus’ sayings than those already known from the synoptics. (Pagels 2003 30ff) Recognition came slowly, but the trend is unmistakable: because of Thomas’ close ties to Q, it has become an important link in its own right for the story of the earliest years. (See Kee 1970 280) Thomas’ ties with a canonical corpus elevated its importance as an independent source. It was a piggy-back affair. “…[f]ar more of the content of the Gospel of Thomas is paralleled in the Q Gospel more than in any other early Christian document that we now know.” (Crossan 1998 247) If portions of Q are very early, and there are repetitions of it in Thomas, there is every likelihood that parts of Thomas are also early. In order to execute his argument, Crossan describes the layer, or stratification issue.

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Could there be some documentary or written source common to both these gospels that might explain the large amount of parallel data? That seems most unlikely…[I]f you compare those common sayings within their sequential positions in the Q Gospel and the Gospel of Thomas, there is no common pattern. (Crossan 1998 249)

This condition prompts Crossan’s conclusion: a high incidence of repetitive content, but no common sequence or order. It is unlikely that the gospel writer(s) had a written document in hand. Instead, he thinks the author(s) of Thomas was in touch with a Common Sayings Tradition and used it for Gnostic purposes, thus creating layers or strata in the edited product. It also implies that the Thomas creator(s) did not possess a copy of Q or any other written source to aid the composing process. This is consistent with Crossan's approach, which says that memory operates to capture the gist of a separate source but forgets sequence, order, and other peripheral concerns. We can expect shifts in details but should be especially aware of changes in an established direction. The product is a result of much tampering and eventual burial, its history locked in an urn, waiting for discovery. First-century traces are entombed alongside fourth-century Gnostic writings as if they were one. It is a big adjustment to view written documents as “moving targets.” Given the nature of our object—a 2000 year old object—that adjustment in expectations seems necessary. Crossan sees in Thomas layers indicating additions to an older tradition. The earlier layer in Thomas is, after completion, subjected to the Gnostic convictions of a later editor/author. This arrangement is not unlike what he suggested with regard to Q. Thomas’ early stratum is prominent in the following example; its content is clearly akin to Q1; it has no obvious Gnostic slant: “Jesus said, ‘The one who has found the world, and has become wealthy, should renounce the world.’” (SV Gospel of Thomas Saying 110) The intent of the saying is straightforward. The disciple is to give up his wealth and live the radical ethic of Jesus. Jesus’ advice may require uncommon action, but it is ascetic, not necessarily Gnostic. Crossan believes it belongs to CST and echoes many sayings in the canonical gospels. Compare the above with his next example: Jesus said, “Congratulations to those who are alone and chosen, for you will find the (Father’s) domain. For you have come from it and you will return there again.”

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Chapter Three Jesus said, “If they say to you ‘Where have you come from?' say to them, ‘We have come from the place where the light came into being itself, established itself by itself and appeared in their image.’ If they say to you, ‘Is it you?’ say, ‘We are children of light, and we are the chosen of the living. If they ask you, Where is the evidence of your father in you?’ I say to them, ‘It is motion and rest.’” (SV Gospel of Thomas Sayings 49-50)

One can see in this second passage that its overall content differs widely from the first. A tiny hint of an ascetic’s renunciation comes early in the second selection, but it is overridden by elaborate explanation. The author/editor here is a believer in secret wisdom, the theology later called Gnosticism. The renunciation of the first passage is straightforward and simple compared to the second, which seems complex and confusing for the newcomer. Where the first selection could be construed to suggest Stoic resignation, the second is littered with Gnostic secretive rhetoric. The theological intent of the two examples makes one wonder how they could be the product of a single mind. This is what Crossan means by layers: distinct traditions buried by an author(s) or successive editors. Such comparisons can be seen throughout Thomas: the CST is shrouded quite successfully in a later Gnostic theology. The critical point, for Crossan, is that the two passages, when compared, reveal the early and later layers (the early portion being the entire Saying in 110, and the later layer, the final portion of Saying 49). Similar passages auger an early date for at least thirty percent of the content in the Gospel of Thomas. Crossan takes great care to delineate just what sort of editing towards the Gnostic perspectives was used by the authors(s) of Thomas, but he never shows us a gathered “early core.” This presents us with a technical problem, one we can’t solve, because there is no agreed-upon separate text for a CST, (understandably so, he believes, because it emerged as having roots in an oral tradition), and the job of culling one out, if feasible, is for dedicated specialists. The heftiest piece of circumstantial evidence for a written memory of a CST (I speculate) is the material Thomas has in common with Q. It may not be a mother lode, but it makes his theory more credible. Crossan’s conclusion is quite clear. He sees in the earlier layer a specific example of Jesus' teaching, an ethic relatively untouched by Gnosticism. If we are not looking for invincible evidence, and are satisfied with a suggestive observation, this is a good example of reconstruction in Crossan's work. It is not a widely accepted corpus, however. For Helmut Koester, the earliest picture of Jesus is a bit different. Jesus is still the wise teacher, but hints of Gnosticism and eschatology are embedded in the earliest strata of Thomas’ sayings.

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The oldest forms most likely contained wisdom sayings and eschatological sayings of Jesus, including a number of parables. The sayings of this type, even those which have no parallels in the gospels of the New Testament, (especially the parables 97 and 98) may belong to the oldest strata of the tradition. The Gospel of Thomas in its oldest form stressed the finding of wisdom, or of the “Kingdom of the Father,” in the knowledge (gnosis), of oneself (cf. Saying 3), guided by the sayings of Jesus. (Koester accessed 2010)

This conception of Jesus, is expressive of what Crossan believes are the earliest remembrances, and Koester seems to agree. They differ on a smaller point—Koester sees the earlier picture as already containing elements of Gnostic influence. Koester’s option has no oral transmission hidden, as it were, in the body of the Gnostic “skeleton,” but sees the whole structure in its earliest stages as infused with the Gnostic tradition. The larger accomplishment that both make is to see Jesus as a teacher of Gnostic wisdom; the calendar of the trend matters less than the inevitability of the teaching. But if we are interested in the very early picture of a teacher devoid of Gnostic influence, we go with Crossan.

Naming the Names Whether we see evidence of a later theology of gnosis hiding a core of even earlier non-Gnostic sayings, or the first informal Gnostic teacher, Jesus is an unusual figure. He is the wise teacher—more esoteric, and his teaching more difficult to grasp if Koester is correct. If Crossan has teased out another more straightforward cameo without the beginnings of Gnostic influence, our focus shifts towards a Stoic teacher. What both authors intended was broadly accomplished: Jesus was seen as being Gnostic (or not so Gnostic) in the formative stages of the tradition and attracted a company of heavy Gnostic support as the years passed. An earlier than expected Thomas had been ushered into recognition. Thomas’ Jesus participates in “deity.” This applies to the earliest segments as well as the later, more obvious Gnostic portions. The uniqueness of Thomas’ portrait is especially apparent in comparison with the other canonical gospels. We shall survey the main features of Thomas’ portrayal, his very different world, and the variations which go along with this elevated status. We remind ourselves that the “calendar reading” we are attempting is full of sub-themes and has no announced sequence in the strict sense, i.e., exact dates for titles or their interpretation. It is a special

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viewpoint—complex and not always consistent: seeing Jesus in these roles, we need to be ready for surprises. Here are the names. Jesus said “I have cast fire upon the world, and look, I am guarding it until it blazes.” (SV Thomas Saying 10:1)

Thomas sees Jesus as the agent of violence, casting fire upon the earth, and has him say, “Look, I am guarding it until it blazes.” In saying 16, the same intent is expressed: “I have come to cast conflicts upon the earth.” This is certainly not the meek figure some expect to appear in the tales of Jesus. There is an aura of confined glee in hailing passersby to see the coming holocaust. I suppose in a distanced view, it is no more violent an image than those sketched in Mark—damning the Pharisees to perdition, dividing families over conflicting loyalties. Thomas portrays Jesus as a troubling influence; he is a man “of purpose with attitude.” In a storyline much like that of Mark’s beginning at 8:27 (SV), Jesus questions the disciples about his identity. The attitude is a distinctly different one from the compassionate person who forgives. Here it is the voice of Thomas that gains Jesus’ attention by saying that he does not and cannot answer his question. Jesus takes him away from the others and confides—we are not told what is said, and upon return, Thomas evades direct response by citing the consequences of his message, not the contents. Thomas says that if he reveals the private message the disciples will hotly reject it, and turn against the others. Their secret is kept and Jesus’ personality is left for the believer to ponder. Perhaps it is the next exchange that Thomas writes which is supposed to deliver an answer. Early version: The disciples said to Jesus, “We know that you are going to leave us. Who will be our leader?” (SV Thomas Saying 12:1)

Later version: Jesus said to them, “No matter where you are, you are to go to James the Just for whose sake heaven and earth came into being.” (SV Thomas Saying 12:2) Jesus said to his disciples, “Compare me to something and tell me what I am like.” Simon Peter said to him, “You are like a just angel.” (SV Thomas Saying 13:1, 2)

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Three disciples are asked to participate. Jesus asks the questions; a calculated objective is achieved. The form and setting of the two versions are very similar. (In compositional terms, it means that this is assuredly later than its account in Mark). Remembering Mark, the figures for comparison were Elijah, John the Baptist, and a nameless prophet. In Mark's drama, specific people are named; here no names are used from the tradition. A just angel watches over the coming conflagration with equanimity and enjoyment. Wars will end and the Just Angel will have completed his task. Likeness to the son of Adam setting is obvious; the role of judge is not mentioned here, but it hardly takes a descriptive effort to realize that the functions run parallel. Matthew said to him, “You are like a wise philosopher.” (SV Thomas 13:3)

Thomas could easily have made this one stick if he were of such a mind. It is a peculiar philosopher’s role Jesus fills, namely that of the revolutionary. With no notes or explanation we are again in limbo, especially over specifics. The skeptic speaks: “Thomas said to him, ‘Teacher, my mouth is utterly unable to say who you are like.’” (SV Thomas 13:4) Were we not dealing with a Gnostic example, it would be tempting to observe that suggesting another more violent role for Jesus has the effect of weakening his objectives. For instance, it is very difficult to render just opinions as the son of Adam when you are also the executioner. Thomas, in his authorial voice, confesses that he is ignorant. Probably his confession is not an evasion; the mysterious nature of Jesus’ identity offers only small clues, and his closest associates remain in the dark, profoundly so. Thomas is unusual because of his awareness; Jesus appoints him as the “knowledge possessor.” Jesus said, “I am not your teacher. Because you have drunk, you have become intoxicated from the bubbling spring that I have tended.” And he took him and withdrew, and spoke three sayings to him. (SV Thomas Saying 13:5)

In this saying, Jesus not only speaks in esoteric terms; he then spirits Thomas away to offer him secret advice—which Thomas faithfully keeps to himself. A strange story. One of its strangest aspects is the claim of Jesus not to be their teacher. It must have surprised Jesus' close followers, especially those of a contemplative group that composed this tribute. It is provocative because

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the act of teaching was not like it is today, in which teachers are bound to specific disciplines, narrow and insular. Then, it was revered as an influential and freedom-embracing practice. Still, the Gnostics wanted more. The impression is that Jesus' image crafters didn't want to settle for anything so mundane as a philosopher/teacher. Jesus is a step above in their minds. Again, there is a possibility that this group of believers is an early prototype akin to Mark’s narrative on the identity of Jesus. (SV Mark 8:27ff) Yet it has the signature of Gnostic thought and could easily have come later than Mark. It would be irresponsible to make any firm judgment about it apart from saying that vague parallels are present. When you see one who was not born of woman, fall on your faces and worship. That one is your Father. (SV Thomas Saying 15)

How on earth any ordinary person could know that one is not born of woman just by looking is beyond ordinary imagination. There must be another platform for understanding such provocative images. One helpful perspective is the realization that Gnostic knowledge is not literal in nature, as most images are heavy with symbolism. The language in 15 relies upon intuition—perhaps run rampant—divining truths that are beyond our usual forms of “knowing.” To “see” with the mind’s eye is the Gnostic’s way of knowing—yes, intuitively. Jesus is the obvious target for description, the one not born of a woman. Believing that, the following words are even more strange: Jesus as Father? It may offend a first-century Jew or a twenty-first century reader, but the apologetic challenge for this author comes in articulating a direct “fusion” between Jesus and God the Father. The wedding of the two images is hardly a common thing for the early period. Perhaps not so inside the later Gnostic’s community. Jesus is perceived to be, in this ascetic group, the issue of a virgin birth; he was untouched by any human action to bring about his birth, and that reasoning leads the Gnostic writers to say that he has complete identity with the Father. Both the early and the later claims aim to laud him as wholly divine. It is the most curious of sayings and there is little effort at clarification. It is plain what is being said; it is not plain exactly what it means. Some clues to its meaning can be dealt with by filling in this particular passage’s Gnostic context. Their views on the sacred history should help somewhat in comprehending this and other odd associations. Thomas’ voice is muted upon return to the inner circle. Whatever insights Jesus imparted are not for sharing. No wonder the disciples are in the dark most

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of the time. The essence of the knowledge, its energy, is partly due to the fact that it must be kept secret. In brief, the general background for such unfamiliar sayings is the Gnostic belief that A) the gnosis worth having sets higher standards and recognizes lower and higher forms; and B) sexuality is a barrier to gnosis and needs to be thought of as a temporary condition—on the path to androgynous wisdom, a thing to be transcended. Jesus' presence before the creation makes him especially free of the mess the Demiurge created, and even more divine. It should be increasingly apparent that gnosis is divorced and, by intent, separate from the world of material things—even the creation. Congratulations to the one who stands at the beginning; that one will know the end and will not taste death. (SV Thomas saying 18:3)

This Jesus stands at the moment of creation—”before it came to be.” Pictured as being present at the beginning of history, Jesus transcends history–i.e., he remains free of human limitations; like a Greek god, he will not really die on the cross. This is difficult for the contemporary believer to digest, since the crucifixion became the key historical event in orthodoxy’s lexicon of cherished beliefs. The Gnostic author/editor, it seems, is rejecting anything that would compromise Jesus’ divinity. Physical demise was the cardinal sign of being caught in the mess of mortality. For them, to die was to be less than divine. The gospel writer is also affirming that before the birth of history a period of perfection existed—quietness before the creation of the cosmos. But the central message is that while humans die, Gods do not. In every sense, Jesus is the substance of God. In Saying number 19:1, “Jesus said, ‘Congratulations to the one who came into being before coming into being.’” This endorses the previous claim and ups the ante: Jesus was God before he was man. Jesus is the one who was—in the beginning, as was God, present in spirit, and in the post-resurrection period is likewise present as Godhead. At the risk of reading into this verse, the being of Jesus, his function as part of the deity, is affirmed in the phrase, “came into being before coming into being.” Words fail to communicate the subtle difference between “came into being” and “coming into being.” The most probable nuance is the distinction between not having traffic with the creation and participating in it. Jesus is free of the traffic; he is a principle of the universe without being part of its activity. Never mind the compromise of his humanity; the goal of the author is to teach the total absorption of the divine within the person of Jesus. With

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all the extra baggage this title contains, it is still the most dramatic claim to Godhead in the entire New Testament. (There is some similarity in sentiment here to the Johannine saying, “The Father is in me and I am in the Father.” [RSV John 10:38] [only in some MSS]) The Gnostic image of a savior is of a god/man who, like God, has no beginning (or ending), so he is untainted by the world’s fragmentation and disorder. People ordinarily were incapable of “knowing” how to become whole. Jesus was the teacher who, with great authority, embraced his own divinity. His nature, contrary to the Demiurge, was perfect. This meant that he could not die, for Perfection knows no death. The closer he moved towards the Godhead, the more the divine imprint became his. Or put another way, he became what he believed. Complementary to this claim, other than its reaffirmation of Jesus’ divinity, is the notion that before the beginning of earthly history there was a pristine, unified, and harmonious condition. Before creation, the universe was blissful and quiet; nothing had yet interrupted the silence—or musical harmony. The acts of creation were a break with this condition, and something had to explain how this happened on God’s watch. Creation a negative? Like other twists, this one attempts to preserve the pureness of spirit by denigrating matter. Another typical Gnostic “answer” to the lament of creation and the desire for a pristine God was to divide the Godhead into two deities. One was a remote but flawless god who remained without blemish or involvement with the world, and certainly did not create it. The other conception was that the Demiurge was involved and became imperfect because of trafficking in the business of creation. The world itself was the bungled product of the Demiurge, a place of suffering and pain. It needed a remedy. Jesus’ spiritual power fit the niche quite well; the world needed what he could offer: a present God who was not tainted by his connection with the world or compromised in power. His divine pure light gave him the power to save a world full of imperfection. The operative transaction was the crucifixion, burdened with all the qualifications of material imperfection, yet still in God’s hands and strong enough and powerful enough to correct the condition. So, Jesus remained in the image of the Father but did the work of the son, fully effective as a divine presence. According to Thomas, Jesus did not die on the cross. This was their way of framing a complete solution to the negative condition of the world. Jesus occupied the cross but did not succumb to its lethal powers. Another image frequently used in Thomas is of one who unifies that which is broken and fragmented. By avoiding death on the cross, he also overcame the duality that was otherwise

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pervasive—a world sick with divisions. The following verse says this in many suggestive images: When you make the two into one, and when you make the inner like the outer and the outer like the inner, and upper like the lower, and when you make male and female into a single one, so that the male will not be male nor the female be female … .(SV Thomas Saying 22)

When challenged in Saying 61, Jesus responds, “I am the one who comes from what is whole.” (SV Thomas Saying 61:3) The strong implication is that the savior can effect healing for a sick world because he embodies wholeness, a quality that is definitely divine, but can be shared with an imperfect world. At the risk of oversimplifying their views, a Gnostic theology of history is rounded out by the conviction that the believer can know wholeness himself by resigning from attachments to the world, and this is accomplished not by analytic reason but by intuitive “knowing.” A devotee knows because light is infused into his very Being. I say if one is (whole), one will be filled with light, but if one is divided, one will be filled with darkness.” (SV Thomas Saying 61:5)

And this infusion harks back to the beginnings. If they say to you, “Where have you come from?” say to them. “We have come from the light, from the place where the light came into being by itself, established {itself}, and appeared in their image. (SV Thomas Sayings 50)

By staying aloof from worldly pursuits one can remain cast in the image of a “knowing” being, full of light and God. Jesus said, ‘I am the light that is over all things. I am all: from me all came forth, and to me all attained. Split a piece of wood; I am there. Lift up a stone, and you will find me there. (SV Thomas Saying 77)

The casual use of the verb “know” also advises us that a Gnostic context is operative: the believer not only believes the truth of Jesus’ preexistence, she intuitively “knows” its truth. Fortunately, we do not have to choose—either theory confirms the very early occurrence of Thomas’ core writing. What is known? “Jesus Was,” as only God could be, before coming into being. There are not many adequate ways to bring this into focus, as the language will inevitably seem mushy or contrary to human

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perception, but the connotation of the passage is that the pilgrim reflects the light of Jesus’ divinity—God’s holy light. Related to their picture of history, the concept of Jesus’ being everywhere and for all time implies that he could ultimately share his nature with every devotee. As children of the light, all are to respond. “If they say to you, ‘Is it you?’ say, ‘We are its children, and we are the chosen of the living Father.’ If they ask you, ‘What is the evidence of your Father in you?’ say to them, ‘It is motion and rest.’” (SV Thomas Saying 50:2,3)

Thomas’ translators note the enigmatic character of the motion/rest verse. The only help given is that it may be a remnant of a Gnostic training manual in which much is left for the instructor to interpret, while keeping hidden knowledge from the uninitiated reader. (See Miller 1994 305) Another image is that of the child who, uniquely, has the characteristics requisite for the “Father’s imperial rule.” (SV Thomas Saying 46:2) The words “heaven” and “kingdom” come to mind as the translators’ choice in many other versions. In a relative flurry of the title, “imperial rule” is used a total of six times: Thomas Sayings 96, 97, 98, 107, 108, and 109, and is associated with a parable at each instance. “Imperial rule” is the domain of a spiritual life; in Thomas it seems available to anyone who is willing to practice and achieve the difficult goal of “knowing.” Gnostics were not content to let the faith be diluted into an activity of respectful obedience. They were convinced that the more one gave of one’s intuitive powers, the more apparent the rule of God would be. It was a fine vision, if one-sided. What they either left out or held deep reservations about was a positive role for physicality—the body gets in the way of intuition and “knowing.” It was a misstep that would become an important issue in the future. The body would remain suspect well into the twentieth century. Creedal orthodoxy would take a somewhat different path on this matter, especially with reference to the mission of Jesus, his passion and death. It would come down squarely in affirming the human nature of his suffering and crucifixion. An orthodox mantra might sound something like, “If you’re going to have a passion, let the suffering be convincing and real.” On the other hand, orthodoxy would, much like Gnostics, look upon the body and its passions as opponents to a pure faith. The poor realm of physical needs and wants was cast as an enemy, another sign that it borrowed heavily from the cultural offerings of its day—including Gnostic sentiments. The basic conception endured, as if the body were to be

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conquered in the name of pureness of heart. Its positive value was not successfully argued until the late twentieth century. In a broad and often cloudy thought system like Gnostic doctrine, poetry is more important than preciseness, but the intent is clear: everyone who hears and practices “knowing” and thus fasts from earthly ways is endowed with extraordinary light. Theologically, it is a remarkable plan of salvation and seems to make clear the terms on which the program works. Salvation occurs, of course, only if the person will follow the protocols laid out for all. The promise is that devotees can become light. The spirit is synonymous with light, and it is no surprise that light is not identified with the body. The gospel writer has Jesus say, “If the flesh came into being because of spirit, that is a marvel, but if the spirit came into being because of the body, that is a marvel of marvels.” (SV Thomas Saying 29) I suspect that this reasoning is intended to extol the spirit, not the body, but the statement is confusing; “that is a marvel of marvels” is either tongue in cheek or calculated overstatement. Parallels cited in the notes are Thomas 87: “Jesus said, ‘How miserable is the body that depends on a body, and how miserable is the soul that depends on these two.’” Thomas 112 is more direct: “Jesus said, ‘Damn the flesh that depends on the soul. Damn the soul that depends on the flesh.’” Flesh is not only negative, a deterrent to knowing; it has no legitimate place in creation. Speculation: an infusion of light, “knowing,” casts out darkness and reliance on the body. There is a touch of stoic thought in this. Spirit contends with flesh to rid itself of its dependencies and victory is literally the winning of the contest. Mind over matter. Jesus is simply known—as he says, “I am with that one.” (SV Thomas Saying 30) “That One.” Perhaps it is more than the novice can imagine, but to the seasoned practitioner, the flow into God is ecstasy and genuine fulfillment, and the title “that one” is more than sufficient, even if it is a generic term. So, the practitioner and his savior become one. Light pervades both. “Jesus said, ‘Whoever drinks from my mouth will become like me. I myself shall become that person, and the hidden things will be revealed to him.’” (SV Thomas Saying 108) As for the macrocosm, causal power lies in the non-physical realm; creation can be painted as a mistake. But in the same breath, the writer comments on the purposeful life and God’s ultimate pay-off: the elevation of the believer to the domain of divine beings. If I were to pick one word to describe the tone of this gospel, and Jesus in particular, it would be “enigmatic.” This is partly because separating the early from the late text is a task which is not entirely verifiable. The label enigmatic in this first sense has to do with the technical difficulty of

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obtaining a clear separation between early and late texts, whereas a second meaning has to do with Jesus’ divine/human makeup. To leave him an enigmatic figure is part of the authors’ intention. They intended to leave the reader, if newly exposed to Gnostic thought, in a mild quandary. Their rationale was that any deeper insights into the person of Jesus and the way of salvation were secret and required a discipline of solitary devotion to be fully comprehended. Delivery of the full message comes only to those who are seasoned practitioners on this higher path. “Enigmatic,” moreover, does not mean that religious fulfillment is out of reach for the truly committed practitioner. It is that the “practice” that leads to identifying with Jesus is esoteric and difficult to decipher. Although difficult to describe, the path is indeed open to know Jesus in the most intimate way—to become like him. Thomas’ vision of Jesus remains enigmatic in the sense that the practice of “knowing” is presented by poetic means and recommended by intuitive forms of comprehension. The pinnacle of knowing, gnosis, is to become Godlike, as is Jesus. Yet, with all the effort involved, Jesus remains, as the dictionary states, a “mysterious or puzzling person or thing.” (Oxford English Dictionary 1971 473) Hopefully, this summary of Gnostic theological world-view gives some contextual meaning to the murky statements that have attended our journey. Jesus, as savior, is the “one who came into being before coming into being.” Because he was pure and untainted, he will recapture the destiny so anticipated. It takes an understanding of the beginning to comprehend the end-time. The end of history for the Gnostic is, therefore, thought of as a return to the bliss and perfection embodied in the beginning. To have knowledge of this lovely ending is the objective of every follower. The very early “wise teacher,” is adorned, as it were, in Gnostic attire. Such metamorphic happenings should not be thought of as aberrations, as early expressions indicating that Gnostic thought is not a latecomer, but a member of the early core of Jesus’ portraits. It was excised early on and that accounts for its lack of lasting influence. Theological reflections are, among other things, an effort to make “new” experiences compatible with “old” doctrine. The wise teacher image was used by Q2’s eschatological announcer, and now shows up in the mystical preoccupations of the Gnostics. The two images could not be more different. We assume that the churches were encountering fresh challenges. How much of this portrait is genuinely early? The evidence, so far, suggests that the images of Jesus do have a thread of continuity with Q1 (favoring Crossan’s CST), and are to be taken as very early. Other threads show a skillful author/editor at work who is obviously of Gnostic

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persuasion (Koester’s position on Gnostic influence). The core of Thomas may have been entirely created by a non-Gnostic years before being edited, or by a Gnostic believer who edited himself. Not just because Crossan’s CST is so difficult to separate from its host text, it seems more likely that Gnostic ideas were at least available in the early years, and may have helped shape the earliest core of sayings. If that is true, Thomas’ influence was limited mainly by regional isolation, a lack of interaction with the other communities, and thus faced the likelihood of being attacked later on. It is altogether possible that Jesus really was thought of as the wise teacher in the earliest of times, and may also have been worshipped as a divine being in the growing communities of Gnostic believers in far-flung regions not long after. Whether Gnostic thought was present in those early visions or occurred later as the gospel stories multiplied, is a difficult call. This gospel witnesses to the diversity we have suggested at the outset of our study. Diversity in the names of Jesus seems to pervade the various sources. It is a major characteristic in the two traditions thus far presented: Q and Thomas. When we turn to Paul’s letters and the synoptic gospels, we are still located firmly in the first century and the diversity of naming will be that much more evident. Taken as another brick in building our notion of diversity in the earliest naming of Jesus, Thomas provides a very different and unique view of Jesus. With Thomas we have evidence of a divergent tradition, an early characterization of Jesus. Unknown in modern scriptures until its discovery and belated translation, Thomas is an important additional source and a wider vision of early Christianity. We cannot do without it. Specifically, Thomas’ scattershot version of the savior’s status and mission offers us a look at a form of Christianity which was crushed, not just hidden, until modern scholarship brought it to light. The wise teacher who shares his growing consciousness of a divine mission but understands it as a male Jew would, is long gone. In his place is a Greek demigod who taught from afar and knew the truth of his being with calm equanimity and, most of all, as one unacquainted with suffering. The Jesus who knew God because he was God is so distant from the work of Q or the “soon to be” gospel of Mark that most readers of the two accounts would claim there were two separate figures. The hint is, this diversity is no aberration; it will prove to be a pattern in the larger sense, to wit—a familiar phenomenon in the beginning years. Diversity would flourish until it was put down. Thomas is a very different picture, a flurry of confusion for the lover of consistency. It hard to deny, however, that the portraits so far presented, no matter how separate, are more provocative

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and richer than similar portraits could ever be. And we are just beginning. The next installment is certainly difficult to comprehend but makes up for length with exquisite detail. Paul is a powerhouse.

CHAPTER FOUR PAUL, CRAFTSMAN OF CHRISTIANITY

This chapter represents an unusual circumstance in the inception of movements. Paul's influence came very early in its history and is the work of one individual (he was definitely not a team player) who claimed no close association with Jesus, and who contributed his own special brand of discipleship which, twenty centuries later, is still the lighthouse version of Christianity. It is the evolution of this historic influence that we attempt to decipher here. Specifically, we focus on how he changed familiar names and images into loaded theological titles. Taken together, they amount to the young faith’s first attempt at systematic theology. We shall discover the movement’s rapid growth and Paul’s apologetic energies: his tolerance for diversity and the subtle changes he experienced. Paul was a prolific developer; most of the young communities we refer to in our analysis are his special creations. No one in those early days can outshine his drive and persistence to create and shape respondents to Jesus into self-conscious believing centers of the movement. He is responsible for the establishment and maintenance of these groups, and they became the launching pads for “Christianity.” Paul’s work, the product of a self-confirmed, God-selected apostle, contains elements that are entirely new, a dramatic shift from what little may have preceded him. The contrasts between his work and the works we have already described are pronounced enough to prompt the question, “Is Paul talking about the same figure we met in Q and Thomas?” Yes he is, but because his portrait of Jesus is so passionately related to his own personality, education, and his transforming experience on the road near Damascus, Paul himself must be seen as a major designer in shaping the future of Christianity. He spoke and wrote virtually without pause for almost a generation; over a third of the New Testament bears his authorship, and more than that, a good number of additional canonical letters show his influence and bear his name. He won most of his battles with the earliest Jewish leaders and then capitalized on those internal victories to win in the field—converting Gentiles became his special

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legacy. Without his work, the churches might have taken a number of different paths, had a quite different future, or fizzled and died. We shall not engage in a comprehensive discussion of issues which have, for centuries, surrounded Paul. Was he a Roman citizen, a Pharisee; was he gay, a male chauvinist, etc.? These issues do affect his legacy, but they do not bear on our primary interest, the naming of Jesus in the very earliest years of the faith. Paul brought so many new themes to the young communities, especially in the names for Jesus, that we should consider him an inventor; many of his ideas have been selected as definitive for the faith. I do not attempt to divine the mind of Paul, nor to burden his intentions with the title of “inventor”: he gives no evidence that he intended to invent a complete culture we call the Church or theological insights that would shape Western thinking so definitively. Such creations were likely beyond his expectations. Instead he worked to form groups of believers who would wait for the expected end of history in confidence that they would be raised to be with Jesus in a glorious resurrection. In that process, Paul the letter writer came up with a startling array of names and roles for the wise teacher we met in Q1 and Thomas. Paul’s writing is dealt with at this point in our composition because his letters are among the earliest in the life of the churches. They are all letters; most were composed during the sixth decade C.E. We have no other comparable “certified” documents from this time: Q1 is a hypothetical document and the dating of Thomas is still debated. Even if we agree that the two can be verified as early, Paul’s work is contemporary with them or follows soon after them. His work comes very early in the overall movement towards literary forms of communication; this is the first time we can be reasonably sure we have a figure who actually penned most of what bears his name. It is a unique circumstance, and he reveals a rich supply of information about the period. Approximate dates for the Pauline epistles come from six scholars who have written extensively on Paul: A. N. Wilson, F.F. Bruce, G. Luedeman, Robert Jewett, and C. Roetzel.1 I also use Bart D. Ehrman’s New Testament: A Historical Introduction where possible. Most readers will notice that only seven letters are attributed to Paul. These are the undisputed core of the thirteen that bear his name. The argument for this selection is found in Ehrman (Ehrman 2000 261ff.) and seems adequate for our purposes; these seven letters contain the essence of Paul’s contribution and are acknowledged as authentic.

  1

The latter four are recorded in C. Roetzel’s book, Paul, 178.

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1 Thessalonians ca. 48 CE or later Galatians 51 CE or later 1 Corinthians ca. 53 CE or later 2 Corinthians ca. 54 later Philippians ca. 55 CE Philemon ca 55 CE Romans ca. 55 CE or later We shall deal with the letters in the same way we are looking at the other early documents—in sequence—as a literary calendar. The letters we have chosen disclose Paul’s growth in addressing complex issues experienced in the various congregations. Subjects are not organized topically, and he made no effort, we assume, to edit them. He did not seem to care. We have said it was a growth period. That argues for seeing Paul’s work as that of an inventor and pioneer, primarily because he was first on the scene. The influence he exercised went much deeper, and the focus we have selected tries to unpack the writing of the faith's first try at an extensive theology. He forged many of those developments that remain the signature of the emerging faith. In our concluding chapter we shall evaluate Paul; in this chapter it remains for us to set out the content that will dictate our evaluation. In order to gain a picture of the various letters’ influence and importance for this study, imagine Paul writing to his converts without any other New Testament accounts ready at hand. There may have been portions of the gospels in circulation, but there certainly was no canon (a church-approved sacred text) and probably no completed narrative of Jesus’ birth, ministry or passion. If Q1 and portions of Thomas were in circulation, their influence on Paul was likely minimal. Either a time separation and/or a geographical separation may help explain why there was so little cross-fertilization. Add to that the widely accepted fact that Paul was an intensely driven and self-directed person; he was also, often, the first to arrive on the scene. With theological issues he was brazen enough to protect his interests and actively fought for his point of view. They were matters of faith. So, he may very well have exercised an influence on later gospel writers, in what amounts to an undeclared race to establish norms for behavior and intellectual mastery. A difficult adjustment in our picture of Christian beginnings is to accept that there were no existent, finished documents that we know of which preceded Paul’s letters. I speak especially of the existence of the first three gospels. Was Paul writing into a literary vacuum? That is doubtful. Was he charting new territory and spinning images of Jesus that reached the prospective convert during or prior to the advent of the

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narrative gospels? Probably. The letters of Paul seem to be the first documents to have reached an audience. Observing caution about overstatement, Paul nevertheless stands out as the early faith’s most inventive and influential writer.

First Thessalonians The earliest letter can serve as Paul’s introduction: his response to the church at Thessalonica. This letter, like the other six, was more than a chatty letter in the modern sense: it was sent to the group at Thessalonica to answer questions brought to Paul, either by courier or by a letter, then lost. In the ancient world, such communications often dealt with complex philosophical or religious issues. (Wilson 1997 149ff.) We should not expect a structured, systematic lay-out of Paul’s conceptions, but a more personal and spontaneous conversation. In the case of the Thessalonians, the occasion is that some in the community who had heard Paul’s message about the approaching end of time and converted have died. What is their destiny? Will they have the opportunity to be resurrected? The questioners were anxious that those who had passed away would still participate somehow in the great end-time drama. The thrust of Paul’s response is that believers need not be anxious about those “already gone.” In a detailed passage that encapsulates the entire letter, Paul alleviates their anxiety: But we would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. For this we declare to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, shall not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise up first; then we who are alive, who are left, shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air; and so we shall always be with the Lord. (RSV 1 Thess. 4:13-17)2

We see Paul’s signature here, the unique world of discourse he inhabits. Not only in the use of names does Paul differ from Q1, Q2, and Thomas, his three predecessors; he writes in a style which is an orchestration, and Paul is the conductor. Without fail, he speaks for himself, exercising his skill in mixing themes, bringing them into his own   2

All citations in this chapter are from RSV.

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very personal plan, and speaking as if God were the speaker. With such ease of expression, the passage borders on being formulaic, if not forced. Heavy preaching seems to suit him well. That does not make the job of untangling his themes any easier. As a very early piece, it discloses stunning information about Paul’s vision, and particularly his views of Jesus. Without using the son of Adam name or title, Paul paints a heavenly setting much like the one in Daniel. Jesus has been elevated to the son of Adam office, in which his authority is unquestioned, decisive and final. The substance of this elevation is not explained—the entire scene is Paul’s way of saying Jesus deserves recognition as the son of Adam. In contrast to the materials reviewed above (Q, and to some extent, Thomas), Jesus here is not the wise teacher, but has been elevated to triumphal office: in Paul's mind, he is “Lord.” The title Lord often meant “head of house,” or recognized Master. It was also a name reserved for God. “And may your spirit and body be kept sound and blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (RSV 1 Thess. 5:23). “Through Jesus, God will bring—.” “For the Lord himself will descend...” “And the dead in Christ will rise up..” “... to meet the Lord in the air.” (RSV 1 Thess. 4:13ff) Although far from obvious as to the specific office Jesus has assumed, these titles point toward the last option suggested above—for Paul, Jesus is Lord in the most elevated sense, a divine figure who exercises authority to complete God’s plan. He may not be Thomas’ wholly divine figure, but he is God’s chosen instrument in the heavenly scene. And the scene is more than a metaphor in Paul's lexicon; there is a sense of concrete happening, a true heaven, beyond earth. Paul's reassurances in this passage are not haphazard, cobbled together or disorganized, but casual—he mixes and matches names at will. Jesus, God, Lord, Christ, all play a part. Most impressive is the elevation of Jesus to the status of “Lord.” In this segment he mentions the name four times, and his notations show his preference for the religiously loaded version. Connect the son of Adam imagery with the generous use of the name Lord and we have a fresh notion of the Eschaton in the community. Paul’s message simplified is that Jesus died and rose; Jesus/Lord, God’s emissary will bring home first those who are dead already and then the living, to be with Him in the air, forever. The scene begs for detail to become complete. Paul gathers provocative terms together that beg for theological interpretation. The names directly above (RSV 1 Thess. 4:13ff) are good candidates for this reconstruction. “End time” is the context for everything said to reassure the Thessalonians of their future; in fact, it is at the heart of Paul’s message of

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assurance. The exact clock-time cannot be known, but that it will happen is beyond question. Those who are “in Christ,” those embracing the faith that Jesus rose and will take believers with him, are the sole beneficiaries. Most agree that they were probably Gentiles. The unique element in this apocalyptic drama is the magnified presence of Jesus, “the Lord,” to play the role of heavenly judge: again, reminiscent—but heavily revised—of the heavenly picture in Daniel. Connected with the role of Jesus is the assurance that everyone “in Christ” will share in the resurrection. The settings of Q2 and Paul’s vision are different, however: Q2 keeps his account parallel with Jonah, whereas Paul’s scene here employs Daniel’s setting. Paul’s event takes place in the sky. In that detail, the background images are the same in both Daniel’s and Paul’s stories. The notion of a general resurrection is a new item in Christian teaching, a fresh expectation for converts. Although Q spoke of the last days, there was never the articulation and detail that there is here. Certainly, Jesus was believed risen, but the message that everyone who followed Jesus would also be taken aloft—this was new. The message of everyone “in Christ” being taken aloft is a fresh addition to Jesus’ own resurrection. No wonder Paul was so influential! And the venue for eternity has also changed: the image here is otherworldly—“in the air;” freedom and reassurance prevail. With the reassuring tone there are no final judgments exacted upon the applicants, not here. In sum, Paul envisions a victorious celebration, not a trial. The change in setting is more important than we might expect, more vital than background music. The exact timing of the last days is the only element left to the reader’s imagination. Everything else is nicely laid out. In a very real sense it is a “program” of salvation portrayed in this letter, the first one detailed in the documents thus far studied. By that I mean the picture of the coming end of time is told as a visionary’s short story; it has its own structure, a beginning, middle and conclusion. Paul leaves little room to question his composition. The message of every believer’s flight into the sky will be echoed and elaborated, but it will not be substantially changed. It is plain that Paul thought the general resurrection would occur soon: “...we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord…” (RSV 1 Thess. 4:15) This phrase alone gives us the clue. History was nearing its climax and its end was due very, very soon. He expected the end of history within his lifetime.

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In real life terms, Paul was wrong; history did not end in his lifetime, or in any time remotely akin to his expectations. In ordinary terms, no general resurrection took place. It was Paul's greatest predictive error. Estimating the correct date will become a conundrum for the churches; Paul tells his inquirers to wait in rapt attention, and the gospel writers will try not to leave lingering uncertainties about its coming into their narratives. End time is a difficult doctrine to settle upon, and later responses are varied. It has befuddled believers continually since Paul wrote that it was a major expectation. For him it was the stamp of God’s plan, a fitting conclusion to every other divine promise. Whereas the portraits in Q are dominated by the courtroom environment, Paul avoids that image and identifies here with reassurance. With general resurrection playing so much a part of Paul’s faith and its timing subject to frequent revision, it is tempting to discount whatever he may say about it. We would be hasty in that. End-time entered into the vocabulary of belief in the Q2 discourse and became a common theme throughout the gospels. Even though Paul was the major promoter of this element in the faith and played a large part in its eventual acceptance, we cannot lay full responsibility at his feet. Here, he baptized it with Christian purpose—Jesus’ presence. It had already had a long history in Judaism. He gave belief in resurrection fresh life and mainstream orthodox legitimacy, and it would persist throughout the church’s history. Paul invokes powerful names for Jesus. Jesus is “Lord.” We are near the time frame of Q and Thomas, but we are, mentally, worlds apart. Paul expresses little or no interest in Jesus as teacher. Aside from his innovative term “in Christ,” there is no imitation or repetition of themes compared with Thomas’ Gospel. At this early stage the theological dimensions of titles have yet to take on their more technical meanings. “Lord” in Paul's use, for example, now means he is risen Lord. Much more detail will be added, but for the time at hand minimal descriptions are sufficient. The materials (i.e., conflicts) for argumentative transitions are in place but the elaboration is not. Jesus is at the scene as Risen Lord. His name has not been lauded as it surely will be by Paul, but the power of his office has been. It is the first instance of Jesus’ elevation to permanent divinity. Paul will never again focus upon Jesus the man. Later, for Paul, Jesus’ name will take on a mystical meaning; we will deal with that below. But here, the title is first-hand evidence of the distance Paul lives away from Q and the earlier portions of Thomas. It also testifies that Paul did not intimately know the man Jesus. To use the ceremonial title “in Christ” leaves us with very little to go on as to his connection with Jesus. My hunch is that the title has to do with

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the already established tradition of end time and the Communion supper, where the participant meets the Lord in the bread and wine celebration expressly to experience being “in Christ” until he comes. As Paul matures he will add the mystical dimension to the already popular notion of imitating Jesus’ life, sharing in the fellowship, and patiently waiting for the last day. A brief look at Paul’s use of other titles through the letter discloses his views quite effectively. “Jesus” as a stand-alone name is used only once in the entire piece, (RSV 1 Thess. 4:14) whereas the title “Lord” is used five times with the name “Jesus,” and three times with “Jesus Christ.” Moreover, the term “Lord” is a stand-alone name on seven occasions. This sense of preference is never explained or elaborated; Paul has his very own orientation and makes no apologies. He will rely on his divinely given credentials, and they prompt him to teach a program of salvation, not to provide a manual of living. Because of these influences, Paul stands out as an individualist in more than style. His critical skills grew as he drew from and transformed tradition as he wished, but his message was effective for the anxious Thessalonians. It was also destined to play a central role in Mark, Matthew and Luke. Most of Paul’s views will prevail. For Paul, God works through the Christ, exclusively. God has made Jesus the key figure in his plan for the Gentiles. Faith “in Christ” is never jettisoned, not in this era of the expected end of history. Paul will expand this theme, bringing in many ways of expressing it; we can be confident it will remain at the heart of his teaching. Paul’s Letter to the Thessalonians hardly tells the complete story of Jesus’ rise to a central place in the plan of God. But titles do give a believer a somewhat familiar path to God; Jesus has become the channel, the beacon that lights the path. Paul’s innovations were new to the growing churches, and, as history would have it, they would grow in impact as phrases that denote priorities for the follower, and in so doing, elevate Jesus to near Godhead.

Letter to the Galatians The occasion for Paul’s letter to the Galatians is quite different from the previous letter’s theme of comfort. Paul has been to the region of Galatia (central Turkey) and writes to them from southern Greece. The dating of this letter cannot be certain, but we are safe in saying that it

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preceded Romans and followed Thessalonians. It was penned approximately three years after 1 Thessalonians. Evangelists with a slightly different message than Paul’s have followed him in visiting Galatia, and the believers have become confused. These teachers have recommended that Gentiles be circumcised. Paul, if not livid, is clearly upset. He will set them and the record straight—angrily and passionately. His reputation could be at stake. Paul begins with a long dissertation on the nature of his credentials; they add up to one essential. He has been favored with a special revelation: “through Christ and God the Father,” “not from men nor through men.” Paul’s role could not be borrowed from anyone else’s authority. He was not a disciple by selection; he did not know Jesus intimately and he admits that he was an enemy while monitoring Jesus’ ministry. In other words, his earthly qualifications were less than stellar. He had no good history; his entire claim to authority should have been suspect. But critics simply did not know Paul’s persistence, the depth of his conviction, or his willfulness. Were this the only mention or sole explanation for his apostolic ministry, we might take it as a bit of hyperbole, but the same claim is scattered here and throughout his letters. This is but the earliest instance. He elaborates in Gal. 1:12: the gospel which was preached by me is not man’s gospel. For I did not receive it from man nor was I taught it, but it came through a revelation of Jesus Christ.

Jesus, the risen Christ, he insists, has spoken directly to him on the road to Damascus. This event is the sole source for Paul’s authority as an apostle. He will return to it time and again to further his version of the person of Jesus and the plan of God. It is an unusual claim, for it puts Paul’s relationship to Jesus in a class by itself. The other apostles had known Jesus as a teacher and sage, and had beheld his mighty acts— without understanding him; for Paul, this could never be quite the same as knowing him as the risen Lord. Between the lines of his claim the reader knows Paul believes he holds the trump card; his authority is straight from God. In that culture such a claim was common and often supported. An unbiased evaluation of their experience would show that the disciples could have had as much direct exposure to the supernatural dimension of the faith as Paul, but no matter—Paul evidently did not think so. Along the way he will give many other reasons why others should accept his version of the gospel. He is not above buttressing his credibility by saying that the leaders in Jerusalem have given him the right hand of

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fellowship to be the designated missionary to the Gentiles, but the key is still his own experience. He will argue and oppose others whenever necessary, on the grounds that he is a divinely appointed apostle. This is a long reach to collect credibility, especially when we realize that Paul is comparing himself to Jesus’ brother James, and to Peter, a recognized figure among the disciples. Both James and Peter have known Jesus throughout his ministry and James for most of Jesus’ life. Paul seemingly has the power to transform an obvious deficit into an advantage. It is remarkable that Paul never said he deserved the favor of becoming an apostle. In fact, he thinks out loud in many places that he was an opponent of the faith and that God chose him as an apostle anyway. He will make much of this as a demonstration that God has his plans and they are not to be modified by our expectations. Only believe that God shall have his way. It is this radical notion of grace and its attendant doctrine of faith that have survived, at least in lip service, into the twentieth century. It is a vital part of the apology Paul is developing. The way of knowing whether one’s faith is sufficient or not is the longrange transformation of one’s life to conform to Jesus’ values and behavior. Nothing can replace this element—not letters, nor speeches, nor arguments, nor posturing. Walking the path of sacrifice was still the litmus test for discipleship and will remain so. On this letter’s occasion, Paul clashed with Peter over eating with Gentiles. The issue is whether or not eating with Gentiles is acceptable for Christians. Peter, as Paul remembers it, has eaten with Gentiles until the friends of James (read converted Jews) arrived; Peter then evidently chose to avoid further association. Paul reports that he confronted Peter with what he believed was Peter’s hypocrisy and tells the Galatians that Peter “stood condemned.” (RSV Gal. 2:11) Harsh words from such a relative newcomer. The issue fades and another takes its place, one much more volatile: circumcision. As a critical problem in the new communities, this was a galvanizing issue. Would the leaders enforce this ancient Jewish observance upon Gentile converts, or would they forge new ones making identification quick and easy? Paul and his compatriots would go head to head on it. Paul’s argument was presented as a divinely conceived map— God’s plan for salvation. In that context, Jew and Gentile are given their respective niches. Circumcision had long since become a sacred means for racial identity. I give one example of it below. In his explanation he introduces a fresh title for Jesus. For all who rely on works of the law are under a curse; for it is written, “Cursed be everyone who does not abide by all things written in the book

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of the law and do them.” Now it is evident that no man is justified before God by the law; “He who through faith is righteous shall live.” (RSV Gal. 3:10-11) Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a curse for us—for it is written, “Cursed be everyone who hangs on a tree—that in Christ Jesus the blessing of Abraham might come upon the Gentiles, that we might receive the promise of the Spirit through faith. (RSV Gal 3:13)

The new name (curse) is not born of pure imagination; as outlined above; it is part of Paul's grand theological mosaic, and this provocative image has a large role in its overall design. Hebrew law had in Paul’s mind been surpassed. Because of The Law’s poor results, it had become a “curse,” and humankind was caught in the consequences of its failure. The condition was drastic and needed someone capable of paying the huge debt. Jesus fit the requirements. He fit as the embodiment of willing sacrifice, a “substitute” for others to complete the grand plan. The man could do no more. He was Lord, and God's Anointed. Jesus would become God's sacrificial offering to all, for payment of the unpaid debt. The new name is an odd one, to say the least. The topic is justification—”how is the person reconciled to God?” Jesus the innocent completed God's required act with his ignominious death, and everyone received the benefit of his sacrifice, making other forms of obtaining salvation unnecessary and counter-productive. (Reminder: this is Paul's idea). With Jesus willing to take upon himself the role of curse, others need not go through additional rites of initiation as dictated by Hebrew law. Justification is accomplished by accepting Christ’s suffering on behalf of everyone else. True, his suffering is personal and real, but it is not for himself he hangs there. It is for the benefit of the guilty public; hence the conception that Jesus’ suffering is “vicarious.” The term is used specifically to describe the purpose of Jesus’ death. In some vague sense, (because it is not elaborated here), Jesus has taken the place of the law and become the curse himself, making the payment for sin, thus doing what the law could not. In blunt terms, a human sacrifice has replaced the ancient animal sacrifice as a means of justification. The implication for Gentiles is that the law in all its complexities is superfluous, ineffective, even evil; anyone seeking salvation needs only to follow Jesus. Paul marks out his position and will not budge. This means Paul will not follow his colleagues; he launches into an extended speech to the effect that the law cannot justify a person before God because it relies on works—rites like circumcision. On this issue, at this time, Paul is adamant: Gentiles are not to submit to

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circumcision. He forbids it for any purpose. For him it remains a symbol of captivity to the old ways. Faith in the risen Christ is sufficient for salvation. The staid position that Gentile converts should be circumcised has been trumped by Jesus’ death. Perhaps because Paul is angry, the discussion is not confined to circumcision; it quickly morphs into an issue of the efficacy of the entire Torah (law) and the promise made to Abraham. A new attitude is being shaped that divides the two traditions for posterity. Jesus’ new name (curse), would not survive, but it played a central role in Paul’s argument and his teaching on salvation. Still, there are serious questions to answer in the wake of this image’s introduction. Can Paul's seemingly pointed generosity towards Gentiles mean, on the flip side, that the earliest disciples, being observant Jews, should be excluded from the promise of Abraham and the benefits of Jesus’ teaching and death—because of being circumcised? That seems extreme, although taken by itself it is a plausible expectation. Or is the rift explainable more because of Paul’s immediate anger and his inclination to exaggerate? He will not retract the above statement in this letter (RSV Gal. 3:13), but will modify it in Romans with the notion of the law as “custodian.” It is a hint of change in Paul’s thinking, and it would be moderated with time. The law was in force until the sacrifice of Jesus overturned everything. Faith in that drama becomes the new criterion for justification. “But now that faith has come, we are no longer under a custodian.” (RSV Gal. 3:25) The language is more and more exclusively directed to a Christian formula, and Paul is at the center of the push. Paul, James, and Peter, the three prominent principals, fanned this conflict, and it ultimately affected the history of Christianity and its relationship with Judaism. Paul was a formidable opponent of the “new” path, but new or not, it had the makings of a split. The three were not great at cooperation. It is hard not to believe that they were aware of the stakes, even though they had no idea of the future of the faith. Their decision to allow non-Jews to pass on circumcision and to acknowledge Paul’s successful efforts at evangelizing effectively created two sets or tiers of believers with two quite separate disciplines. Eventually it divided Jews from Gentiles permanently. Another conception was also born in the wake of this decision: the rise of the idea that Jesus’ vicarious suffering and ultimate sacrifice on the cross paid God’s requirement, or price. (RSV Gal. 3:13) This verse is the second intimation we have of Jesus’ sacrifice dedicated to relieving suffering for others. And it was connected to the nature of the curse: his sacrifice was the only way to affect the misleading

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nature of a way of life captive to Torah. Someone must step in to make the sacrifice and suffer in humankind's place. The whole process was kindled out of Paul’s notion of justice. It is a Pauline creation. Jesus is pictured as stepping into the arena and offering himself as a sacrificial stand-in for humankind. Abraham’s promise can only be continued by one who is related to God. Jesus offers his own life, Paul says, and this requires his becoming a “curse.” God accepts his offering, raises him from the dead, and extends the promise of Abraham anew to any God-fearer. The relation between the old law and what Paul believed to be a new agreement with God based on faith was straining both—yes, we can say it—both religions. God’s promise, given Jesus’ ultimate act, rests on a new foundation, faith in Christ—more specifically, his giving of eternal life. Jesus’ sacrifice is the sole reason for the new covenant; his act of going to the cross has changed forever the way of being related to God successfully. The law is dead—powerless now to justify. It had been the instrument for the Jewish people centuries prior to Jesus’ death, and only Jesus could replace it. So Paul announced. We are wise to be aware of the newness of Paul’s claim—it may never have been heard before. Perhaps we can recognize how radical a statement it is. The name of Jesus has been invoked in a new and disturbing manner. A. N. Wilson writes convincingly about the teaching and its twisted logic. Referring to the curse passage, People have derived comfort from this verse; they have reinterpreted the Christian faith in the light of its picture of Christ’s vicarious suffering. But no commentator can explain it because it does not on any rational level make sense. How could the crucifixion of Jesus by one of the most notorious thugs of the Roman Empire extend the ‘blessing of Abraham’ to the Gentiles? In the eyes of most Jews, anyone who was put to death by Pontius Pilate would have been a hero. The idea that being crucified put you outside the Jewish ‘law’ or that it made you a thing accursed in the eyes of your fellow Jews is demonstrable nonsense. (Wilson 1997 57)

Wilson’s point is powerfully made. The curse image doesn’t fit easily in any of the sources thus far studied, and it is a stretch to blend it with the gospels. It is obviously a piece of Paul’s twisted reasoning; it fits what we already know of him. It is a reasonable image only if one can accept the theology that surrounds it. That theology includes belief in a God who exercises his choice—to ransom off his only son to relieve the debt of millions. Outrageous! Kierkegaard was correct in his observation: faith

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requires a leap into absurdity. Under scrutiny, it is a malicious and perverse plan. Paul’s God would demand the killing of his most beloved in order to grant believers an access—which God evidently had cancelled because of his indignation over man’s infidelity. Unlike the drama in Genesis, God would not relent and spare Isaac. With Jesus he would require the pain and certain death of the cross. Add to that the soon to be articulated notion that Jesus would concur in giving his life for the sins of humankind’s errors as a sacrificial offering, and you have a combination of Jesus’ willingness to undergo human sacrifice and God’s murderous demands. Paul’s argument involves God’s use of unbelievable, unnecessary violence and contorted motives. God, to say the least, does not come out very well as a compassionate Father. Paul has articulated a dramatic rationale for judgment in courtroom drama, and its “sentence,” an execution on the hill. History says Paul made it work. To accomplish an acceptance of this teaching gives testament that he was truly a convincing figure and his audience ready to accept. Had Paul struck at the heart of the Hebrew way? Or set in motion forces that would eventually cause the split we have anticipated above? It is not the business of this essay to pass judgment on the condition within Judaism—whether or not it was responsible for the doctrine’s legitimacy. The effect—begun here with God requiring the payment for sin and Jesus willingly providing it is, in a nutshell, a main theme in Protestant Christianity, dividing those who believed Paul had captured the essence of the new agreement and those who, for many reasons, did not. To think a devout Jew would react negatively to the new teaching because it negated ancient law and attempted to change how one could be reconciled to God is quite rational. If we are right in believing that some of the earliest converts were observant Jews who also accepted Jesus as the wise teacher and eventually came to accept the near end of time, the “curse” would have been a foreign and fantastic picture.3 The image of God that Paul recommended would make no sense, particularly his notion of Jesus paying a price for canceling what had been for Jews God’s   3

A somewhat more palatable expression is the song in RSV Isaiah 53, so familiar because it contains the notion of a suffering servant who is bruised for the transgressions of the people. “Yet it was the will of the Lord to bruise him…” (RSV Isa. 53:20). The majority of scholars believe the Isaiah figure represented a social personality, a saving remnant, the best of Israel. Some, of course, identify the figure as Jesus, and I suspect Paul would easily consent to that association. It is curious that he never alludes to this passage.

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greatest gift—the Torah. No practicing audience could connect with Paul’s image without revising a basic tenet—the efficacy of the Law. It was Paul's most outrageous theological invention. The Galatians were most likely Gentiles, however, and Paul’s teaching was for their ears. Still, once the letters were circulated, the teaching would be received far beyond the intended listeners. It created dissension instead of consensus, given the growing diversity of the congregations. His aggressive campaign for a separate niche for the Gentiles, in turn, spawned the denigration of Judaism as traditionally practiced. This may help account for the formation of a new religion—perhaps never planned, but all the more probable in light of this controversy. Its popularity may also bear upon the later dark teaching that the Jews were responsible for killing Jesus. There is no connection between the ransom image and the anti-Semitism of later times, nor, for that matter, was there any connection in Paul’s day. Paul teaches this difficult doctrine as a recovering Pharisee, in charge of spreading the word among Gentiles. A.N. Wilson is correct: Paul’s logic is incomprehensible for Jews and only confounds. Wilson further asserts that the “curse” conception, though nonsensical to the Jew, would make sense to a Roman; it was they who carried out the execution, and Jesus the convicted criminal could appropriately wear the mantle of “curse.” But Paul’s creation still leaves much up in the air. A Gentile, it seems to me, would also have had difficulty connecting with the notion that Jewish law could “justify” one’s access to salvation, even though it had been superseded. Moreover, it would take a sizable effort to make the case that God had offered a way of justification for the Jews and then abandoned it to reach the Gentile population. Paul mentions each of these issues but does not elaborate in this letter. “Faith” might resonate for a Roman listener, and one can easily see how it would appeal to someone who had little contact with a Jewish community. Why does Paul go on so about the way Jewish law has been replaced? The most immediate possibility is that Paul is reacting to the Judaizers who followed his visit—with deep anger and resentment. They are the objects of his wrath, because the Galatians have foolishly listened to their message and abandoned Paul’s teaching for the time being. In Paul’s mind, the saving power of the Torah was canceled, forever obsolete. The situation is complicated if not confusing: Paul the selfproclaimed Pharisee is also the apostle to the Gentiles. He is the only prominent Jew we know of who actively teaches that the law has been put away, made obsolete through the sacrifice of Christ. The observation helps us understand Paul, admittedly, “through a glass darkly.” Nevertheless, he shows surprising capabilities in his responses to

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difficult questions, and he often goes beyond answers to fill in the context of his response. In the end he lays the ground for an original apologetic. What were the contributing factors to such a program? What tradition did he draw from? Let this enigmatic name (curse); serve as an introduction to his next point. Other waters are roiling in Paul's unique approach, namely Hellenism. If “curse” is too Hebrew and esoteric to carry Paul's argument, the next one is just the opposite; letters tell us that he argued with vehement command of the language of debate. He claimed to be a Pharisee, and Pharisees were regarded by strict Jews as being dangerously liberal. That label by itself, however, tells us little. Does Paul have a philosophical bias that dictates his use of terms such as the curse paradigm? Is there a stream of Hellenism in this complicated man? What influenced Paul’s thinking? A brief description of Hellenism in a Jewish context would help us understand his theology. Calvin Roetzel comments in his introduction on Paul’s Hellenist connection: It is sometimes suggested that Paul inhabited the Hellenistic world but was not influenced by it in any substantial way, but I am drawn to the opposite position—the belief that Paul did not just use Hellenistic language, anthropology, and worldviews as mute, value-neutral entities but that he was influenced by them at a deep level. … I am convinced that Paul never left his native Judaism though he did significantly redefine it in light of Christ. He was born a Jew, lived as a Jew and died as a Jew albeit a Hellenized Diaspora Jew. (Roetzel 1999 2)

Roetzel’s answer is plausible: Paul justly inherits the title “Hellenist,” if not for every aspect of his teaching, then for its overall tenor. Beyond that claim, we are on speculative ground. Historically, the term “Hellenist” refers to popular Greek philosophies dating approximately from Alexander the Great’s death (323 BCE); they spilled into the Mediterranean area well into the Common Era. Its two most famous forces were Epicurus, and the loosely bound societies known as Stoics. The language was Greek. The thought forms and traditions were drawn from quite different sources than the Hebrew/Palestinian culture. If Hellenist Stoic thinking is apparent in Paul, it is likely that it affected Paul’s naming for Jesus. Paul was almost certainly subjected to basic training in Greek philosophy. His direction could have been broad and eclectic, but his most likely association was with the Stoic values. There, God was harmony and balance, and human life was meant to be part of the divine harmony. To communicate this message to the earthly plane, divine representatives in

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human form were sent. The Philippian Hymn (RSV Philippians 2:5ff), a Pauline-like creation or a hymn he dearly loved, illustrates this quite well. There are some touch points in the hymn, such as the teaching of emptying oneself, that make Paul look quite Stoic. Among the many options offered in Hellenistic thinking was the divine being (Tonos), who embodied the harmony (order, tension) of the universe. One could by discipline align him/herself to become part of the harmony. Tonos was also capable of changing his form or appearance (morphe), into a human likeness. God would send a messenger, but not in Hebrew terms. He would come in human form but remain logos, the word of God. God was “a rational spirit having itself no shape but making itself into all things.” (Edwards 1967 v. 7-8, S 21) Divested for the sake of connecting, but still divine in everything but form, Jesus executed his mission. The mission was planned so that he could return to the divine realm without problems. Paul drew on a tradition which taught these ideas, as in the example Philippians 2:5ff. But if he did borrow as Roetzel declares, he put his personal stamp on everything he touched. Hellenism was a reservoir of thought for an imaginative, creative Jew like Paul, but it never held sway over his own musings. He would embellish and hone his ideas until thoroughly polished. Hellenism lurks in the shadows, but it is Paul who writes his own sunlight. His program is a strange teaching, and there may be ideas we don’t fully comprehend. The notion of vicarious sacrifice will become a staple in Christian teaching; the image of a sacrificial lamb will become a familiar article of faith. Perhaps he sensed their popularity potential. He obviously felt that these sacrificial images belonged in the main body of doctrine, and he would use them in his first letter to the Corinthians. Ironically, the overtones of this theme belong to historic Judaism—at least in Paul’s portrayal. Reviewing his roots can add to our understanding of Paul, especially his ability to blend what most readers would consider disparate traditions. He did not seem to care about the difficulty in weaving them together, so another option is also viable. God's exaction of a stiff ransom and Jesus' promise to accept the childlike commitment of a simple believer seem out of sync, if nothing else. Paul's mosaic may also speak of his own internal conflicts over unresolved points of contact where his thoughts encounter dissonance – he tries a blend and fails. Already, I think there is ample illustration of this. Still his attempts are Herculean when compared to those of other composers.

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First Corinthians Corinth is the receiver of one of Paul’s most treasured letters in the canon, what we call I Corinthians. Some call it the love canon. It shows his immense poetic skills and theological insights. The occasion is complex: believers in Corinth are engaging in questionable moral behavior, from sleeping with stepmothers and prostitutes to speaking in tongues. All the while they look upon themselves as religiously privileged. They see little reason to wait for exaltation because it is already upon them. One thing poses serious problems: their misdirected religiosity. Paul takes up each report, counsels his charges that they do not yet live an exalted or privileged existence and, in the process, delivers sizable slices of his teaching. The message is basically: wait for the day of resurrection by living the morally prudent life. “For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” (RSV 1 Cor. 2:2) Such is the core message. Paul makes this quite plain for the insecure listener by saying that he has filled the role of father for them and the best advice, when in doubt, “I urge you, then, be imitators of me.” (RSV 1 Cor. 4:16) In practical terms, this means being patient about the day of resurrection and prudent in behavior. For Christ, our paschal lamb, has been sacrificed. Let us therefore celebrate the festival, not with the old leaven, the leaven of malice and evil, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. (RSV 1 Cor. 5:7)

Another vivid image, Jesus as Paschal Lamb, has been added to the growing list of sacrificially oriented names for Jesus. The term is usually related to other more plain and obvious names. The meaning, although not obvious here, is connected to the ransom concept; it is a general association and not to be regarded as being “airtight.” The paschal lamb symbol is the blood-spattered door, reminiscent of the passing of the Lord without violence when others were being invaded and slaughtered. It was remembered vividly as the Passover; by the time of Jesus it had been formalized and celebrated as a choice of God to show his favor and love. By connecting the life and death of Jesus to the Hebrew image, the Paschal lamb, Paul took on an enormous volume of tradition to express the heart of the faith. It is potent for Hebrew history and packs a huge impact as a devotional image. How does Paul regard the titles he has introduced? He has piled on the titles at a fast pace—what value do they possess for young Christians? Are they to be regarded as metaphors to be appreciated mainly for their literary

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value? Do they intend to convey a truth apprehended by faith? If he is using the titles in a more philosophical sense, doctrine becomes a candidate. If he mixes the two, we should be aware of his general intent, if at all possible, for it is a common technique. A first option is to think of them as metaphors. Paul is far too sophisticated to confine his argument to the “literally” true. Jesus as “curse,” “paschal lamb,” or “Rock” (RSV 1 Cor.10:4), if taken at face value, misses Paul’s theological purpose. That seems rudimentary. Metaphors have the advantage of exciting a reader’s capacity to relate the image to one’s own heritage or experience. The three images just cited call up Hebrew memory. Paul’s heritage as a Jew is used without restraint, even though his audience is probably Gentile. The images are technically metaphorical. But leaving it there is saying too little: their intent is to point out a vital act or idea. They are also part of a theological perspective, and so have more than metaphorical meaning. When it comes to twists, literary or historical, we have seen incisive new meanings using metaphors. Paul is a master at crafting a powerful message in his metaphors, but there is more that a literary device intended. The “curse” is a straight association which suggests that the law, in the wake of Jesus’ passion and death, can only serve as a curse, and Jesus has chosen to become that curse to release us from the law. I suggest that Paul really believes that Christ preexisted and was involved in the history of Hebrew faith. I take him at his word when he says, “For they drank from the supernatural Rock which followed them, and the Rock was Christ.” (RSV 1 Cor.10:4) The term is metaphorical; rocks don't walk, but Paul’s faith is bound to this history that makes the title more than a literary jewel. A logical approach however, is not an effective way to give it meaning; pictures conjure vague frames for faith, but they hardly stand alone. Explanations are not forthcoming; he offers none. Lacking an explanation from Paul, we go on our best hunch. He is drawing on an appreciated image in order to convey an article of faith. He meant to teach doctrine through the use of metaphor. This purpose makes the literary components instrumental—they can teach the truth. The churches will, in time, grant their approval of these names in the form of “agreed upon doctrine,” and the pre-existent Christ conception will become part of Jesus’ identity. An almost literal acceptance of Christ’s pre-existence is being taught. Paul is found, many times, using instruments like these to convey complex beliefs. Jesus, he is saying, is all these and more—symbol, historical figure and divine appointee. We are seeing in these passages a stage or phase in a title’s transformation, namely a snapshot of an event or a symbolic, literary device concurrently

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becoming an article of faith. We might think that Paul is pulling our leg (or that I am) in trying to classify these terms as “transitional,” i.e., titles headed for doctrinal acceptance but still at an introductory stage. That is a typical practice in theology, as it is in poetry circles. As a metaphor, a term can incite a sense of particular power, yet not possess meaning itself. But when an image is associated with a venerable history—successfully—it is destined for inclusion in a doctrinal pattern. It serves as a signpost to guide the searchers to their destination. As long as the signpost character is maintained, it can become an article of faith. It is as if Paul is standing at the crossroads—the intersection of history and faith—directing traffic. As we reach the occasion of eating at the common meal, in Chapter 11, Paul remembers out loud. For I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, “This is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way also the cup, after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me. For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” (RSV 1 Cor. 11:23-26)

Paul’s initial approach is pragmatic: the Lord’s Supper calls for decency and patience for all the participants. It seems like a practical matter—to wait for others and to eat without breaking into cliques. However, Paul’s counsel turns into a poetic and deeply theological reminiscence. As part of his memory, Paul names Jesus in ways not encountered before. Bread and wine are associated with Jesus; from reverent memory to mystical “eating” of his body, the connections initiated here are momentous. There is so much to discuss that it is a temptation to address all the levels contained in this short passage. Focusing on the naming process alone can take us into theological issues which are still alive so many centuries after their writing. We enter into some of them because they cannot be avoided; they are the heart of Paul’s theology and remain at the heart of Catholic, Protestant, and Eastern Orthodox traditions. And they are powerful names for the man Jesus. Concerning Paul’s authorship of this passage, the preface to the words spoken by Jesus is signature Paul. His recollection is more than simple memory. “For I received from the Lord...” It seems to fit Paul’s habit of claiming “direct reception” for his teachings. Personal conversation with God is his source, not advice from the Jerusalem elders or any other

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human communication. He does not disclose that he was absent from the supper he describes; it doesn’t seem to matter to him that he was not a participant. He considers his teaching divinely inspired, similar in tone to the Hebrew prophets’ familiar introduction, “Thus says the Lord—.” All arrows point to Paul as the author/editor of this record of the celebration. Paul makes it plain that eating a common meal in which Jesus is remembered is a familiar practice. The Corinthian believers were probably taught some of the traditions regarding the meal when Paul first visited them. Because of their disruptive behavior, Paul rebukes them and turns to instructing them on the meal’s proper meaning. When faithfully observed, the meal proclaims the Lord’s death until he comes, a now familiar orientation for all of Paul’s teachings. There is also an additional dimension of meaning for the believer; the Eucharistic meal is both an anticipation and a taste of the coming age, for every faithful recipient meets the Risen Lord, as well as assuring his place in the new kingdom. This sets the meal apart from all others because it is saturated with an eschatological message. Paul chides them for their insensitivity and reminds them that they have houses to eat in where eating is for food—here, it is to celebrate the Lord’s death, and the near end of time. Added to the anticipatory theme is the provocative recitation of Jesus saying, “This is my body—-this is the new covenant in my blood.” What are we to make of these words? Paul gives us some aid with his earlier statement in RSV I Cor. 5:7: For Christ, our paschal lamb, has been sacrificed. Let us therefore celebrate the festival, not with the old leaven, the leaven of malice and evil, but with the new leaven of sincerity and truth.

In a figurative sense, the phrases involving body and blood amount to names for Jesus. He is known in a spiritually concrete manner—his presence is palpable. In a committed relation, Paul teaches, the individual recipient experiences the risen Lord. Paul’s advice pertains to assemblies; the metaphor of the paschal lamb and celebratory eating are solidly linked. The passage under consideration does the same: Jesus is remembered as the sacrificial lamb. Indeed, a believer, by his faithful participation in the sacred meal, identifies himself with Christ in his death and resurrection. To drive this home, Paul adds the warning that to celebrate unworthily is to profane Him. The believer is to “discern” the body and blood of Christ; this is the definition of a worthy celebration. It is difficult to assess the meaning of this word, and does not seem like a rational process. Surely, Paul steers

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away from the cannibalistic undertones of such language; to achieve understanding, one approaches it with “sincerity and truth.” Discerning the risen Christ’s body resides much closer to mystical insight, although Paul never fully explains it. What we can say is that he believed that Jesus, who died and rose, offers believers the same path, from dying with him to participating in his resurrection. This is laid out in the Eucharistic (thanksgiving) words and acts. The path of discernment brings together the One who forged it and the many who will follow, in practical terms an imitation of Jesus’ values and behavior. In religious context, to discern is to follow Jesus in his dying and his resurrection, and to be one with him, to be completely related to him. Paul must be given credit for these remarkable and original associations. His account is our earliest story of the last supper, some fifteen to twenty years before Mark, and was a fixture in the growing churches. He has woven together the themes of vicarious sacrifice, the near end of history, and a communal meal, so that a believer celebrates them all in the act of discerning Christ as the divine host at this meal. As A.N. Wilson observes, the meal is, in Paul’s portrayal, a sacrament, a concrete event that embodies a profound mystery. A faith was forming that had not only a leader, but also a way of salvation for devotees. Paul, in no small measure, had created these things. As a hint to the many meanings of the Lord’s Supper, Paul advises the Corinthians about the risks of idolatry in RSV 1 Cor. 10:16 ff. He explains that the Lord’s Supper cannot possibly be deemed an offense because: The cup blessing which we bless, is it not a participation (communion) in the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? (RSV 1 Cor. 10:16)

It is tempting to think that Paul is teaching that the taking of bread is a fellowship celebration for believers, a remembrance of times past. But when he teaches participation in the body and blood of Christ, it becomes plain that the meal contains more than a remembered event; it is fresh contact with the risen Lord. Paul believes this meal is dedicated to communing with a risen Lord, and that sets it apart from idolatry, a Hebrew taboo. In the eleventh chapter, however, a deepened and more mysterious dimension is added. Paul is bound to have his listeners see Christ in even more provocative ways. Jesus’ statement, “this is my body…” opened a way for the believer to think of his sacrifice in mystic and philosophical terms. In short, the taking of bread and wine meant that Christ presented himself to the faithful recipient. Not once is it mentioned how it happens,

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but Paul is sure it does. He is, at once, the one who is remembered and the one who is there to meet all who come. In short, the host of the supper. From “curse,” to “Sacrificial Lamb,” “Rock,” to “Eucharistic Host,” Jesus’ names are ubiquitous. A ceremonial celebration was in the making that focused on communion with a risen Leader. In hindsight, such a contribution would set the new communities apart from their Hebrew ancestors. With a doctrine and a nascent liturgy that centered on the person of Christ, Jews would find it increasingly difficult to convert; the new faith would chart its own direction. It had, with Paul, the elements necessary for independence, and it would grow because he charted the way. This is not quite the same as saying Paul intended such a direction. We are wrong to impose such an intention. The poetic directions he gave the Corinthians were intended to solve a case of bad Gentile morals, and point them to the eschatological truth. In the serpentine paths of history, Paul’s intentions and the eventualities are forever playing out their distinct but related songs. His writings to instruct a congregation as small and earthly as one might conceive were destined to be read as sacred scripture throughout Christian culture. Had he known this, would he have written the same way? Do the Corinthians comprehend this provocative new imagery; does Paul understand just how unique this message is? He certainly knows nothing of its eventual scope of acceptance, but as these letters of Paul are accepted into canonical status, the Fathers of the Churches will do their work to place these names at the heart of the liturgy. The Corinthian passage will also become a doctrinal keystone for future theologies, a “canon” of sorts for every other interpretation of the Eucharist. There is a small irony in having Paul's memory be the measure of acceptance for every other account of the Eucharist; in his favor is the circumstance of being first “on the scene,” i.e., to render a written account. That is about the one leading criterion Paul offers. He delivers a secondhand product—”I received...” But he seized the opportunity and others copied. As for Paul, his intention seems to be focused on the meal as a sacrament in the last days. It is the Christian’s way of confidently waiting, and that, in itself, is sufficient cause for crafting one’s correspondence. It worked for Paul. Paul’s lofty intention to promote the faith is not the whole of the story. He wed active imagination and complete dedication to a strategy for growth, while stressing the practical implications of the faith. Paul could also seize the mystical dimensions in Eucharistic worship. He provided a lecture on good manners and morals and capped it with the mystical presence of Christ in the act of eating. The notion of “Christ as host” will

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accompany and inspire communities of devotion all the way from Syrian ascetics in the desert to the Quakers and their silence two millennia hence. The host characteristic is brought home in the fifteenth chapter in a long monologue on the resurrection, for resurrection is what awaits those who believe. It is what all the waiting is about. But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. (RSV 1 Cor. 15:20-22) The first man Adam became a living being: the last Adam became a lifegiving spirit. …As was the man of dust, so are those who are of the dust; and as is the man of heaven, so are those who are of heaven. Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we shall also bear the image of the man of heaven. (RSV 1 Cor.15:45, 48-49)

Paul was terribly hard on his own Jewish tradition, and sees it as a necessary chapter in the history of salvation, a divine tool gone awry. Jesus has come as the redeemer of God, a spirit man in the wake of a failed system based on works, his title for it, “flesh and blood.” Jesus’ life and death accomplished what the first Adam could not: God’s gift of resurrection. The kingdom of God can only be inherited by identifying with one who himself inherited that kingdom—Jesus, the second Adam, the man of heaven. Everyone who hears and heeds this message will bear the image of the life-giving spirit/man. So, in Paul’s mind, Jesus as Eucharistic host and the prospect of a general resurrection are related. The image of the two Adams holds them together. Not only is Jesus seen as a pre-existent Christ figure, he has taken on the mantle of being a successor to the world’s first man. This may not be systematic theology, but it is sophisticated and complex association; the second Adam metaphor became a new article of faith in a program of salvation—and another name in the growing panoply of titles for Jesus. The first image is the successor to the Adam of Eden, and is almost surely Paul’s creation, for it is but a repeat role already assigned to Jesus. This is a crown of new authority for Jesus; Paul sees him as the heir and executor of an entire divine plan, the center of a history of salvation, the capstone of its impact on the world. We are witnessing the far reaches of the divination surge, where there is little to separate Jesus from the Godhead.

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Second Corinthians The second letter to the Corinthians adds no rich harvest of new names for Jesus, but the repetition of previous themes clarifies how Paul thinks and believes. If we are impressed by the Christ-centeredness of the emerging doctrine, a Christology in the making, this second letter reinforces that impression. “Therefore, if any one is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, behold, the new has come.” (RSV 2 Cor.5:17) But the theology is grounded periodically with the recognition that God is the cause of all that Jesus is. “…God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself...” (RSV 2 Cor.5:19) Oddly enough, with all of this glorification, the “poor” Christ still pre-exists, “…that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor so that by his poverty you might become rich.” (RSV 2 Cor. 8:9) And, even more emphatically, the notion that Jesus dwells in the believer is affirmed. “Examine yourselves, to see whether you are holding to your faith. Test yourselves. Do you not realize that Jesus Christ is in you?—unless indeed you fail to meet the test.” (RSV 2 Cor.13:5) The entire body of Paul’s writing is headed for a mystical reading; it avoids rationalistic mechanisms and relies upon human commitment and gut– level acceptance.

Letter to the Philippians Paul’s letter to the Philippians brings us to one of the New Testament’s most lovely and theologically significant hymns. Although relatively late in the chronology of Paul’s epistles, it is early (ca. 55 CE) in the life of the churches. The form of a hymn is used: Though he was in the form of God He did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped. But he emptied himself taking the form of a slave being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death. Therefore God has also highly exalted him, and gave him the name that is above every name. So that at the name of Jesus,

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Coming upon such a splendid poetic piece as this is like viewing a magnificent animal in the forest or a bird in lonely flight. The presence of such a routine-shattering sight helps us understand the entire forest. More particularly, the hymn brings into focus the arguments he has introduced before. We have already been made aware of Jesus’ preexistence as the chosen Christ, his passionate giving of himself as God’s servant, and his victorious triumph as the risen Lord; all these themes have been submitted separately to the reader. But in this passage they are all present – and connected in a hymn of praise. Pre-existence, passion and resurrection are all part of Paul’s picture of the Christ. The theology is encapsulated below. “Though he was in the form of God...”

Jesus’ divine nature is simply affirmed. It is not argued or explained. Pre-existence has become a staple component of the faith. The term “form,” morphe, is used to make his divinity assured beyond question. The author, most likely Paul, knew the subtle connotations of his chosen term. Morphe is not subject to change; Jesus will forever be divine, and although the claim just below is that Jesus “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave...” seems like a contraction of his unchangeable divine form, it matters not. The author is so conflicted about the change in form, he is willing to break the rules. Here, in poetic style, the story is told in the context of Jesus’ divesting his divine nature for a human one, and after the cross, being exalted to regain his divine form. Nothing is said or hinted of the ransom teaching, or a contract that requires death. Jesus followed the will of his father freely into his passion and death and was rewarded in resurrection. “He emptied himself...humbled himself, and became obedient to death...”

But instead of God requiring these acts, it is Jesus who takes the walk. This is the first time we read that Jesus uses his own discretion in becoming human. “Therefore God has highly exalted him...and gave him the name that is above every name...that Jesus Christ is Lord...”

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The third stage is exaltation. Jesus returns to the Father. A threefold drama has been completed “to the glory of the Father.” Jesus’ self-emptying, so evident here, contains a dramatic development in our understanding of Jesus. The hymn calls up the image of a preexistent Christ, giving him virtually equal status with God: Jesus is the same form as God. The verse, “But he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave being born in human likeness,” announces this: divine divestiture. The divesting of divine status conceived in the hymn is an “emptying” as Jesus enters into human life. At its most simple level, the hymn suggests that Jesus was, in essence, divine in form before he was born. This is another explicit elaboration of the theme of pre-existence, and the designation of Jesus as a divine being.4 It never occurred to Barclay that the use of the term morphe in both contexts creates a mental puzzle for the reader, i.e., how could Jesus change from a divine form to a human one, if morphe is truly unalterable? Could God change his essential form? Barclay’s only comment is that Jesus “is essentially divine; but He was for a time human.” (Barclay 1959 45.)

That progression is now sung as a three-part, seamless drama of salvation. The title “Christ” has been given a new theological legitimacy by picturing Jesus as bearing the form of God even while succumbing to a sentence of death. The distinctive element is that it is Jesus who empties himself; he is the agent of change, the one who accepts death. Once again, Paul has made a major contribution to the independence of the faith.

Letter to the Romans Paul’s masterpiece, his letter to the Roman Church, contains the most sophisticated monologue, or apology, in the New Testament. It is of interest to us in very few instances, however, because Paul did not introduce new or different names so much as he refined and argued for those we have already noted. And he did this brilliantly. If we recall the   4

William Barclay explains, There are two Greek words for form. There is the word morphe, and there is the word schema. … Morphe is the essential form/shape of something, which never alters; schema is the outward form which changes from time to time and from circumstance to circumstance. The word Paul uses for Jesus being in the form of God is morphe; that is to say, Jesus is unalterably cast in the form of God; His essence, His unchangeable being is divine. However his outward appearance might alter, he remained its essence and in being divine. (Barclay 1959 44)

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Galatians epistle, and think of Romans as an intricate recasting of it, we will not be far off the mark. The letter is primarily devoted to the theme of justification—who is right with God and how will Jew and Gentile be made right? Paul’s effort to explain his belief is complex and studded with memorable quotes. Trying to find organizing categories is risky, but it is helpful to set two broad contexts for Paul’s long diatribe: “the courtroom” and the “mystical vision.” When Paul articulates how the law applies to Jews and not to Gentiles, one cannot avoid the impression that we are in a courtroom where God is judge. Specifically, this is heralded by the charge “that all men, both Jews and Greeks are under the power of sin, as it is written: ‘None is righteous, no not one.’” (RSV Rom. 3:9,10) When we read that God revealed his compassion for all in the resurrection of Christ, and that all who have faith will “be conformed to the image of his son,” we sense the change in environment; from a courtroom we are transported to the realm of mystical apprehension. In terms of Paul’s developing sophistication, mystical values come later than the judgments of the end time. Suffice it to say that my choice of these images is made to keep things simple; they are not hard and fast concepts. We need to look at this letter for the particulars of justification to see the few additions Paul makes to his growing collection of names for Jesus, and ultimately, God. In Chapter 1 he alludes to his motive for corresponding: he wants to teach and preach in Rome so that they may benefit from his experience and authority –as an ambassador of the gospel: it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith; as it is written, ‘He who through faith is righteous shall live.’ (RSV Rom. 1:16-17)

Faith justifies; this is the backbone of Paul’s message. Unlike other letters, he writes not to scold for some infraction or lack of commitment. It is somewhat unclear as to exactly why he wants to correspond. Speculation runs from the motive of respect—”because they are Romans!”—to Paul’s ambitious need to be a singular leader. Here, he says, “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ.” He wants to be heard less as an authority figure than as a credible teacher; they need to hear him lest they fall, perhaps, to some other unworthy version of the teachings. He is not ashamed to tout his authority as a purveyor of salvation, but above all he really wants to teach in Rome.

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In the greeting, Paul gives a short summary of the holy acts of God. They include the interesting phrase, …the gospel concerning his son, who was descended from David according to the flesh and designated son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord. (RSV Rom. 1:3, 4)

These titles seem like a return to an earlier conception, where God designates Jesus as son of God at the resurrection. That may be a hasty surmise. The resurrection, here, is the key event to trigger sonship, but the whole drama is God’s plan, from the preexistent Christ, son of David, a baptized preacher, the crucified leader, to the risen Lord. It is clear in other examples, however, that Jesus’ status is not confined to, or certified solely by the resurrection. In the past he has emphasized the signs long before Jesus’ birth, from the beginning of history, that attest to his place in the godhead. This passage confirms that tripartite of argument in Paul’s theology—of specifying Jesus’ preexistence as a key segment in his certification—with the other two stages following as equals. The reader may be addled if this is perceived to be a different approach to Jesus’ divinity. And indeed it may be that Paul recognized freshly the special importance of the resurrection. Resurrection is the climax of God’s plan, the final stamp of Jesus’ divine mission. The term, “Spirit of holiness,” is new, probably referring to God as Father, the one who enacted that crowning event. Paul is consistent and frequent in that reference. Chapters 1-5 concentrate on justification with a vengeance unmatched in other letters – how the law applies to Jews and not to Gentiles. The focus is on law and faith. The law does address Jews, but ironically tempts them to break it by relying on works and not, as with Abraham, on faith. With regard to these portions of the letter, Luther and others were right to take faith as the only possible way of being justified before God, at least in Romans. It is Paul’s consuming preoccupation here and can be taken as the center of everything else he says about justification. Faith is not intellectual consent, right intention, or decent (lawful) living; it is the complete surrender of the human spirit to God’s gracious acts: ...they are justified by his grace as a gift through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as an expiation by his blood, to be received by faith. (RSV Rom. 3:24-25)

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Gentiles are the primary targets of the belief that only faith justifies. But they are no more guilty or in need than others. “For there is no distinction; since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God…” (RSV Rom. 3:22) Paul is publicly more generous than in his earlier letters. The law is now powerless to save either Jew or gentile. Faith is the equivalent for saving humankind, as the Torah previously was for Jews. We have expressed our distaste and revulsion for the ransom theme in his teaching. It may color and raise our estimation of Jesus because of his heroic choice, but what of God, who would gamble and murder one to save many? In the end it was God’s demand that a sacrifice be rendered. It was a ransom hardly necessary for a transcendent God, and as we have iterated above, God’s demand borders on the sadistic; it is his character that is stained by vengeance. One might imagine a better solution, and here Paul makes a mighty effort. Working within his training as a Hellenized Jew, he turns on the Torah with a withering criticism. Judaism touted its law to be just what Paul denies it was, a saving instrument. Paul saw it as bogged down in well-meaning details and still caught in the sacrificial bargains that made it seem irrelevant to the outsider. Paul’s rejection of the law throws out the water and the baby—”For no human being will be justified in his sight by works of the law…” (RSV Rom. 3:20) He couldn’t have been more judgmental. The law’s positive value ended long ago. In its place he institutes faith in God and Jesus as the only way to make humans whole again. Yet, without hesitation Paul advises all readers that Christians keep the law anyway! He never explains why. (RSV Rom. 3:31) For there is no distinction; since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, they are justified by his grace as a gift through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus whom God put forward as an expiation by his blood, to be received faith. (RSV Rom. 3:22-25)

So, faith is the appropriate response to the ransom/demand of God, accepting Christ’s offering of his life to justify all people. From the curse passage in Galatians to this lengthy argument, we are situated in the courtroom where God’s justice is bartered, with Jesus as the only solution to humankind’s predicament. Translated into dogma it would affect the behavior of the churches down to the present day. To a lesser extent, the sanctity of Christ’s obedient sacrifice is a companion theme. It is related to the above ransom theme but is quite different in tone. It is about Spirit. In the eighth chapter Paul begins a diatribe on life in the Spirit that will last the remaining length of the letter. The introduction is as follows:

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For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do: sending his own son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the just requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit. (RSV Rom. 8:3-4)

Walking according to faith is equated to walking “according to the Spirit,” thereby giving up fleshly ways. The term Spirit is left somewhat cloudy, for it seems possible here to identify it with the act of faith, a human state of being. A few key phrases will uncover the meaning of the term. “You are not in the flesh, you are in the Spirit, if the Spirit of God really dwells in you.” (RSV Rom. 8:9) If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit which dwells in you.” (RSV Rom. 8:11)

The Spirit here is unmistakably God’s Spirit. It may come to the responsive believer, but the Spirit is solely the attribute of the deity. “For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God.” (RSV Rom. 8:14) “When we cry, ‘Abba Father!’ it is the Spirit himself bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God.” (RSV Rom. 8:15) Undeniably the source is God, but here the mystical element has crept in—God’s Spirit cries in the human cry for aid. “…the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.” (RSV Rom. 8:27) To do God’s will takes an infusion of the Spirit, who intercedes for the believer “with sighs too deep for words,” (RSV Rom. 8:26) as the risen Christ also intercedes.5 (RSV   5

The term “holy spirit” will become a bone to pick in the Nicean controversies and eventual compromises. It is not surprising that the term “Holy Spirit” occurs in RSV Romans 5:5; 9:1; 14:1; 15:13,19. The usage is such that the Holy Spirit is the love of God and the power of Christ in the devotee. No explicit Trinitarian doctrine is laid out and none implied, but the fodder for one is certainly presented. Paul is the first one to use these powerful images. If indeed he is the letter’s author, his stature as an instigator of later doctrine is elevated to even greater heights because of these early efforts. It is also remarkable that one mind could generate these ideas without ever having known the man Jesus. Or does the lack of intimacy provide him with the very creativity we see in Romans? In any case the notion of a Spiritpossessed believer becomes part of Paul’s teaching and the later developments towards his concept of a godhead revealed in threefold fashion. Were the nails already nailed in the coffin of a Jewish Christianity? The fact that the Spirit teaching gained respectability required additional distance between the new faith and its brother Judaism.

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Rom. 8:34) Spirit belongs primarily to God, but also to Christ, even to the believer, and to “itself” as Holy Spirit. For all his adulation of the divinity of Jesus, Paul never identifies Jesus as God the Father. It is easy to look at this in hindsight, but Paul is in new territory trying to parse the forms of Godhead so early in the life of the churches. There is the anticipation of Christian orthodoxy in it, as the Holy Spirit, but the use of key terms is altogether too random to dictate a creedal statement or a systematic theology. One short word needs to be added to our reading of this letter. Caveats: knowing that Romans is an occasional letter as are the rest, and that topical omissions cannot be taken for positive evidence, it is nevertheless interesting that Paul does not make the near approach of the end-time a prominent theme in this letter. Romans is to be thought of as the latest of his letters, so a semi-rhetorical question is in order: did Paul relax on the urgency of the Eschaton? The candid answer is that evidence is sparse. With no discussion of the topic in depth, Paul’s interest in the impending end may have cooled. And Rome did loom as a beckoning call. It is fitting that we take leave of Paul at the end of his most impressive composition, and especially with his portrayal of the Holy Spirit, the holy wind of faith. Hagion pneuma, or holy wind, seems to apply to this fiery teacher’s personality, his complete preoccupation with theology, intoxication with Jesus, and with Gentile acceptance of his teaching. He is the wind that shaped the future, carved the nooks and crannies of the names for Jesus so that most would come to see him as God incarnate. We are only a few years beyond the Q document and the Gospel of Thomas, but as we said above, we are worlds removed from their names for Jesus and God. The questions asked and answered by so many commentators on Paul uniformly cluster around his role as the inventor of Christianity: is Paul’s religion anything like the one taught by Jesus? Would it have survived at all if Paul hadn’t come along? I can’t venture an opinion on the last issue, but the first one about the discontinuities between the earliest forms of the faith and Paul’s version seem all too evident. The visions of Q1 and Paul are radically different. Paul’s version of the young faith is unique and not duplicated in any other existing sources. That he consciously sought to transform the faith into a personally comfortable “Pauline” creation is stretching a point, but he fought for his views passionately and without pause. His stated passion was to be the apostle to the Gentiles, and with such a vocation, things were destined for change. “For I will not venture to speak of anything except what Christ has wrought through me to win obedience from the Gentiles.” (RSV Rom.

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15:18) The changes that came in the wake of such an effort would, for the

most part, be dealt with by later authors. The serpentine paths of Christian history are becoming more and more diverse as we look at the authors below. Paul has forever cast his influence over the future of the churches, not only those with whom he corresponded but far beyond. In our study two trends remain clear. Paul the poetic theologian encourages a plethora of names for Jesus. And second, every one of them was shaped to heighten Jesus’ divine nature. These two factors, I believe, make his legacy as prime inventor plausible and appropriate. There is no last word when writing about Paul; he generates controversy wherever he is found. Knowing this, I hesitate to add another perspective. Paul is a perfect model of this study in that he introduces names and titles without regard for inner consistency and sometimes with outright contradictions; Jesus is all things in Paul’s lexicon. Reviewing his use of titles is a worthwhile venture, an eye-opener, a lesson in naming at the core of the faith.

CHAPTER FIVE TWO GOSPEL FRAGMENTS

Some are hesitant to grant the title of “Gospel” to sources outside the canon, but I contend that if good evidence can be found to grant all or portions of them early authorship, there is no legitimate reason to exclude them from this study. The plot thickens as we proceed, for the Gospels are still the object of debate when we include the non-canonical sources as we did with the Gospel of Thomas. I speak particularly of the Gospel of Peter and the Secret Gospel of Mark. Although there are many other extracanonical Gospels to be read and appreciated, they are all deemed “late” by the standards we have agreed to observe, and were we to include them, the book would be too heavy in more ways than one. This is not necessarily true of Peter and Secret Mark.

The Gospel of Peter The entire narrative of the Gospel of Peter is only fourteen brief chapters in length and should be termed a passion narrative, as it commences with a trial scene on the last day of Jesus’ life. From every indication, the entire document is itself a fragment; the first sentence is likely to be the end of a longer description of the trial of Jesus. The Gospel contains no introduction. The Gospel of Peter is the more difficult of the two non-canonical fragments regarding proof of early authorship, and the argument for it among modern critics is definitely a minority effort. First, the discovery of the “early” portions of this brief Gospel is only obvious to the trained eye of the historical critic. The early segments are “embedded” in a much later document, much like that of Q in Matthew and Luke. John Dominic Crossan is the main formulator of the evidence for inclusion and its most articulate defender; its presence in our study depends largely on our evaluation of his argument. Crossan’s strongest reasons for the existence of early elements in the text are as follows: between Chapters 11 and 12 there is a significant break

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in the narrative.1 To the practiced eye, there are two accounts of the empty tomb. Beginning with Peter 12:1,2 the story of the resurrection is retold quite differently than in chapters SV Peter 8:28 through Chapter 11. For instance, the latter portion (SV Peter 12-14) gives the women at the tomb a prominent role similar to later accounts; that implies reliance on later canonical Gospels. Crossan states that most scholars accept the repetition as indicative of different authorship but fail to see Chapters Peter 1-11 as early, logically developed narrative. The evidence is good for it being early. It shows no reliance on other accounts and offers unique perspectives on key events. Crossan also argues that if SV Peter 8:28 through Chapter 11 is viewed as an independent resurrection story, then it follows that it would have an independent passion narrative preceding it to introduce resurrection encounters to the reader. That passion narrative shows itself in Chapters 18 of the Gospel of Peter. In short, Crossan believes that Chapters 1-11 are a coherent, early narrative of Jesus’ last days and resurrection. He then binds the two, and names the eleven-chapter corpus the “Cross Gospel.” We are not going to reiterate the detailed argument that Crossan offers in defense of the Cross Gospel (Crossan 1998 481 ff.), as that would further compromise our task. A brief evaluation will suffice. These eleven chapters prefer to cite Old Testament background for every detail in the story of Jesus’ trial, persecution, crucifixion and resurrection. (Crossan 1998 505) These same chapters portray the Jewish officials in extremely negative terms but the general Jewish population positively. Roman officials, surprisingly, come off quite well. Pilate declares that he is “clean” of the blood of the son of God. (SV Peter 11:4) This statement makes Pilate’s role quite different from that of canonical accounts. Pilate claims innocence here, whereas in the canon he admits culpability. This difference nudges us to accept it as being independent and much earlier than any in the canon. The perspective of the eleven chapters “fits” what historians agree was occurring in Jerusalem in the early forties. “All three of these factors—the absolute innocence of the Roman authorities, the absolute readiness of ‘the people’ to become Christians—indicate a date in the early 40’s for the creation of the Cross Gospel.” (Crossan 1998 506) That historical fit is potentially the strongest criterion in Crossan’s argument. (Crossan 1998 510)   1

See Miller 1994 The Complete Gospels, 402ff. The entire texts of both Peter and Secret Mark are included in The Complete Gospels, p. 402ff. 2 All citations in Peter are to Miller, ed. 1994. The Complete Gospels, Annotated Scholars Version.

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The names for Jesus that occur in the early/embedded segments are not altogether new to our study, but they do suggest unique and provocative images of Jesus. Crossan’s belief in the existence of another early independent source contributes to the revised version of Christian beginnings. If Crossan is right, the portions he calls the “Cross Gospel” are some of the earliest sources for understanding Jesus—sometime in the fifth or sixth decade of the Common Era. This would put the Cross Gospel twenty years prior to the Gospel of Mark and contemporaneous with the letters of Paul. I employ his views because I think his argument is in large part convincing. One caveat: it does not make much difference for our project whether or not Crossan is on the mark concerning the existence of a Cross Gospel. If it turns out that there is, in the end, no early embedded text, our view of Christian beginnings would certainly be affected in some of its details, but since the naming there is not entirely novel, our thesis about the great variety of Jesus’ names can remain unchanged. The adventure of finding evidence for the hidden “Cross Gospel,” Crossan suggests, is worth exploring, because the Cross Gospel thesis also offers new ways of looking at Christian beginnings and fresh conceptions of Jesus. With this summary of the argument, we turn to its implications as mentioned in The Complete Gospels. Not only is Crossan’s thesis referred to, but so is the work of other critics in establishing a new view of this Gospel fragment. The most important result established by this research is that the original stage of Peter may well be the earliest passion story in the gospel tradition and, as such, may contain the seeds of subsequent passion narratives. …These findings not only move the date of the earliest stage of Peter to the middle of the first century, but also challenge basic assumptions about the historical development of early Christian literature. (Miller 1994 400401)

We shall concentrate, as does Crossan, on the alleged early portions of the Gospel of Peter. Herod is the principal authority at the trial. He directs the assistants to take Jesus away: ...saying to them, “do what I commanded you to do to him.” Joseph stood there, the friend of Pilate and the Lord, and when he realized that they were about to crucify him, he went to Pilate and asked for the body of the Lord for burial. (SV Peter 1:2-3)

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Peter’s name for Jesus is repeatedly “the Lord.” Recall that this title is common in Paul, yet it is hardly used elsewhere in the documents so far reviewed. For Paul, “every knee should bow…and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (RSV Phil. 2:10) There the title puts the image of Jesus on a level nearly equating him with God. Does this title in Peter have the same theological purpose and impact that Paul gave it? It is very difficult to say. It is the voice of the narrator exclusively who uses the term (SV Peter 1:2; 2:1; 3:1, 3; 5:5; 6:1,4), but in the ninth chapter the narrator uses the term “Lord” in a different context, namely to designate the Sabbath—the Lord’s day. (SV Peter 9:2) Here, the title does apply to Jesus, not to God. In the former context, where applying to Jesus, it is used as a theological symbol: the Lord’s Day is the day “the skies open up and two men come down from there in a burst of light;” it is Sunday, the day of the resurrection, not Saturday, the traditional Jewish Sabbath. Another title is used twice as cruel sarcasm, probably by the officials who are scourging Jesus: “Let’s drag the son of God along, since we have him in our power.” (SV Peter 3:1) “Some kept flogging him as they said, ‘Let’s pay proper respect to the son of God.’” (SV Peter 3:4) The third title would have positive power if they were using it respectfully, but the author puts it in the mouths of the very enemies of those who believe. The abusers don’t know its power and are not expected to know. A second title is similar: “Judge justly, king of Israel.” (SV Peter 3:2) The inscription on the cross is here much as it is in the other gospels: “This is the king of Israel.” Used by the mockers, it is a title of rebuke, its rightful power denied by the uninitiated but known to be true by the believer. The remaining title is, perhaps, the most straightforward and fresh of any in this brief gospel. One of the criminals being executed with Jesus reproaches the crowd, “We’re suffering for the evil that we’ve done, but this fellow, who has become a savior of humanity, what wrong has he done to you?” (SV Peter 3:4) A “savior of humanity”—not just “savior”— bears a spontaneity and crispness as a title that we have not often seen. Politically correct language has not yet arrived. The narrative in Peter fleshes out these titles and what the author(s) thought of Jesus’ identity, especially embodied in this resurrection spectacle. Early, at the first light on the sabbath, a crowd came from Jerusalem and the surrounding countryside to see the sealed tomb. But during the night before the Lord’s day dawned, while the soldiers were on guard, two by

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two during each watch, a loud noise came from the sky, and they saw the skies open up and two men come down from there in a burst of light and approach the tomb. The stone that had been pushed against the entrance began to roll by itself and moved away to one side; then the tomb opened up and both young men went inside. (SV Peter 9:1) Now when these soldiers saw this, they roused the centurion from his sleep, along with the elders. (Remember, they were also there keeping watch.) While they were explaining what they had seen, again they saw three men leaving the tomb, two supporting the third, and a cross was following them. The heads of the two reached up to the sky, while the head of the third, whom they led by the hand, reached beyond the skies. And they heard a voice from the skies that said, “Have you preached to those who sleep?” And an answer was heard from the cross: “Yes.” (SV Peter 10:1)

Assuming that this account is contemporaneous with the letters of Paul, predating the canonical Gospel of Mark, it says that wondrous, unexpected events were not necessarily late add-ons, but lodged in the earliest stories. Differing from the synoptic gospels in both storyline and content, this is a remarkable attestation to the otherworldly character of Jesus. The two heavenly figures (angels?) are larger than life, and the figure we assume to be Jesus is larger still. It is a “resurrection transfiguration” and no less. The most other-worldly aspect of the spectacle is the voice attributed to the cross and the perception that it follows the threesome under its own power—a talking cross! This brief dialogue between the cross and the voice from the sky centers on those who sleep, possibly a reference to the dead in Sheol whom Jesus is pictured as visiting before the resurrection. Specific meanings may be difficult to decipher, but the basic message is clear: Jesus is taken up into the heavens—risen, leaving the tomb empty until another mysterious figure comes to guard it and tell any newcomers of the events surrounding Jesus’ vacancy of the tomb. As an early— perhaps the earliest—record we have of the resurrection in narrative form, it is free of explanation and totally comfortable with the supernatural dimension in storytelling. It is also the closest thing we have to an accounting of the way faith pictures the event—because it is faith. It is an amazing phenomenon in a largely illiterate populace to have a cascade of accounts so early in its life span. So the strong imagery and simple message was likely a powerful piece in its day, and it is a sad happening that it fell from the growing corpus, a neglected child. No other Gospel attempts to convey the event of bodily resurrection with such concrete imagery. The Jesus pictured here is larger than life and

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surrounded by supernatural supporters, spirited aloft in a dramatic conclusion to the burial. In sum, the Cross Gospel is a fragment within a fragment, telling in a most dramatic way the message of the resurrection. It does so without a preplanned theology; at most, its conceptual framework is an embryonic form. It tells a story in a way to protect its otherworldly state by relying on imagery and supernatural drama to convey the message. Canonical accounts will seem tame after this when compared to Paul’s highly sophisticated defense of resurrection faith. We can see this as an expression of young ecstatic faith, the kind easily pictured as naïve.

The Secret Gospel of Mark The Secret Gospel of Mark is presented for two reasons: it may affect our view of how the canonical Gospel of Mark was composed, and it has one brief title that relates to the views of canonical Mark. The existence of a secret Gospel came to scholars’ attention in 1958, when Morton Smith found a letter of Clement of Alexandria, a second-century figure, which referred to a secret gospel and contained two excerpts from the previously unknown document. Clement warns his recipient, one Theodore, that what he has heard about a secret gospel may not all be true. Despite Clement’s warning, there are portions of a secret gospel to be taken seriously. Clement proceeds to include excerpts from the “real” gospel, one long paragraph and one additional brief sentence. Evidently, the church at Alexandria had two gospels, one “public” and another composed for the advanced initiates—the secret gospel in question. In evaluating the probable existence of a “secret” document, the main consideration is that there exist details in the canonical Mark that Matthew and Luke uniformly fail to include in their versions. Would they, scholars ask, have edited Mark in exactly the same way in the absence of a common source, or did they have a guide, a source earlier than canonical Mark? The latter option is far more likely. It cannot be concluded with complete assurance that it is Clement’s secret gospel that Matthew and Luke used, but it is a probable candidate. If we take the probabilities to indicate a secret source, that source is earlier than the traditional date for canonical Mark, sometime before 68CE; how long before, we cannot be sure. Also, because there are significant similarities between the Clementine fragments and the versions used by Matthew and Luke, it is probable that Secret Mark is their common source, not some other early version of Mark.

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And they came to Bethany, and this young woman was there whose brother had died. She knelt down in front of Jesus and said to him, “Son of David, have mercy on me.” But the disciples rebuked her. And Jesus got angry and went with her into the garden where the tomb was. (Secret Mark 1:1-2)

The title for Jesus is “son of David.” A ready context for such a title is the Jewish messianic hope for the resumption of Davidic rule, a hope easily fostered given the Roman occupation and Jewish expectations before the (ca.70 CE) siege of Jerusalem. As with Peter’s “savior of humanity,” this is the first time this title has come up. Although it may seem an inconsequential detail at this point in the story, it is worth noting that Secret Mark indicates no negative response to the title on the part of Jesus. Below we shall see that there is a negative one when we come to canonical Mark. Could it be that canonical Mark was written in the process of losing hope for Jerusalem? The title “son of David” is not elaborated or integrated into a larger theological scheme. Are the early gospel traditions naïve on this score? Instead of theological naiveté, we are probably seeing a fresh, freewheeling approach to the person of Jesus. It shows an absence of theological debate, a celebratory rather than a contentious environment. It may mean that the location or timing of the writing put it outside the battles which we know to have occurred in the wake of Paul’s extensive efforts. Whatever the context, Jesus is pictured as being angry with the disciples, taking the woman to the garden tomb where he will perform a healing and a raising from the dead. Has she recognized him where the other disciples have failed? The Secret Gospel is far too brief to encourage more than speculation. Its existence, however, is more effective in shaping our views on the canonical Gospel of Mark, and it succeeds in becoming a shadow source which shapes canonical Mark even though we don’t have the suspected document in hand. In stark contrast to the work of Paul and Thomas, these fragments teach a studied reticence when reading bits and pieces—not only the difficulty of drawing solid conclusions, but the apparent condition of a more loosely organized gathering of churches than first imagined. I draw this characteristic from the absence of organized response. The acceptance of such diverse narratives may mean the communities were mildly interested in doctrinal consistency, or it may mean they were impressed by the obvious high drama of the two gospel fragments. The successful candidates for the canon appear almost boring when compared to the drama of the two fragments. Could the same disparate styles have existed in greater volume throughout the region?

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The entire exercise contributes interesting but sparse bits of evidence to our understanding of the historical Jesus, but it weighs more in teaching an appreciation of diversity, as do many titles in this study. The sense of Jesus’ otherworldly powers comes through with simple descriptions and little commentary, an indication of its early inclusion in the library. It shows the variety that cultivates an appreciation of the mystery at the heart of all the stories about Jesus. The drive to rationalize the life and death of the holy one is to gloss over the radical nature of his ministry. In the tradition of Thomas, these two are anything but normal. On the positive side, the fragments cry out for recognition as correctives to the more narrow canonical scriptures.

CHAPTER SIX THE GOSPEL OF MARK

At the mid-point of the 20th century this essay could easily have begun with the analysis of the Gospel of Mark, for the consensus thinking was that Mark was the earliest record of Jesus’ ministry, and it was accepted as the earliest account of his life. Only in the past forty years has scholarship adjusted those claims. At present most believe that Mark comes at the end of the seventh decade of the Common Era, soon after the two fragments. It reaches its finished version even later. But dating the manuscript as later than the fragments in no way diminishes Mark’s importance; it remains the earliest of the canonical gospels. Introductions to the Gospel of Mark consistently remark on the primitive character of Mark’s Greek throughout the Gospel. In a sense, Mark uses a young writer’s command of the language. It is straightforward, firmly grounded in the present tense, and not complex in structure. But the trait of simplicity does not carry over into the narrative plot; it is one I find sophisticated and interesting. True, Mark explains his plot to the reader. The style of the story is simple and uncomplicated but the “content” is complex and mature. Mark sets out to tell the story in all its subtlety while keeping the plot clear and easily readable—hopefully understood. An image of real life drama may help clarify. The structure is akin to a drama in two acts. Act One, “Prelude,” focuses on the works of wonder this strange teacher performs. The dominant theme of this portion is that only the demonic spirits (and the reader) know the identity of this healer and miracle worker. At approximately the mid-point of the narrative, a “disclosure” reveals who Jesus really is: the son of Adam. Act Two, “Final Act,” continues with the unfolding of the “open secret,” focusing on the fate of the messianic figure. There are a number of subplots, but the dominating story line reveals Jesus’ identity; his “right title,” becomes Mark’s favorite preoccupation. The correct title: he is the suffering son of Adam. Jesus alone uses the title “son of Adam”; he is the only one to use it for himself. He speaks in the first person.

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More surprising is the addition of the element of suffering. A violent execution is not supposed to happen to the son of Adam. It puts the reader on notice that Jesus knows he will die and then be glorified. This is no simple “biography” of Jesus’ life in the modern sense; it is a highly charged apology (reasoned argument) which speaks primarily to the reader as a privileged attendant to the drama. I do not exaggerate: in the end, the reader is expected to comprehend the subtleties when everyone in the story remains ignorant. We are supposed to believe that no one comprehended what they were taught openly. Mark’s gospel is also an article of faith, a faith-saturated “sermon” to describe discipleship. It is a magnificent example of the importance of naming. We are, in Mark, privy to a full fledged, self-conscious story, dedicated to uncovering the true names of Jesus and convincing us that our own discipleship is the proper response to the drama. Mark works with many images from Hebrew history which, up until that time, were separate: the Anointed, son of God, son of Adam, son of David, etc. The point of his gospel is to say that Jesus is all of the above rolled into one—and more.

Prelude Naming begins with the first sentence: “The good news of Jesus the Anointed”1 (SV Mark 1:1), or the more familiar “The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.” (RSV Mark 1:1) At the time Mark wrote his gospel, these two names meant the same thing and referred to one who was chosen by God to perform a specific task. “The Anointed” is a highly preferred term as far as I can tell, and in Mark refers to God’s act of choosing Jesus as his son, the select person to bring the message of divine rule. The term “anointed” harks back to the Hebrew practice of pouring oil over the head of the new king. The act signified the favor of God in selecting this male for the highest role: more specifically, endowing him with spiritual power to serve as king. Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the midst of his brothers, and the Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward. (RSV 1 Sam.16:13)

In SV Mark 1:1, directly after the title “Anointed,” many manuscripts add the phrase “son of God,” which in Mark’s view carries the same   1

All citation in Mark are from Miller, ed. 1994. The Complete Gospels, Annotated Scholars Version.

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import as the term which precedes it. The background for this title is important for understanding the entire Gospel; Mark uses it in two critical spots: here, and at SV Mark 15:39, where it again applies specifically to Jesus. It means that God has chosen Jesus for a very special mission. Jesus was the man who gave the name a face. As a literary tool, the son of God title functions to frame the entire gospel, and has the clues within it to unravel Jesus’ identity. The term “son of God” at this point in time was surprisingly free of metaphysical insinuations. Jesus is not necessarily a divine figure as the son of God. RSV Isaiah 42 rhapsodizes, “Behold my servant, whom I uphold,” and RSV Psalms 2 treats the “anointed” as a king, but a very human one. As a first-century title, the son of God was a human many Hebrews looked to as a religious leader to throw off the Roman yoke. Again, the leader was assumed to follow in the lineage of a David or Solomon, not in the line of the prophets Elijah or Elisha. He would lead a holy nation and would be very much a man of those present times—unlike the son of Adam who would come at the end time. His role was to recapture the lands of David and Solomon from the Romans. So, if Mark uses these images as background, the titles are surprisingly appropriate for both a religious leader and a kingly one. As we shall see below, only the reader, the demons, and a Roman centurion comprehend the power and truth of the title Anointed (Christ), or its companion, son of God. This brief background may help correct the contemporary reader’s temptation to see the term “Christ” as a proper name: in popular jargon, it becomes Jesus’ surname, rather than a role assigned him by God—to be the messenger, an ambassador as the title “Jesus the Christ” infers. We shall revisit this in our concluding remarks. The Gospel is addressed to a Greek-speaking audience, which most likely had different expectations than would be found in a purely Jewish community. The character of the audience must have affected Mark’s use of titles. Add to this the prospect that Mark probably was acquainted with other sources than his own, perhaps even Paul’s writings, and we can expect a blending of titles and a spectrum of associations as we follow the naming of Jesus. The narrative itself also communicates the choices God has made, as do the titles we meet. It is the first time we have met a story involving Jesus where his acts are just as important as his words or his titles. An event is often laden with symbol—meant to capture some message or theological truth. Mark’s story is a complex of drama and theology, and the story/drama often contains as much teaching impact as do its lessons or its miracles. Events teach faith.

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The plot moves forward with the young prophet's baptism. And just as he got up out of the water, he saw the heavens open and the spirit coming down toward him like a dove. There was also a voice from the skies: “You are my favored son—I fully approve of you.” (SV Mark 1:10-11)

Jesus’ fame spread immediately; his followers spread the word about his mighty deeds. But also from the beginning, the crowds’ excitement outruns their understanding of Jesus’ mission and identity. Fame came easily but understanding did not. He taught in his own name “…unlike the scholars…” (SV Mark 1:22) “…he cured many people…” (SV Mark 1:34) The crowds are characterized as willing but largely credulous, ignorant followers. Jesus consistently refuses to claim a most important title, “son of God,” and Mark is bent on presenting it to his audience, the readers. It is accomplished by asides and hints as well as outright declaration. For instance, we read the unlikely claim that the demons knew who he was. In an early encounter, the unclean spirit shouts “I know you, who you are: God’s holy man.” (SV Mark 1:24) Left unsaid is the glaring fact that crowds cannot identify Jesus' true stature and the demons can. Coming from the dark side, the title is not elaborated, but the reader is informed that the demons are among the few who are privy to his real identity. This will become a frequent theme, one that the author seems to enjoy, a twist in his developing plot and a significant roadblock for the modern reader. A leper is healed and constrained from talking. A paralytic is forgiven, and as scholars following Jesus silently observe his acts of mercy, Jesus is accused of blasphemy, i.e., healing in his own name. At this early point in his ministry, Jesus is pictured as sensing the suspicion and confronting the skeptics: Why do you entertain questions about these things? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic “Your sins are forgiven” or to say “Get up, pick up your mat and walk?” But so that you may realize that on earth the son of Adam has authority to forgive sins, he says to the paralytic, “You there, get up, pick up your mat and go home!” (SV Mark 2:8b-11)

His reputation was growing as a healer and miracle worker; titles were accumulating and his message was provoking a response. It is Mark’s first instance of Jesus confronting opposition in his ministry. The opposition will harden and grow more active as the story unfolds. Opposition is gauged in relation to the growing popularity of Jesus. These counterforces are part of the complex Markan plot. They will grow into fullfledged opposition. The crowd’s misunderstanding will become rejection.

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This passage is also the first instance in which Mark uses the name “son of Adam” or as the RSV has it, “Son of man.” It is an intriguing name for Jesus. There is enough variety in its Hebrew background and appropriation by Mark to make it fertile for speculation. As a provocative title it is important for gaining an understanding of the Jesus tradition and vital for our analysis of his naming. Below we shall focus on that rich tradition of Jewish apocalyptics that influences the term. But at this point in Mark’s drama, the phrase does not draw on those theological and mythical associations. The intent of the term, used here, is the rather straightforward, literal use of the phrase: son of Adam means “man,” or one subject to the fate of Adam, i.e., mortality. The Oxford Dictionary of World Religions says it well: Phrase used in Jewish scripture (especially Psalms and once in Job) in parallel to other words for ‘man’. Since it is literally ‘son of Adam’ (i.e., descendant of the one who with his descendants, is subject to the penalty of death, Genesis 3:1-19), the phrase is used most often in contexts where it means ‘humans subject to death.’ (Bowker 1997 914)

Bruce Chilton’s Rabbi Jesus gives an interesting commentary on this event, describing specifically its Hebrew context in Leviticus 13:ff. Jesus’ actions may well have been an affront to pious Pharisees for many reasons not expressed in Mark’s account. (See Chilton 2000 87ff.) Here no apocalyptic overtones are suggested. Jesus is portrayed as thinking of himself as an ordinary person, subject to the same mortal limits as his listeners and critics. Much more powerful baggage is attached in other uses; this title will have an explosive set of meanings as we proceed. The emerging plot requires more than is expressed—seeing Jesus as an ordinary (or extraordinary) man, but fully human. Other levels of understanding are also operative here. The reader is supposed to know that Jesus is the anointed, the messiah. (See Chilton 2000 87 ff.) Mark began his Gospel with that announcement. The reader also knows that Jesus withholds this information from the growing crowds around him, at least for the time being. Jesus is keeping the “messianic secret” to himself. Jesus knows and accepts the messianic/apocalyptic role for the son of Adam image as his own, although he believes no one will fully understand its implications. The convert or seasoned follower knows all this, and is sensitive to the hidden, unspoken meaning of the title. The “son of Adam” is a loaded term, but where is Mark going with it, and with the many other parts to his play? At this early juncture there is already tension in the air. Jesus has been given a special role—that of the anointed, the messiah, who demands that

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his role be secret, and speaks of himself as the son of Adam. The apocalyptic dimension of the son of Adam has not yet been tapped. Why the secrecy—how is it that Jesus’ language is so easily misunderstood? We do not pretend to divine the mind of Mark’s Jesus at any point in this analysis, but focusing upon what agenda Mark himself may have had is wise. It is best to let the story unfold. The next segment casually records Jesus’ continuing call for disciples; thereafter, it is assumed by Mark that Jesus has acquired a steady following. Couple that with the circumstance that the crowds are growing and semi-ignorant, and the sense of intrigue is unavoidable. In their travels, the disciples didn’t follow the fasting laws that were expected of them. Provocatively, Jesus defended their behavior and accepted responsibility for it by comparing himself with David, who broke temple law by eating the sacred meat reserved for the priests. “So the son of Adam lords it even over the Sabbath day.” (SV Mark 2:28) As in the first occasion where the son of Adam phrase is used, the context here is confrontational; the Pharisees are told that the son of Adam can teach as he sees fit. His authority is no less than David the King. Such an attitude was a direct affront to the Pharisees and would solidify their opposition to Jesus. The reader is informed that although the son of Adam is mortal, he has authority to teach in his own name, recommending that his disciples break one of the ten commandments—keeping the Sabbath holy. Such actions strike at the heart of the pious authorities, and of Judaic teaching. Jesus was seen as a rebellious leader who must be excised from the community for healing on the Sabbath, and that may also apply to Jesus’ frequent self-reference as the son of Adam. Jesus was using the term while proclaiming his disdain for the traditional observances. (See SV Mark 2:28, 3:1-6) Mark introduces the plot against Jesus; it is an ominous announcement. No further description of the apocalyptic side of the son of Adam title is given. Still, Jesus’ popularity surged. He could not eat in privacy, so he escaped for private time in a boat. Mark mentions in an aside that the demons persist in identifying Jesus as the “son of God,” (SV Mark 3:11) the title which denotes the heart of the “secret.” And they are still the only ones to know the secret’s answer: Jesus’ real identity. Jesus’ only recognition so far has been with the darker (demonic) side of divine power. Next, retiring to a mountain, the twelve disciples were given authority to cast out demons. When Jesus returned home, his family had doubts about his sanity, and the Pharisees accused him of casting out demons by calling upon the head demon, another blasphemous act. Jesus’ response

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was a curiosity. He disregarded the offense against humankind, choosing to focus on the more serious blasphemy, i.e., one against the “holy spirit.” This latter term is a title we have met in Paul’s letter to the Romans. Its place in his theology is not made clear there and remains enigmatic here. It shows up almost as a surprise. No explanation is forthcoming; we are left to speculate. A small clue to Mark’s technique is presented at SV Mark 4:10. Jesus confided that the popular reception he was receiving did not bring understanding to the followers because he spoke in parables. The public listens but fails to comprehend. Their ears are simply not ready to hear the message of God’s rule. The reader is left with the impression that Mark was content with this technique; in fact, he designs Jesus’ words to gain this effect. And with the help of many such parables he would speak his message to them according to their ability to comprehend. Yet he would not say anything to them except by way of parables but would spell everything out in private to his own disciples. (SV Mark 4:33-34)

In Mark’s plan, parables are Jesus’ utensils to protect his messianic secrecy, as well as aids to teach God’s rule. At SV 4:13 Jesus explained his vision by translating the parable of the sower. Nothing about Jesus’ message is impossible to comprehend, but only a very few will pay the price to “hear.” The most sensible way to comprehend Jesus’ technique is that the story can’t be understood without the hearer’s living the faith. It will not do just to listen—one must really hear, i.e., respond. There follows a rather long series of teachings—from exorcism and healing to reviving a sleeping girl and preaching in his home town—where titles play a modest, minor role in the narrative. Descriptive terms seem to do Mark’s job of certifying Jesus’ growing ministry with examples of his earthly history. He was first of all “Jesus” (SV Mark 5; 7, 9, 15, 18, 21, 24, 30, 36; 6:4, “Teacher” (SV Mark 4:38; 5:35), “carpenter” (SV Mark 6:3,15), “Mary’s son” (SV Mark 6:3), “prophet” (SV Mark 6:4, 15), “shepherd” (SV Mark 6:34). In Chapter 7 and the first half of Chapter 8, the dialogue and outcome of the events speak for the growing impact of the journey. The feeding of the crowds is a good example of the message being carried by the story itself. Seven loaves feed the entire gathering, with leftovers. After giving them a miracle to digest, he lamented the Pharisees’ need for a sign. He explained to no avail. On the road no one had comprehended the teaching. Until SV Mark 8:27.

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Chapter Six Jesus started questioning his disciples, asking them, “What are people saying about me?” In response they said to him, “Some say John the Baptist, and others, Elijah, but others, One of the prophets.” But he continued to press them, “What about you, who do you say that I am?” Peter responds to him, “You are the Anointed!” And he warned them not to tell anyone about him. He was destined to suffer a great deal and be rejected by the elders, the ranking priests, and the scholars, and be killed, and after three days rise. And he would say this openly. (SV Mark 8:27-32)

Has there ever been a more brief and direct announcement by questioning? The secret came out in a most convincing way. No preaching or review of history, no introduction to the etiologies of competing titles. Just the query—who do you think I am? This juncture in Mark’s Gospel is pivotal to an understanding of the whole. The secret is finally out—verbalized. It becomes plain to the convert that everything leads to this crossroads. We are at the center of the drama: Jesus makes his identity plain for the first time to those around him—at least to the key figures, the disciples. The reader/audience is already supposed to know Jesus’ name, but now the players responsible for the transmission of the truth have been informed and are expected to respond to the implications of Jesus’ disclosure. This passage is likely the most important in the entire gospel. Similar to Paul, Mark is the interpreter of a young tradition and functions as a self-conscious apologist; by that I mean Mark is now a person with a message about the personage and identity of Jesus. The names he uses are a mixture of memory and communal experience, thrown together to paint a portrait of the leader. It is interesting that Jesus is called “Teacher” only twice in the portion before the disclosure of his identity in SV Mark 8:27. Following that pivotal event, i.e., after 8:27, the title is used ten times. Jesus refers to himself as a “prophet” but twice (SV Mark 6:4, 15). It is never repeated in act two. “Rabbi” occurs not at all in the first portion, but is used in the latter portion by Peter twice, a blind man once, and finally by Judas. The Title “King of the Judeans” occurs only in Chapter 15, and is spoken by Pilate twice, his soldiers once, and is the inscription on the cross. If one looks at the last segment in Mark’s drama in comparison to the first, the proliferation of titles becomes his hallmark in this final act. In the same vein, the most significant explosion is with the still mysterious title son of Adam. Before the announcement of SV Mark 8:27 there are but two occurrences: SV Mark 2:10, and 2:28; after, there are ten more! Titles, especially those which pack a theological message, are becoming even more vital for the dramatic purposes of the author.

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Mark, in the first half of his gospel, uses titles in a peculiar, even casual way. They do not apply directly to the question of Jesus’ identity as do the ones we describe below. In other words, in the gospel’s first half, Jesus’ titles seem to be terms of convenience rather than “loaded” theological symbols. We have labeled that half of the story the Messianic Secret. The divine commission remains the story's secret. It is left for the reader to recognize the hidden intent. Only after Jesus’ announcement does the secret become apparent. It is meant to jar the naive reader with the simple fact that Jesus, the Messiah, has arrived—the long wait is over and a new era begun. In this sense, the use of such devices is contrived. The impact of this announcement cannot be minimized; it is not only the climax of the brief story that Mark composes; it is also a watershed in Israel’s religious history. And the titles take on added punch when seen in that context. Our reading of the passage hinges on the reader’s awareness of the theologically significant titles and the histories that pack them with meaning, their special relation to Jesus’ person and role. What comes after the SV Mark 8:27 piece needs a different set of spectacles than the preceding material. The already convinced follower will see the inevitability of the cross if he understands the connection with mentions of the son of Adam. At the least we can attribute that intention to Mark, for he puts the son of Adam frequently in tandem with suffering. The plan seems to be to convince the new reader of that tight connection, and we shall see that it is a tall order.

The Final Act In RSV Psalm 2, God speaks of a “son” in much the same way that Mark does in the baptism declaration, but it is clear in the Psalm that the son is a king, a very human figure. As an effective image it is used very little, but when Mark does use it, its pivotal role is undeniable. As Jesus’ life nears it end, the full meaning of that mantle is disclosed. As Jesus was crucified, the Roman soldier standing near the cross gives the climactic title in Mark’s Gospel: “This man really was God’s son!” The title takes on a more auspicious meaning, one that even those nearby could easily misunderstand. However, the convert will know that the title was a serious one: To be God’s son was the highest tribute a foreigner could pay. The open secret is drawn to its close by an outsider. Unlike the disciples, this outsider was cast as having understood the man and his mission. The story ends as it began: Jesus is the undeniable inheritor of Messiahship. Such a drama would have been plausible in the context of

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Jesus being a special but fully human person. If Mark had left it there, the emergence of the faith as a separate community might have been completely different. But he did not, and this is where the son of Adam image plays a key role. He is not just an extraordinary man—he is the son of God’s first man—Adam, who emerged from the Daniel tradition, and as he said, must die and be resurrected. Old Testament history was being rewritten to fit the passion event. When Mark used the son of Adam phrase, he drew from the ancient tradition in Daniel and its preoccupation with heavenly judgment. It is the identification of Jesus as the one that was expected to redeem Israel. It is an intriguing possibility that son of Adam has reference to the figure in Daniel and the pictures of the end of history in RSV Isaiah 13:10 and 34:4. Daniel is the most obvious candidate. I saw in the night visions, And behold, with the clouds of heaven There came one like a Son of man, And he came to the Ancient of Days And was presented before him. And to him was given dominion And glory and kingdom, That all peoples, nations, and languages Should serve him: His dominion is an everlasting dominion Which shall not pass away, And his kingdom one That shall not be destroyed. (RSV Dan. 7:13-14)

The titles used in Daniel and Mark are the same, but the twist Mark makes is a feat of wizardry. Mark lifted the son of Adam from its triumphal role in Daniel, but he could not lift it without changing its message substantially. This leads Mark and the modern reader into a difficult quandary. There should be something in ancient tradition(s) for the reader to draw upon; i.e., frequent references in the Torah to the son of Adam suffering. There is none. There are no connections of that kind; the notion of a heavenly judge is separate, always, from a suffering figure. In Daniel, the end is glorious and the Son of man a victor at the end of history. In Mark, Jesus heads with persistence to an inglorious and painful demise. He will be killed, and after, be raised from the dead to become God’s appointed arbiter. Suffering and death precede the glorious end of time. It was a major shift for the gospel writer to transform the once glorious son of Adam, the authority at the last judgment, into a sad, suffering keeper of

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his mission under terrible stress. Whereas the writer had the luxury of time and distance in his favor, it was still a remarkable feat to convince his contemporaries that the victory of Daniel can be perceived in the drama of the cross. Mark takes liberties with the son of God image, but they are minor compared with the son of Adam heist. This image, the suffering/resurrected “son of Adam,” is mentioned through the remainder of the gospel. The following list of its uses may help establish the magnitude of the alteration and serve as groundwork for our interpretation. The theme: an “open secret.” As Mark wrote, “he would say this openly.” (SV Mark 8:32) He started teaching them that the son of Adam was destined to suffer a great deal and be rejected by the elders and the ranking priests and the scholars, and be killed, and after three days rise. (SV Mark 8:31) …deny yourself, pick up your cross, and follow me. If any of you are ashamed of me and my message in this adulterous and sinful generation, of you the son of Adam will likewise be ashamed when he comes in his Father’s glory accompanied by holy angels. (SV Mark 8:34) And as they were walking down the mountain he instructed them not to describe what they had seen to anyone, until the son of Adam rise from the dead. (SV Mark 9:9) So how does scripture claim that the son of Adam will suffer greatly and be the object of scorn? (SV Mark 9:12) Remember he was instructing his disciples and telling them: “The son of Adam is being turned over to his enemies and they will end up killing him. And three days later he will rise.” (SV Mark 9:30) Listen, we’re going up to Jerusalem, and the son of Adam will be turned over to the ranking priests and scholars, and they will sentence him to death, and turn him over to foreigners, and they will make fun of him, and spit on him, and put him to death. Yet after three days he will rise! (SV Mark 10:33) After all, the son of Adam didn’t come to be served, but to serve, even to give his life as a ransom for many. (SV Mark 10:45)

Once in Jerusalem, at the scene of the Supper, Jesus points out a betrayer and says, The son of Adam departs just as the scriptures predict, but damn the one responsible for turning the son of Adam in! (SV Mark 14:21)

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Chapter Six It’s all over! The time has come. Look, the son of Adam is being turned over to foreigners. (SV Mark 14:41) Once again the high priest questioned him and says to him, “Are you the Anointed, the son of the Blessed One?” Jesus replied, “I am! And you will see the son of Adam sitting at the right hand of Power and coming with the clouds of the sky!” (Mark 14:61,62)

In literary terms, this stream of citations is Mark’s long awaited climax. The secrecy is gone, the time for bold announcement arrived. After holding Jesus to the evasive and strategic puzzles for the entire period of his ministry, Mark makes Jesus’ series of “confessions” a final disclosure that he is the Anointed One, a ready-to-be-convicted criminal. His victory will come later—one preceded by death on the cross, reversed by the resurrection, and finalized in Daniel’s image of the Son of man judging at the end-time. It is Mark’s victory plan. It will be fulfilled by Jesus’ courage and determination to suffer and die for God. It is also a plan guided by the gospel writer’s sense for divine dramatics. The title son of Adam has finally been endowed with its proper meaning, the life and sacrificial death of a God-man, sent to a people who needed a special kind of Messianic aid. Nowhere in the entire spectrum of Jewish heritage is there another candidate that could serve as an image for this dramatic use of son of Adam titles. There is not one mention in the Torah, the entire Old Testament that combines eschatological victory and abject suffering. Even the suffering servant as a corporeal embodiment of the suffering peoples of Israel can’t come close to the physical and spiritual agony required of Jesus. Although the Isaiah image parallels Jesus’ persecution, the human/divine tensions are not articulated as they are in Mark. Isaiah’s servant suffers: the final victory is an expectation yet to be fulfilled. Mark is telling a story that purports to be history—suffering is trumped by the resurrection. The successive appearances of the son of Adam are our introduction to the cost of redeeming broken lives. Mark has done something quite new. It is revolutionary to think of the compatibility of the two images. We have not encountered anything quite like it in our look at earlier Christian images and names. Although we have seen the title son of Adam in Q2, and the references there indicated a time of calamity before the end of history, the tempest here that comes near the collapse of time deeply affects the son of Adam: he must give his life to fulfill God's plan. In other words, the bonding of the son of Adam with suffering is not in Q2. We suggest, therefore, that Mark could have been familiar with the

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term son of Adam through Q, but made no attempt to replicate Q’s usage or imagery. The title shows up in both Mark and Q, but the meanings of the titles differ substantially. Mark forged something new and quite unique with the suffering of the Son of man. Is there a likely explanation as to how this relation was established? Did Mark use Paul as an informal source for his new connection? The question may be regarded as the mirror image to the one above, between Mark and Q. In this case, the term son of Adam is wholly absent from Paul and is a dominant phrase in Mark. This fact alone should make us cautious about a Markan appropriation of Pauline themes, but there are hints of similar theologies between them. As early as Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians, the Daniel image is inserted into the host of Jesus’ names, minus the title son of Adam. Jesus, for Paul, has risen and will greet the faithful, And the dead in Christ will rise up first; then we who are alive, who are left shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air; and so we shall always be with the Lord. (RSV 1 Thess. 4:17)

Paul is talking about a general resurrection and is, in his characteristic way, weaving the conception of the risen Christ into that larger context— using the same image Mark is so fond of, the apocalyptic Son of man. I imagine Mark picked up Paul’s affirmation to help him tell his story, with this obvious difference: the events are not the same. Paul’s scene is located in the near future, the end of history, and involves converted Christians, whereas Mark has Jesus employ the image before the Eschaton, and there the reference is to his own resurrection. We should note that Mark very likely believes he is writing in the new age himself, or if not the full expression of it, then the near anticipation of it within his own lifetime. The son of Adam image is their common instrument, but it can be used for different purposes. The shared belief between Mark and Paul is that Jesus is the resurrected Lord. Although we are never informed of this in Mark’s narrative, it is essential to everything he teaches: the risen Jesus is the object of Mark’s faith, and the only constraint placed on Mark as author is the logic of the narrative. That is, the author lets Jesus’ ministry and crucifixion become the historical prelude to Jesus’ resurrection. The reality of the resurrected Jesus makes the image of the triumphant son of Adam “true” and appropriate. For both Mark and Paul, it was fair to use an ancient image, especially one that expressed the messianic expectations of the Hebrew tradition. It “fit.” Of course, our hint of a contact point between Mark and Paul could also be that both were informed of a

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common tradition and need not have known each other directly in order for each to use a common written or oral source. The probability of Mark’s use of Paul needs further exploration. In Galatians we noted the curious term for Jesus as “curse.” In Corinthians, Paul’s image of Christ as the “Paschal lamb,” (RSV 1 Cor. 5:7) is a short distance from Galatians’ curse. These terms never surface in Mark, but the story of Jesus’ passion is filled with ridicule; cursing Jesus was the scholars’ secret vocation. Suffering was the result. One familiar example will show Mark’s Jesus as sacrificial offering. In Mark’s version of the Supper Jesus said, “Take some, this is my body! …This is my blood of the covenant, which has been poured out for many!” (SV Mark 14:22, 24) Jesus says in effect, “I am the sacrificial offering.” The narrative assumes that Jesus knows, beforehand, that he is the one to be taunted and sacrificed. If we are not looking for slavish adherence to a repetition of titles, this qualifies as a Pauline influence, or at the least, a common thread between Paul and Mark. One other likely intersection of influence is the distinctly Pauline flavor of the ransom passage in Mark 10:45. “The son of Adam didn’t come to be served, but to serve, even to give his life for a ransom for man.” There is little doubt that this represents a repetition of a Pauline invention. Jesus’ task with the faltering disciples is to explain the agreement between God and himself. The ransom is already finalized— there is nothing any of them can add, so it is plain that, although Mark writes as if the deal is being made, he lives in the soon-to-beconsummated era of resurrection, i.e., after the resurrection. The much discussed (ransom) doctrine has raised its head in the earliest biographical portrait. The other impressive show in Corinthians of a possible connection between Mark and Paul is the Supper, where many of the words differ but the content is identical. One parallel stands out. Jesus takes bread, blesses it, and identifies it with himself. “This is my body.” Then to the cup: “This is my blood…” These words, as above, are identical in the two authors, and even though the surrounding words at the meal are not the same, the outline of the proceedings is so close and the content so similar as to suggest a strong relationship. It seems unlikely that the two authors would write such direct parallels without Mark knowing of Paul’s account. Their connection is plausible but lacking in concrete evidence. In RSV Cor.15:20-22, Paul refers to Adam by whom death came to all, “by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive.” Paul’s purpose to teach the resurrection of all believers is different from Mark’s agenda to claim Jesus

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as the resurrected son of Adam, but the affinity between the imageries is hard to avoid. With the connections adding up, the possibility of Mark using Paul becomes a stronger probability. Again, I realize that both Paul and Mark could be drawing on a common written or oral tradition, but we have no evidence of such a third source; no document we have looked at qualifies as a common source. Probability of an acquaintance between Mark and Paul, given their differing theological agendas and writing formats, seems to me quite likely. It should be said, however, that the likenesses we have drawn come from the realm of probability, not from hard, convincing evidence. Mark stands out for making the connection between triumph and suffering, but the connection he leaves for the reader is not narrative. It is true that Jesus predicts his own demise and we read of his agony on the cross, but we never read of this man who died to save, performing as the son of Adam. And there are other differences that distinguish Mark and Paul. Paul writes to communities about the risen Lord; Mark has no account of that event. Mark focuses on healing and other ministry-oriented occurrences; Paul has no accounts of Jesus’ ministry. It seems much more likely that there was, between Mark and Paul, an acquaintance rather than an imitative connection. There probably was some influence coming from Paul to Mark, but I can find only two pieces of a direct literary parallel, the Supper and the ransom examples. In sum, Mark’s Jesus is portrayed as identifying with the eschatological Son of man in Daniel and encountered in Q2, but Mark adds to and reshapes those traditions with his conception of a suffering victor. There is likely a free use of the suffering servant of Isaiah but a radical individualization of corporate personality. Again, Jesus is King, but an odd one, to say the least. He is not the Davidic hero, but a person willing to undergo the scorn of his accusers. He is also Daniel’s eschatological figure, who is to be raised, but only after dying on the cross. This amalgam of names is Mark’s unique creation as an author, and it entails a twist of each title to fit Mark’s grasp of the events in Jesus’ life and his faith as a follower. Surely the patterns here, while incorporating such diversity, imply groups with internally cohesive views. We know these diverse conceptions were due to become an accepted part of the church’s vocabulary. Eventually a logic of sorts was agreed upon. That does not make the twists and modulations any easier to understand. Perhaps they will never be uncovered or explained, but the question of their inclusion in Mark, with

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all his subtleties and designs, makes it hard not to speculate. Mark, I assume, had no sense of disharmony in using such an array of names. The gathering of various names for Jesus has grown exponentially with Mark’s gospel. Their variety is an accepted practice in the writing of Mark, under the banner of justifying the inheritance of the Messianic promise in the new community. For Mark, Jesus is the fulfillment of Israel’s expectation, and any name which serves to bring that home seemed acceptable. I am not suggesting that Mark had no regard for the logic of the Torah, but his free use of the traditions is more understandable if we focus on his resurrection faith and the community for which he writes. One final reflection: Mark’s bonding of the Messiah strain in Hebrew thought with the apocalyptic “son of Adam” who is victorious at the endtime is original, but the suggestion that the “son of Adam” fits easily with suffering and resurrection is even more off the charts. It will be a potent image during most of the hundred-year period. Only towards the end of our study period does it begin to fall away. Strangely, it does not resurface frequently thereafter in Common Era history. Mark did achieve his objective in that he dramatized Jesus’ life in vivid actions and even more exciting commentary. We were not looking for consistency and boring reportage and we received none. We were searching for patterns to hold Jesus’ life together and instead found a jumble of images. So far there is no one picture of the founder, Jesus, but those jumbled images do tell a story that is most provocative.

CHAPTER SEVEN THE GOSPEL OF MATTHEW

The air was relatively clear with Mark; every indication was that we were dealing with a single author. There were connections with other traditions, but no direct evidence of usage or editing by another voice or literary source. The exceptions were the parallels with Paul, and they were restricted to the Supper and ransom references, about which we can't make generalizations beyond affirming that some connection existed with the gospel author. Matthew uses other authors freely. Mark’s solo authorship makes the interpretative job much easier compared to Matthew’s in which more than one author is at work. It is plain that Matthew is primarily a writer/editor, more like his contemporary, Luke. Almost all of Mark is present in Matthew's gospel, accounting for nearly two-thirds of Matthew's stories about Jesus. (See Ehrman The New Testament 84) Additionally, there is the material used solely by Matthew and Luke which is not in Mark; we have already identified that corpus as Q. Matthew is a heavy user of Q. With these two major sources “added” to the original voice, we have a much more complex document. What, then, is Matthew’s purpose? It is not simply to copy his sources. Matthew collects and weaves diverse traditions into a fairly coherent “signature” narrative, a gospel with a purpose. That element becomes more obvious when we ask what Matthew's specific purpose is in writing his story. His purpose is akin to Mark's—to present Jesus as God's messiah—the fulfillment of Israel’s covenant. Matthew provides continuity for Jesus in Jewish history, specifically to highlight the nature of Israel's messianic expectations. Jesus is the Jewish messiah, sent to fulfill the law and to open his disciples to the challenges of a much more diverse “post-Hebrew” world. The Torah, for Matthew, is a prelude to the birth, ministry, death, and resurrection of the great Rabbi. Everything about the law and the prophets is given a new meaning because of the “forerunner” function of the Torah, and the new dispensation looked upon as the fulfillment of the old. Briefly put, Matthew is the early Christian's ultimate proof text. It is a complex story, told with singleness of mind by a skilled craftsman, a thoroughly Hebrew apologist.

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We shall identify Matthew’s literary source, or sources, while treating passages within the context of this overall objective. That approach is the appropriate one if we remain convinced that a single person named “Matthew” is responsible for composing the gospel. No matter how diverse or focused the use of other sources is, the author/editor generally has a rationale for his inclusions and references and proof texts. This approach recognizes that the author is an editor, a user of other traditions for his peculiar purposes, and a distinct voice. Note here that there was no authorial figure named Matthew, and that we use the name simply out of convenience. The author’s naming of Jesus will both repeat most of the Markan and Q titles and subordinate or employ them for his priorities. For instance, the title “son of Adam” is used frequently, usually coming from Mark or Q, but Matthew wanted to emphasize the name “son of David,” giving it special weight; he took measures to see that it would be given prominence over the “Adam” title. Dating Matthew is important for understanding Matthew’s signature. Most scholars place the probable date around 90 CE, the main consideration being the destruction of the temple and the sack of Jerusalem (70 CE). Matthew’s give-away for this observation is the reference to “their city” in SV Matthew 22:7;1 the city is very likely Jerusalem, and the parable Jesus teaches is a lesson for the Jews' halfhearted response and the gentiles' takeover of the faith. “The community's relation to the Torah” is also part of Matthew's trademark writing. We shall read repeatedly of Matthew's conviction that not one jot or tittle of the Law is altered in the teachings of Jesus. Gentile discipleship remains a quiet fact. There is a recognition of the Church still young, but struggling to define itself in relation to a very Jewish leader and a new set of post-Jerusalem circumstances, namely, growing gentile communities. The twenty to thirty year gap between Mark and Matthew becomes progressively important in understanding the historical scene, its new pressures, and consequently the evolution of Jesus' names. Matthew begins with a “family tree of Jesus the Anointed, who was a descendant of David and Abraham.” (SV Matt. 1:1 59) This sets a different tone. The good news in this first sentence is that Jesus' coming, his teaching, death and resurrection, are rooted and realized in Israel's hope for a Messiah. It is a drive for legitimacy; the entire Gospel is dedicated to establishing this response. Jesus’ lineage begins with the male Abraham, intersects with David and proceeds through the list until it reaches Joseph, the husband of Mary,   1

All citation to Matthew are to Miller, ed. 1994. The Complete Gospels, Annotated Scholars Version (SV).

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the mother of Jesus. In the quest for credibility, Matthew takes care to note that the generations number fourteen from the Babylonian exile to Jesus' birth. He is wrong on the number count (actually 13), but the point is that the number fourteen spells out “David” in Hebrew. This may seem somewhat phony to the modern reader, but it evidently had currency for his time. The Messiah is to be David's heir, whether the counting is correct or not. Matthew is also concerned that Jesus be born as the legitimate son of Joseph, although not his biological offspring. An angel counsels Joseph through the correct moves to make this come about. Joseph will not have sex with Mary until the Messiah is born. Joseph names the baby “Jesus,” giving the whole event the context of legal adoption. Jesus is, by this introduction, a bona fide inheritor of David's kingly mantel, at least in the author's mind and for a pious first-century reader. “And they will name him Emmanuel” (which means 'God with us'). (SV Matt. 1:23 from Is.7:14) The story commences with the open, blatant announcement that Jesus is not only legitimate as a Hebrew King but is “God with us,” the one long expected to raise the nation to prominence and the symbol of God's presence among them. This name is not meant to be a secret or to confuse. It intends to appeal to the hope of every firstcentury observant Jew. The title carries both the legal sense of correctness and the devoutly religious conviction that David's heir will bring God to their aid. The Messiah's credentials are impeccable in Matthew's mind and his naming is appropriate without twists or double meanings—at least initially. With almost every paragraph, the narrative is buttressed by the Torah, a quote here, a reference, there. The place of birth is Bethlehem. (SV Matt. 2:6, 15, 18, 23) Matthew has Herod summon the priests first and inquires where the anointed one is supposed to be born. Not surprisingly, it is in the town associated with David. The reader familiar with the Torah knows the answer. Scripture (RSV 2 Samuel 5:2 and Micah 5:2) provides it. The Messiah must be born in the town of David. It is as if the past is haunting the author's present. What has been lying dormant in the scriptures has now emerged in the life of a human, full of energy. He deserves to be heard as the one expected by his people. His credentials are powerful. Matthew's version of the baptism follows. The format is Mark's, with brief insertions from Q (SV Q 3:7-10), and a paragraph that is repeated in RSV Acts 1:5, 11:16 and 13:24-25. As if to embellish Mark, when Jesus arrives to be baptized, John is heard saying, “I'm the one who needs to get baptized by you, yet you come to me.”(SV Matt. 3:13) No mystery here. Jesus is the recognized Messiah already and no baptism is needed to make him so. While Matthew seems obliged to use Mark, he feels free to cut out

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any hint of the messianic secret in the discourse. This mutual recognition between the two writers will remain throughout Matthew's gospel. In fact, this is our first indicator that Matthew is later than Mark. He relies on Mark's narrative order, but is free enough to add his own spin. Chapter 3 ends as it does in Mark. “This is my favored son.” Matthew adds nothing new. Matthew's openness about Jesus' Messiahship is an intensification of Mark's drama of progressive disclosure, but the message is the same. “Sonship” means no more than the fact that God has chosen this man, Jesus, as his emissary to Israel. There will be additional connotations as we proceed, but none is yet evident. God is with him; that is all the reader needs to know. The title would persevere intact for later generations; it is one of the few that had a future, relatively unchanged. Chapter 4, the temptation episode, begins with a long segment from Q in which the title “God's son” is used twice, and in Jesus' mouth the words, “You are not to put the Lord your God to the test.” (SV Matt. 4:7) Here is something new. The tempter or tester is identified as Satan: his worthy opponent, Jesus. That juxtaposition is what appears on the surface and also below the surface in this dispute. The enemies are really Satan and God; Jesus' words make this abundantly clear. “You are to pay homage to the Lord your God.” (SV Matt. 4:10) In other words, whenever Satan tests Jesus, Jesus responds with a rebuke that leaves the reader in some confusion about who is being spoken of—Jesus, or God the Father. The lines that have, in the past, separated “son of God” from the “Lord God” are, in this passage, somewhat fuzzy. Jesus says Satan's offense is against the Lord God—not, as we might expect, the son of God. The devil challenges Jesus to prove he is the son of God. And Jesus responds, “You are not to put the Lord your God to the test.” (SV Matt. 4:7) It is a switch in who is being tested—Jesus or God. The lack of a clear identification may seem to be an oversight, but it is more than casual. To be openly unclear about Jesus' divine status, that is, his role as being of God and not merely a chosen messenger, takes us onto the uneven path towards consensus, a winding route, but discernible. Words put in Jesus' mouth are indicative of the communities' tolerance for upgrading Jesus' status. We can't assume from these small references that the issue is forever adjusted in the orthodox direction, but this casual use of Q gives us reason to expect something new down the line. Following Chapter 4, i.e., Chapters 5-25, Matthew devotes all his efforts to the teachings of the Galilean. This is where Matthew as editor and redactor is in full bloom, while his own peculiar perspectives at first seem to take a back seat. To wit, the entire body of his gospel, twenty chapters, is a direct lift of Mark and the “hypothetical” document Q; the

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two provide most of the content and much of the spirit of these chapters. It is an open issue just how much Matthew amended and editorialized. We shall look hard at the text to discern the signature of the author/editor. It may be wishful thinking to isolate Matthew from his widely used sources, but it is not overly ambitious to record his amendments and additions to the other authors to make his own unique statement. The surprise is that Matthew concentrates on titles for Jesus gathered from both sources to drive home his convictions about the Hebrew Messiah. We shall compare his revisions and signature terms with Mark and Q to determine just how much theologizing he engages in to teach the emerging theme: Jesus, the fulfillment of Torah expectations. As an editor he exercises more power and discretion than we anticipate, and the purpose of this huge segment can legitimately be called “A Handbook for Discipleship.” Chapter 5 is a long teaching segment, dominated by Q and devoid of any titles for Jesus until we reach Verse 16. There, God is referred to as “your Father in the heavens.” (SV Matt. 5:16, 45, 48) Chapter 6 has the title “Father” eight times. In the Lord’s Prayer, Chapter 6, Verse 9, “Our Father in the heavens,” there us no hint of identifying the holy God with Jesus. Jesus habitually refers to God as “your Father” or “heavenly Father.” Fatherhood is Matthew's favorite term for the nature of God. But this same author did not engage in long homilies on the nature of Fatherhood. In Chapter 6 the term is so often used without explanations or descriptions that we can assume every reader could fill in the personality pointed to by the term. In the absence of direct modifiers, however, Matthew does utilize Q's teaching, which is a powerful parable on God's character. Verse 25, Jesus says, “Don't fret about your life…” He takes care of his creation and “won't God care for you even more…” “You are to seek God's domain and his justice first.” (SV Matt. 6:25, 30, 33) God the Father is a generous God, a compassionate God—all this, coming through the suggestiveness of parables. When Matthew does use this title, “Father,” he often does so by editorializing his sources, and that act alone speaks to its importance. Although we may not be given any explanations, we do know it is his favorite technique, and where theologizing takes place, we can bet it is a serious description of “the Father.” There is one necessary qualification to this, however. Many scholars locate Jesus' teaching, the heart of Q, (Chapters 5-14) as the earliest Christian teaching. Titles for Jesus are not at all prominent in Q proper. Q, a main source for Matthew, does not focus on titles for Jesus; the teaching is about God and Matthew adds that God is “Father.” It does not seem at this point that Matthew's agenda necessitates great changes in

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Q and Mark. He adds his own titles for God, and they have the general effect of heightening Jesus' role and authority, but his approach is gentle with regard to changing his sources. He is not a revisionist when he is using Q. Remember that Q did not elevate Jesus to a status above Teacher. Matthew does not make changes to material he takes from Q and Mark, but I hasten to add that Matthew, when on his own, leaves Q's reserve far behind. He respects the past by preserving many of the strong and vital traditions that he inherited, yet shows a willingness to venture out into new territory. This technique makes for exacting exegesis. Chapter 5, Verse 17 is much stronger about the role of Jesus: “Don't imagine that I have come to annul the law or the Prophets. I have come not to annul but to fulfill.” (SV Matt. 5:17) This is the expected theme prefaced in the genealogy and now reinforced by this declaration. He follows it with a judgmental razor, Verses 19-20, that will appeal only to those who are law keepers. In any case, Jesus stands in the classic lineage of the law keepers and the prophets. It is increasingly apparent that Matthew's Jesus is God's apologist for the Torah. Q also dominates Chapter 7. With Verse 21 we reach a climax of sorts, and it is a significant exception to the norm stated above. Q is his source but he adds to Q, and the outcome seems quite different. Had he not added his own version, it would be vintage Q. After warning of false prophets, Jesus finally talks about himself in relation to entering the kingdom. Not everyone who addresses me as “Master, master,” will get into heaven's domain—only those who carry out the will of my Father in heaven. On that day many will address me: “Master, master didn't we use your name when we prophesied? Didn't we use your name when we exorcised demons? Didn't we use your name when we performed all those miracles?” Then I will tell them honestly: “I never knew you; get away from me, you subverters of the law.” (SV Matt. 7:21-23)

Textual considerations need to be understood before we comment on the thrust of this passage. The first sentence comes from Q. The second, third and fourth are rooted in Mark, although they are not direct quotations, and the last verse echoes the rebuke in RSV Psalms 6:8. What a diverse gathering of traditions. The author at work, however, is Matthew, fashioning his message by weaving a skillful of these sources. The Scholars' translation notes that “master” can also mean “Lord” meaning “divine being” and that a double entendre is Matthew's intent here. Likely true, but if so, the confusion created by asserting Jesus' divinity seems to detract from the clear meaning of the passage. Read without the double meaning, Jesus is the gatekeeper, the protector of the

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Torah, and is not to be confused with “my Father in heaven.” Using the name of Jesus does not provide an advantage to the believer; much more is required, namely observing the spirit of the Torah. That approach seems to work well with the intent expressed here. The sum of the teaching in this paragraph is to state that invoking Jesus' name is not sufficient to insure entry into the rule of God. The flip side of this is that keeping Jesus' teaching is the same as keeping the essence of the Torah. This said, Matthew should not be expected to do the logical thing. There is a subtle use of the word “Master” implying that Jesus is truly divine Lord because he has taught the essence of the law. Master of the law and Lord of the faithful: Jesus is Matthew's complete answer to law keepers, and it will be the faithful keepers who will gain admittance to heaven. We shall see this theme repeated later. This interpretation, if we embrace the double meaning of the title, is that “Master” meant teacher/sage/rabbi for Q, and Matthew has added to that original meaning his own more theological connotation. Deification was not a problem for Matthew as it may have been for the Q tradition. Plainly, the signature of Matthew is written all over this title of Master/Lord. He has added something that Mark was relatively silent about and Q never considered. Matthew's view is that Jesus' teaching and his divinity are bound together. The context for this bonding remains “Torah fulfillment.” Heeding Jesus' teaching becomes a path for accepting his divine vocation. Following Jesus becomes the conduit for inheriting God's age-old promise to Abraham, Moses, the prophets, et al. Jesus becomes the God-Man-Guide for the believer's life with God. We have heard this theme before under the pen of Paul. As we proceed with this huge teaching portion of the gospel, we shall remain alert to a possible connection, a blending of theological preferences. In his own way, Matthew is doing something akin to Paul's message: Jesus is more than God's select teacher. The intended response is to accept him as Lord/Master, God's incarnation. We are, with Chapter 8, entering the heart of the teaching portion of the Gospel where Matthew uses Q liberally and Mark somewhat less. The names are those of the sources without much change. Matthew does not seem constrained to alter these earlier traditions, so we read, from Q, “Teacher” (SV Matt. 8:19), and “son of Adam” (SV Matt. 8:20). Verse 20 also comes from Thomas and suggests that Matthew was, very likely, privy to both Q and Thomas. As the first occurrence of the “son of Adam” title in Matthew, it is judged by the translators to be the most casual form of the term and is best translated “human being.” This chapter is a good

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example of Matthew going along with his sources without taking the opportunity to amend, i.e., use his own preferential titles for Jesus. In Chapter 9 the amending is a bit more pronounced. He uses Mark's “son of David” in Verse 27 but amends Mark's “Rabbi” for the title, “Master” in Verse 28. Although the examples are few, the pattern is discernible: Matthew seems content to go along with his sources as long as they fit into his notion of Jesus as divine Lord and the fulfiller of the Torah. So when we reach the 32nd verse of Chapter 10 he uses Mark, but instead of having Jesus speak in the third person of the “son of Adam,” he switches to the first person and proclaims that the one who disowns him also disowns “my Father in the heavens.” When titles in this gospel come from other original authors, little can be said about the signature of Matthew, except for the obvious fact that Matthew willingly uses these traditions, is their expositor, and often their editor. Wherever we see long segments of Q or Mark we can be assured that Matthew's message is dependent on earlier traditions. But when we see Matthew adding to or amending these earlier sources, we can assume he is asserting his personal views and the views of a community that agrees with him. When we reach the eleventh chapter, the person and role of Jesus again become the focus. Largely taken from Q, the question “who is Jesus?” begins with comparing him to John the Baptist, who serves as the Elijah or forerunner. The son of Adam image, Jesus says in Verse 19, was totally misunderstood. No amendments of Q are evident. “The son of Adam appeared on the scene both eating and drinking, and they say, 'There's a glutton and a drunk, a crony of toll collectors and sinners!’” (SV Matt. 11:19) The implication is that the son of Adam image confounds rather than aids his mission. In any case, this prominent title is under wraps at this juncture. Is the traditional image no help to Jesus? This and other considerations make this a special and provocative passage. In Verse 25, Jesus speaks in the first person: I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned but revealed them to the untutored; yes, indeed, Father, because this is the way you want it. My Father has turned everything over to me. No one knows the son except the Father, nor does anyone know the Father except the son—and anyone to whom the son wishes to reveal him. (SV Matt. 11:25ff.)

It looks as if Jesus knows the plan of God and is content to have his mission remain a mystery for the snobs and know-it alls. Here we are made privy to the other priority in this gospel: establishing Jesus' peculiar position in the divine domain. As with the verses in our first example, the

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intent is similar, but the theology is much more sophisticated and explicit. It is, in the words of later theology, a formal Christology, and its most friendly neighbor is the Gospel of John. Readers familiar with that Gospel are justifiably reminded of it here. It is surprising, to say the least, that a resonance occurs years before John's composition. Even a late version of Q would not prepare us for the Christology found here. Q1, when linked with this passage's intent to identify the mind of Jesus with the Father, makes for a most curious mix. Its earliest author, Q, shows just how persistent his tradition was for later gospel writers. Matthew is combining Q with his own views, without regard for their internal dissonance. Matthew used his heritage in peculiar ways, and there is always the remote possibility that he could have generated influence of his own on John, even contributed to that later document. Doctrinal matters, in this case, may be finding their place in a stronger coalition. A different interpretation is opened by the SV translators. They make reference to the Gospel of Thomas in the textual notes. Thomas' aphorism #90 does parallel Matthew's “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me because I am meek and modest and your lives will find repose. For my yoke is comfortable and my load is light.” (SV Matt. 11:29-30)

We have already noted the Hellenistic tone in Thomas, but as a way of understanding Matthew's provocative theology, the connection is quite weak. Some connection does remain plausible in that some of Thomas was earlier than John, and it helps realize the nearness of the two traditions. But John, a gospel loaded with Hellenism, is a much more likely candidate for using material from Matthew, even though the two are very different in their theological perspectives. In John we read, “The Father loves the son and has entrusted everything to him.” (SV John 3:35) “I know who he is, because I came from him and he is the one who sent me.” (SV John 7:29) We have seen no other passages nearly so close in tone and substance. A speculative reconstruction: John is cast in the receiver's role, taking his cues from Matthew, according to our dating. If this dating is accurate, it implies strongly that sophisticated theologies were on the scene earlier than thought, though they were few in number. Q antedated them all and was, most likely, “the supplier” in this case. Christological thinking was, therefore, on the scene in the earliest years, perhaps as oral tradition, and Q was the first to express such views in writing. Matthew uses those views and passes them on, to be taken up later. Whatever the literary trajectory, Matthew's inclusion of this passage speaks to the existence of a community that was agreeable to a theology in which Jesus shared in

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divine attributes. These churchgoers were ready for a divine savior who was much, much more than a teacher. It also says that Matthew was much less reticent to laud the disciples than Mark. Matthew draws them as being aware of Jesus’ teaching, at least partially, whereas Mark keeps them in perpetual darkness. What does this mean when we assess Matthew's theology? On the theological level Matthew seems quite at home with teaching that Jesus was, indeed, a divinely imbued figure, so intimate as to be the undisputed and singular “son.” The theological climate was shifting with “sonship” references like this. Matthew is not afraid to claim that Jesus is the recipient of everything the Father has to give, and is the only one who fully knows his Father. Of greatest importance for Matthew, being the Messiah means sharing the essence of Godhead. Matthew is turning out to be an eclectic, talented editor who brings traditions together without concern for theological tidiness or “source documentation,” but we would mistake him here if we failed to see his intent. While quoting large segments of borrowed sources, he pieces them into a choir of acclamation—Jesus is the fulfillment of every Hebrew's cherished hope, and the hope also of the gentile world if they heed his call. And with this latest affirmation, Jesus' status is closer to the eventual orthodox teaching: Jesus is the son of God, exclusively. The effect is to create a “new” messiah, one of Matthew’s own peculiar ideas and considerably more his product than we might have imagined. Matthew's literary landscape is dotted with Christological declarations. Even though we read these passages as a massive gathering of the Teacher's teachings, we are being led through a change in the community's focus. The question of Jesus’ identity is now very much alive in the transmissions of the growing faith. That condition is implied in the author’s intense use of proof texts and divinely inspired events. Matthew was making sure that every respected authority was called to witness the true significance of Jesus' station. Matthew's objective was legitimacy: Jesus is pointed to as the fore-ordained Messiah by every authority in the lexicon of Judaism. I make this inference because the use of proof texts is so pronounced and emphatic. There must have been a need; otherwise the effort is performed without purpose. A conversation, or more likely a debate, provides a relevant background for Matthew’s preoccupations.2   2

This interpretation leaves questions unanswered: has Q’s role been edited to be more blatantly pro-Hebrew or pro-Greek? Does Matthew edit out the role of charismatic teacher and load Jesus with divine powers? Are we expected to embrace the vaunted view instead of that itinerant teacher? How much is craft-like

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My reflections immediately above also prod me to ask another question—not a frivolous one, I trust. Was Matthew’s vision in any way related to Paul’s theology? Were they friendly in their individual theologies? In tone, I confess, there is much that draws them together. They were both aggressive apologists—dogmatists, it could be argued. But every one of the gospelers was so driven, and style is not that important when trying to cite substantial likenesses. Were their objectives alike? Their methodologies? Without pretending an exhaustive analysis, some observations are appropriate. They both emphasized that the old covenant was superseded by the new, but Paul saw it largely as cancelled, while Matthew regarded it as fulfilled. Matthew’s Jesus came to announce the new order and emerge as the risen Lord. He did not want to die, but acquiesced, and was rewarded by God as son of Adam. Paul does not focus upon explanation as does Matthew. Lastly, Paul fashions a complex theory and plot into which Jesus is thrust as a pawn; it is clear that God is in total charge. Paul is not terribly interested in how Jesus arrived other than to glorify God. Matthew relies on tradition to work out his plot, but at the same time gives Jesus a range of discretion that Paul hardly mentions. Because Matthew’s version makes no mention of a contract between God and his emissary, Jesus, any talk of a ransom must be inferred. It remains fairly clear that Matthew’s Jesus knowingly follows the will of the Father, while Paul’s protagonist is programmed for Crucifixion in a larger, cosmic drama. The minor role of Jesus’ discretion in Paul makes for the greatest difference between the two. For Matthew, the covenant is for the Hebrew people first, and for the Gentiles only after Jesus’ failure to convert the Judeans. This orientation most likely reflects Paul’s “victory”: the turning toward a gentile mission. The sense of the gospel is that the Hebrew issue has been faced and, because of their luke-warm reception, the door is open to everyone. Chapter 12 continues the pattern we have observed above, namely the use of Q and Mark. The teachings of Jesus are gathered from huge chunks of the two. Their content is occasionally altered cosmetically, but the early titles are part of the whole. The exception is at the very end of Chapter 12; Matthew adds one of his favorite phrases, “my Father in heaven.” Staying close to his many resources, the thirteenth chapter has large segments of Mark, less of Q, and a quote from Isaiah, (documented, and drawn from Mark). All are organized to demonstrate the puzzle-like character of   

weaving of an already established story, something which his audience is required to work hard to understand, and how much plays to Matthew’s paradigm for heightened adulation?

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parables. With each explanation offered by Jesus, Matthew frequently follows his contributor (Mark or Q) in content and then adds one of his favorite titles. It seems that there is less need or purpose in using a title than simply making it a sign of his own authorship. He can also be an inventive reviser of storytelling itself, as in the fourteenth chapter, where Jesus walks on the water. In Mark, the earliest account of the miracle begins and ends with the disciples terrified and dumbfounded. They think Jesus is a ghost. In Matthew, the event is highlighted by the test of Peter, who panics and is saved from the depths by Jesus, the other onlookers proclaiming “You really are the God's son.” What is for Mark pervasive apprehension and ignorance on the part of the disciples becomes a cause for praise and adulation with Matthew. The disciples really do get it, in Matthew's mind. They may be slow learners but they come out of their fog for Jesus' question, “Do you understand all these things?” “Yes,” they reply. Odds are that they have over-estimated their level of understanding, but the image of a responsive following is established. Matthew is the optimist regarding the disciples. The sixteenth chapter, Verses 13-19, is Matthew's version of Marks's messianic disclosure, the pivotal eighth chapter, Verses 27ff. Mark's narrative structure is adhered to by Matthew, but there are obvious additions and revisions. Simon Peter is the respondent in both, but Matthew adds to Mark's “You are the Anointed,” his own phrase, “the son of the living God,” quite a change from Mark. Peter is also congratulated as the recipient of this truth, “because flesh and blood have not revealed this to you but my Father who is in heaven.” Peter is receiving special attention from Jesus; in effect, he is selected as the leader of the churches, a new development in the story. There follows the familiar quote that shows just how far the early groups have developed; they look more and more like organized churches. Peter, the Aramaic name for “Rock,” will be the Rock of the “church,” which Jesus has himself formed. The word play is a round-about reference to the Roman Church for Christians of that communion. As early as the end of the first century, the Rome-based community thought of itself as having a leading role among the many groups which had surfaced. Matthew must have been in touch with this Rome-centered mentality and may have concurred. It is also a striking show of the churches’ development; Rome would eventually become a major hub of the churches' power. This is a first hint of that trend. Another aspect of institutional growth in Jesus' address to Peter is Matthew's use of the term ecclesia, translated here as “congregation.” We have assumed, previous to this address, that there is always a community of believers behind each author. Here that assumption is being corroborated

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by a gospel writer. It may not be possible to locate the specifics of time and place for Matthew's reference to a community of support, but we can assume the congregations have developed structures for their own survival and are finding ways of promoting the views of their leaders. We are nearing an era in which Christian communities can flex somewhat to survive in the public domain. This does not mean that they are accepted or are recognized by secular leaders in Rome, but they have progressed enough to assemble in that Empire city and carry on as “Christian” authorities. Written documents such as Matthew's Gospel are an indicator of this evolution. The venture towards a grudging acceptance of Christian presence is gaining momentum. That makes Matthew an optimist about the future. The next disclosure/naming event is the transfiguration. (SV Matt. 17:1-13) Matthew again draws heavily on Mark; it is almost a direct quotation. Peter is singled out for being the representative voice of the disciples; in Mark he calls Jesus “Rabbi,” in Matthew, “Master.” If we are again witnessing the double meaning of the latter term, i.e., Lord, it hints at the continuing escalation of veneration regarding Jesus. But there is much more to the apparition than titles. Matthew follows Mark in portraying the spectacle as a vision of Jesus' otherworldly nature, his divine office. Many images are suggested: God's words at the baptism are repeated and the open secret of his coming resurrection is mentioned. Every one of these references confirms Jesus as the long awaited Master/Lord. As in Mark also, Moses and Elijah attend the event until the baptismal formula is pronounced and Jesus stands alone in his splendor. Without doubt, the vision communicates the transcendent authority of the man, Jesus. This heavenly vision is so pointed it leaves little room for the ancient reader to wonder what is being taught. Jesus is related to the Godhead. What of the modern reader? Are we expected to read the transfiguration as a literal event? What did Matthew intend: could he possibly have written for an audience that lived far removed from disclosures like this? Seeing Jesus high above the ground seems a remote experience today, but it is highly unlikely that Matthew had a metaphorical experience in mind. The vision was “real,” meant to be taken in all its unearthly splendor. We surmise this, as there is little interpretative option laid out. His environment taught that extraordinary events taught important lessons. A transfiguration was a legitimate teaching tool in his day. So, we are left with a literalist's intent and a teaching that elevates Jesus far above the human plane. Room for a metaphorical interpretation would come later. An additional reflection: the event is plainly a “post-resurrection” occurrence, i.e., one that is understandable only after that critical event is

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accepted as having occurred. Matthew writes long after the resurrection; in its power, surpassing all other events, it shapes the transfiguration. The logic of faith dictates acceptance of this event: if the resurrection is taken as a genuine fact in history, then the transfiguration is but an introduction to it, a preparation of sorts. In the eighteenth chapter, the titles are profuse. Matthew's favorite: Jesus, speaking of God in the first person, names him “Father in heaven” a total of four times. Otherwise Matthew follows his sources faithfully. The incidence of Matthew's choosing his own terms for God is now expected. There is an interesting occurrence in Chapter 19, Verses 1-10, that may suggest a flow of influence from Paul through Mark to Matthew. It concerns the ethics of marriage. Matthew's views reflect the opinions of Mark (his passage is a paraphrase of Mark's), and the Markan version, although not a direct quote from Paul, shares the Pauline preference for the single life and the stiff requirements for divorce. Matthew adds an explanation of his own which serves as an historical apology on considering the married life. In short, the state of matrimony is the lesser of preferred forms of discipleship. The ethics of married living are mostly harmonious among the three writers and hint at a line of influence with Paul at the head, the earliest authority. One rule sets Matthew's views apart from Mark and Paul. It is his position on divorce: he accepts divorce if adultery is involved. (See SV Matt. 19:9) Is this a case of the churches facing a fresh set of problems because they are more public? It is very likely a controversy because there are increasingly diverse populations within the churches. In any case, it shows Matthew's willingness to modify tradition, even when the venerable Mark and the apostle Paul are on the other side. Matthew not only adds or amends his sources in the matter of titles; occasionally he modifies the substance of the teaching. There is a healthy diversity in the young churches, even as they inch towards consensus. Separate paths come early to the growing congregations. As the narrative takes a turn, so Jesus turns towards Jerusalem. Jesus is reassuring the disciples that they will be included in the heavenly administration. (SV Matt.19:28) Matthew uses his editorial discretion to amend Mark with an insertion of Q. Yes, they will have a hand in judging the tribes alongside the triumphant son of Adam. It is a victorious Messiah who gives them such hope, the familiar theme of Q. This passage adds to the transfiguration an apocalyptic note that is a bit more positive than Mark. Matthew was saying that there is much to hope for in the coming age; whatever Jesus must suffer will be resolved in the final act.

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Beginning with Chapter 20, Verse 17, there is another near explosion of names for Jesus, a concentration so thick with the titles we have seen before that it makes this chapter a dramatic pivot for the rest of the story. Jesus announces to his disciples that they will indeed go to Jerusalem, and Matthew, using a combination of Mark and Q, lays out the future. Jesus speaks of himself as the “son of Adam” twice; he refers to God as “my Father” once; the crowd calls out “Master” one time and “Master, you son of David” twice. Jesus calls himself “master” once, and the crowd again hails Jesus as the “son of David” twice, and confidently calls him the “prophet Jesus from Nazareth, Galilee.” Some explosion! This varied eruption of names continues into the twenty-first chapter: Jesus refers to himself as a “master” who instructs his men to acquire a donkey and a colt to be his mode of travel into the holy city. Two animals? Why?—because Zechariah refers to the arrangement in SV Matt. 9:9, and Matthew takes the passage as a dictum for Jesus. It is even more provocative because Mark had written these instructions in an entirely different manner, avoiding the literal awkwardness of the Zechariah passage and having only one animal for Jesus to mount in the entry procession. Mark provides the “Hosanna” passage from RSV Psalm 118:25-26 and Matthew uses it without any amendments, but he evidently takes the “two animal” quotation literally and changes Mark's narrative to fit his sensibilities. A likely explanation for this awkward setup is that Matthew is willing to use anything in the sacred past to legitimize Jesus' credentials and mission. The editorializer in Matthew is not willing to revise his reading of the Torah, but he is not averse to revising his mentor, Mark. What a commitment to the past! And to Hebrew heritage. Legitimacy overshadows all other considerations. We are learning that, for Matthew, such is not uncommon. In fact, it is a large share of his signature. The crowd hails the iconic figure in adulatory terms: Hosanna to the son of David, Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord...They then ask ‘Who is this?’ The crowds said, ‘This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth, Galilee’! (SV Matt. 21:9)

Their recitation is one we might expect from people schooled in the Torah, for it is wholly traditional. That is, a prophet was a vital part of the complex of hopes in the days of Jesus' ministry. The association of the prophet's role with the lineage of David, the King, is Matthew's way of saying that Jesus is the true fulfillment of the hopes for a Messiah. These were the widest parameters for anyone teaching the Hebrew expectation. It is remarkable that Jesus is not remembered as having used this title for

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himself; the words that associate him with David are delivered by “the crowd.” Immediately, Jesus went to the temple. Where before the cheer “Hosanna to the son of David” meant celebration, it there became, in a fresh and hostile environment, a term of provocation and unrest. The priests and scholars are more than miffed at the title and all it portends for their misconceptions. Their plot quickly shifts to planned entrapment. As in Mark, they challenge him to articulate his ready acceptance of authority. Jesus demurs, and lets his parables teach the lessons that titles ordinarily do. When they fail to trip up the controversial Teacher over matters of the dogma, Jesus takes the offensive and asks them, “What do you think about the Anointed? Whose son is he?” Mark's riddle has been broached and it is their turn to respond. They gave the expected answer—“David's,” and Jesus confounds them by reminding them that David calls the Messiah “Lord.” “If David actually called him 'Lord,' how can he be his son?” (SV Matt. 22:44) For these opponents of Jesus, the confusion was a veritable flood. But for the curious or committed Christian, the answer was in the text—the Messiah is “Lord” and no less. The scholarly actors in this drama are driven by Jesus' enigmatic teaching to turn upon him and seek his demise, but aspiring disciples of the new faith reading Matthew's narrative are driven to see the divine assignment Jesus bears. Jesus may be destined for the cross, but he is also headed for the resurrection. Matthew's text is full of these subtle hints. In a rather oblique way, Jesus' address to his disciples points to his authority as the “Anointed.” The phony scholars have all the outer trappings of authority, including the chair of Moses. (SV Matt. 23:2) They love to be called “Rabbi.” The disciples are advised to shun this title because “you only have one teacher,” presumably Jesus. “You are not to be called 'instructors,' because you have only one instructor, the Anointed.” (SV Matt. 23:10) This is the clearest description to date of Matthew's conception of the title “Anointed.” The Messiah is not to remain identified as the son of David; he is God's sole instructor. The word “instructor” is far less important as a descriptive term than its association with the “Anointed.” What follows can rightfully be called a diatribe; Jesus hastens to condemn those scribes and scholars who think they possess teaching authority and tells them they are doomed (SV Matt. 23:33) until they recognize him as the emissary of God. (SV Matt. 23:39) The fifth sermon, Chapters 24 and 25, is highlighted by Jesus' warning about false claimants to the title “Anointed.” Pretenders are prone to announce the signs of the coming end. Matthew's tale is that the end time will come with great surprise and the phonies will all be discredited. He

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follows Mark's leaner model with the same theme—”stay alert”—and adds to Mark a generous use of Q. The “son of Adam” dominates this portion, and Matthew brings it to a fitting end with the lovely statement of Jesus that the virtuous are those who respond to human needs. “I swear to you, whatever you did for the most inconspicuous members of my family, you did for me as well.” (SV Matt. 25:40) The end time will be governed by acts of spontaneous giving and, from the opponents, a rise of self interest. The virtuous and the self interested will be judged on their behavior. Jesus, Matthew believes, favors a faith of compassionate action. We have reached the place in this Gospel where the “teaching” portion, Chapters 5-25, is concluded. It has been an encyclopedic gathering of the sources available to Matthew. He uses them to constitute his argument from faith that every one of his sources backs the Christians' claim, “Jesus is Lord.” The first twenty-five chapters are constructed on the principle that everything in the Hebrews’ past speaks to the legitimacy of Jesus' appointment as the long-awaited Messiah. It remains for Matthew to keep his theme intact by action now, specifically the path towards the cross. In one sense, the gospel will henceforth be communicated by the drama of Jesus' sacrifice—it is action rather than pedagogy that will communicate the weight of the message. Titles will remain part of the story, but they are overshadowed by the inevitability of the crucifixion and resurrection. There is a sense in which this latter portion mimics Mark’s entire gospel story. Mark lets the events of Jesus’ teaching and passion carry the full or nearly full weight of his story. Jesus is healer and miracle worker and justice advocate as a live participant. The secret of his identity is hidden in the story’s narrative. (Of course, Mark is writing with the full conviction of a converted person, so his “secret” is a literary charade.) Matthew writes in the same environment when we reach the passion story proper. Events tend to carry more of the message’s impact, but the titles persist, generally oriented around the theme of Jesus’ legitimately fulfilling all messianic expectations. To understand the power of these last chapters for Matthew, the titles must be played out in action. Action breaks the “logic” of repetition. He who would break through the legal protections of the law may face rejection and expulsion but his salvation is assured by Jesus’ action: not by word or title or office, but by giving his life. In the following quotations, action and naming are wed. The road to crucifixion is not primarily by correct doctrine, but is an act or redemption. Where Jesus will walk, the convert will follow. The teacher says, “My time is near; I will observe Passover at your place with my disciples.” (SV Matt. 26:18)

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The priests were properly aghast and taunted him: “Prophesy for us, you Anointed, you!” (SV Matt. 26:66)

Such frustration. Matthew has Jesus stand fast in his role, selfconsciously the Messianic figure and aware that death is the penalty. He is taken to the Governor, Pilate and questioned. “You are 'the King of the Judeans?” They just can't seem to grasp his position—they continue to use any title that comes to mind. Jesus said, “If you say so.'“ (SV Matt. 27:11) When this peculiar conversation is finished and punishment is deemed appropriate, Pilate asks the crowd, as was the custom, “Do you want me to set Jesus Barabbas free for you, or Jesus who is known as 'the Anointed?'“ (SV Matt. 27:17) ...”What should I do with Jesus known as 'the Anointed?'“ (SV Matt. 27:22) Each time a title is used it is connected to some remembered act: the trials, Gethsemane, the Last Supper, and Passover. The titles themselves have no specific connection to the person who is talking or the nature of the event, but there are some common preferences. “Anointed/Christ” is used by the authorities, both Roman and Jewish; “son of Adam” is Matthew’s (and Jesus' favorite self reference). The Romans want to know whether Jesus accepts the title “King of the Judeans,” for it is a political

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title and would implicate Jesus as a threat to their jurisdiction. When Jesus is sentenced, it was that title that followed him to his death. (SV Matt. 27:11, 27:29, 27:37) Only the Roman officer who saw Jesus crucified exclaimed in a public display of respect, “This man really was God's son.” (SV Matt. 27:54) This title is an understandable one, in that it meant the holder was an extraordinary human being, a leader and one strongly favored by the divine. Later the term would take on theological significance as part of the Trinitarian formula, but the memory of a Roman soldier using the title probably doesn't include that application. Here, perhaps, is an early memory coupled with a later editorial slant: son of God is both a favored hero, and, for the author, the second person in the Trinity. The final title to appear in this long story comes from the lips of Jesus, the resurrected one, seen by the remaining eleven of his followers back in Galilee. It is Matthew at his finest. After bombarding the reader with every indicator pointing to Jesus, the Messiah, Jesus himself appears and says, All authority has been given to me in heaven and on earth. You are to go and make followers of all peoples, you are to baptize them in the name of the Father and the son and the Holy Spirit....( SV Matt. 28:18).

Jesus is now a person in the trinity, a heavenly victor, the possessor of every title ascribed to him either rightly or wrongly. This appellation is brief, however. The term “son” is not explained or elaborated. Theological precision does not matter; what does matter is Matthew's view that Jesus' signature, evidenced by all the titles shared through the Hebrew tradition and applied to him, points to deification. The critical reader is also informed by Matthew's way of closing the tale. The churches have reached the point where a Trinitarian name is not offensive to their ears. “You are to go and make followers of all peoples...” (SV Matt. 28:19) In practical terms the field is now the known world. It stretches from Palestine to the far reaches of the island of England. We have come a long way in a very brief time from the title of teacher and Rabbi to the son of the Father. Orthodoxy is inching ahead. Matthew has done his job well: every device has been used to legitimize Jesus’ ministry and divinity. He has employed the teachings and events to make sure the reader will understand that Gentiles are now people of the promise and inheritors of the kingdom.

CHAPTER EIGHT THE GOSPEL OF LUKE

An impression: when we approach this erudite storyteller and unknown author who goes by the name of Luke, we are in a different world of discourse than either Matthew or Mark. This author views himself as an historian, a man of letters, as well as a passionate believer, and for that period he fits his self-description quite well. He will compile an “orderly narrative,” reflecting “original eyewitnesses,” “after thoroughly researching everything.” (SV Luke 1:3) And he carries out his task with aplomb and style—by then current standards. He writes for readers who have attained recognized status (citizens?) in Roman society. All sorts of hints indicate this. Luke’s gospel assumes that Jesus’ teachings, for example, have been communicated to an “Excellency,” without fanfare. The audience is Greek-speaking and predominantly gentile, and although the person is named and addressed as a known recipient, Theophilus, a wider readership is likely intended. Readers must have been well educated, for this is a long read: the gospel history (Luke’s story of the ministry of Jesus) is the first installment of a complete “history.” The readers of his tome, I imagine, were appreciative of poetic writing, interested in Hebrew piety, and ready for a message of religious grandeur. When Luke was not borrowing from his venerable sources, Mark and Q, he shows how sophisticated and urbane a first-century writer can be. For the second time we are treated to a single-authored piece. A close parallel with Matthew exists, at least regarding the use of other resources. Luke stands out also because of his style. Whereas Matthew “proved” his case with every text he could muster, Luke employed events and teachings as illustrations or literary devices and avoided the argumentative environment. Speaking of his corpus as a whole, Luke-Acts is a story of the Church, which focuses in its initial portion on the person of Jesus as the Anointed figure. Luke’s gospel stories never stray from the themes of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection and can be read independently of Acts. The combined work is a more proper context for the author’s apologetic objectives, but it would be a departure from our topic to analyze both. Our

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job is to air Jesus’ names; as we do so the intellectual setting he takes for granted will become more apparent. Luke was convinced that a proper body of teaching was essential and effective for a faith in which nothing about Jesus was tentative. Extensive arguments were not needed. The reader rarely needs to be persuaded, largely because the Christian tradition is well established—so well established that arguments are unnecessary. A sense of surety pervades everything Luke writes, a relaxed, confidant account of an extraordinary tradition. Tension is not recorded between Luke and other gospel writers. The diversity of their stories goes unmentioned. It is as if variety is inconsequential; we shall soon see how wrong they were, but the time for tension is decades away, even though its seeds were planted early on. Most scholars prefer to call Luke’s approach a “sacred history,” for it is, indeed, his version of God’s presence and guidance in the events of Jesus’ life and the rise of the early churches. There are three main periods in this scheme: the time of law and prophets; a period of preparation that includes the birth of Jesus, the ministry of Jesus, the cross and resurrection appearances; and the spirit-infused life of the Church after Pentecost. Luke’s entire construct, Luke-Acts, is a faith-community document, as are the other sources we have presented. A story of the church, by the church, and for the church may be cliché, but it is quite accurate. Only a proud, expressive faith could tell of the spectacular acts of Jesus the way this author intends. Luke’s sole objective is apologetic in intent. The meaning of “apologetics” usually carries the tone of defense, reasoned defense, and Luke is free of defense and argument. I prefer to identify the genre we encounter here as “sacred history,” if we may include in its definition the author’s effort to promote the faith. Luke writes with all his biases intact, so that sacred history is intensely personal; his conception of history centers about a recitation of faith-saturated events. This holds for every item in the gospel stories. Luke’s gospel remains the first to present the Church as a cohesive tradition. There may be occasional disagreements among congregations, but his doctrine and practice are firmly in place. The Churches may still have their idiosyncrasies, but there is a growth of core thinking that is seldom challenged. The foundations of orthodoxy are being laid in this sacred history, seemingly without rancor or doctrinaire contest. An important point is suggested by this condition—Christian presence has been acknowledged by civil authorities as well as church members. Too many public figures are mentioned to keep the faith a secret. The faith is increasingly looked upon as a new religion.

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It is a relatively quieter atmosphere in the text that speaks of a growing body of accepted, “appropriate” theology. One marker is the absence of a secret theme which sets the tone in Mark. Luke lacks Mark’s mystery plot; I assume his need for secrecy has vanished, at least for a time. Matthew’s militancy is also absent; with Luke’s Jesus the extraordinary is something to take for granted. When Luke is on his own there is a different atmosphere; a comfort zone surrounds this author who confidently paints Jesus in much bolder colors. Briefly put, the new faith had transformed itself by its interaction with Judaism; it had become a full-blown religion. Paul laid much of the groundwork for the change, and Luke appears to be the first one to reap the benefits. Christians literally came out of caves and became an alternative social force. These Christians behaved as if their theology was settled. Luke was an educated author, a global thinker who comes across as an authoritative source. It is sad that we cannot definitively identify him. He is thought to have been a physician, but that is largely conjecture. It is certain that he was not an eyewitness and was a latecomer to the apostles’ band. The relevant test is SV Luke 1:3: he claims to have “researched everything from the beginning.” He may not have been present in the earliest days, but he would study them. His self-assigned task in the earliest portions of the gospel is to demonstrate, for the initiate, the moments of preparation that connect Jesus’ life to messianic foretelling in the law and prophets. He is a master of subtlety at this task. Unlike Matthew, who lets the reader know the proof texts and actually says that they fulfill the law and prophets, Luke usually alludes to the Torah and assumes his reader will know the connections. Jesus, for Luke (and Matthew), is God’s Anointed one, the Christ, from the very beginnings of the Hebrew history. So it is understood that a chronicler of such a sacred history would find the past brought to fruition in Jesus’ life. He may not have had an axe to grind, but he does have a faith to share. This impression is intended as more than a matter of style; it is also intended as an historical observation. If I am correct about the author’s confidence, Luke’s sense that a theological tradition is well established and its gentile majority assured, a post-Matthew date is probable. Luke has all the early sources at his command: Mark and Q were major contributors. Matthew came earlier and Luke probably had access to Matthew’s manuscript. It seems more sensible to assume that the theological issues within the churches have been resolved than that they have intensified. Time tends to offer clarity. It could be that geographical isolation was the factor that explains the difference between Luke and

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Matthew; it matters little, and diversity in authorship continues to be a hallmark. Luke is writing somewhere near, or just after, the turn of the first century CE and is speaking to a different, extended audience in a different time and place from his predecessor Matthew. The contemporary reader should anticipate a different approach to the young faith.1

Luke and Naming The first mention of Jesus’ names occurs when Gabriel visits Mary and announces that she will bear a son: …and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give him the throne of David, his father. He will rule over the house of Jacob forever; and his dominion will have no end. (SV Luke 1:31ff.)

Luke is on his own here. No one has reported this scene before, but it has Biblical roots; Isaiah’s words are paraphrased by the heavenly messenger, and the tradition of Jesus’ Davidic lineage is suggested in Samuel.2 Luke’s paraphrase is an effective device, as the reader familiar with Israel’s history and traditions will readily make the connection. Luke is a master of the subtle suggestion. Such casual use of hallowed tradition would have made Matthew squirm and probably object. Matthew’s version of the connection runs parallel with Luke’s, but he makes the effort to cite the etiology of Jesus’ name as certification of his legitimacy. Luke carries on as if no one would bother to do so. He has done his homework and his version is uncontested as far as we know; Jesus and David are bound forever in the covenant plan. The uneasy relation between Jesus and David contained in Mark and Matthew is completely disregarded in this address. Luke is not ambivalent or hesitant. The Davidic stamp is plainly Jesus’ avenue for being accepted as the son of God. When Mary objects that she can’t bear the Messiah because she has never had sex, the angel calmly explains that the entire event will be performed by the Holy Spirit.  

1 Without extensive research, the sequence in dating and my reasoning will have to remain a hunch. The terminology of SV Luke 1:3 is curious, however; is Luke correcting his forerunners? Could that include Matthew as well as Mark and Q? It seems more likely that he had Matthew’s corpus at hand in “researching everything.” In no way does my hunch imply that Luke followed Matthew’s lead; he departed from him consistently. See Ehrman 2000 8ff. 2 See RSV Isaiah 9:6-7, and RSV 2 Samuel 7:12-13.

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“The Holy Spirit will come over you, and the power of the Most High will cast its shadow on you. This is why the child to be born will be holy, and will be called the son of God.” (SV Luke 1:35)

This message and its setting are quite different from Matthew’s. Matthew couches the angelic message in terms of fulfilling Davidic prophecy, making that the justification for Mary’s acceptance. Luke accepts the Davidic rationale, but the convincing factor for Mary’s understanding of the coming birth is that the Holy Spirit will bring about the birth. Luke’s portrayal leaves something to be desired; the messenger’s explanation seems like an evasion. The Holy Spirit will take care of what an observer might think an impossible task, i.e., impregnating a virgin. This is the first example of how Luke fashions the term “sacred history.” If Luke’s were a critical approach, we would expect a historically informed explanation, but none is forthcoming: the issue dissolves in angelic rhetoric, “—nothing is impossible with God.” (1:37) The prophetic tradition confirms his Davidic role and the Holy Spirit, his miraculous birth. All attest to his divine status—Luke is the poetic recorder. In the song of Zechariah—a coming-out blast of announcements after a long period of silence—(SV Luke 1:67ff) he hails the birth of his son, John, as “…a prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way, to give his people knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of sins.” (SV Luke 1:76)

His name will be John. This prophet’s role is to prepare—specifically to announce one greater than himself: the Lord. That person is Jesus, now named as the Lord. All doubt is erased as to the identity of the Lord in the paragraphs that follow. The messenger tells the shepherds, “…today in the city of David, the Savior was born to you –he is the Anointed, the Lord.” (SV Luke 2:11) Here the terms “Savior,” “the Anointed” and “Lord” are curiously mixed, without the slightest sense of having different connotations. This birth, so well predicted and labeled, is one for the entire globe. Luke sees no discrepancy between the global significance of the event and its “historical” setting in a feeding shed. In the above citation, Jesus is again named “the Lord.” Luke’s use is quite like Matthew’s; that is, it is proclaimed without further elaboration. The only hint of the term’s significance is its identification with “the Anointed”—the Christ. However, there seems to be no one context that takes care of the name

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“Lord.” In SV Luke 1:47 Mary says, “My spirit rejoices in God my Savior;” i.e., God is Lord. In Zechariah’s outburst, “You will go before the Lord to prepare his way,” the term probably applies to Jesus. With the messenger’s announcement to the shepherds, the connection with the Anointed One is complete: “He is the Anointed, the Lord” (SV Luke 2:11). The shepherds respond to the announcement by saying, “Let’s go over to Bethlehem and see what has happened, the event the Lord has told us about.” (SV Luke 2:15) This time the reference is probably to God. The varied applications of the term continue. Simeon will not die until he sees “the Lord’s Anointed” (SV Luke 2:26). This obviously returns us to the earlier meaning of the term. God as “Lord” is distinct from the Anointed and should not be confused, yet Jesus is frequently called Lord. What is going on? This lack of theological precision can be taken in various ways. It may mean that the churches were not particularly interested in the technical distinctions that would make for a “clean” doctrine. The gospel’s purpose is to “record” the mighty acts of Jesus, so theological exactness comes lower on the priority list. Or, the casual turns of meaning may imply that the author is speaking in a poetic, liturgical context. The churches would eventually grasp this dimension whether Luke intended it or not. He is a consummate poet, and the theological murkiness may merely be a matter of personal style. I have stressed the fact that Luke opens his gospel, the first two chapters, without employing any other “Christian” authors. Allusions and references to the Torah and the prophets are rich, but he wings his way through the preparation and birth narratives without relying on his literary colleagues. The material is new, and it gives the reader a sense of Luke’s slant without having to disentangle it from Q, Mark or Matthew. He lets us know that he values the dramatic, the lyrical, and theologically effusive language. He speaks to an audience that responds to these devices and appreciates poetry, one that overshadows correctness. This introductory segment has all the right triggers to launch the reader into the body of the text, where memory and teaching cooperate in almost lyrical fusion. The author writes of the ministry of Jesus with the same underlying confidence. Luke’s reader will comprehend its tragic significance, i.e., Jesus’ inevitable death at the hands of his opponents and the predictable resurrection. No twists, proofs, or dramatic secrets, the author’s goal is to show the knowledgeable reader just how rich the tradition really is. As the reader is engaged, the intended response is, “Yes, I agree, he is the Christ—the only one. These are the cadences Luke creates of Jesus’ remarkable ministry and passion.”

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This hypothetical reader, Luke’s target, was probably a Gentile residing in the eastern half of the Mediterranean. The “Church” was becoming a factor in a growing number of non-Jewish, Greek-speaking households sympathetic to Judaism, often called “God-fearers.” Paul had many dealings with such groups. We cannot be sure of Luke’s connection with them, but his writing connects at its deepest level with those who are familiar with Hebrew tradition and need to deepen their knowledge. With the third chapter we are introduced to a very long segment of the teachings of Jesus and the familiar events which the other gospel writers had presented. It is in this long portion that we see just how the traditions are coalescing and how Luke adds his signature. The first sequence that shows this is the Baptist’s preaching and relation to Jesus. Luke begins with a fairly extensive description of John’s teaching. Mark barely mentions John’s teaching content and Matthew’s version is not so detailed as Luke’s. Luke employs each source to weave his own narrative, one that ends with Jesus’ baptism. Oddly enough, Luke parts from his predecessors on this important detail. In Luke’s account the baptism was not by John. John has been taken away to prison. This flies in the face of “agreed upon” narrative as Mark and Matthew have it. Both Mark and Matthew have John do the ceremonial immersion. Taken in context, it is a departure from his sources. Luke does not explain his choice, which is a fairly significant revision of the baptism “history.” (It reminds the reader of Luke’s other major change in gospel history: his genealogy strays from Matthew’s). It does not seem to bother Luke that this is the case and he passes his version on as if there were no problem. Another question: is Luke altering Q here, his earliest source, and if so why? My hunch is that this is the result of Luke reading Matthew and preferring a gentler Jesus. Luke returns to his forebears’ account of the voice from the sky, at least in part. “You are my son…” but Luke adds a surprising coda, “…today I have become your father.” (SV Luke 3:22) This remake of the event makes the above divergence from Mark and Matthew seem a weak detail. Most other manuscripts keep the Markan “I fully approve of you.” Luke is again stepping out to surprise the reader. No other gospel writer gives the event such pivotal importance as does Luke: “Today I have become your father.” It seems quite clear that this author believes this is the crucial moment of God’s decision to choose his Messiah. If we choose to accept this text in which Jesus’ messianic status is bestowed at this moment, it is another important divergence from Matthew’s norm. Moreover, it is also a departure from Luke’s own efforts to articulate Jesus’ Messiahship, “from the beginning.” A strict adherence

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to this version would mean that Luke recommends an adoptionist theology—that God elevates Jesus to his Messianic role at baptism and not before or after. Internal evidence would ordinarily press for a pre-existent Christ, given the fanfare surrounding his birth. Fuzziness again—not acknowledged. Luke cannot be accused of being a humble copyist. It is perhaps a paradox but it reads as a contradiction. Jesus can’t be primordial “Lord” in one context (planned for and heralded by the angels) and the one who inherits his role at baptism in another. The two conceptions are like oil and water, but Luke doesn’t seem to care any more about this contradiction than he does about the identity of Jesus’ baptizer, or the timing of John’s imprisonment. Theological ambiguity and narrative innovation seem to be the norm for Luke. Such looseness with storytelling may suggest that the tradition was not monolithic, but participated in by many diverse authors and editors,. Or it may be that history as we know it—the search for a story based on plausibility and facts—was then an unrealized standard. Both conditions are probably at work in Luke’s baptism account. Once Luke’s faith-loaded conception of history has been digested, however, the confusing doctrinal images seem less critical. His portrayal of Jesus is more like a Fourth of July extravaganza than a reasoned debate. Tradition in that time obviously had sufficient room for such diversity in the doctrinal field. Orthodoxy may be around the corner, but it is not in full control of texts like these. This theme is becoming a theme for Luke’s whole gospel: doctrinal “normality” is a hodge-podge of images and exaltations, an authorial preference here, an editorial slant there. If we do not like this mix, we stretch the documents’ character. Doctrinal consistency may be the hobgoblin of an otherwise inspired gospel. At least that seems to be the condition at the turn of the first century: elements of the eventual consensus are everywhere, but they happily share the spotlight with several doomed ideas. We shall see this in all its complexity in Luke’s vast teaching corpus. It is a mixture of all that he inherited from Mark and Q. Jesus’ temptation cycle in Luke is similar to Matthew’s: both use Q. So the ambiguities we saw in Matthew are repeated. Each time the devil challenges Jesus, it is as the son of God “…to prove you’re God’s son…” And each time Jesus responds, he uses the phrase, “…pay homage to the Lord your God and you are to revere him alone.” (SV Luke 4:3,8) Twice this ritual is followed and with the second test Jesus is more direct: “You are not to put the Lord your God to the test.” (SV Luke 4:12) We asked in Matthew’s narrative whether these responses suggest that the reader is supposed to regard Jesus as “the Lord.” Could these titles, coming out of

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Jesus’ mouth, mean that he may have regarded himself in such lofty terms? Theological clouds gather quickly in this exchange. Why does the author, originally Q, have Jesus evade a direct answer to the devil’s challenge to prove himself to be God’s son? Jesus refuses the challenge by saying, instead, that God should not be tested. With the devil’s challenge redirected at the taboo of tempting the Lord, a proper and perhaps popular theological point is made: the devil should not be testing God. But Jesus has never been referred to as the Lord God! That title is reserved for the invisible deity. If he were being so referred to here, it would be another first. Moreover, Jesus’ answer to the challenge does not help the reader understand his role, as his response, for example, might have read, “You are not to tempt ‘the Anointed’—or, ‘the son of Adam.’” It would have been much easier to understand the purpose of the encounter if these titles had been used, as the contest would have focused upon Jesus’ role. Luke’s intent, given the mixture presented by Q and not amended by Matthew, is just that much more difficult to discern. Attributing this cycle to Q dates it as part of an earlier corpus and makes it even harder to understand, for it is so out of character with Q’s other titles. Perhaps it is unrealistic to assume that Jesus thought of himself as “the Lord,” or “the Lord your God.” Jesus never refers to himself as “the Lord your God” at any other time in this gospel or any other part of the canon. If Jesus is redirecting Satan’s challenge by refocusing the conflict, the narrative loses coherence, but we have seen in previous instances that coherence is a rare occasion. Q and Luke evidently believed that Jesus could use such titles without compromising their credibility or their readers. It seems unlikely that Luke wants the reader to identify Jesus as the deity himself. “Lack of clarity” seems the most plausible condition; we can accept authorial incoherence more easily than hearing Jesus extol himself as God. He may be the holy Anointed one, even “Lord,” but he has never referred to himself as God thus far in our study. Whatever the intent, Luke’s image of Jesus takes us one step closer to the belief that he is indeed a divine creature in human form. Theological consensus is reached by peculiar paths. Jesus’ first public teaching takes place in his hometown, Nazareth, in the synagogue where, we assume, he learned as a child. Whereas Mark and Matthew hardly mention this location and record precious little of what Jesus said and did there, Luke gives it a dramatic treatment. The titles Jesus chooses are much more modest than in the temptation story. The prophet Isaiah speaks of his role and God’s choice:

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The role of the Anointed draws us to an earlier notion of the prophet/messiah—the choice by God to use the young man as an instrument, a messenger of good news for the poor, an announcer of freedom for the imprisoned, sight for the blind and emancipation for the oppressed. Most of all, this messenger will teach the year of forgiveness and amnesty offered by God. It was a holy office for the messenger and it fit many Hebrew expectations held since the flight from Egypt, and ignited again in this new diaspora. Moreover, the conception of being sent, anointed, in order to proclaim, set free, etc. is unmistakable. It is reminiscent of Paul’s pre-existent Christ, and is a significant addition to Mark’s bare notation (see SV Mark 1:14). Luke is taking liberties to create his theological perspective. The following statement is even more peculiar, even outrageous, for any first-century teacher. Jesus tells the congregation, “Today this scripture has come true as you listen.” (SV Luke 4:21) It also seems an outrageous comment to the modern reader, i.e., for a messenger to borrow traditional expectations for the Anointed One and apply them to himself. Luke knows his readers are vulnerable because of their history; his Jewish readers have long hoped for the prophet who would return Israel to her place in both social and religious leadership. Gentile readers also hoped for a new age. In Luke’s conception, Jesus places himself at the center of those hopes. Jesus’ adopted title, the Anointed One, was a classic one and would excite any congregation. Their guest had just proclaimed to be the one they had prayed for, for generations. It is with some surprise, then, that we read that Jesus told them they could not possibly understand what he had just proclaimed, mainly because they lived in his home town. The allusion is that familial loyalties dull the message of the anointed one. I can imagine a pillar of the community straining to understand the priorities Jesus taught. It must have been a bitter pill for that totally surprised listener to accept that Jesus’ messianic vocation would not be understood or appreciated. A comforting message is left out of the loop, so to speak; this prophet is on home ground, where rejection is the expected outcome. All listeners were

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implicated by Jesus’ indictment. There is no mention of whether the Scholars (scribes and Pharisees) are the rejected ones, or the audience in general. One can imagine the explosive atmosphere in that synagogue. “Everyone in the synagogue was filled with rage.” (SV Luke 4:28) Jesus, who dominated the entire scene, is also wounded, his authority blatantly renounced. The power of the scene’s message is heightened by the way he takes on the mantle of Anointed one without hesitation or humility. What then is the author’s rationale for Jesus’ rejection? The stage for rejection is set in the above scene, I suspect, for the coming conflict between Jesus’ growing popularity and his progressively more entrenched opposition. Luke uses rejection as a platform for the gospel’s eventual climax—the rejection by the authorities of the entire mission. That seems to be the larger context for the sorry conclusion above. He is a doomed prophet. The crowd calls for it—Jesus is aware of it and the demons know its conditions (see SV Luke 4:39, 41). Here Jesus speaks of himself as the son of Adam, but unlike Mark with his secretive mission, Luke uses the name without elaboration, as in Matthew. It remains a puzzle for me why the demons are the only ones to grasp the full impact of the prophet/messiah. In the provocative “Master, master” paragraph of SV Luke 6:46, Luke puts a positive spin on the heavy negative lesson of Matthew. Whereas Matthew lays out the punishments and scolds the inquirers, the negative consequences of not following Jesus are excised by Luke. There is no, “I never knew you; get away from me, you subverters of the law.” (SV Matt. 7:23) He skips this condemnation, and goes directly to the slightly gentler simile of building on sand. Those looking for the stern teacher in Matthew are directed to the power of the sinking house image. Luke has again let his reader know that Jesus’ role as a poetically sophisticated teacher is sufficient to keep the tradition on track, alive and whole. The gist of God’s anger is there, but the tone is muted. Again the only ones understanding Jesus’ message and identity in succeeding encounters are the demons—they know the truth about this man. With unadorned narrative, Luke says that Jesus will not permit these demons an audience because they are aware of his true nature. Mark and Matthew are aligned with him—(see SV Mark 1:32 and Matt. 8:16); Luke’s declaration is the most direct: “But he would rebuke them and not allow them to speak, because they knew that he was the Anointed.” (SV Luke 4:41) Luke also imitates Matthew’s role as editor and interpreter of the Markan and Q traditions. Putting aside Matthew’s emphasis upon proof texts, Luke embarks on the story of an unwelcome prophet. Luke is using

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Q or Matthew; his editorial bias is obvious, and it is directed at playing down their stern and judgmental Jesus. Chapter 5 marks the beginning of the teaching corpus, the New Testament’s most extensive record of Jesus’ message(s). It is as an editor that Luke excels, his history but a skeleton to this gathering of parables, miracles and declarations. Q and Mark are really more present in volume than Luke, but it is Luke who puts it together. The poetic technique of smoothing Jesus’ rough façade is also at work in the vignette. (SV Luke 7:1ff.) Jesus’ relation with the Roman officer’s slave is cast in the original Q context: the soldiers’ great trust is recognized and his slave is healed. In contrast to Matthew’s or Q’s version, and especially the allusion to “weeping and grinding of teeth” in those two gospels, negative images are absent here. Matthew’s teaching, culling of the wheat from the chaff, is largely avoided by Luke. Luke’s vision, although stern on occasion, is often a gentle alternative to the judgmental images so prominent in Matthew; his portrayal will appeal to the gentile believers, a population which must have multiplied enough to justify writing a history that was sensitive to their perspectives. For this task, a gentler Jesus was appropriate. Large chunks of Q and Mark characterize Chapters 7 and 8 with little or no revision. Son of Adam images predominate in these portions and the ever present expectation of the followers that a prophet has come who heals and forgives sins. The most used titles in the first two teaching chapters are Master, and son of Adam—two occasions each. After Jesus visited the Capernaum house of an uncommonly devout and accepting Roman officer, a healing was performed because of the man’s complete trust. Jesus immediately responds to the officer’s request and the slave is healed. In Nain the chemistry is similar; Jesus raises a dead man because his mother had such faith. Jesus the healer is again welcomed as a miracle-working prophet, the crowds applauding him with a mixture of respect and fear. “God has visited his people!” (SV Luke 7:16) The chain of recognition is fragile, however; Jesus characterizes his audiences as “Children sitting in the marketplace calling out to one another”: From Q: We played the flute for you But you wouldn’t dance; We sang a dirge But you wouldn’t weep. (SV Luke 7:32)

The continuing theme is that “this generation” will not understand the holy history Luke is penning. People, especially the elite, rarely have the

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insight to see the messianic plan. They become part of the problem. Opposition grows and the split between believing and non-believing cultures widens. Jesus’ invitation to visit the house of a haughty Pharisee is a fine example. The foundering host offered no form of welcome, but a woman of poor reputation washes Jesus’ feet with her own tears and myrrh. Jesus reminds his host that the woman who anointed his feet is closer to the prophet than those who failed to offer even a kiss. Jesus is paying more attention to the outcast than the well-off host. The Pharisee has not really welcomed Jesus and the sinner has. Jesus gravitates towards the trust and affection of the outcast; only the few ever recognize his divine vocation. Whereas the host has avoided any connection with Jesus because prophets should not associate with “sinners,” Jesus gravitates towards the woman because of her devotion. Repeatedly Jesus chooses to respond to those of intense acceptance and it just so happens that they are usually the poor. Her expression of trust was to wash Jesus’ feet. Foot washing was probably a communal ritual at the time of Luke’s Gospel, and signifies far more than a welcome. It was a sign of the footwasher’s subservience and devotion. Most of Luke’s readers of the gospel were well aware of its heightened meaning. As this Pharisee offered no welcome, certainly no anointing with oil or washing of feet for the prophet, the lesson became complete. The story’s point? People who are not prophets, some believed, have no business forgiving sins. And for those who did not accept him as a prophet, Jesus performs the sinforgiving role at his peril: only God could forgive. Jesus goes his way, forgiving, as the conservatives grumble. Jesus’ non-traditional role is intact and his confidence is untainted by such effronteries. Luke is building his case for the passion cycle: Jesus’ ministry and message becomes more blatant and challenging as the opposition grows; on that matter Luke is quite coherent. The titles Luke chooses are preponderantly those of his sources, but there are exceptions. When using SV Mark 4:35, he changes Jesus’ title from “Teacher” to “Master.” No reason is given, and I speculate that it is a casual change. The Gerasene encounter (SV Luke 8:26ff.) is dependent upon Mark and, perhaps, Matthew, but Luke takes both editorial liberty and stylistic revision upon himself. As for the titles, only the demonpossessed use the term “son of the most high God.” Luke here follows Mark, whereas Matthew settles for the less majestic “son of God.” Jesus has a conversation with the demons who go by the name Legion, and consigns them to a herd of pigs. Such traffic with members of the underworld did not seem to generate doubt, but fear. Jesus is asked to

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leave—the crowd’s attitude a respectful fear, not repulsion. Indeed, if we see this in connection with the Nain narrative of Luke (SV Luke 7:11ff.), the crowd’s fears are heightened because Jesus is so convincing: “Fear gripped them all; and they gave God the glory, saying, ‘A great prophet has been raised up among us!’ and ‘God has visited his people.’” (SV Luke 7:16) It is obvious in both these narratives that Luke is separating the reaction of the masses from the scholars and Pharisees: the masses are reverently fearful and the scholars are full of disdain. The separation of the masses from the authorities increases as the gospel story proceeds. In SV Luke 8:24, Luke copies Matthew’s title “Master,” in its casual context, as “leader.” In SV Luke 8:45 Peter uses it again to warn Jesus of the crowds; this time Luke inserts the title “Master,” adding to both Matthew and Mark. As with Mark, in Luke there is a considerable amount of pressure growing over the true identity of Jesus, especially in the author’s portrayal of the crowds’ attitudes. In the famous declaration of SV Mark 8:27, Jesus’ identity is a secret. Luke chooses to follow Mark in almost every detail. Jesus asks, “What are people saying about me?” (SV Luke 9:18) Luke, following Mark, not Matthew (who replaces “me” with the title, “son of Adam”), has the disciples respond, “Some say You are John the Baptist, while others, Elijah, and still others ‘One of the prophets has come back to life.’” “Then he said to them, ‘What about you, who do you say I am?’ And Peter responded, ‘God’s Anointed.’” (SV Luke 9:20) The three Gospel writers agree on the tradition uniformly in this now familiar messianic declaration. Textual differences appear here to be a matter of style, not substance. The important and exciting disclosure is the exclamation of Peter—Jesus is the “Anointed One;” it is the same title in every gospel we have described—all three, and it is no longer provisional, but an agreed-upon affirmation of God’s choice. Gospel agreement implies strongly that the earlier diverse traditions are coming together as a whole. Jesus’ “true identity” is the core of the agreement. With all the diversity we have seen, the bits of authorial idiosyncrasies and personal touches, this synoptic harmony is quite a remarkable feat. Details seem to mean less in the face of such an alignment, and we cannot fail to see the thrust of the new faith: Jesus is the Christ. Where contentious issues are so muted, it speaks volumes for consensus. The writers also agree that the people are largely in the dark about Jesus’ true identity, so the declaration is probably for the then inquiring reader. The masses may have a glimmer of the real situation, but only that. They will play the role of credulous pawns in the final days, and this is the

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prelude to that role. We should anticipate an increased interest in keeping dissent at a minimum. When there is a coalition that can guide belief in specified ways, expect it to happen. Another more modest aspect of this declaration is that the disciples do understand, partially, the nature of Jesus’ ministry. At least they grasp the notion that God has chosen this messenger as his special emissary, “God’s Anointed;” this much is plain. The disciples still don’t comprehend the son of Adam scenario, and it is that failure to understand which Jesus addresses immediately. The Anointed’s message of suffering is the major obstacle for the disciples. It is as Crossan claims: the core is passed on; the details are debated. Directly following the announcement, Luke uses Mark’s text (he omits Matthew’s praise of Peter) and goes to the warning about the future. “The son of Adam is destined to suffer…and be killed and on the third day, be raised.” (SV Luke 9:22) Again, as in the Markan text, Luke uses the title “son of Adam” to raise the end-time prospect. (SV Luke 9:26) All three writers sing the same song at this most pivotal juncture in the life of their leader. A tradition centered in Jesus’ suffering is a powerful companion to his being the “Anointed One.” How the two themes can be reconciled and how the difficult requirement of suffering and death will be understood is no small challenge for the gospel writer. This very large task remains for Luke. To comprehend and communicate the ultimate irony that God’s chosen one should die demands theological imagination and a sense of God-directed history. In sum, all three gospel writers agree that Jesus will die, but they differ on how. Only the converted reader knows. As portrayed in Luke, dying the way Jesus died is not exactly a detail. There is much to suggest that Jesus’ passion was a heinous misjudgment, brutal in human terms. Christians are bound to keep it at the center of their faith. Luke did. Luke’s preparation of the reader for Jesus’ passion seems to be a combination of heavenly visions and warning actions for the “assault” on Jerusalem. First the visions: Luke’s transfiguration asks the reader to appreciate strange, mysterious images and auras. And it so happened as he was praying that his face took on a strange appearance and his clothing turned a dazzling white. And the next thing you know, two figures were talking with him, Moses and Elijah. (SV Luke 9:28)

After writing about the acts of healing and teaching, Luke evidently realizes that his readers will balk at the scenes of outright divination evoked here. He uses the word “strange” to evoke its otherworldliness, a

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rarity for him. I picture the author or editor feeling quite self-conscious about the whole scene, and this not only because of its otherworldly quality—but he never explains. Many Jews of the day would say this episode reeks of idolatry. Jesus was cast as the illumined authority, a heavenly messenger equal to Israel’s two greatest prophets. One can’t help but think that this vision might prove foreign to these “old believers.” To the mystically inclined, however, the image of an already raised savior would seem appropriate and relevant. In the first century after the resurrection, the aura of their teacher would quite naturally have spectacular dimensions. It is to these readers that Luke speaks: those captured by a faith unhampered by the strictures of Hebrew orthodoxy. Transfiguration images will not only fit Luke’s notion of a rejected Rabbi; they will also appeal to the contemporary Gentile who has no stake in Hebrew faith. The vision conveys a heavy message to many groups. Initially the moral is that the trio of figures represents Hebrew expectations. Law and Prophets are brought together with the newly Anointed One. If this scene had ended as it began, the message of the young faith and its future relation to Judaism might have developed differently. Such an image, if taken as a teaching tool and not a literal vision, might have softened the Hebrew response, as it was an inclusive picture of three prophets, all Jewish and presumably equal. The image of the three prophets is a prelude to the intended climax, the voice from the cloud announced as in the baptism, “This is my son, my chosen one” (SV Luke 9:35), and “Jesus was perceived to be alone” (9:36). The three disciples witnessing this were so bedazzled by the entire event that they told no one. At least no one at that time. We are left with the image of Jesus as a heavenly character reminiscent of the son of Adam coming on the clouds, a victor in every sense. No wonder it was difficult for the disciples to understand the suffering of their leader. How could such a divinely glorified figure be subject to the lesser powers of this world? It must have been a real quandary. A telling comment helps the reader identify with Luke’s task: “While they were marveling at everything he was doing, he said to his disciples, ‘Mark well these words: the son of Adam is about to be turned over to his enemies.’” (SV Luke 9:43) The untimely death of an otherwise victorious figure is a challenge not only for the disciples but for Luke as well. The image of a victor is hard to reconcile with the ignominy of the cross. For all the gospel writers and especially for Luke, the disciples could not comprehend God’s hidden scheme. “But they never understood this remark. It was couched in veiled language, so they would not get its

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meaning. And they always dreaded to ask him about this remark.” (SV Luke 9:45) Is it just because Jesus’ words were enigmatic, or was there more involved in their misunderstanding? Could Luke be letting the first followers off too easily? What keeps them from comprehending Jesus’ prediction? Once this question is posed, it is impossible to avoid the details of the language and the events in which they were couched. We have noted above that the title “son of Adam” is enshrined in Hebrew memory as a figure who comes at the end time “on the clouds of heaven” to aid the Almighty in judging the world. His assigned role is to bring Israel her great reward. Jesus’ apparent embrace of the title includes the elements of suffering and death as a prelude to glorification. This, of course, was the approach of both Matthew and Mark before him. The inevitability of suffering for the son of Adam has become an acceptable part of the tradition by the time Luke writes, but if it was a familiar theme for Christians in Luke’s time, it was still a likely offense to first-century Jews. Indeed, for a Jew to accept that the son of Adam should suffer and die would gut the image of its power. It would be an incomprehensible twist. Especially would the scholars and Pharisees object, if not because of differing expectations, then on the grounds of sacred history. The son of Adam should not die!—especially as a criminal. He was the hope of Israel. Put this together with the transfiguration imagery and the twist becomes obvious. 1) A supremely exalted leader, approved of by the prophets, will die at the hands of a crowd of offended believers. 2) So the Pharisees and scholars will be written off as Jesus’ hottest opponents, because they are the ones who adhered to the historic expectation and rejected any alterations. To them goes the tainted prize, in Luke’s mind, the ultimate blame for supporting the conviction of Jesus. The larger context we have suggested is that Luke lived in an era in which the split between Judaism and the new religion had become a familiar condition. Luke, while characterizing the disciples as uncomprehending and thus unreliable in their devotion to Jesus, stressed the inevitability of God’s plan. Their lack of fidelity is most likely a genuine historical memory, but even they, the most faithful, cannot frustrate the path that leads to a cross. So while blaming the opponents of Jesus and the incomprehension of the disciples, Luke also teaches that God was in charge. God has planned that his beloved must suffer and die—and be resurrected to complete the mission. On the surface it appears that Luke is following in the tradition of Paul, but upon second view it’s clear that in Luke’s view, the progress of events was not organized around a ransom. Whereas Paul chooses to make God the arbiter, Luke looks to the event without such legalistic requirements.

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Luke has a merciful God watching his son die, not a vengeful one who requires a ransom. To add to this, Luke has Jesus appointing seventy-two additional converts to announce the message of God’s imperial rule, presumably with good effect. (See SV Luke 10:1) He behaves as if there will be no end to the growing movement. Success in growing the mission can occur in the midst of a plan that includes the leader’s death. Articulating an explanation as Paul does is not on Luke’s to-do list. Either the rationale is so obvious to the savvy reader or clarification is not thought necessary. Luke’s path includes little or nothing to convince the novice or newcomer of its desirability. Yet in the thrust of every vignette, feeding the five thousand, being transfigured, or choosing his disciples, Luke is addressing the world—the known world. He should be given the literary name “Ambassador.” Indeed, after Jesus commissions the seventy-two, they return in an aura of success, and Jesus exalts God: “I praise you Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned but revealed them to the untutored; yes indeed, Father, because this is the way you want it.” (10:2122)

This verse is another key for understanding the final events of Jesus’ life. Luke’s solution frames the last days as the inexorable progress of misunderstanding and anger in those who had power as decision makers, i.e., scribes and Pharisees, while he affirms those without education and training, because they accepted the works and message of Jesus. The two groups are cast as social insiders: Pharisees who could not understand the twist became the instruments of death, and believers were instruments for the good news. By dividing society into opponents and converts, the scene is set for the drama of death and resurrection. The educated are guilty of hubris and rejection, while the believing masses become inheritors of the resurrection. It is a skillfully crafted plot, and Luke will execute it with facility: sacred history at it’s best. He presents, without hesitation, scenes that defy ordinary expectations and offers no rationale or argument. His work is meant to inspire rather than argue. God’s plan stands alone, without bringing reason to it. Names appear to stand for particular aspects of Jesus’ person or character and do not need elaboration. Luke adds to the God-ordained plan with SV Luke 10:22. As lifted directly from Q and/or Matthew, it is similar to SV John 3:35:

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“My Father has turned everything over to me. No one knows who the son is except the Father, or who the Father is except the son—and anyone to whom the son wishes to reveal him.”

The themes already developed by Luke seem to make this “Johannine” addition unnecessary, but there it is. The mystery of the messianic mission is reestablished without further comment, and we are almost back where we started, or so it might seem. This verse also tells us how far the tradition has developed since the early days of Mark. Luke’s inclusion of Matthew’s (and Q’s) passage is a stamp of approval for the permanence of the sonship theme. It says that tradition held it in special esteem; when Jesus is remembered as speaking of himself, the reader is supposed to be especially alert. Added to this is the memory that Jesus is also conversing with the Father, another reason to pay close attention. Jesus is establishing his personal identity for history. Such a Christology would not have survived if the churches had not been ready to accept it. They were ready, and it makes little difference to Luke that a statement like this may not fit neatly into the scheme we described above. In this declaration, Jesus and God are the only ones privy to the identity of Jesus. God is still the Father and Jesus is the son, and they share knowledge of each other, complete knowledge. Luke uses the verb ‘to know” to express the high level of intimacy. Like Tevya in Fiddler on the Roof, the man complements the holy God. There is a hint of human pride in this passage, but God is firmly in charge. Jesus is stepping up to his assignment without diminishing the Father. They share the same secrets and reveal mysteries as they please. It is another degree closer to the Gospel of John, and two degrees removed from Mark. The next two episodes of Jesus’ ministry elaborate the plot introduced above. In the encounter with the legal expert (SV Luke 10:25), Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan; the outsider wins approval while the insiders, a priest and a Levite, are condemned. The two ignored an opportunity for compassion, while the Samaritan stopped and attended to the needs of the traveler. Again, with Mary, the sister of Martha, singleminded attention is the key to understanding, whereas distraction is devalued. The world of discipleship is one of radical surrender, not casual attention. In this way, by elaborating the fine lines between authentic adherence and convenient excuse, Luke holds his story together. After citing these few examples, it seems fairly clear that God’s plan is worked out by agonizing choices made in everyday living. The next few chapters deepen the themes already cited. The movement was growing, and Luke makes it quite evident that as the crowds multiply,

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Jesus’ message was also growing more severe—his severity directed towards the Pharisees and scholars. This is one theme that is repeated in the later gospels—Jesus intensifies his message and the opposition follows suit. We are witness to the consensus made in those early years that Jesus’ popularity was the social lever which crushed his future, and the hammer which drove home his status as crucified savior. It makes good sense retrospectively, both for the modern reader and for the gospel writer; we shall see how it holds up under critical review. Was Jesus’ supposed popularity (we take his popular status without a quarrel) a factor in the Romans seeing him as a threat and reacting to squelch any movement he might lead? What part do his various titles play in deciding this issue? The queries and the mental games these people play actually anger Jesus. “As more and more people were crowding around him, he began to say, ‘This generation is an evil generation.’” (SV Luke 11:29) They want a sign—who is accused in this particular indictment is left open. “Damn you Pharisees! You pay tithes on mint and rue and every herb, but neglect justice and the love of God.” (SV Luke 11:43)

Numerous condemnations occur here, yet the language could not be more direct in revealing Jesus’ intent. With such a confrontational series, the reader is not surprised at the outcome. By the time he had left there, the scholars and Pharisees began to resent him and harass him with all kinds of questions conspiring to trap him with his own words. (SV Luke 11:53)

“Meanwhile, a crowd of many thousands had thronged together and were trampling each other.” (SV Luke 12:1) Jesus warns his disciples against the hypocrisy of the Pharisees and advises them not to fret as they do. God will care for the faithful. These reassurances are among the most impressive of the teaching core, and carry a gentle tone until the last verses of Chapter 12. When teaching the uncertainties of the son of Adam’s coming, Jesus speaks of the purpose of his mission. “I came to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already ablaze!” (SV Luke 12:49) These are startling words, whether balanced or not with his previous gentle advice. It is difficult to rationalize them, but they are followed by a long list of conflict-oriented declarations. People will be pitted against one another, families split, and he taunts the crowds—”You phonies! You know the lay of the land and read the face of the sky, so why don’t you know how to interpret the present time?” (SV Luke 12:56) Even

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the naiveté of the crowds falls under the harsh judgment of the preacher. This is hardly the Jesus of the lilies of the field; Luke sees him capable of intense anger and calculated disdain. He is especially impatient with blind adherence to Jewish custom regarding work on the Sabbath. When Jesus heals a woman on that holy day, the leader of the synagogue objects that such “work” is forbidden. Jesus explodes in righteous indignation: “You phonies! Every last one of you unties your ox or your donkey from the feeding trough on the Sabbath day and leads it off to water, don’t you?”…As he said this, all his adversaries were put to shame, but most folks rejoiced at all the wonderful things he was doing. (SV Luke 3:17)

Relations with the traditional authorities in Judaism were growing more tense: Jesus’ willfulness was a roadblock to any compromise. These encounters also drive home Luke’s conviction that the path towards Jerusalem is littered with broken relationships—namely, between Jesus and the Pharisees and scholars—while an expanding if unknowing hoard of followers tags along. Given the intensification of the message, this is somewhat surprising. As the title of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s book, The Cost of Discipleship implies, being a follower is no easy task, and yet, the people multiply. If they trust, they are accepted. Luke’s views are becoming more transparent: Jesus’ acts of healing and enigmatic teaching go together to exert a powerful magnetic pull, regardless of the stringent requirements of discipleship. Luke’s gentleness becomes peppered with the clouds of crisis. In Luke’s mind, Jesus is justifiably famous as a miracle-worker and teacher, so the growth alluded to is expected. His community of readers also must carry this belief: it is part of the essential tradition. Acclaim does not seem to require the same loyalty as does following Jesus. Discipleship has a higher standard, even to the limit of giving one’s life. Jesus takes the path to Jerusalem. As the last prelude to the grand entry into Jerusalem, Jesus speaks with his disciples. His words sum up the preceding chapters. “There’ll come a time when you will yearn to see one of the days of the son of Adam and you won’t see it. And they’ll be telling you, ‘Look, there it is!’ or ‘Look, here it is!’ Don’t rush off; don’t pursue it. For just as lightning flashes and lights up the sky from one end to the other, that’s what the son of Adam will be like in his day. But first it is necessary that he suffer many things and be rejected by this present generation.” (SV Luke 17:22)

With his steely demeanor he lays out the future of his ministry, an ignominious death and inevitable victory. The disciples, as before, don’t

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comprehend. Luke and Matthew, lifting from Q, think it necessary to explain and illustrate this scenario in full detail. Referring to himself as the son of Adam, Jesus preaches from the Torah and draws the connections as plainly as possible. Will the sermon fall on deaf ears? All three, Mark, Matthew, and now Luke, reserved the title “son of Adam” as Jesus’ own—exclusively. It becomes increasingly clear that the complete absence of this title on the lips of his listeners or anyone else poses an interpretive question. If the followers’ failure of understanding is the cause of this condition (they do not use the title because they can’t comprehend its meaning), we can accept the restriction, yet it does seem a bit weak as an explanation. They have used other titles without realizing their significance. Failure to understand seems to be vital in the next cycle of Jesus’ instruction to his disciples: Jesus took the twelve aside and instructed them: “Listen, we’re going up to Jerusalem, and everything written by the prophets about the son of Adam will come true. For he will be turned over to the foreigners, and will be made fun of and insulted. They will spit on him, and flog him to death. Yet after three days he will rise.” But they did not understand any of this; this remark was obscure to them, and they never did figure what it meant. (SV Luke 18:31 ff.)

Why did the disciples not comprehend this oft repeated prediction? It reads as essential that the crowds and those close to Jesus did not comprehend the consequences of Jesus’ ministry, especially when it came to his suffering and criminal conviction. The suffering and crucifixion themes are cast as surprises for those closest to Jesus. This applies to the other two gospel authors as well. The announcement that the son of Adam must suffer and die and be raised again is one of the most common declarations in the entire collection of New Testament writings. The reason for the credulous response was not simply the fact that every author assigns to Jesus the role of referring to himself as the son of Adam. That role of self-identification may have played some part in explaining the lack of understanding attested to above; it was indeed an enigmatic piece of instruction. But is that all that keeps the disciples in dumb silence and confusion? Why are they characterized as being unable to remain faithful to Jesus? It is time to address one of the most complex muddles in the whole of the New Testament. What most likely shaped Luke’s (and Mark’s and Matthew’s) mind was a different issue, but one of greater consideration in the collective memory of the churches: it was the memory that every disciple, immediately after the crucifixion, returned home to his routine life. Jesus

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appeared to them and stayed with them, unveiling his mission and celebrating in the manner of the Last supper—still they did not recognize him. Nothing the living Jesus did seemed to change their faithless desire to return to their homes until a risen Jesus was in their presence. Finally, in the last verses of this gospel his followers accept him. They were unresponsive until the last act of Divine power. That guilt-ridden memory must have made its way into the tradition very early. It was, very likely, a potent source of embarrassment to every apostle. Scholars generally recognize that belief in the resurrection influenced the contents of Jesus’ ministry. I am suggesting that a related consideration applies here: the disciples’ lack of understanding before and during Jesus’ suffering was written into the accounts because the gospel writers were faced with the disciples’ failure to understand his mission after he died. Women are credited with delivering news of the empty tomb to the disciples, “but their story seemed nonsense so they refused to believe the women.” (SV Luke 24:11) None of them believed the son of Adam predictions until confronted with the presence of Jesus sometime after the empty tomb. The disciples’ abandonment of Jesus affected all who heard the story; it had persuasive power or “leverage.” It would have seemed an incredible twist to claim that the disciples understood Jesus’ words of his impending demise during Jesus’ ministry, passion, and crucifixion. So they set out for home disbelieving. Of course, this is my hunch. What seemed true for the other gospel writers was true for Luke: the problem for every apologetic was one of credibility. The convincing piece of evidence, later recorded in this gospel, drives my supposition. The record reads that every one of them fled after the crucifixion to resume the old life. We try not to presume what they thought, but we can assert that they behaved as if it was all over. As a group, they did not show confidence or faith—until their experience of seeing him rise. Their fleeing was initially remembered as a faithless reaction to the death of their leader and the consequent end of his ministry. Their acts of willful return to normalcy didn’t play very well without a complete harmonizing with the rest of the gospel. Consequently, the writers adjusted the disciples’ capacity to comprehend, and Jesus’ message of death and resurrection was unheard prior to the new era. It was an editorial construct, but it smoothed the story-line considerably. Luke, we expect, encountered this situation and asked himself how they could have comprehended their leader’s message given the fact of their escape efforts. Luke could not characterize them as comprehending the message of suffering and death: if they didn’t understand his ministry

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after the cross, how could they possibly have known before? Luke preferred a bumbling, even unbelieving set of followers to an incoherent story. Acknowledging that Jesus’ closest followers fled the scene after his death was a necessary exercise in a convincing sacred history. His closest followers did not recognize Jesus as the son of Adam until Jesus actually appeared to them and the resurrection era had begun. The above supposition is perhaps difficult to accept because we are dealing with a “sacred corpus” of writings about Jesus, and they are the product of faith. Everything in the scriptures is written from the vantage point of faith. Reading the history is a backwards journey into plausible reaction, especially here where the heart of the message (the suffering theme) goes against most traditional hopes and expectations. It may seem a sort of gymnastics to read one segment in light of happenings that followed it, but it is done all the time. Zacchaeus, a very rich man and a tax collector as well, sought to connect with the teacher, and Jesus responded positively. The crowd was distraught because of Jesus’ close attention while Zacchaeus defended himself as a good Jew. Jesus was impressed and said, “Today, salvation has come to this house. This man is a real son of Abraham.” (SV Luke 19:9-10) It is seldom that Jesus is portrayed as endorsing a view his contemporaries regarded as meritorious, but that is just what Zacchaeus claimed. “Look sir, I’ll give half of what I own to the poor, and if I have extorted anything from anyone, I’ll pay back four times as much.” (SV Luke 19:8) Zacchaeus had not only declared he would keep the law; he would exceed it. Jesus approved. Paul would probably have objected, but there is no such claim in the record.3 This encounter is the last before the Jerusalem epic. Luke chooses Mark’s version of the instructions for entry, avoiding Matthew’s laborious literalism. There is one donkey, and the two negotiators simply said “its master has need of it.” (SV Luke 19:31). The twist in the title “master” is   3

Jesus’ final word to the rich man was, “Remember, the son of Adam came to seek out and to save what was lost.” (SV Luke 19:10) It is interesting that Luke here employs the son of Adam term (as he usually takes it directly from the Q source). This time he is composing his own narrative and gives the title a new connotation. Another departure from the norm: the title is not following the ordinary litany, pointing to suffering, death and resurrection. Instead, it is reassurance to a generous and observant Jew. Luke has used the Q title as a peace-making gesture between the new believers and those in the Jewish community. It is a unique application of the term and is followed by a parable which complements the faithful declarations of Zacchaeus with a lesson in creative uses of resources. Luke has a literary flair—to bond his message of “real life” events with stories of complementary flavor.

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the same as in Mark: kyrios, for a Christian, means “Lord,” in this case, a conscious reference to Jesus’ divinity. As immediately above, this title is probably a post-resurrection symbol, not necessarily a historical remembrance. The term, in Luke’s hands, is quite surely a title meant to signify the resurrected power of Jesus. In the main, Luke tells the story by copying Mark, but Luke has the procession pass near the Mount of Olives. This is surely another expression of his “eye of faith,” a reminiscence in which conviction embroiders history. The Mount is the place of death and suffering, and Luke believed it was best to remind the reader that Jesus’ triumphal entry would soon lead to the cross. This may or may not have occurred, but it is certainly informed by the writers’ sense of Jesus’ holy destiny. Another addition by Luke: his picture of Jesus at entry is climaxed by this short soliloquy as he caught sight of the city, He wept over it: “If you—yes, you—had only recognized the path to peace even today! But as it is, it is hidden from your eyes. The time will descend upon you when your enemies will throw up a rampart against you and surround you, and hem you in on every side, and then smash you to the ground, you and your children with you. They will not leave one stone upon another within you, because you failed to recognize the time of your visitation.” (SV Luke 19:41-44)

The “time of your visitation” is, of course, supposed to be Jesus’ entry and ministry, but there is a larger and more important implication, namely the destruction of the city and the end of all controls by the Jews. This brief monologue mourns the broken relation with Jews; Jesus weeps for the city of his people. At the time of writing, nearly one hundred years after the actual entry, Luke’s message to believers was to grieve their loss. What was a future event in terms of the gospel story was a past event at time of writing. Luke knew that the city had been sacked almost thirty years before. Jerusalem had been in the enemies’ hands for a generation. The Jesus of the gospel weeps over a diaspora that every reader knew had already happened. What purports to be a word of prophecy is really a faith-filled statement about what has already happened. In another reference to the “coming” destruction, Jesus says, “As for these things that you now admire, the time will come when not one stone will be left on top of another! Every last one will be knocked down.” (SV Luke 21:5) The sensitive reader will know that there is literary sleight of hand in this, but Jesus’ foreknowledge of chaos was accepted as natural to the second-century believer.

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The outcome of these “after-the-fact” reminiscences lends an almost liturgical quality to Luke’s writing. As in Matthew, the story is being told with the then contemporary events in mind. For Matthew, it is scriptural consistency; for Luke it is the global impact of Jesus’ ministry and passion. It is no wonder that the surviving written services, the liturgies of the church, relied heavily on Luke. His penchant for poetry seems to me as impressive as John’s and even superior as a narrative gospel story. As we have seen, it is most characteristic of Luke, when using Mark, to quote without adding new titles or changing the ones Mark preferred. Thus, “Teacher” is the common title for Jesus when being addressed by the priests, scholars, and Sadducees. (See SV Luke 20:21, 20:28, 20:39) But when Luke does add to his source, or writes without having help from his gospel-writing colleagues, he can be quite provocative. The case of SV Luke 20:27 is a good example. The riddle of who inherits responsibility for resurrected wives is posed by those who don’t accept the resurrection; it is supposed to be their theological trap. Jesus is portrayed as nimble and able to transform the riddle into a declaration of faith in the coming age of resurrection. Note the underlining. The children of this age marry and are given in marriage, but those who are considered worthy of participation in the coming age, which means ‘in the resurrection from the dead,’ do not marry. They can no longer die, since they are the equivalent of heavenly messengers; they are children of God and children of the resurrection.” (SV Luke 20:34 ff.) This is an obvious take-off from Mark’s story. (See SV Mark 12:18 ff.) Then the context appears to change at Verse 36, “They can no longer die… they are “sons/children of God and sons/children of the resurrection.” Here, the voice is more likely Pauline—in spirit if not a direct lifting. (See RSV Gal. 4:5 and RSV Col. 2:20) Following this brief embellishment, without hesitation Luke returns to Mark’s copy and ends the encounter. It is a master stroke. The impact of the small addition heightens Mark’s message: the general resurrection is the trump card. Luke’s Jesus has avoided the pitfalls the Sadducees planned for him and made a point they could not anticipate. He takes an obscure theological riddle and turns it into an announcement of major importance, the general resurrection. The “scholars answered, ‘Well put, Teacher.’” (SV Luke 20:39) Luke seems to miss no opportunity to globalize the early message and this makes him hugely successful. He accomplishes this through a cautious use of accepted authorities. If nothing else, this exchange shows the evolution of the communities of believers toward remembering their Lord as the one who ushered in a totally new look at the future. Luke’s Jesus and his global perspective

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teach the coming of a new order with confidence. Perhaps the reference is not important by itself, but as a part of the growth of the faith, it is a hint of a well-established theology and a tip-of-the-hat tribute to Paul, the author of such ideas. At Chapter 21 another unusual use of otherwise familiar titles occurs. Verse 27 uses the son of Adam conception as in Daniel, “coming on clouds with great power and splendor.” Then, imitating a typically Pauline image, he says, “Now when these things begin to happen, stand tall and hold your heads high because your deliverance is just around the corner.” (SV Luke 21:28) Paul’s ideas pop up in ever increasing frequency. It will become fully realized when the canon is established that Paul is its premier author. Casual references like these can be best understood as a quiet recognition of his tremendous influence. And Luke can borrow Pauline views without compromising his own sense of authorship. His version of the second coming may also have affinities with Paul, but his “history of the Church” is energized by the expectation of Jesus’ imminent return. Luke otherwise relies on Mark in these passion scenes. In terms of sheer volume, the body of the text is a massive lift from the earliest gospel author. Pauline lifts are periodic, his great influence on the outcomes for the Church largely hidden. Mark repeats his habit of having the interlocutors refer to Jesus as “the teacher,” when he instructs his disciples to find a place to eat the Passover meal: “…say to the head of the house, ‘the teacher asks “where is the guest room where I can celebrate Passover with my disciples?”’” (SV Luke 22:11) The message of the title “teacher”, when instructing his followers to find a room, is that the gospel writers believed he would be easily identified by it. All three gospel authors use it. We can assume that the title was a popular one and also one of the earliest. The odd part is that Jesus never uses this title when speaking of himself, except here. Perhaps he used it because the term is so low-key compared to the highly packed theological terms such as son of Adam and Lord. He would never be known as “teacher” by his later followers, and the title would never be considered as a candidate for the creeds, but it does have a certain appeal, as teaching was his main activity in ministering to others. The Christian faith is full of these oddities: Jesus’ functional titles, like teacher, are subordinated to those that carry great symbolic weight. He may have been primarily a teacher, but he is known best in the gospels as Lord and Christ.

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Last Supper The Last Supper in Luke is an interesting narrative worthy of close inspection, especially as it relates to the other two gospel accounts, so I have provided the familiar format of a gospel parallels—the gospels in columns. In no way am I suggesting an updated Harmony of the gospels, but seeing the parallels will clarify the likenesses and differences. MARK And as they were eating He took a loaf, gave a blessing, broke it into pieces and offered it to them. And he said, ‘Take some; this is my body!’ He also took a cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, and they all drank from it. And he said to them: “this is my blood of the covenant, which has been poured out for many! So help me, I certainly won’t drink any fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it for the first time in God’s domain.” (SV Mark 14:22ff.)

MATTHEW As they were eating, Jesus took a loaf, gave a blessing, and broke it into pieces. And he offered it the disciples, and said, “Take some and eat; this is my body.” And he took a cup and gave thanks and offered it to them, saying, “Drink from it all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant which has been poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins, Now I tell you I certainly won’t drink any of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it for the first time with you in my Father’s domain!” (SV Matt. 26:27ff.)

LUKE When the time came he took his place, and the apostles joined him. He said to them “I have looked forward with all my heart to celebrating this Passover with you before my ordeal begins. For I tell you, I certainly won’t eat it again until everything comes true in God’s domain.” Then he took the cup, gave thanks, and said, “Take this and share it among yourselves. For I tell you, I certainly won’t drink any of the fruit of the vine from now on until God’s domain is established!” And he took a loaf, gave thanks, broke it into pieces, offered it to them, and said “This is my body which is offered for you. Do this as a memorial.” And in the same manner, (he took) the cup after dinner and said, “this cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.” (SV Luke 22:14 ff.)

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There are important differences in the three accounts, but in general they are quite alike. They show, in fact, that by the time Luke wrote his account, there was a substantial agreement on the thrust of the meal and the significance of Jesus’ words. The differences: 1) Luke has an introduction to the meal which establishes that Luke and his supporters believed that this was indeed a Passover meal. Mark and Matthew indicate the same belief but give it less prominence. Luke’s introduction is unique in presenting the whole notion of “everything coming true” in the new age of general resurrection, although Matthew voices the same conviction in slightly different terms (see his last sentence above). 2) Luke is either being repetitious or he thinks Jesus raised the cup twice at the meal, once before eating and once after the meal. 3) There is a hint that the sequence of authorship, i.e., Mark first— Luke last, includes an increase in doctrine-conscious writing. For instance, Mark writes “this is my blood of the covenant which has been poured out for many,” while Matthew adds “for the forgiveness of sins,” and Luke adds “new” to covenant. Does repetition influence doctrinal “layering?”— or position-taking? 4) Luke is the only gospel writer to add after, “this is my body”—”Do this as a memorial.” Paul, however, has a version that intimates a memorial –”Do this in remembrance of me.” Paul also has the term new covenant, as does Luke. Have Paul’s words framing the meal exercised the power he intended? “…For I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you...” Have the three canonical gospel writers imitated their predecessor (Paul) and his claim to a revelatory disclosure, or have they struck out on their own? And what might be Paul’s overall influence on the three concerning this central event in Jesus’ last hours? Paul’s version is once more necessary. For I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way also the cup, after supper, saying, “This is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. (RSV 1 Cor.11:23ff.)

In our previous discussion of Paul, we emphasized the sacramental nature of Paul’s teaching. But when compared with the above three accounts, the memorial aspects of the Corinthian story stand out. Paul has

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Jesus give the admonition to take “in remembrance” after the bread offering and the wine. Luke follows Paul. The earliest and the most recent authors seem to agree. Mark, on the other hand, simply writes of Jesus saying, “This is my body.” The absence of an explanation or an elaboration stands out when compared to Paul and Luke. Mark’s exclusion of theological directives is important. Mark’s simple but direct statement sets the believer and the community free to associate the meal with mystical communion; i.e., Jesus is here at the heavenly banquet! This, or any other perceived meaning, such as a remembrance, can be accepted because of the absence of interpretive advice. In this sense, the announcement by Jesus that this bread “is my body” carries a tremendous impact for the young churches. Their creative imagination was on full tilt as they celebrated the Eucharistic meal. Mark’s version leaves these areas for rich and varied responses as the Churches decide their doctrinal preferences. Paul and Luke keep the remembrance notion alive. Matthew follows Mark’s lead with minimal additions, while Luke takes the Pauline path and elaborates more fully. The theological “additions,” i.e., the “new” covenant, the remembrance theme, and the repetitive preface, indicate Luke’s editorial efforts. This seems to confirm that, of the four, Luke was most likely the last to write, and the most likely to borrow from his predecessors. The answer to our question about sequences fostering theological complexity is not wholly accurate; there is more variation than expected. With regard to Paul, we assume he is the first to lay his view out in writing. His characteristic approach is to be the theological trainer/teacher, and his preference in many other passages is tilted towards waiting for the risen Lord to return. If we take him at his word in the above quotation, to experience Jesus’ presence in the Eucharistic feast is but a foretaste of his imminent return. Such waiting does not cancel the dynamic of celebrating Jesus’ strong effect on the believer, but the message is that he will come back soon; the prelude has begun and the full passion is about to begin. This small paragraph on the last supper, if put in the larger context of Paul’s theology, does not deny the mystical sensibilities found throughout his corpus, but it does focus on anticipation—with a twist. Remembrance in the early days did not only mean “recalling things past;” it implied reliving the past in the present: anamnesis. For Paul, Jesus’ presence was palpable as a real and powerful personality. Memorial acts border on mystical vision. The memory is alive and active, filled with the sense of Jesus being there as the risen and coming Lord. These views apply to all four accounts.

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The three may all have borrowed from Paul, however, in picturing the culmination of the meal as a heavenly event, a triumph at the end of time. The meaning is virtually the same: Jesus aligns himself in every version with the “son of Adam” image. The believer is transported to a new age and a different place—a kingdom removed from the vicissitudes of the present world to one totally controlled by God. We know Paul taught the imminent coming, and it is echoed here, in spades. So the answer to the above question about Paul’s influence is a mixed one. Mark remains the earliest of the gospel writers and Matthew follows his lead, embellishing a bit. There is very little to indicate that Paul exercised influence on these two. That does not mean he was disregarded; it means, rather, that he was not active in every aspect of their composition. In short, Paul’s influence here was limited. Luke’s version amounts to additional embellishment of Mark and Matthew. He attempts to meld his predecessors into a single vision, the historian who gathers the strands together without much regard for theological clarity. Perhaps he mirrors his time here as in other portions of his gospel; the developing churches are not yet to the point of clashing over niceties—Luke’s era is a time for celebrating the many names and acts. Another lesson can be uncovered here. We read no new or heavily favored titles for Jesus in the brief portrayals of the Last Supper. But history attests to the fact that Jesus’ person and mission are vitally connected to the Eucharistic meal. When Jesus is celebrated in the context of the statements, “this is my body,” “this is my blood,” he is given both theological and devotional status. This is the essence of a name. Many titles will emerge in the churches’ liturgical practices. The Eucharistic names are the most important. One example: by connecting Jesus to the divine mission, the new covenant, in the context of the Eucharistic meal, Luke and his predecessors wedded the poetic, the pious and the intellectual in a single web of faith. The Christ would always be known through the taking of bread and wine. It may not have been a planned strategy, but by the time of Luke’s gospel writing, it was an established celebration. The Last Supper was on its way to becoming a central act in the believing communities. Titles follow practice—not the other way around. “Master,” “son of Adam,” and “Lord,” each appear once in the remainder of Luke’s twentysecond chapter. The son of Adam reference in this chapter is a rare one, in that Jesus accuses Judas of turning him in—there is no eschatological tenor in the use of the title. It has become the title of self-reference for Jesus, and will pop up in different uses in the remainder of this gospel.

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Luke also uses the term “Lord” when Jesus confronts Peter with his infidelity. Although hardly significant in its present context, it will become a title of note in the future. Luke is the leader, it seems, in anticipating the creed-dominated future.

Trial and Crucifixion Interrogators press their questioning with derision, “If you are the Anointed, tell us.” Jesus answers with mild evasion: “If I tell you, you certainly won’t believe me. If I ask you a question, you certainly won't answer. But from now on the son of Adam will be seated at the right hand of the power of God.” And they all said, “So you, are you the son of God?” he said to them, “You’re the ones who say so.” (SV Luke 22:67 ff.)

An initial impression in this flurry of name-calling is that Jesus is characterized here as a bold and haughty respondent. The only title he himself uses is the son of Adam. His opponents try to assign any number of titles. They amount to a persistent effort to label him as the “anointed King,” (SV Luke 23:2), the son of God, as well as “the King of the Judeans.” (SV Luke 23:3). Grudgingly, Jesus says “if you say so,” a quizzical response at best. Standing back from the fray, a critical reader can easily see a strain of actual memory here. Jesus did not deny, but was remembered as being resistant to such role assignments. It could be that Luke wanted the reader to believe that Jesus sought no acclaim, and so could be the recipient of those titles as a gift from God. Luke uses the son of God title here for the first time; the interrogators employ it as a taunt. We mentioned the dual meaning in Matthew’s gospel, where the Roman officer blurts out his appraisal of Jesus as a son of God; there the core meaning is that Jesus was, for the centurion, a man whom God favors. No divine nature was implied there. Here, the title is used in the context that he is the singular human who is the chosen of God. Yet for the converted reader there is an added perspective that s/he does know that the title does tell the story of Jesus being specially anointed to serve as God’s emissary. It is a peculiar sequence when compared to Mark. There, when Jesus is asked if he is “the Anointed, the son of the Blessed One,” he answers with a hearty “I am!” No evasion there. Why the change in response? The rest of Mark’s story-line is a concerted cover-up, at least for the non-believer. One can only guess. The title son of God had by the time of Luke’s writing very likely obtained a connotation closer to the later creedal meaning,

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where Jesus became identified as a person of the trinity. If the power of the title had changed, perhaps Jesus’ acceptance of it would have also. This should not perplex the reader; Luke has used titles in new contexts before, and he hasn’t always conformed to his forebears. In general, Luke has Jesus being more open about his mission and his relationship with the Father. It is a bit odd, however, that, Luke, a later gospel writer, would have Jesus more reticent than he was in earlier writers. It is a peculiarity that must go unexplained. Luke, here, is also taking advantage of the layers of meaning accepted by his audience, and a believing reader is enriched for it. Titles are literally compacted, one upon another, in these last passion stories. The interrogation by Pilate questions Jesus’ role as the “king of the Judeans,” a title used only three times: by him, the soldiers, and by the sign on the cross. Luke follows his predecessors to the letter: “if you say so.” (SV Luke 23:3). Such a diffident Messiah! On the surface it seems that Jesus will accept willingly only one title, the “son of Adam,” which is far more freighted with apocalyptic tones than are the others. He never fully identifies with the more political, human-oriented terms that his critics and the populace use. Being the climax of Jesus’ earthly life, it shows the chasms of misunderstanding that had persisted throughout his ministry—the shower of titles only makes it more dramatic. The power-packed office of the son of Adam had had its climactic introduction some thirty years before, so there is no need to think of it as innovative; it is scattered about as a common title would be. This situation holds throughout the dramatic rite of execution. The tenor of the crucifixion in Luke remains derision from Jesus’ opponents and an almost detached demeanor on Jesus’ part. They call out, “He saved others; he should save himself if he is God’s Anointed, the Chosen One.” (SV Luke 23:35) “If you are the King of the Judeans, why not save yourself.” (SV Luke 23:36). And a criminal hanging beside Jesus repeats the taunt: “Aren’t you supposed to be the Anointed? Save yourself and us!” (SV Luke 23:39) Jesus comforts another beside him, and at the last cries out, “Father, into your hands I entrust my spirit.” (SV Luke 23:46) What a simple ending to an otherwise drama-filled life. What makes Luke’s account unique in the three narrative gospels is what he leaves out. With regard to Mark and Matthew, Luke chooses to omit (with all of their material at his command, he must have had access to this portion) the cry of abandonment, “Eli, eli, lema sabachthani” (“My God, my God, why did you abandon me?” (SV Matt 27:46 and SV Mark 15:34). Again, his omission remains a mystery. It is palpable, for what looks like the sentence recording Jesus’ last words in Mark is repeated in

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Luke without the cry of woe. Instead, Luke has the words entrusting his spirit to God as Jesus’ last utterance. It must have been a very conscious decision to replace what by the other two accounts framed the agony of crucifixion. Luke’s Jesus is not only diffident; he does not seem to suffer a terribly painful death. Confidence replaces the cry of despair: “Father, into your hands I entrust my spirit.” (SV Luke 23:46) Luke’s Jesus not only has different names but different personal characteristics. A modern reader will be privy to these details and how they evolved into the mosaic of orthodoxy and heterodoxy: the sacrificial image, the stately Christ and the empty cross. We have met this before; there must have been ample room for diversity as the fledgling faith evolved. The decisions about correct teaching, the inevitable search, the debates, and the settlement period would follow. In his own time, Luke was an innovator in many of his choices as an author. Luke’s version of the resurrection is a first-class example.

Resurrection This sequence centers about the announcement to the women at the tomb and the Emmaus encounters. The tomb scene is fairly straightforward: two male figures—“angels” in their jargon—tell them, “He is not here—he was raised. Remember what he told you while he was still in Galilee: ‘The son of Adam is destined to be turned over to heathen, to be crucified, and on the third day to rise.’” (SV Luke 24:7)

The title these two representatives use is the same as Jesus’ selfreference. The son of Adam is at the heart of this gospel, both for the ministry and for the post-crucifixion message. Among all the diversity involved in telling his story, Luke is consistent in the use of this title. It is the son of Adam who is raised and sits at the right hand of power. It is not the only term, but it is the central one. When returning home in their disappointment, the once-upon-a-time followers, led by one Cleopas, tell a stranger of a prophet they thought would be Israel’s answer to the oppressor. In their ignorance and failed faith, they did not recognize the stranger—the risen Jesus. When the hidden one explained the mission of the Anointed, namely, to suffer and die, they still remained blind. Only at dinner was Jesus recognized—at the blessing of the loaf. Everyone there halted their journey homeward and returned to Jerusalem, a converted group of disciples.

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Two observations: Jesus’ resurrection is presented by Luke as being encountered first of all in the context of a sacred meal, i.e., the Eucharist. In other words, the Eucharistic meal had, by Luke’s time, become the single most important sign of the young faith’s identity. Any reader of the time would make the leap from teaching to practice, or from practice to an acceptance of Luke’s teaching, because the gospel makes this the specific context of Jesus’ resurrected presence. Mark has nothing in this vein; neither does Matthew. Centering the appearance of Jesus around that meal sets it apart from a casual celebration. The message is quite clear: the risen Christ is to be found in the common breaking of bread—a sacrament that confirms faith and takes away blindness. It was Luke’s special way of bringing to a climax his “history” of the life, death and resurrection of the son of Adam. One can imagine that this is his conscious attempt at Eucharistic theology, a way of introducing the reader to the life of the church—the son of Adam is risen and will be met in the communal meal. Luke is careful in this next-to-last sequence to add that the reader need not believe he had experienced a ghost either in the meal or anywhere. Jesus comes to the Emmaus event, confronts them, and this time eats with them. In Luke’s mind, and hopefully in the reader’s mind, this would dispel the fantastical elements of belief. The risen Jesus explains their mission, this time using the term “Anointed” to convey the meaning of his ministry and raising, and finally, after the admonition to wait for power and a blessing, Jesus is “carried up into the sky.” (SV Luke 24:51) The first half of Luke’s gospel history is complete. They have not seen a ghost; they have supped with their risen leader. Jesus, in word and deed, is on his way to being regarded as the savior of the entire world. There is also the first whiff of thinking of him as a cosmic figure—I am associating the open use of the son of Adam model, and the wholehearted acceptance of his divine birth, transfiguration, and the resurrection appearances. He is not yet fully a cosmic god/man; we shall have to wait for John’s Gospel, but the intimations have been introduced. “Son of Adam” is Luke’s (and therefore Jesus’) preferred appellation. His ultimate source is Mark; Luke uses the title with much less precision than his predecessor. We cited these unusual cases above. Whereas Mark restricts the son of Adam title to the messiah’s suffering, death and resurrection, in Luke’s hands the name broadens into a host of pious references. Mark’s story of the secret’s disclosure may seem simple compared to Luke’s use of the title as an expression of everything the messiah represented. It seems that the title has become, in this gospel, an icon which contains everything that Jesus was and, in the words of faith,

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is: he is the victorious one coming on the clouds of heaven to nurture the embryonic community. While it is the prominent title and the one Jesus identified with, it will nearly disappear in John, who records that title only twice. It is one of the puzzles in our tracking of Jesus’ names why this is so, but at this point, the title carries much weight. Luke’s efforts have given the readers a poetic picture of Jesus, attempting a blend of every aspect of his role as messiah, from the teaching mission to his embrace of death and the final gift of his Father: resurrection. Through Luke, churches were finding in their leader the vision of world-salvation, begun in an animal barn in Judea and climaxed in the appearances. Their confidence as a new religion is growing; conceptions of Jesus’ identity are about as inclusive as possible. The titles and terms used by Luke add up to a theological muddle if we try to blend them into a composite, but there is hope for clarity if we discriminate among the various titles and theologies encountered above. It should be remembered that this is a critical effort; a first century Christian would not attempt such deconstruction. This “history” of Jesus, the initial portion of Luke’s story, is complete, although it is not the last time that the risen Jesus is encountered or makes a dramatic appearance. But the gospel book is finished and the remainder of Luke’s history focuses on the life of the early church, the communities in touch with Jesus. Luke’s faith and his sense of history cooperate to cast Jesus as the Anointed, not only for the Jews, Romans, slaves and sophisticated bourgeois, but for every person. Sacred history would never again be quite so grand.

CHAPTER NINE THE GOSPEL OF JOHN

We have moved beyond what are sometimes called the “synoptic gospels,” i.e., Mark, Matthew and Luke. But as our study argues, the first three canonical accounts do not present a singular or even harmonious voice. Our study of each gospel’s personal signature bears it out. Namely, the three visions of Jesus, while incorporating Mark and Q as common materials and focusing on the topic of Jesus’ identity, nevertheless stand apart in so many respects as to make the term “synoptic” seem a stretch. Three visions, probably representing three or more quite distinct communities, is a more accurate description of their character and purposes. They record many of the same events and teachings but they insist on their perspectives as to naming and interpreting those names. Emphasizing such distinct visions and accounts amounts to a revision of traditional thinking. Intent on portraying the life and person of Jesus, the “synoptics” communicate their own versions of him, not only in the details, but in how they conceive his identity. Apart from the first three traditional stories, John’s gospel is our best example of individualist writing. It is probably no surprise to New Testament readers that John has been regarded as the odd member of the four canonical gospels, for its trajectory has long been accepted not for its likeness to the others, but for its unique way of telling the story of Jesus and its individual point of view. Bart Ehrman provides a list of stories that are found in all three earlier gospels—none is included in John. He also names the stories found in John; not a one is found in the synoptics! We also should not be too surprised that as time progressed in that part of the world, issues about the identity of the Teacher would evolve and change, as did the communities which followed him. The churches of the four gospels were each experiencing the birth pangs of a new religion, as well as climactic changes in their collective life under Rome. How could we expect immediate, ordered conformity when the world was in such flux? The drift towards conformity would come eventually in the creedal arguments and settlements. Diversity came first. It is quite remarkable that such independent writers kept their portrayals as close to one another as

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they did. That said, John does not fit into a pattern of gradual, predictable evolution. His writing charts new theological ground and a new direction for the eventual consensus, exercising influence far beyond a single congregation. First, the individuality factor: the real news is that the elements of individuality and distinct communities of interest, all calling themselves Christians, became more pronounced in John. John’s treatise has little content identical with any of the three so far studied. His theology also differs significantly from Mark, Matthew and Luke. Second, there are no shared resources in John’s writing, even though he embraces their common purpose: to uncover Jesus’ true name. Third, as with the preceding three, this author’s name cannot be taken literally; the disciple named John must have died years before this gospel was set to paper. Most scholars date the finalized tome around the end of the first century. John’s uniqueness can be attributed to a different locale, a later composition date, and a theologically more sophisticated community. Times had changed radically from the early Q and Mark. John, from almost any angle, brought fresh ideas and personal observations to the growing faith. Another factor affecting John’s composition is the likelihood of a hidden Signs Gospel in the piece as we have it. The translators of the Complete Gospels claim it stands out as a separate source as brilliantly as Q (Miller 1994 175 ff). We cannot afford the space, nor do I have the special tools to make judgments as to whether there is, in fact, a “Signs Gospel” embedded in the final form of John. Unlike Matthew and Luke, where Q is identified because it is found in both of the gospels, the existence of a Signs Gospel in John is based on evidence found in John alone; no other source of disclosure has been discovered. It makes the existence of such a text more hypothetical than Q and the argument for its existence a major diversion for this work. Still, the scholars respond that literary “seams” (breaks in the compositional flow) in John are so evident as to make a strong case for another source. When one views the list of miracles in sequence, as the SV John does, the signs thesis gains life and credibility. The listing of miracle accounts used as a form of proof text to demonstrate Jesus’ divinity seems plausible enough, so I will follow the Scholars Version and identify the portions which correspond to their hypothesis. We will evaluate its contents as a distinct source. In the following passage, John finds his gift for poetry and creates a magnificent theological statement with wings of artistry. It is a poem/ hymn/theological portrait unequaled elsewhere. The introduction to this gospel is probably one of the most popular and cited portions in all the New Testament.

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In the beginning there was the divine word and wisdom. The divine word and wisdom was there with God, And it was what God was. It was there with God from the beginning. Everything came to be by means of it; Nothing that exists came to be without its agency. In it was life, And this life was the light of humanity. Light was shining in darkness, And darkness did not master it. 1) Genuine light—the kind that provides light for everyone —was coming into the world. Although it was in the world, And the world came about through its agency, The world did not recognize it. It came to its own place, But its own people were not receptive to it. But to all who did embrace it, To those who believed in it, It gave the right to become children of God. They were not born from sexual union, Not from physical desire, And not from male willfulness: They were born of God. The divine word and wisdom became human And made itself at home among us. We have seen its majesty, majesty appropriate to a Father’s own son, brimming with generosity and truth. From his richness All of us have benefited— one gift after another. Law was given through Moses; Mercy and truth came through Jesus the Anointed. No one has ever seen God; The only son, an intimate of the Father—he has disclosed (him). (SV John 1:1-14)

Usually referred to as “the Prologue,” this lovely piece of Hebrew-like poetry stands on its own as a wonderful hymn, and even more, it enshrines Jesus as partaking in the Godhead to an extent not seen before in our study. As such, it is a shift from the previous gospels and provides evidence of a growing consensus that would eventually be accepted as

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orthodoxy. It is a rich supply for the names of Jesus. One can almost hear the leaders and followers chanting this pre-creedal song of praise.

Logos “In the beginning there was the divine word and wisdom.” (SV John 1:1) An initial impression: names will be both celebrated and contested in this gospel. The usual translation for the Greek Logos is “Word,” but the SV John translators have chosen two English terms, “word” and “wisdom,” to account for the complexity of the Greek term. It turns out that Logos is a “new” name for Jesus. The author does not tell us this, but as before, the gospel is likely written for Christian converts, Gentiles or sympathetic Jews who would be receptive to fresh insights. We are still in the era of explosive, explorative expression. But for the modern reader, the newness tends to confuse. What does the name Logos signify? The author’s lack of prompt description may also build the readers’ expectations: surely there will be a clarification in the ensuing text. But John is not an explainer, and our expectation is bound to remain frustrated. The mental and cultural associations of the term need to be described if we are to understand how radical the author’s views really are. The term Logos draws initially on the ancient Greek, Stoic notions of God and their relation to the material world 1:1 the divine word and wisdom. This double phrase attempts to express the complex and difficult Greek term Logos, whose various meanings include concept, pattern, reason, speech, and revelation. (SV John 200) Concerning the nature of God, two strands can be culled from these options: first, the conception of a world structured by Tonos—God, who in turn, is thought of as the rational principle which gives the chaos a structure. This notion of God has its roots in the philosopher Heraclitus, and, later, is expressed in detail by the Roman Epictetus. They eventually called themselves Stoics.1 Alongside the Hellenistic Tonos was the conception of Logos, borrowed by the author. Logos was the expression of an otherwise remote God, the principle of reason fashioned for the language of humans: Divine Reason made available. These characteristics do some justice to the ideas brought to the concept of Logos. But there is more.   1

Aside from Verses 6-8 and vs. 15, the poem is intact. The three verses about John the Baptist are attributed to the Signs Gospel.

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From Hebrew sources, Logos is seen as the wisdom of God. More than a messenger, more than an envoy, the embodiment of God’s power, Logos is the link between God and His world. Instead of being a principle, Logos was conceived as the vital connection between a frequently rebellious people and a willful, sometimes arbitrary deity. Logos draws on and expresses God’s energy. We shall return to this idea later in the poem. In these beginning verses, without definitive explanations, the Hebrew sources are muted. We must wait until the fourteenth verse for a surprising disclosure. The Stoic2 roots in the portrayal of the Logos end up being of lesser influence once the poem is read to its end, but it begins with the weight on the impersonal nature of the Logos. The most obvious giveaway for this is that John’s Word is referred to as an “IT.” It is curious that the first thirteen verses use the Logos with an impersonal pronoun: “it.” This writer cannot decide whether it is a theologically motivated strategic measure or simply a literary technique to build expectation. “It” is a term that comes from the Hellenist side of the poem, for most Jews put God on the most personal and intimate terms with His people. The God of this introduction is the impersonal God of the Greekspeaking believer who, steeped in the teachings of the day, could accept an impersonal conception of God and the Logos. The claim that Logos lighted the world and that it “came to its own place,” leaves the impression that we are not talking about a man. The poem leads the reader in the same direction with the words, “to those who believed in it, it gave the right to become children of God.” (SV John 1:12)

The introduction to faith is cast as if one were handed a document or a key to enter a different world; surely this comes from the Stoic side of John’s sources. In these first verses the convert is indirectly yet subtly introduced not only to a Stoic idea of harmonia, God as divine rationality; he is also prompted to behold their ethics. Those few who did comprehend were of a special breed: They were not born from sexual union, Not from physical desire, And not from male willfulness They were born of God. (SV John 1:13)   2

The word Stoic comes from the Greek word Stoa, meaning, porch—where the philosophy was first taught.

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Although far from complete, this is a hint of the discipline a Stoic embraced as access to the path to God. The Stoic quest is centered on the believer’s divorce, separation and resignation from diversions along the path. In the extreme, the venture was a retirement from the world. God was hidden to desire and worldly ambition, but was discovered in the quiet soul, who with discipline could transcend all physical and/or mental temptations. The realization of that state was a difficult one, a life of selfdenial and sensual control. But the goal was a kind of sober bliss, a taste of the organizing principle of the universe. To share in harmonia one need consider what in life is truly meaningful, separating himself from that which he could not control, liberating himself from dependency on worldly things. We cannot control much about our surroundings, surprises, defeats, sicknesses, or health; they remain outside our power to dictate. We can control, however, our reaction to them. That is within our capacity. To resign from frantic caring—the obsession to control outward events—and recover our compass, so that, internally, we cannot be swayed: this was the Stoic’s faith. This orientation, for some reason not made entirely clear in the poem itself, appealed to the Greek-speaking Jewish converts to Christ. John sets a new tone, a new approach to the complex tangle of influences coming out of Hellenistic and Hebrew experience. He will address the cosmopolitan, educated inquirers, overwhelmingly gentile, with the cosmic Christ. Jesus has come the distance in being elevated to that status. Perhaps we have made too much of the contrasts and differences between Jew and Gentile. Indeed, there had been disputes in the not-sodistant past, but by the time of John’s writing, the two religious and social cultures, Hebrew and Hellenist, had rubbed elbows extensively. Jews were often literate in the Greek language, and after many years of occupation, participants began to adopt not only the language but the thought patterns of their Roman occupiers. By the time (and in the locale) of this author, some incompatibility had moderated. John has unwittingly sown the seeds in this Prologue for a tremendous shift towards appreciating and embracing Greek conceptions of the Godhead while adhering to his Jewish heritage. It was a love-hate relationship between the author and his Hebrew past, but nothing as stormy as Paul’s. John expresses his prejudicial attitudes by laying blame on “the Jews,” not bothering to specify which authorities or personages. Despite the evidence that John had very few kind words for the Jews, the material in this prologue puts a Jewish stamp on its declaration, “the Word and Wisdom became human.”

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To anticipate, his bias against the Jews will play its part as his story unfolds, and we should expect the theme to be harsh and unforgiving in tone. There is a boldness about his writing that is compelling, but also perilously close to anti-Semitism. He doesn’t seem to know or care what preceded him in other apologies or who his listeners are. He stands alone in blanketing the blame on the whole Jewish population for the death of Jesus. Such bias cannot stand the light of critical research. Perhaps this entire gospel is better understood as a shift towards Hellenistic thinking, because the author and the communities which followed him accepted many of its teachings while at the same time bringing Jewish converts to Christianity. Especially the Hellenist conception of a Godhead, one that enshrined reason and the disclosure of divine truths, was a way of gaining contact with IT, but it was hardly mainline Hebrew theology, which regarded God as a passionate father figure. John’s first thirteen verses look like they came straight from Stoic thought. Provocatively, it was seen as a recipe for a new form of Christian theology. We can make an effort to describe its acceptance, but an explanation of its integration into the growing mainstream remains mysterious at best. Stoic themes in the opening and the thirteen verses which follow, while cast in the form of a Hebrew poem, are nevertheless fairly obvious. Logos is God. We read in the first verse that the Logos principle was there in the beginnings of creation; it was the creative cause, the agent for everything, the life principle, the only light that could pierce (and organize) an otherwise dark void. As per plan, the world did not comprehend its power, and was disdainful of its presence. But for those few (the Christian practitioners) who did recognize it, “IT” was the power of God. The author is ready to spring his good news upon the reader. The author’s news about the Logos conception leaves the Stoic view behind and announces, in stark contrast, a distinctly Hebrew idea. Notice the brevity of his assertion. “The divine word and wisdom became human and made itself at home among us.” (SV John 1:14) I prefer the RSV John here for its sense of high impact: And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, Full of grace and truth; (RSV John 1:14)

The message is that the Life force with all its lofty connotations was, in reality, the man Jesus, who everybody knew was executed as a criminal. Could a man be at once the rational principle guiding the entire world, a messenger who possessed divine powers, and a convicted criminal? The Word became flesh—astounding words for a young group of followers. He

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drives home his poem with the stark contrast between Jewish and early Christian views: Law was given through Moses; Mercy and truth came through Jesus the Anointed. No one has ever seen God; The only son, an intimate of the Father—he has disclosed (him). (SV John 1:17)

The whole cause of Jesus’ coming, passion, death and resurrection is portrayed as being in the mind of God from the inception of the world. This is a Cosmic Deity, not a tribal leader. Logos was not to be confused with a nation, or the leader of one; he was a God in charge of everything. It is not possible to cite the exact source for this idea, but the general environment is the Hellenistic world of thought. Hebrew philosophy was being nudged into the world of universal powers for the godhead. Here, we also meet the firm conviction that Jesus is the only son of God, and by appointment, intimate with the Godhead. That Jesus is the Logos—associated with the primal principle of the universe— is somehow certified by saying he is the only son of God. This goes a huge step beyond preceding gospels. Although completing a shared task, announcing the true identity of Jesus, he has commenced with so assertive an apology as to support, for example, the view that the three preceding gospel accounts are more balanced. This Prologue set a new tone for a different theological appraisal of Jesus’ identity. For those who believe that Jesus shared completely in the Godhead from the beginning, that he came to earth and returned to heaven as God’s sole ambassador, the prologue gives unqualified support. We have seen a similar turn in Paul’s thought, but he argued his case without providing the philosophical structure evident here. John’s pursuit of this view could not be more significant. It is a position which would impress the newcomers and shock the elders, especially those who appreciated other views as laid out in earlier accounts. We imagine readers reacting as one would in uncharted territory. Scholars still differ on the precise nature of the background, but there is agreement on the Hellenistic environment. Its curious mix of theological influences will set the tone for the remainder of John’s unique look at Jesus. Strict Jews would find his dramatic announcement abrasive because of the mixture of divine and human attributes contained in the Logos conception. Hebrew (Sadducee) mentality shuddered at any hint of the Messiah being divine. Jews regularly cite this portion of John as the wedge

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which divides Christians and Jews. There is little doubt that one would have a difficult time adhering to Hebrew orthodoxy and embracing the notion that a man could share in the ineffable being of God. The very idea that Jesus was God’s equal would have been an example of idolatry. Gentiles would also, for very different reasons, find the divine/human fusion frustrating. Hellenistically informed Gentiles generally eschewed any suggestion that God could be human. In official Greek religion the rubric was that Gods, by definition, were immortal, whereas humans, by the same rubric, were mortal. Would that division of roles doom the prologue to obscurity? We already know the answer: No. The following portion is attributed to the Signs Gospel (SV John 1:1949) and is the first direct address on the topic of Jesus’ identity. Before it brings the reader to the miracle proof texts, however, it compares the roles of John the Baptist in relation to Jesus. The priests have the first say: “Who are you?” and John the Baptist answers, “I’m not the Anointed.” “…Then what are you? Are you Elijah?” “…I am not.” “Are you the Prophet?” “…No.” (SV John 1:19-20) John’s singular role is to announce the Lord’s coming: “Make the way of the Lord straight…” “…Right there with you is someone you don’t yet recognize; he’s the one who is to be my successor.” (SV John 1: 26) John then announces Jesus with a new, and on the face of it, strange name. “Look, the lamb of God who does away with the sins of the world.” (1:29) This is a label laden with special theological and devotional meanings. Think about it apart from its now familiar context in worship and doctrine—as if it were a discovery by the author and his community of believers. This innocent one, likened to a lamb being led to its slaughter, is the logos made flesh and blood, but he is also a helpless, even pathetic figure, who nevertheless bears the sins of the many and is the intercessor for transgressors (See Isaiah 53:4-14). His willingness to die is remembered as the ransom which balanced God’s books, as would a ceremonial slaughter. This label is the tip of a theological iceberg which dominated much of Western thought. Certainly, there is a well established memory of the Passover meal and the Last Supper embedded in the text. But there is much more. The image of the lamb which atoned for sins is also lodged in the emerging liturgy as the song which prepared the communicant to sup the life of the risen one. By ingesting the symbolically charged bread/body, wine/blood of Christ, the believer’s sins were forgiven. The Lamb of God was a powerful image in this transaction as the atoning, ransom figure and would assume great prominence when the churches mounted an apologetic.

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Here the import is clear: the Lamb of God is identified as Jesus, who pays with his life and rescues the sinner. Alongside these early associations, the sacrificed lamb of God was also accepted in early art as a sign of Jesus’ presence, drawing from the song in Isaiah and the Passover drama in Exodus and inserting it in every nook and cranny of devotional worship. Alongside of the Logos, it was indeed John’s master stroke. The scene is John’s opener to Jesus’ baptism, first recorded in Mark. Here, the role of the Baptist is clarified in detail, so that no confusion about John remains. He is the master of ceremonies and his role has become self-deprecating and convincing: “When you see the spirit come down and hover over someone, that’s the one who baptizes with holy spirit. I have seen this and I have certified: This is God’s son.” (SV John 1:34) John’s version of the Markan story has less narrative and more theology. Mark offers a minimum of teaching and focuses on the simple words of the divine. The contrast could not be more obvious: by John’s era, the “gospel” has become a web of claims and declarations, a teaching instrument based loosely on historical memory, which is replaced by strong theological loyalties. Familiar storylines have been trumped by imagery and apologetic speech-making. This Gospel will be a sermon, heavy with messages and names. The Lamb of God theme, though cast with a corps of adults, is ambiguous, the helplessness of the protagonist captured in the image of a vulnerable animal. There is nothing a lamb can do about his captors; he is neither fast enough nor clever enough to avoid dying at the hands of his enemies. The lamb is the perfect picture of innocence—snuffed out. It has the taste of inevitability about it, and the background is that God approves of such sacrifice. Shades of Paul! Still, the image of innocence is one of comfort and gentleness; it has no violence about it until, of course, the slaughter. And Christians believed their savior was blameless before God, in other words a worthy sacrifice. Here, at the baptism, there was the heady sense that a pure Logos was receiving his commission, a time for celebration. The violence of the cross was a future away. As the disciples are gathered, they become the author’s voices, announcing the true names of Jesus. This portion of the (Signs) Gospel is awash in titles, diverse and scattered about in no particularly planned way. Everyone takes a stab at the proper name, for example, John the Baptist: “Look, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. This is the one I was talking about when I said, ‘Someone is coming after me who is actually my superior because he was there before me...’” (1:29ff). Or the two new disciples “…Rabbi (which means Teacher)” (1:38…). “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated as Anointed) (1:41) “We’ve found

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the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and the prophets mention too: Jesus, Joseph’s son, from Nazareth.” (1:45) Nathaniel responded to him, “Rabbi, you are God’s son! You are King of Israel.” (1:49) Jesus then adds his own reinforcement to the words of others: “As God is my witness before you all: You’ll see the sky split open and God’s messengers traveling to and from the son of Adam.” (SV John 1:51) This last, familiar title, added to all the others, is saved for Jesus’ own voice: the exalted son of Adam.3 All this to portray Jesus at the outset of his ministry; for introductions John leaves nothing more to say. This concentration of titles gives clues to the rest of the gospel. He is a confidant apologist. More precisely, Jesus’ introduction is complete, as in “complete titles.” Every important term has been given him; the reader is told who has offered the necessary sacrifice and become the Victor. Now, as if more were needed to certify Jesus’ place in the heavenly drama, the Savior will demonstrate his credentials by performing miracles. Each miracle is concluded with a phrase to the effect that the event influenced acceptance of Jesus, or belief in his name.4 Truly, the miracles are signs of the authority of Jesus, but they will jar the more reluctant reader who believes faith is acceptance without such certifying or validating arguments. The bulk of these proof texts is thought by the translators to be the core of the Signs Gospel. In contrast to Mark again, the image is one of lasting victory—the lamb has endured violent death and taken his seat beside God, with messengers traveling to and from the heavenly throne. Miracles could be the capstone to a completed ministry; secondarily, they serve as a necessary component for the Signs Gospel “proof” of Jesus’ credibility.

Miracles The first event is the changing of water into wine. In a curious exchange, Mary tells her son that they have run out. He turns to her and says, “Woman, what is it with you and me? It’s not my time yet.” (SV John 2:4) The remark seems totally out of context and we can only  

3 The list of names in three brief scenes is impressive: Lamb of God (1:29), Jesus, Joseph’s son (1:45), God’s son (1:34) Rabbi, God’s son (1:49), —the next day King of Israel (1:49), Lamb of God (1:36) son of Adam (1:51), Rabbi (1:38), Teacher (1:38), Messiah which is translated Anointed (1:41) 4 “…in his name” is a literal translation of the Greek. It shows that the author is conscious of the impact of a name. The translators add that the idiom may also be a way of saying the inquirers became believers. (See Miller 1994 204)

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speculate that it is a teaching related to Jesus’ own authority. Is Mary questioning his powers, or being too nosy? Or is Jesus reacting to some other remark that showed Mary’s lack of understanding of his mission and God’s design? Perhaps it reflects on Mary’s mothering of Jesus. Whatever the meaning of this rebuff, it doesn’t enhance the authority of the protagonist, nor does it add to the miraculous quality of the event. The story proceeds without further elaboration of the exchange. John concludes by saying the turning of water into fine wine “…displayed his majesty. And his disciples believed in him.” (SV John 2:11) In the gospel we have today, the next proof of Jesus’ credentials takes place in Jerusalem. Instead of observing the synoptic schedule, John places Jesus in the city a number of times; this time it was near Passover. Jesus throws out the moneychangers and all who provoke him, brandishing a whip—the whole scene had evidently enraged him. Especially the business aspect of the temple square drew his fire: “How dare you use my Father’s house as a public market?” (SV John 2:16) Only the Judeans objected to the actions: “What miracle can you show us (to justify) doing all this?” “Destroy this temple and I’ll resurrect it in three days.” (SV John 2:19) The Judeans press him further and we learn next that the temple Jesus refers to is really his own body and not the stone structure at all; it will be the raised body. Those who followed him would recall this meaning, and because it had in John’s mind come true, inquirers and disciples would also come to believe in his name. It is an awkward moment for the Gospel writer. His intention seems to be to make this a teaching moment: “…his disciples remembered that he had made this remark and so they came to believe both the written word and the word Jesus had spoken.” (SV John 2:22) Unlike Matthew, however, there is no Torah reference, so we are not sure what the disciples believed, but the general thrust is that they accepted the resurrection as an established fact. In light of the crucifixion and resurrection, the quotation, “Destroy this temple…” is supposed to make sense. This double entendre is supposed to become clear when the author admits he is writing long after the supposed incident yet trying to capture the “present moment.” The little exchange ends with the formula, “many believed once they saw with their own eyes the miracles he performed.” (SV John 2:23) Whether he has drawn from the Signs Gospel source or from the Synoptics, the author obviously favors the notion that miracles convince, even if the metaphor is confusing or mixed. In the third chapter’s conversation with Nicodemus, Jesus offers an explanation for the apparent lack of acceptance of Jesus’ messianic role, and gives a short dissertation on “evidence.”

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“As God is my witness: We tell what we know, and we give evidence about what we’ve seen, but none of you accepts our evidence. If I tell you about what’s mundane and you don’t believe, how will you believe if I tell about what’s heavenly? No one has gone up to heaven except the one who came down from there—the son of Adam.” (SV John 3:11)

In no small way, this declaration differs from the position taken in the miracle stories. In the first two miracles, many came to believe because of the miracle, but in this paragraph Jesus says they won’t understand because they don’t accept evidence, either mundane or heavenly. This is a fine example of the writer’s sophistication. To distinguish empirical data—things perceived with the five senses—from the heavenly sphere requires some knowledge and skill in Greek philosophy. Admittedly, it is a familiar distinction in our time, but that may not have been so for the author of John. As observed before, in official Greek religion, there was a common assumption that mortality and immortality were not to be confused. In cosmology, the Stoic heavens were the dwelling place of the gods. Their normal connection to the earth was through the logoi; otherwise humans and the gods were forever separate. In any case, the above reference is somewhat provocative coming from Jesus. The image conveyed is of a sage philosopher rather than a Galilean itinerant. The image of Jesus has undergone a quantum change from earlier portraits. His characterization here turns on the prologue picture: he has been with God from the beginning, and has “come down here” to display his being and God’s design for humankind. In this context, just what is the role of miracles? The only clear message is that Jesus uniquely understands his message, while ignorance pervades his audience. Nicodemus asserts that Jesus must come from God, because no one could perform such miracles without God’s active presence “…many believed in him once they saw with their own eyes the miracles he performed.” For the crowds, miracle is the “language” of divine power and status, much as myth is the primary language of faith today. Such an association applies only to Jesus’ audience, however. “But Jesus didn’t trust himself to them, because he understood them all too well. He didn’t need to know more about humanity; he knew what people were really like.” (SV John 2:24) The hint is, ordinary folks had to have mundanely comprehensible expressions of divine power. Only then would they accept the person as “God is with him.” An additional hint is that Jesus realizes they are fickle—their passions and preferences change with the wind. Could it be that this is a commentary on the phenomenon of popularity itself, implying that as the winds change so does the commitment of the follower? A faith based on

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miracles is indeed vulnerable, but the author writes about them with abandon. The criterion for Jesus’ own self-understanding is never defined, but we can assume that it did not rest on his performance of miracles. He is quoted as dividing the chosen messianic figure from the ordinary initiate by saying, “No one has gone up to heaven except the one who came down from there—the son of Adam.” (SV John 3:13) Miracles are relevant for the untutored and credulous crowd; that is the limit of their power. Of greater importance is the claim of Jesus to be the sole choice of God. Only he can fit the role of messiah because his credentials are written from the beginnings of the universe. Nicodemus could not understand this—Jesus did. The next segment seems to be in the voice of the author and may be an attempt at an early creed or loyalty oath. This is my speculation, as the passage is so familiar as a definitive statement of Christian belief. This is how God loved the world: God gave up an only son, so that everyone who believes in him will not be lost but have real life. After all, God sent his son into the world not to condemn the world but to rescue the world through him. Those who believe in him {or in his name} are not condemned. Those who don’t believe in him are already condemned. They haven’t believed in God’s only son. (SV John 3:16-18)

And then, in a most uncharacteristic way, the gospel writer uses the “Light” metaphor to say, rather judgmentally, that the crowds—probably the Judeans—rejected the Light, and must face the consequences. “Their actions were evil, weren’t they?” Put the paragraph together and what we may have is a formula for describing the core belief of the Johannine effort. To believe is to accept the heaven-sent name, God’s only son, whereas to dissent is to question the name of Jesus and face the consequences. There is a sense, here, of pulling away from the declaratory form of confession to take a stand for the exclusive nature of the message. Gone is the somewhat carefree exaltation of Luke or the secret-keeping of Mark. In their place is a poetic sternness, a turn to reliance upon right thinking. John not only draws the parameters of the faith, he comes down hard on all those who may be contemplating a commitment: they either conform to the exclusive role Jesus commands or they die eternally. Right teaching is being formulated ad hoc by the writer; we are a hair’s breadth away from the consensus we have anticipated above.

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The one who comes from above is superior to everyone… Whoever does accept his testimony can guarantee that God is truthful. In other words, the one God sent speaks God’s language…The Father loves the son and has entrusted everything to him. Those who entrust themselves to the son have real life, but those who refuse the son will not see life; no, they remain the object of God’s wrath. (SV John 3:31ff.)

This snippet we have quoted contains some of the familiar verbiage used in Q, Matthew, and Luke, but the context is different. Diversity is no longer thought of as a mosaic of commonly shared perspectives. Rather, it has become restricted to a specific doctrinal message, and outside those parameters, diversity becomes a minor threat to the core belief. Right teaching functions now, I suspect, more as a guide that sets the communities apart than as a factor which unites them. The consequences of wrong belief are laid out in stark terms: those who don’t see Jesus as the Logos, the only chosen one of God from the very genesis of the creation, are dead for eternity. Opponents, who are now generalized as a whole culture, are identified as Judeans and unbelieving Gentiles. The religious bigots of the high counsel or the callous Roman occupiers are never singled out for the writer’s criticism. They are just Jews or Gentiles. There is a small irony here that may or may not be substantive. In the restrictive mentality of the above verses, the reader might easily conclude that this is a Hebrew-informed tightening of what is regarded as correct teaching. Yet the larger context is that of the pre-existent Christ, the one who is entrusted from the beginning with Godly authority, the Logos of God, the cosmic Christ. As we have said above, such conceptions derive from the Hellenistic side of early Christianity. SV John 3:31ff is a strong dose of doctrinal hairsplitting that continues the tone of Hellenistic theology and is very critical of the Jews, yet calls itself right teaching. If we are right about the Jewish heritage of the author and audience, we are witnessing here the tightening of early second-century thought around a Hellenistically derived idea. They have embraced a “foreign” concept as the banner of Christian orthodoxy. The next narrative illustrates the same direction the author is recommending—to call Jesus by the correct name. The woman at the well suggests that Jesus doesn’t have anything to obtain a drink with, and calls him by the name “Mister,” a complimentary address, but hardly reverential. Jesus sees into her past, informs her of it, and she then calls him “a prophet,” a name that implies great respect but not complete allegiance. The teaching opportunity escalates when she says she is waiting for the messiah, and he responds, “You’ve been talking to the Anointed all along.” The correct title has finally been discovered. The author’s objective of

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displaying Jesus’ correct name and divine role is confirmed in the last words of the scene, “I am he.” (SV John 4:26ff.) It is a brief but vital lesson in theological precision, in that the name “I am,” in its everyday meaning is, for example, “I am the one you are searching for.” Such is quite common. But this author also uses a radically new, additional connotation: the revered name for God—“I AM”. (RSV John Ex. 3:14-15) Translators label the utterance one of “divine resonance.” The name “messiah,” spoken by itself, may not have captured the cosmic powers John wanted to emphasize, so he added the divine name “I am” to give the lesson greater impact and the messiah greater status. The messiah title came from the Jewish side of the new faith and was a much-used name given the history of Jewish expectations, but the author does not stop there. He combines the Jewish title with a Hellenistic philosophical assertion. The “I am” name for God suggests an intellectual leap to embrace Jesus’ divine powers. The leap I am referring to was the author’s ability to disregard cultural consistency to describe Jesus. It was a remarkable feat in light of the other gospel writers’ refusal to use the name of God when referring to the man Jesus. If we read the Hebrew and Hellenistic titles together, “messiah” and “I AM,” the oddity becomes apparent. Jesus, the Anointed, has been given the status denied him in every other canonical piece. John’s apparent teaching: the anointed one is God. It is the ultimate compliment any man could receive. It defies conventionality and lauds the god/man without compromise. John’s use of names has taken Jesus out of the ordinary, earthly domain and given him divine status. And, as history shows, his laudatory language not only buttressed Christianity, it further alienated the Jews who were Jesus’ main audience. The narrative ends with the woman telling the townfolk that Jesus is the prophet because he has told everything of her history without previous knowledge. They respond that they need no longer accept her witness but believe in Jesus first hand because of his convincing teaching: “Now we’ve listened to him ourselves and we realize that he really is the savior of the world.” (SV John 4:42) Another first for John; Jesus is the “savior of the world.” (SV John 4:42). The options opened by the Savior title are legion, but the meaning could be related to the teaching of Jesus himself: “…many believed because of what he said.” (SV John 4:41) As with earlier accounts, there is no reference to the act of crucifixion as taking the weight of sin off ordinary men (or women). And there is likewise no mention of Paul’s ransom theology. Jesus here is not the ransom of God or God’s willing sacrifice; no formula is required here as one might expect. The title points

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to a theological perspective, but no elaboration is offered. He is simply the savior. As is the case in the earlier gospels, the absence of specific theological formulae makes it more likely that the title “savior” echoes early perceptions. The Scholars Version cites the next portion, 4:46-5:9, as belonging to the Signs Gospel. The text refers to it as the second miracle. (4:54) Indeed, this healing is much like the miracle story of the change of water into wine. Jesus is regarded as the messiah because of his unusual powers. The story’s topical focus is that an official whose son was sick requested Jesus’ healing powers. When Jesus responded, the official gave due credit even though he had not witnessed the healing event. In other words, he was a believer in spite of having no evidence of the miraculous outcome; he had faith. The lesson is simple: those who accept Jesus as the Anointed should assume that he was capable of the miraculous, no questions asked. Faith is the absence of doubt. It is a recurring theme in these stories. A second event: Jesus meets an unlikely candidate for healing, a man who had been crippled for thirty-eight years. He was asked by Jesus if he desired healing. With excuses, the man showed both hesitation and interest. Jesus challenges him, “Get up, pick up your mat and walk.” And he does. Once again, Jesus has given evidence of his superior powers. Another miracle has been added to the record. John, the editor, adds a coda to this brief encounter; i.e., he writes of the growing opposition of the Judeans. His purpose is to highlight the petty behavior of the Jews. After a warning by Jesus to the healed one, the man tells the Judeans that Jesus healed him, and they realized it was the Sabbath. In their eyes, that fact made the healing clandestine. “This is the reason the Judeans tried even harder to kill him: Not only did he violate the Sabbath day; worse still, he would call God his Father and make himself out to be God’s equal.” (SV John 5:18) Miraculous powers aside, the real offense, as far as John was concerned, was the fact that Jews rejected Jesus because he claimed equality with God. Not a title, but perhaps more important, equality with God proclaimed by any man constituted a grave heresy for right-thinking Jews. In their minds, it was probably classed as idolatry, a grievous sin. Remembering that John is the crafter of the doctrine that tries to explain the close tie between Jesus and the Creator/Sustainer, the Jews’ rejection is bound to appear inevitable. Looking back, it seems that such a conflict could never be resolved. Given a split between perceptions of Jesus, the man who breaks the law at will, and Jesus the man who claims to be the Logos who shapes new principles for living, rejection was no surprise. This was not the only schism of the times, yet the consequences of this

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disagreement (and others like it) charted separate paths for followers of Jesus and observant Jews. Ultimately, it meant the formation of two religions rather than the uneasy coexistence of two strands in Judaism. John the editor seems to know this, and goes to great lengths to explain the split. With equality between Jesus and the Father as the theme, John builds a list: “…the son can’t do anything on his own…Whatever (the Father) does, the son does as well.” (SV John 5:19) Just as the Father raises the dead and gives them life, the son also gives life to everyone he wants. (SV John 5:21) Not that the Father condemns anyone; rather he has turned all decisions over to the son. (SV John 5: 22) …so that everyone will honor the son, just as they honor the Father. Whoever does not honor the son does not honor the Father who sent him. (SV John 5:23) Just as the Father is himself the source of life, he has also made the son to be the source of life. (SV John 5:26) And he has given him the authority to do the judging, because he is the son of Adam. (SV John 5:27)

Such a list shows the building-block thoughts of the author and the growing importance of Jesus’ office. To state his thrust in one sentence: the Father and the son are equal in every respect as far as divine power and status are concerned, with the proviso that the ultimate source of this equality is the Father. The nuance that the Father bestows such authority on Jesus can easily be lost; the primary “fact” that the bestowal of powers issues from the Father will surely be muted by the other “fact,” i.e., the unambiguous declaration of the divine status of Jesus expressed in the list. John’s not-so-secret message is that the Father and the son are coequals. It is a new approach to communicating the role of the messiah, an attempt to couch him in a cosmic context, putting him not below, but worthy of the same recognition as the Father. This apologetic is lengthy and somewhat repetitious; the title “God’s son” is used in conjunction with the end-time, an unconventional association and another first in this gospel. (SV John 5:24-25) The job of judging at the heavenly tribunal goes to the risen Jesus, “because he is the son of Adam.” (SV John 5:27) This is the recognized function of the figure in Daniel and the first time that a gospel writer has articulated the meaning of “son of Adam.” Titles, it seems, are being used as pegs to fill the

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expected holes. Little more is said about the larger context and nothing is presented to make the terms understandable. That will come later in John’s plan. And we should not forget that the story of Jesus’ passion and death is an explanation in itself. Presumably, the audience is so familiar with the titles, so accustomed to their liturgical repetition, that there is little pressing need to “apologize” or explain their function. The apology, however, is strong in other respects. Its repetitive character drives home the above message in the voice of Jesus, and that voice gives it its legitimacy. When he says, “If I give evidence on my own behalf, my testimony is not reliable” (SV John 5:31), it has the ring of sincerity and modesty. If evidence is a concern for the inquirer, another’s testimony is nevertheless reliable and God “has himself also given evidence on my behalf.” (SV John 5:36). Jesus the healer is willing to enter the discussion about his status and become his own apologist, claiming to speak the mind of God. In a tirade against the Judeans, he presents himself as having authentic credentials; most relate his name and God’s. Jesus’ words are most persuasive when they focus on his relation with the Father. Those claims go beyond the editorial “we” and identify Jesus’ voice with the voice of God: “I’ve come in my Father’s name…” (SV John 5:43) Moses is not left out as a witness to Jesus’ authority: “But if you really believed Moses, you’d believe me; after all, I’m the one he wrote about.” (SV John 5:46) All the recognized witnesses contribute to the picture John is painting. Whereas it may seem to the contemporary reader a haughty display of advertising oneself, it was John’s favorite style—to put into the mouth of the messiah the underpinnings of acceptance. Jesus names himself; his names are many, but they all can be subsumed under the title “only son of the Father.” So we read the news that Jesus is both subordinate and a coequal—it is not easy to parse the titles neatly. One approach is to say that the Father bestows divine powers on his son in order to make him coequal. “Signs” emerge once more to provide evidence of the messiah’s powers. This time it is the miracle of feeding a crowd of thousands with two fish and five loaves of barley bread. There was even food left over! “When these folks saw the miracle he had performed they would say, ‘Yes indeed! This is undoubtedly the Prophet who is to come into the world.’” (SV John 6:14) The Sign’s author gives hints for the critical reader to interpret its significance. The event is placed near the Passover celebration, which is associated with the Last Supper. Jesus blesses the loaves and passes them around; it is a sure sign of a liturgical association, the communal memory of Jesus’ identification with the eating of bread. The less than obvious consideration is that the celebration of the last supper has

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also, for John, animated and enlivened the sense of miracle experienced in the feeding of five thousand. To reflect on events this way was legitimate writing, a sacred history, and we shall see much more of it. Jesus realizes that the crowd will make him “king,” crucifying him on the tree bearing the plaque with that title. He repairs himself to the mountain. The next vignette has him going down to the water and seen walking on its surface in the midst of a violent storm. The crowds asked him how he made it to the far side of the lake. Little else is said about the meaning of this miracle—it ends without any interpretation or climax. The meaning of these miraculous acts? John, the author/editor, has Jesus engage in a long dialogue—it really reads more like a soliloquy, centered on the implications of the feeding. Jesus passed out bread; it is “food for real life—which the son of Adam will give you to believe in the one God has sent.” (SV John 6:27ff) This role is entirely new in the young tradition. “Judging at the end-time,” in Hebrew theology, was the accepted role for the son of Adam, but here the son is the one who distributes the bread of life. (SV John 6:27) And to further jolt the reader concerning this role, he says…”I am the bread of life.” SV John (6:35, 48) “…Understand, I have come down from heaven not to do what I want, but to do what the one who sent me wants.” (SV John 6:38) Jesus is no longer just the messenger; he is now the message itself. Images multiply with his role in the cosmic drama: “I am the lifegiving bread that came down from heaven. Anyone who eats this bread will live forever.” Another reference to the gift of manna that the Judeans held dear, only this manna comes as the Logos came, directly from God, and confers eternal life on the willing receiver. In one of the most amazing passages in the entire New Testament, John has Jesus apply the bread image to his own body: “And the bread that I will give for the world’s life is my mortal flesh.” (SV John 6:51) It is an outrageous comment. As if the “explanation” of identifying himself as the bread of life needed further elaboration, he takes such talk and Christology to a new level. “I swear to God, if you don’t eat the flesh of the son of Adam’s mortal flesh and drink his blood, you don’t possess life. Everyone who feeds on my mortal flesh and drinks my blood possesses real life, and I will resurrect them on the last day. For my mortal flesh is real food and my blood real drink. Those who feed on my mortal flesh and drink my blood are part of me, and I am part of them.” (SV John 6:53-56)

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The crowds listening made the critical mistake of taking the images literally, and I confess that the temptation to do so is great. Jesus is remembered in this piece of instruction as being clear and emphatic. It is powerful talk. The thought that early believers actually indulged in the act of eating the flesh and drinking the blood of the leader, however, seems beyond plausibility. The gospel writer repeats the flesh and blood command/mantra as if the association is altogether rational. My inclination is to complain. In the words of the disciples, “This teaching is offensive. Who can take it seriously?” (SV John 6:60) No amount of miraculous behavior seems to prepare even the most the faithful adherent for this view. How are we to interpret the allusion to cannibalistic images; can they be taken seriously, and if so, in what context? The words “mortal flesh” are hammered home from the mouth of Jesus a total of nine times. Such repetition takes place in the space of six verses, i.e., SV John 6:51-56. It is a remarkable example of the author’s conviction and doctrinal perspective. The narrow context is, I suggest, that these striking words are meant to convey the life-giving power of the Eucharist and its sign of the imminent coming of the new age, when believers will live in direct relation with God—and have everlasting life. The references to flesh and blood are not intended as literal things. They are, rather, heavily endowed symbols of the Eucharistic feast, a meal meant to take place in the heavenly theatre. This gospel writer is a master manipulator of symbol and metaphor. The broader teaching objective is that John is convinced that the faithful can have direct contact, now, with the son of Adam, Jesus— through the Eucharistic miracle. In a very real sense, the new age has begun; the mystical connection between believer and Jesus is already established and anticipates the world to come. The Eucharist is taught as being the feast for the “meanwhile;” it is as close as a person can come to dwelling “with God” before the end day. Taking this approach exacts a price—the giving up of literal language in this and other Johannine passages. From this position the mystical dimensions are also more evident. “Those who feed on my mortal flesh and drink my blood are part of me, and I am part of them.” The allusion to becoming part of Jesus and he a part of the receiver simply cannot be taken literally, but can be deciphered as a mystical symbol of the connection between believer and Risen Lord. That connection is one that cannot be comprehended in physical terms but is nevertheless real for the communicant—not as symbol, but as personally true. The believer becomes saturated with the presence and energies of the Master. And the Master is risen. This other dimension is the most difficult to understand.

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It is appropriate to reiterate here the Easter context for these teachings. If we are to see this whole disclosure as taking place in the postresurrection period, it cannot help but color the entire apology, making it an expression of Jesus’ victory over death. Jesus’ “mortal flesh” is his risen body, an image used to describe the absolute connection between the Risen Lord and the faithful receiver. To sup at the Lord’s table is to be as close to God’s exalted son as is possible. The bond between supplicant and the divine is conceived as a specific connection between the One sent by God, namely Jesus, and no other. Perhaps that is another reason for John’s choice of this unusual term, “mortal flesh.” John’s usage has but one objective: to teach a Christcentered doctrinal truth. With such repetition one can only surmise that this is didacticism in unpolished and primitive form. The only title here, other than Jesus’ own name, is the son of Adam, another special association made by the writer. I think of John’s purpose in this passage. It is to reform and replace the ancient image “son of Adam as judge” with the newer banner: the son of Adam as the Logos who came to earth and died upon a cross—whom God raised, and who now offers himself as “mortal flesh.” It is a completely different signal. The son of Adam is transformed from Judge to Savior. It presents itself as a compassionate portrayal of a compassionate person. The communicant is not alone; he is joined with God’s only son in the taking of bread and wine. Not only is this fresh thinking about the person of Jesus, it transforms old associations, pointing the believer towards the message of the postEaster, Eucharistic feast. The believer can have immediate communion with the Logos and his Father, as well as eternal life. What a program! God, with his son, the son of Adam, has become a redeeming figure for all humankind, and is now “available” for the gift of life. The above view leaves fewer questions than others, and directs itself to the recurring theme, that Jesus is the only one chosen for such a role—in the words of Peter, “Lord, is there anyone else we can turn to? You have the words of real life! We have become believers and are certain that you are God’s holy One.” (SV John 6:68). Lest the reader mistake the belief system shaping up, herein is the anticipation of the triumph of “right teaching.” The lines being drawn are those we later call “orthodoxy.” Those who stand within that zone are the faithful and those without are infidels. The theme I am citing is only an anticipation of the churches’ later reliance on doctrinal correctness, but it is unmistakable. The seeds have been planted. Christianity will become for the most part a religion of right thinking and correct belief. Doctrine will define the life of faith.

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Chapter 7 recalls the previous dialogues and adds no new names. Nothing new is offered except the growing rejection of the Judeans and the energetic defense of Jesus. The conversation peaks when Jesus challenges them with their intent to kill him. The crowd responds with disingenuous taunts, “You’re out of your mind! Who’s trying to kill you?” And then they carp about the authorities, wondering if they have given in and accepted Jesus’ claim to be the Anointed. Jesus teaches in an unusual way, he shouts out that the crowd really does know were he comes from, “…I came from Him and He is the one who sent me.” (SV John 7:29) He then outlines the sacred history of birth and resurrection and looks forward to the return to the Father, when he will no longer be an earthly presence. Even though this entire speech is couched in a seemingly earthly history, its truer associations are with the heavenly age to come. One need only ask if this makes more sense as a post-resurrection teaching or something prior to it. The remainder of Chapter 7 is given to the consternation of the listeners. Prophet? Anointed? Their objections are familiar. (See SV John 7:40.) Just as abruptly as the previous conversation began and ended, the text switches images and introduces a new one—the identification of Jesus with light. “Jesus spoke again, saying to them, I am the light of the world.” (SV John 8:11) Little is said to fill out the image, and the chapter reverts to the continuing clash with the Judeans. “I know where I came from and where I’m going.” (SV John 8:14) “I do not render these judgments alone; rather, the Father who sent me joins me in them.” (SV John 8:16) These are repetitions of the arguments cited earlier and again, nothing new is added. The objective seems to be the same as before: direct the reader to right teaching. John steers clear of outright criticism in the ensuing passage. John’s Jesus declines to be the self-appointed judge and arbiter of the problems posed by the Judeans. “There’s a lot I could say about you and judge you for, but the one who sent me is the real authority, so I’ll tell the world what I’ve heard from him.” (SV John 8:26) This may not seem like a polemic, but it borders on one. “When you elevate the son of Adam, then you’ll know that I am (what I say), and that I don’t act of my own.” (SV John 8:28) The opponents falter in their acceptance of Jesus as moral teacher and, most important, as son of Adam. The persistent problem in the author’s mind is that Jesus won’t open a pathway for those who stand by the old law and culture. Strict adherence to the old law prevents them from embracing the new message. Even so, they do not act as the ancient leader taught. “If you (really) are the children

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of Abraham, act as Abraham did.” (SV John 8:39) If left here, the pronouncement may seem like a reversion to earlier teaching, but it is followed by a now typical Johannine preoccupation. “If in fact God were your father, you’d love me, since I’ve come from God and here I am-–not on my own initiative; God sent me.” (SV John 8:42) The author adds to this the newer teaching as a litmus test: the commanding title in Jesus’ rebuke is the term “son of Adam.” When they get that one right, their troubles with Jesus will end. And of course they won’t, and the committed reader knows it full well. The reader is savvy to the transformation of the son of Adam—from the generic heavenly judge to Jesus the chosen son, and in the end it is the reader who must get the full message. I cannot stress too much that the message is that Jesus is the sole embodiment of the Logos, and no one else can inherit that mantle from him. God has made the choice—it is not subject to revision. These allusions to Godhead status are not casual in the least—as if metaphor could hide his calling with poetic gesture. I suggest that they are meant as expressions of the growing acceptance of Jesus’ place in the essence of Godhead. God’s nature is now linked to the person of his son. What the believer thinks of the holy God now bears on what s/he believes about Jesus. “What my father has given me is greatest of all, and no one can wrest it from the Father. What goes for the Father goes for me too.” (SV John 10:29-30) The translators have done a nice job of stating the general meaning of the above verse, but the literal translation of the above last portion is, “I and the Father are one.” Perhaps it is just our familiarity, hence preference for the latter version, but there is no mistaken metaphor or misdirected conception; in either form the author’s message is clear: Jesus is the likeness of God. This view of the opposition has made its way into the heart of John’s gospel. The contest between Jesus and the opposition is boiled down to a single point: any dilution or adjustment of the special place Jesus holds will eventually be seen as an act of heresy. John is providing the churches with the ammunition to ward off the once acceptable condition of deep and enthusiastic diversity we have seen above. The only qualification on this development is that it does not appear to have had the rough, abrasive character that plagued the churches of the fourth century. For John, the new recognition is a blinding light: “So long as I am in the world I am the light of the world.” (SV John 9:5) And John’s message is unique compared to other claims to divinity: they become ever more direct and outrageous to his opponents. Only the converted, usually Gentiles, laud those teachings that lead so intently towards his divine person.

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The metaphors literally pile up. “As God is my witness, I am that gate for the sheep.” (SV John 10:7) “I am the good shepherd.” (SV John 10:11) The Judeans are incensed. The Gospel writer has committed the most severe blunder or offense in religious discourse. The very heart of Judaism is its warning against idolatry. All the other reasons for skepticism about his credentials, such as not keeping the Sabbath are subordinate to the charge of being like God. Jesus, in the eyes of faithful Jews, cannot be from God if he claims to be like God. Any presumption by a human to equate himself with the holy God is, out of hand, grounds for condemnation—in this case, stoning. “We’re not stoning you for some wonderful work, but for blasphemy-–you, a mere human, make yourself out to be God.” (SV John 10:33) So John’s many themes pertaining to Jesus’ divinity, Jesus’ own words of insistence on his oneness with the Father, and the parallel intensification of the Judeans’ outrage incite the plot to rid their country of this idolatrous man. John’s Jesus answers their charge not with capitulation but with rebuke and a quick defense of scriptures’ notion of men being called “Gods.” (See SV John 10:34ff) It was an affront to all that Judaism stood for, and indicates that a serious “heresy” was deeply felt. The above exchange serves as a good example of the function of metaphor in John’s gospel and in the theological arguments which will plague the churches in the future. The Judeans perceive naturally that there is little or no metaphorical intent in Jesus’ comment, “I and the Father are one.” The comment was taken literally, and the Jews, in doing so, had a reason to seek stoning; “You, a mere human, make yourself out to be God.” When Jesus says, on the other hand, that he is the light or the gate or the good shepherd, there is a high degree of metaphor in his teaching. When he says, “I am God’s son” (SV John 10:36), which vein is he following, metaphor or literal truth? We are never informed A Pandora’s box is opened, with at least two options for the meaning of “God’s son:” first, it denotes a common term for man, or second, it refers to Jesus as being of God. These titles do not come without theological baggage. So the best premise is to follow John’s general thesis. His constant intent was to laud Jesus’ person and status at a most elevated divine role. To say that “I am God’s son,” fits his purpose. It would survive the creedal choices made later and become a staple for describing Christian belief. Imagine the difference if it had not prevailed. Our final example falls within the circle of possible error but is not so suspect, once put in context. Before switching to the Signs Gospel contents in Chapter 11, John ends the dialogue with the Judeans in one assertion: “Believe in the works, so that you’ll fully understand that the Father is in

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me and I am in the Father.” (SV John 10:38) The god/man is no longer just related to God—he is in the Deity, and the Deity is in him. No theological hesitance or parsing of phrases here; Jesus the Logos is saturated with Godhead. Its proper context is metaphysical, Stoic in origin, and draws on the idea that when tuned towards Tonos, the devotee becomes like his God. If dedicated enough, he becomes identical to what he worships. With regard to Judaism it was another nail in their breakup coffin. Next, we come to the “Mary, Martha, Lazarus” chapter. Jesus’ opponents are not the only ones who don’t fully understand Jesus—i.e., that he and the father “are one.” Mary and Martha are followers, but they will, for unknown reasons, comprehend more of Jesus’ purposes for raising Lazarus. It is something of a performance that he conducts to show again that he is the worthy object of the followers’ belief. He not only raises Lazarus to show his divine nature to his confidants, Mary and Martha, but to the credulous and accepting crowds. “Father, thank you for hearing me. I know you always hear me, but I say this because of the people standing here, so they’ll believe that you sent me.” (SV John 11:42) Some believed and some did not. The Sayings Gospel is almost formulaic in its mode of spreading the word about Jesus. Those who accept without some miracle to budge them are the very few, while those who are duly impressed are in the majority. The time is coming, however, when the formula will not work—the schemers who plan his death will prevail. There is a hint here, in the story of Lazarus, of Jesus’ foreboding sense of doom and eventual victory. The symbolism is heavily crafted, not very subtle. Jesus, acting under divine authority, orders the stone removed from the cave and Lazarus comes into daylight after four days in the tomb. The purpose remains to demonstrate that Jesus, God’s emissary, is just that, and what he does here will be reenacted later, with Jesus playing the role of Lazarus. He will go through Lazarus’ ordeal and die at God’s command—to make his authority plain. Here, Jesus is God’s right hand; he will demonstrate that the grip of death can be broken. The title “Master” is the dominant one (five times in this exchange) and is used by the female disciples a total of three. But Jesus’ statements are the language of metaphor: “I am the resurrection and the life—Do you believe this?” (SV John 11:25, 26) It is a mixture of the practical and the theological, and begs for elaboration. The last great public act in John’s life of Jesus is introduced, as with the other gospel authors, in the dramatic entry into Jerusalem. Jesus first washes his disciples’ feet and then rides the borrowed colt the next day. There is no mention of the other gospels’ mix-up regarding the means of transportation, the double donkey affair. “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who

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comes in the name of the Lord! (Blessed is) the king of Israel!” (SV John 12: 13ff) Names do make a difference. The theme of Kingship is again introduced. But the disciples did not comprehend its significance. They would have their eyes opened at the glorification. He explains again that the miracle of Lazarus is why Jesus was so acclaimed (SV John 12:16) and why his detractors were so intent on getting rid of him (SV John 12:19). The theme of the growing popularity of Jesus alongside increasing opposition by powerful Jews is now a familiar, oft-repeated theme. The modern reader can appreciate the complexity of John’s plot and its theological sophistication. John knows how to juggle a number of themes and maintain clarity. Compared to Luke, his predecessor, he is able to keep multiple titles in the hopper without seeming contradictory. What is lost with John is the biographical dimension. John is not concerned with the details of events in Jesus’ life; he is concerned that Jesus be recognized as divine. A small nod to historical elements follows directly on the Sayings account of his entry into the city. Then, as an aside, John makes this curious comment: “His disciples didn’t understand these matters at the time but when Jesus had been glorified, they then recalled that what had happened to him matched the things written about him.” (SV John12:16) John tries to legitimize the disciples’ behavior with Biblical credentials. He does not record the specifics of the disciples’ lack of understanding or their eventual desertion, as do Luke and Matthew, but gives the disciples every benefit of the doubt as well as an after-the-fact rationalization for their faithless behaviors. The other gospel writers expose the disciples’ lack of fidelity and make few excuses for the abandonment. Especially does Luke keep to the story that the disciples were converted “in flight.” John wants the reader to know he is aware of this, but he minimizes their actions and treats their behavior as something to expect—something reasonable. While other, earlier gospels seek historical credibility, John’s treatment was an attempt to rewrite bad press. The next exchange, in Gethsemane, is far more important for our portrait of John’s Jesus. “The time has come for the son of Adam to be glorified.” (SV John 12:23) All the anticipation written into the earlier events is now culminates in this short declaration. His death is announced with a sense of personal certainty. But as Jesus moves toward his end he is already the victorious, cosmic Logos, God’s created and endowed son of Adam, who will not die as a criminal but as one “glorified” in death. This is a large part of John’s unique contribution to the growing variety of theologies. The cosmic Christ has replaced the wise Teacher. Behaving in character, Jesus does not ask for respite from the cruelties of the courts and crowds he will face. John draws on the cry for help in the

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garden and transforms it into a statement about strength in the midst of adversity. John makes Jesus somehow above it all. Contrasts with the synoptics could not be more obvious. A brief repetition—first the others: Mark: “And he would say, ‘Abba (Father) all things are possible for you! Take this cup away from me! But it’s not what I want (that matters), but what you want.’” (SV Mark14:32) Matthew: “I’m so sad I could die…. My Father, if it is possible, take this cup away from me! Yet it is not what I want (that matters), but what you want.” (SV John Matt. 26:38, 39) Luke: “Father if you so choose, take this cup from me! Yet not my will but yours be done.” (SV Luke 22:4) John: “Now my life is in turmoil, but should I say ‘Father rescue me from this moment?’ No, it was to face this moment that I came. Father, glorify your name! Then a voice spoke out of the sky: ‘I have glorified it and I will glorify it further.’ … And if I’m elevated from the earth, I’ll take everyone with me.” (SV John 12:27, 32)

The tenor of this last passage provokes a thoughtful reader to wonder if John’s Jesus is the same person he is in the other three instances. All three, excepting John, made the suffering of Jesus their prime theme. The three make Jesus resolute but also painfully aware and apprehensive of his crucifixion. If we compare John’s account with the three above, indeed we can see John’s characterization for what it is—a minority of one. John sees a very confidant man approaching his demise, where the other three see a loyal but distressed man reluctantly facing a traumatic end. John seems to look at this crisis as an opportunity to show Jesus’ confidence. The only sign of Jesus’ hesitancy is the little word “if.” “And if I’m elevated from the earth, I’ll take everyone with me.” (SV John 12:32) It hardly needs elaboration, but John the editor adds, “(He said this to show what kind of death he was going to die.)” (SV John 12:33) The confident leader is misunderstood, as before, but he is never shaken by the inevitable trial and sentence. For the three writers preceding John, the physical raising of Jesus is the transforming event. But John tries, in a series of metaphors that echo his preceding chapters, to make his characterization plausible. “Those who believe in me do not believe only in me, but in the one who sent me. … I am the light come into the world so all who believe in me need not remain in the dark…. I’ve come to save the world.” (SV John 12:44, 46, 47)

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“Jesus could tell that the Father had left everything up to him and that he had come from God and was going back to God.” (SV John 13:3) With this as a frame, Jesus performs the washing of his disciples’ feet. Over Peter’s objections, he carries out the ritual of a teacher’s servitude towards his followers. “So if I am your master and teacher and washed your feet, you ought to wash each other’s feet.” (SV John13:14) Even as a ritual act, the god-man still teaches. “You call me your master and teacher, and you’re right: that’s who I am.” (SV John 13:13) The fingering of Judas becomes, in John’s hands, the dominating theme of the Passover meal. None of the ceremony of the synoptics is rehearsed, and we cannot even be sure it was meant to be John’s version of the last supper. It bears no resemblance to any of the others (see SV John 13:12ff). Some pertinent advice from the Teacher: “Don’t give in to your distress. You believe in God, then believe in me too….And if I go to make a place ready for you, I’ll return and embrace you. So where I am you can be too.” (SV John 14:3) Thomas expresses his consternation at Jesus’ lofty language—one can only guess he sensed the impending doom and couldn’t relate to the promises of victory. So Jesus ups the ante. “I am the way, and I am truth, and I am life. No one gets to the Father unless it is through me.” (SV John 14:1,3,6) More than advice—here is the most obvious sign of Jesus’ divine nature, proclaimed so often above. The escalation of Jesus’ status from messenger to privileged representative to exclusive embodiment of God’s presence in the world is complete. The doctrinal base for the communities’ mission is in place. Jesus has become the divine voyager who leaves God’s heavenly domain to bring the world to its senses and to return to Him once the job is completed. We are a theological mile from the teacher and master of Q and Mark. Jesus’ divine status, his authority as an icon of God, is escalating rapidly. At the request of Philip to “see the Father,” Jesus is painfully patient and repeats the mantra, Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father … The Father is with me constantly and I perform his labors. You ought to believe that I’m in the Father and the Father is in me. If not, at least you ought to believe these labors in and of themselves.” (SV John 14:9, 11)

God displays his resurrection powers in this miracle above all miracles. It will be the crown of victory for Jesus, and God’s name will be glorified. Jesus offers to do anything to convince Philip, if he will but ask it in the name of the divine son. This instance is an interesting example of the evolution of the faith. Names are increasingly vital in the communities’ drive to express the level of faith being taught. Getting it right was a

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Hebrew preoccupation; the name held the key to the proper relationship. Here, it is an expression of the way individual instruction was carried out and the way communities evolved. The theological changes, noted here with the authority of the voice of Jesus, are much more pronounced than in the earlier years, and they hinge on getting the name(s) for Jesus firmly established and the story’s line adjusted as needed. One of those transitions comes next. New names—new doctrines. Because Jesus is destined for a reunion with God after his sojourn on earth, John offers his version of what will transpire. There is a distinct hint that Jesus’ resurrection brings with it a separation from traffic upon earth. As Jesus is to depart, something or someone must account for his absence; Jesus orchestrates a replacement! “At my request the Father will provide you with yet another advocate, the authentic spirit, who will be with you forever.” (SV John 14:16) This authentic spirit is an “advocate,” namely the “holy spirit the Father will send in my stead, will teach you everything I told you.” (SV John 14:26) The makings of Trinitarian doctrine are being taught here for the first time as a topic of interest to the followers. Note: it makes its appeal at a functional level, i.e., to take care of the disciples’ anxiety at being left alone after the resurrection. We can only guess at the context here as elsewhere: the churches faced a real dilemma when Jesus’ appearances ceased; yet the resurrection originally declared his risen presence. If the resurrection meant removal from the earth followed by appearances to his disciples, something had to be done to explain the cessation of the appearances and their message of victory over death, while offering an equally powerful stand-in. Without implying that there was some call for an additional figure in the godhead, it is undeniable that the immediate purpose of the holy spirit’s presence is comfort—a provision of assurance for the hapless disciples. John frames the discussion for the future, although it is plain that he writes after the relatively new name “holy spirit” was accepted by a sufficient portion of the believers to support its inclusion in a retrospective life story. “So I have now told you all this ahead of time so you will believe when it happens.” (SV John 14:29) The writer’s technique is not new—we have seen it before in the other gospel authors. It is a view informed by belief in the resurrection. Here, it has the added sense of being related specifically to the consequences of that event. Jesus must be reunited with the Father to finish Jesus’ mission on earth. For John, Jesus’ return to the Father can be organized as another of God’s miracles. Provision of an advocate is the culmination of God’s plan. This is one way theologies are born: there is a break in the original story and the apologist

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is constrained to smooth its sharp edges. Matthew mentions the baptismal obligation in his last paragraph: “You are to baptize them in the name of the Father and of the son and of the holy spirit.” (SV Matt 28:19) The name “holy spirit” Matthew left unexplained. Luke’s promise, “And be prepared: I am sending what my Father promised down on you” (SV Luke 24: 49) also offered no commentary and perhaps gave the later writer a cue to fill in the blanks. John steps up to the plate to articulate the promise and the meaning of the name. I am not suggesting that a plan was laid out or that creative intuition explains the emergence of a new doctrine. Chapter 16 is devoted to elaborating the function of the holy spirit; again the shadow of distress and grief over Jesus’ departure is prominent. Jesus tries to convince the disciples that there is no reason for consternation: “...if I don’t leave, the advocate can’t come to you.” (SV John 16:7) It is a rather pathetic ploy to placate their grief. Then, in the midst of these efforts to buttress their shaky faith, Jesus goes one step further. He promises that he will see them again! It might seem that this is the first hint of yet another new doctrine, one in its infancy. Is it the first hint of the second coming? “But I’ll see you again, and then you’ll rejoice, and nobody can deprive you of your joy. When the time comes you’ll ask nothing of me. I swear to God, if you ask for anything using my name, he will grant it to you.” (SV John 16:22-23) Jesus is persistent. “You will be taken care of...” Once again the context is consolation. The way to achieve such a reward is to employ the right name, i.e., understand that the right name carries power. Chapter 17 is devoted to a personal prayer, ostensibly a private conversation between Jesus and his Father. The content of the monologue is a rehash of everything already presented by Jesus to his disciples: the creation of the world is a partnership of Jesus and God, the return of Jesus to the Father comes now that his job is complete, and Jesus makes a plea that his followers may be brought together in a common faith based on God’s steadfast love. It is a likely complement to the disciples’ grief that was so evident in the previous chapter. A prayer for uniting in faith is the nub of Jesus’ entreaty. He ends it with getting the name(s) right, i.e., with devout understanding: “I also made your name known to them and will continue to make it known, so the kind of love you have for me may be theirs, and I may be theirs also.” (SV John 17:26) This drive towards correct understanding and harmony is not new to the authors we have analyzed. Paul sought the same in an earlier day. Each gospel writer has had a perspective that can be called personal or representative of their faith community. But this drive toward theological correctness, in John, has now become more assertive than ever, and barely

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recognizes competitive views at the heart of church life. Diversity has never been entirely acceptable, but the contrast between the time of this gospels’ writing and the days of Mark, Thomas, and Q could not be more apparent. John sets an assertive tone for the emergence of orthodoxy; this gospel’s perspective would permanently change the nature of the new faith. John’s language of love and unity is a benign but powerful instrument for the transition. If conflict is camouflaged in the call to unity, i.e., not candidly admitted but nevertheless sought by the author, it cannot be long until outright hostilities break out or compromise will be negotiated to heal disagreements. Chapter 18 presents a new name for Jesus as he took his disciples to the garden—John situates it in the Kidron valley, where the arrest is made. Jesus asks who they seek and the reply is “Jesus the Nazarene.” Jesus acknowledges the name and asks for leniency for his followers. When Peter takes his sword out to prevent the arrest, Jesus restrains him with familiar words of the other gospels, “Am I not to drink from the cup my Father has given me?” An observant reader will notice that John has changed the sense of the saying (see SV Mark 14:36, SV Matt. 26:39, and Luke SV 22:42) from one of near despair in the Synoptics (they were unanimous in having Jesus wish God would remove the cup of suffering) to one of gracious warning for Peter not to interfere with the inevitable.5

Trial First Annas, then Pilate, interrogate Jesus. The ensuing trial, especially the case made against him, is about Jesus’ proper mantle or name. The eventual judgment is left to Pilate because only the Romans can execute a man who incites to insurrection. Jesus’ title will be the key to unlock the issue of insurrection. It is also Pilate’s problem: Jesus didn’t accept the name Pilate uses to address him—”You are ‘the King of the Judeans’?” However, any mention of this title, for John and his readers, was enough to cast the die for death. The grounds for conviction would be Jesus’ pretence at being a renegade leader. In the privacy of his residence, Pilate interrogates him: “You are ‘the King of the Judeans?’” and Jesus, in response, asks, “Is this what you think… or what people have told you about me?” “You’re the one who   5

Chapter Eighteen is thought by the translators to be from the Signs Gospel, which may make it less “John’s” than some earlier, contributing writer. Still the point seems valid—that John accepted no tradition that made Jesus look vulnerable to his suffering.

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says I’m a king.” No longer associating himself with a kingdom, or letting his accusers get away with the king image, he shifts the “trial” to another theme. For the first time, Jesus describes his teaching around the notion of a “government.” “Mine is not a secular government. If my government were secular my companions would fight to keep me from being turned over to the Judeans. But as it is, my government does not belong to the secular domain.” (SV John 18:36)

Jesus may accept the image of leader in this gospel, but not a political or secular one. Pilate smells victory: “So you are a King!” and this time Jesus rebuffs him. “You’re the one who says I’m a king…This is what I was born for, and this is why I came into the world: to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth can hear my voice.” (SV John 18:37)

The grounds for judgment have shifted. How can you convict a truth teller whose truth has nothing to do with ordinary matters? Theological confessions are interesting to Pilate, and they influence his recommendation for leniency. First, he tells the angry gatherers his decision (he pleads innocence), but the crowd wants Jesus executed. In that Jesus never really accepted the title of King but wholeheartedly adopted the role of truth teller, the quick and easy path towards conviction must be abandoned. Throughout John’s gospel, Jesus was never pictured as a ruler in secular terms. But that becomes the issue which leads to the cross. Pilate knows he is not guilty, yet offers him up under the rule of Passover, an exchange of prisoners. Jesus must die at Roman initiative. How can the author weave the story so that it will conform to memory and to his theological convictions? The title “King of the Judeans” must stick to Jesus as the man for Pilate to condemn. So he play-acts the decision: “So do you want me to free ‘the King of the Judeans’ for you?” Their answer is fully expected and rehearsed “Not him, but Barabbas!” (SV John 18:40) Such machinations cannot, however, conceal the overwhelming anti-Judean sentiments of the author and his supporting community. This level is a step beyond the earlier canonical gospels for its labeling of (Judean) crowds and their vehemence. John has the crowd yell out for Jesus to die and free Barabbas, and there is not the delineation between commoners and leaders which the other gospels observe. Judeans, specifically the crowds attending the trial, are given full responsibility for

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the execution of Jesus. The consequences of such fuzzy generalizations were incalculable; it may not have been the first instance of anti-Semitism and it wasn’t the last, but it vibrated for centuries that the Jews (any and all) were guilty. Has the passion of Jesus reached its formal climax on the turn of a title? Almost, but not completely. His titles do play a pivotal role in the question of his true identity, and that is a central issue in the decision to condemn him, but fate (and sheer drama) take over in these last exchanges. John is confirming long held views of his church. The name associated with Jesus, “King of the Judeans,” was its own death sentence: political/religious leaders, Zealots, were vigorously sought after in the region at this time. It was an historic hope and a fear-laden risk for the Judeans to find and embrace someone to free their land from the Roman invaders. One could not survive as a Roman occupier if insurrection was pending. The lid had to be kept on. The title “King of the Judeans” was obviously quite familiar to John’s readers. Every other canonical gospel utilizes the same title. For John, this title worked to exacerbate the crowd’s venom, and Pilate did not hesitate to use it to execute his will. Even though he is described as Jesus’ supporter in that he could find no real cause for condemnation, he based his decision on Jesus’ association with the title. Perhaps it was just too risky to see him go free, even though he rejected any connection with political activity. People might force the issue if he were on the streets. “Am I supposed to crucify your king?…The emperor’s our king—we have no other!” (SV John 19:35) In this one instance, it is the ranking priests who express their will, and it seems to carry the day. Jesus may not be their king; he has refused to accept their taunts about being the king, and yet, to bring him into contact with the image of kingship has given the crowds and Pilate the excuse they needed. The title itself held sufficient power and leverage to finally sway Pilate’s decision. Jesus was condemned because his accusers succeeded in associating him with a title he rejected. In this regard, the outcome of the trial did turn on the power of naming. One final comment about the trial: Pilate comes off as an advocate in 19:19ff. He has the sign composed with the words, “Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Judeans.” Over the objections of the priests again, Pilate rejects their version: “This man said, ‘I am king of the Judeans.’ Pilate answered them, What I have written, stays written.” (SV John 19:22) And that was that. He was crucified as a common criminal, yet nobly said, “It’s all over.” (SV John 19:30) No prayers of entreaty or cries for special help. The names were in place and the narrative almost complete.

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Chapter 20 tells the story of the empty tomb and John’s take on Jesus’ appearances. Unlike his three predecessors, John has women play the prominent role in discovery. Mary of Magdala is an especially important one: she is the first human to see the stone rolled away and the risen figure of Jesus. She mistakes him for the gardener in the initial encounter, but when he says, “Mary,” “She turns around and exclaims in Hebrew, ‘Rabbi’ (which means ‘Teacher’).” (SV John 20:16) An ordinary title for a devout follower, but a very unordinary situation, as the scene unfolds. “Don’t touch me,” Jesus tells her, “because I have not yet gone back to the Father.” (SV John 20:17) What the writer is trying to say here is not clear. Jesus, in risen form, is often not recognizable to his closest associates, at least not in this instance. Does this mean that he can change his visage at will? When he speaks, it is also not always his voice the recipient hears, yet it can become his own, familiar one at will. Add this to the caution not to touch, and we have a peculiar situation, one difficult to understand in natural terms. John’s portrayal of the risen god/man defies categorical or empirical description. This entire exchange, Chapter 19 to Verse 37, is regarded by the translators as the Signs Gospel. John is in new territory; it is a personal and experiential description. In the natural world, the perception of such a being would be called an apparition—ninety per cent imagination, ten percent “conditions.” This is the first time in the literature that Jesus comments on the nature of his presence, and the mention is murky, to say the least. “Don’t touch me,” Jesus tells her, SV John 20: 17. Translators debate the Greek word translated touch, which has a range of denotations, going the gamut from “touch” to “restrain,” to “cling to.” Their note is interesting, It is not clear what this, together with the injunction that it seeks to explain, means: that Jesus must not be deterred from his destination? that he is in an intermediate unclean state and must not be touched? that Mary’s attempt is somehow, in her love for him, to try to draw him back into her world? or what? (Miller 1994 243)

The effort John makes to render the account plausible is really quite special. Who can write of such an experience without being open to all sorts of misunderstanding? When Jesus presents his pierced hands that evening, they are all delighted at recognizing him. Telling about it later, Thomas expresses doubt about the credibility of the meeting, but with doors locked, Jesus again appears and this time challenges Thomas to touch him just as he had forbidden Mary. “Thomas responded, ‘My master! My God!’” (SV John 20:28) Jesus, as risen Lord, can change the

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rules of engagement at will. It adds up to an unsolved mystery, not to be explained yet certainly to be taken seriously. It may not be a proper coda to a grand symphony, but scholars agree that this is the end of the gospel in its earliest form. John’s words are apropos both for our study, and much more importantly, for John’s objectives: “These are written down so you will come to believe that Jesus is the Anointed, God’s son—and by believing this have life in his name.” (SV John 20:31) John’s contribution and refinement of Jesus’ status cannot be minimized. It is a qualitatively different Jesus who lives, dies and lives again: he is John’s god/man, the Cosmic Christ. It is a remarkable leap, from the wise teacher, and a remarkable story, of the evolution of a new religion.

CHAPTER TEN SEARCHING FOR PATTERNS

The first task in searching for patterns is to establish a general intent of the many pieces we have analyzed, that is, if there is one. The answer is quite obvious: in every gospel, there is a shared assumption that Jesus is the envoy of God, the long expected Messiah. I am using the name “Messiah” here in the broadest way possible. Here, for this time only, it refers to the many images of the Hebrew expectation. That will get us started. Especially in very earliest part of the century, Jesus’ mission was regarded as a radically new expression of Judaism. And in the final years he became more than a wise teacher; he was seen as possessing the attributes of the God he taught about, a god/man if you will. The elevation of Jesus to such a status is itself a pattern. I try to capture the dynamics of such a development with the term “adulatory deification.” It is an awkward phrase, but it serves to highlight the dynamics of the process, and it is obviously one I created—an editorial term. The gospel authors would not comprehend my choice of terms but a twenty-first century reader might. The pattern cites the persistent trend of the authors to laud Jesus’ divine powers and person. It is really quite a remarkable claim, even though many made it in that day. The adulation Jesus garnered persisted in spite of opposition and ignorant reactions of the crowds. Deification grew in spite of the disciples’ misunderstanding and faithless abandonment. Although some authors play down the controversial element in Jesus’ reception, it does not seem to compromise the message the writers delivered. Jesus is God’s chosen. As a general intent deification works. It does not preclude, however, the fact that the authors did not deal in generalities. They dealt in specifics, names which conveyed pointed messages and images. If we are to capture their messages with some degree of accuracy, we need to evaluate the specifics as well as the editorial constructs. That is why we need to talk about diversity. Although each author believed he was relating the whole truth about Jesus, our study revealed that the “truth” was far more personal than

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intended. The outcomes reflected differing attitudes and beliefs. The portraits bore the signatures of the authors. We shall find that diversity works in tension with the notion of deification. We should not be surprised. Believing in a common condition does not translate into conformity between authors; intent does not guarantee like outcomes. This is a hub consideration in the study.

Adulatory Deificaton With the exception of Q1, laudatory language begins at the beginning of the messages of the New Testament. Paul responds to the anxiety of the Thessalonians with a promise of a resurrection. Q2 uses the words of John the Baptist, “I baptize you with water, but someone more powerful than I is coming...” (SV Luke 3:16) Mark begins his gospel, “The good news of Jesus the Anointed...” The intent is clear: their leader is more than a wise teacher. He is divine. The dynamics of the stories follow. The disciples were on their way home because they thought their leader had failed them, executed for being a perceived threat to the Roman occupation. But word had it that Jesus left his tomb empty and was seen in various places. Those encounters forever challenged the lives of the disciples. Their routines after meeting the risen Jesus would never be the same. After the resurrection appearances and random encounters on the road, the newly converted, novice missionaries, tried to bring a sense of order through Sunday worship and working on shared objectives. A new reaction gripped the disciples, the apparent renewal of life with their now risen leader. A new urgency flooded their lives; for once their faith took first place in the daily routine; it was a reminder that Jesus was the holy presence promised before the cross. They embraced the belief that Jesus was alive and able to communicate his presence with extraordinary facility. Celebrating their new faith, they praised Jesus with a flurry of venerated names. Their “adulation” refers to the free-wheeling nature of their labeling, it connotes excitement and a frequent use of titles without restraint. Their “deification” suggests the steadily growing willingness to see Jesus as a divine figure, possessing more than ordinary powers. The converts were captured by the teaching that Jesus’ mission was divinely inspired; energies to tell the crowds of their new faith produced incredible growth and additional adulation. Every story we encountered served this purpose: to express how Jesus could go in one century from wise teacher to god/man. Everything Jesus taught kindled deification; this direction pervades every authors’ work from Paul to John. Paul especially, said he would

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know Christ and him only. The extent of his vigor is felt in all his letters. Paul’s theology emerged from real issues in the congregations, but their concerns and questions were always subject to the trend we are calling deification; life was supposed to be different in the resurrection age. Early on, deification seemed the natural course of action. Each author added his perspective to the growing chorus. I can think of no gospel writer who did not contribute to the movement. We have reviewed Paul’s massive effort—he deserves the role of innovator, but he is not the only one to garner that title. Every follower dedicated himself or herself to the deification project. Deification brought home their belief in Jesus’ presence. Ways of worship also reflected an exciting new element; in the Eucharist they especially felt Jesus’ presence. It was a communal/personal rite, and it celebrated the intensity of their elevation of Jesus. He would be known henceforth as the risen Lord. Presence is a weak word to capture their confidence in meeting “the host” at the meal. By the end of the first hundred years, the meal was firmly entrenched as the center of what made Christians unique. It was not the only marker, but it was also the heart of their faith. Other characteristics of deification emerged. An explosive missionary effort arose, with a cascade of doctrinal activity that celebrated his elevation to ever higher office. Jesus was granted highest rank, the trinity, a place in a new teaching. At the time, the doctrine was hardly more than an infant. It would be decades before its outlines were made plain, but the stuff out of which it would emerge and flourish was already in place. The meal was regarded by believers as a new approach to God, not an act of idolatry, but an act of reverence, an enhancement of the tradition. For Christians the heavenly cabinet was then full and its power unquestioned; only the Hebrew creator God, whose naming was always a mini-step away from idolatry, was immune from undue praise. New Christians thought they had found a way to laud their divine leader without alienating Jewish brothers. As it was, the teaching about the Holy Spirit did just the opposite. The elevation of Jesus to divine status infected every aspect of Christian theology: although it cleared the air about the person of Jesus—he was above competition—the concurrent introduction of Trinitarian thinking cut through all the ties that existed between the two faiths. The compassionate God spoke to every believer, but henceforth it would always be through his chosen One. Deification and ubiquitous growth went hand in hand. Had that been all there was going on in Palestine during the first century, the story would

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probably be dead by now, but that is not the case. Adulation was cemented, but was accompanied by provocative ways to express itself. Individual and congregational efforts were kept in play as the growth continued.

Diversity Persistent diversity was just as apparent as was deification, and served as a balancing force. Diversity is not necessarily a divisive energy but it does provide a space where differences are suspect and compromises hard won. In the field of religion, the acceptance of “separate paths” is all too evident in a denominational culture. We are so familiar with differences separating persons that we can barely conceive of them bringing people together. The gospels are not much help, although there is much to marvel at, in that individual efforts were permitted and given a voice. The collection we call the New Testament is witness to diversity at work. We met that condition when we reviewed the separate orientations of Matthew and Thomas, and Paul and John. Appreciating their widely differing interpretations of the faith’s essentials, it is a wonder that cohesion became a mark of belief in the risen Lord. Partial accord was achieved without the help of a grand designer or organizer of efforts. And they retained an individualist’s outlook no matter what the agreed-upon teaching. We have no record of attempts to force particular doctrines at that time, with the exception of Paul’s aggressive push for gentile recognition, and the few final years of the first century in which John and Matthew had doctrinal differences. Crises were avoided, and when they did flare up, there appeared to be no courtroom in which strictures could be levied or conformity enforced. The alternative was to argue as independent apostles, safe in their isolation and secure in their credentialed state. The recognized qualification for apostolic authority was to have touched Jesus; this may not have been more than a simple gesture in the first century, but it did eventually become a recognized sign of apostolic authority. For some, the idea of diversity adds to the miraculous aura surrounding the ministries; for others it only accents the lack of care exercised in the drive towards an orthodox settlement. But diversity it was, and it would remain a large part of the scene indefinitely. The pictures that emerge from our survey resemble a serendipitous gathering of different styles and signatures. A suggestive image is the contrast between a stepladder and a stock market graph. Jesus’ elevation to god/man acclaim was not a steadily upward advance, but consisted of

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surges and plateaus, with some dramatic rises and some modest retreats. Thomas can be seen as a leap upward in relation to the synoptics as can Paul in relation to Mark. The only common thread is that, by the end of the first century, Jesus’ divine office was established as a fait accompli. Diversity also refers to the circumstance that each author faced his task as an editor pretty much alone. This means that the borrowing of resources was a large part of the process but was at the discretion of the borrower. No records were expected or kept. There was also a community of unified sentiment in each congregation, but it exercised little of the iron-clad enforcement one might expect. There is no evidence of regulation of those resources as each crafted his own version of Jesus’ ministry, death and resurrection. There was room at the table for independence, whether it came at a high price or was casual. For example, the use of two mounts to bring Jesus to Jerusalem was an embarrassing mistake, easily fixed had there been an editor on scene. My guess is there was no such person at the time of composition to bring plausibility to the product when needed—as this silly story demonstrates. The skills of polishing styles and correcting grammar played very little, if any, part in the documents reviewed. There was a purposeful, extemporaneous quality to the pieces we evaluated. Except for the liturgical hymns and hidden sources, styles were identifiable and personal; massive editing would come later. Diversity is also illustrated by the unique approaches to our first theme, deification, e.g., Paul’s lonely meeting on the road to Damascus. That story was probably told hundreds of times, so we assume that editing took place informally; there was a sort of editing as the accounts were repeatedly read, and there would be much more with time. It is beyond the scope of this study to estimate just how vigorous the editing effort was in the first century, but we would probably be surprised at its volume. That the existing records are not confined to the first century but edited versions of later documents is a fact. We had to hunt for the early fragments. Diversity was maintained.

Diversity Reigns The plethora of names and the occasions when they are used shows the confusion in the message. The images raised by this plethora is what confuses Christianity from its earliest beginnings. While the intent is to present a common message, the outcomes teach mixed lessons. The use of many titles, and the use of the same title for diverse reasons, frustrated commonality.

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We have come to a very important transition. It is not popular to say that diversity has a deleterious effect on a common conviction—it is not what Christians want to hear, even though it is the most plausible alternative with regard to the evidence. Once again we meet the power of naming. For the inquirer there is reason for hesitation when trying to fathom a teaching. The practice of naming can work for obfuscation as well as for promoting clarity. I have chosen three familiar examples to make to make the point that deification ran rampant in the list of character traits of the leader, Jesus. They were chosen because they were familiar, much-used names for their time, and widely recognized as having reservoirs of history in their favor, i.e., son of Adam, curse and Logos. Each name is enshrined with ancestral, clan-like roots, and each has been introduced earlier in the study; my selection recognizes the variety of such names. One title comes from a virtually unknown source, one from the ancient Torah, and one from Hellenistic philosophy.

Son of Adam: a comparative comment The son of Adam name shone brightly during the early days, but lasted little more than the period I selected for study. Like a strange new comet, it soared across the sky and found a home out of sight. When Q2 added his own version to Q1, the contrasts between the Hebrew and the Christian images became more obvious. But it didn’t seem to matter in the earliest days. The faith was approximately twenty years old, a fledgling, and the sense of unbridled adulation predominated. The Markan image of the son of Adam went nicely with the conviction that worldly time was growing short and a new heavenly life for the convert awaited its end. Paul and others shared the belief that, indeed, history’s duration was about over. If the shortness of time was respected, it may have been because they also had a sense of apocalyptic urgency. The near coming of the new age is about all that makes the son of Adam combination of images work; the beliefs that were combined were in truth disparate and anything but harmonious. For these believers, it did not seem to matter that the heavenly figure in the Torah account came on the clouds and exited the same way. He was a heavenly figure and functioned as an appointee in the grand judgment; there was no hint of his suffering in the “old” agreement. He was always in charge as God’s emissary and Judge. Except for the memory of Jesus’ peculiar use of the suffering theme, there is little to recommend the use of the son of Adam title.

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The son of Adam doctrine was given intense exposure and its relevance thoroughly explored. Only after the first century did its influence subside.

The Curse It is a story of a name gone awry. It also faced early popularity and eventually lost currency, but its larger context continued to exert persuasive influence as to the sacrificial nature of Jesus’ crucifixion. The curse was given to Jesus by God; it was a most difficult role to execute, and the cost would be his life. In the Torah Isaac, Abraham’s youngest, was a target for sacrifice, on the pretext of paying off the debt that Jews had incurred by being unfaithful. Someone had to pay. Jesus responded to God’s plan by submitting to stand in for the entire world’s population; Jesus would die and humankind would win the reward of his sacrifice. God’s offer to ransom his beloved has disturbing overtones. It is Paul’s sense of Jesus’ sacrifice that leads him to include such a violent program into the tradition. It is simplistic: everyone has defied God and deserves a cross. Jesus will martyr himself for others’ destructive behavior, putting himself in the place of every sinful person, accepting the bargain God exacts, and freely offering it as one would give away his most precious treasure. Not only are we supposed to change our purpose in living; i.e., behaving as freed convicts, but God is to be approached as a relentless judge who will receive what he desires—the adoration of humankind—or wreak further calamity in the case of misbehavior. No one asked, “Can this God be trusted?” For what kind of God would even think of plotting such an unfair bargain? And what kind of deity would break trust with his own son? Paul is usually listed as the author of this image and we are tempted to say he tried to be the orchestra when he played only one instrument. Questionable as it is for modern readers, its history is a story of success. It survived in the movement, and vicarious suffering became a major theme, surviving for an extended period following the end of the hundred years. A fresh and powerful image was gaining prominence, lasting many years; its focus had shifted significantly away from Jesus’ teachings to the theologically potent issues surrounding his identity. And what took the place of this earlier focus? Its later use was expanded to become an elaborate penitential system for Roman Catholics and for Protestants, a piety centered on self-sacrifice and personal conversion.

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The god/man, Logos John’s magnificent hymn to Logos and his wonderful presentation of miracles portray a picture of crosscurrents in Greek and Hebrew cultures that were unique. John became a prominent figure in the deification trend. He would become the favorite “resident theologian” and a major influence as the churches gained their place in the empire. We can speculate that his peculiar version of Hellenism earned him a responsive hearing with people who were versed in Greek philosophy. Both John and Paul take on increasing roles in the churches’ rise to legitimacy, but Paul has hardly anything to say about Logos, and John never mentions the curse. The two lived and taught in dramatically different worlds. There was a blending of sorts between Jew and Christian even though they lived in different camps. Eventually, after nearly a century of exploring their complicated theological roots, the two faiths pulled apart and acquiesced to separate identities. It was not surprising. The conception of Jesus as Logos was, and is, a difficult one to integrate into any systematic position. Although it is poetically a work of art, and a very inspirational one, it shows John’s orientation to Stoic philosophy; there is little recognition of Judaic roots. They go unnoticed, as before. If this is not the whole story, it is a large chunk. The only option was that Christianity would become a mixture of these influences. It did not occur to anyone to integrate the two images; it would have been a nearly impossible job. Comparing son of Adam with the Logos gives the sense of a piece of art, unfinished and ready for inspired editing. When comparisons are levied, the portraits produce such divorced perspectives as to make connections difficult. Not only are the theological environments different, the divisions of class and culture prevent ready comparisons—separation was the rule. Only with the curse is the appointee expected to offer his life to carry out his task. Jesus is cast as a sacrificed victim, whereas with Logos no sacrifice is implied. There is little likelihood that connections, if attempted, would have stuck. Alongside the broad effort of establishing proper names for their deified leader, there was another development: just about every effort to make Jesus a god/man differed from its neighbor. They worked with unanimity of intent and were assertive individualists in practice. Each author had a special way of trying to capture Jesus’ identity. If a person likes coherence and rationally understood conclusions, the triumph of diversity is troubling.

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It stretches the imagination to connect the actions of a cursed and helpless sacrifice with the attributes of a victorious god/man. It offends not only the curious neophyte but the seasoned elder. If Jesus is primarily the victim, the choice of images is simpler, but if the choice is between a lightfilled transcendence, a being above and unaffected by earthly matters, the inconsistency becomes obvious. Multiply these difficult choices and the patterns become barely manageable; we cannot pretend to see a coherent message if such anomalies are ignored.

Deification/Diversity Evaluated The one theme that persists, is, without doubt, the conviction that Jesus was God’s chosen one to heal and to provide a new relationship with Him, based on forgiveness and a sense of living for God and others. A real trend was discovered in deification. This trend intensified with time, and deification was settled upon as the proper response to a leader whose status was secure. But deification came at a price; Jesus was remembered as a person of many faces. Deifying Jesus was constantly coupled with diversity; it made the memory of Jesus more remote and, at times, beyond resolution. The gospel writer’s intent to proclaim the god/man name was compromised, and repair would come at a high cost. Each author accepted Jesus as a divine figure, but when viewing the collection of MSS—the “record”—problems and celebrations were so diversely interpreted that dialogue would lead to frequent disagreements. The shortcomings of diversity become clearer when trying to resolve issues. It confounds because we are used to descriptions based on facts and more precise communication. It would not be so confusing if we were saturated with stories that carried common perspectives. But the gospels do not provide that luxury. They do not restrict themselves to a single coherent story, even if one were tucked away in an apostle’s pocket. It was not for want of trying. There was simply no predetermined map to follow, and no prescription for one. The authors wrote to their strengths rather than to some predetermined idea. The lack of coherence worked to advantage in the first century; it seems far-fetched in our own era. We can assume that each writer believed his story, was comfortable with his world view and wrote within whatever parameters were current. The two terms which capture the thrust of this commentary are deification and diversity. In quite a literal sense they point to a list of complications when reading the library about Jesus. The stories are individually gripping and at times the teaching is enlightened. They have withstood the tests of

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time—not because they are coherent or meant to be taken literally, but because they attempt to present an extraordinary human being. So much attention has been given to understanding Jesus that we rightly expect to view it as a completed task. Such is not the case. Jesus still remains an enigma after 20 centuries. Deifying and diverse paths may make him more interesting and they help to resolve the question of what his followers believed of him. The findings here, the confusion that accompanies a thoughtful reading of the sources, also suggests a skeptical reaction, not because of what we don’t know, but because we have found good grounds for doubt from what we do know. The reasons are apparent, given a second look. Immediate questions emerge when we compare the divination of Jesus with the persistence of diversity. One force pulls away from the other. The major agreed-upon theme is the steady beat of deification of their leader. Deification was meant to bring resounding acclaim to the Master. Accolades were the rationale, not small praise. The authors took great care to speak reverently. The effect is the unique and often isolated expression of Jesus’ divinity which, when encountered in an author, editor, inheritors and modern day students—in short, by many readers and writers—confuses rather than informs. Despite the advantages of the process, the final product comes with “committee” composition, and almost every piece we analyzed was a joint affair, a committee effort. It not only frustrates individual insights, it blunts the critical knife.

Relevant Comparisons Randomness and variety, unplanned and open to many interpretations have been singled out as major characteristics of the naming process. The options within the faith were more pronounced than at any time after. Doctrinal issues were emerging, but at the edges, so to speak. The now familiar theme, Jesus’ divinity, was solidly in place at the end of the first hundred years. It was not so at the beginning of the century-long period which is our focus. Our journey was, after all, one that featured change, a sojourn. The Gospel is, I believe, a gathering of individual positions. It is not a coherent position which makes itself known in any conventional sense. Jesus’ assigned titles are a cobbled together mixture of confusing and contradictory names drawn from the available resources of the time— a genuine potpourri of first-century teachings.

CHAPTER ELEVEN CONCLUSIONS

Summation First, both of the themes we selected are common in the practice and conduct of religion. Hinduism, with its many gods, is an obvious example of diversity, Buddhism with its avatars and mysteries of enlightenment also has a theistic version. It should not surprise us that diversity and deification play strongly in most of the world’s religions. Faith is saturated with the inclination to deify the object of faith, to name a god or divine principle. Seldom are explanations required and the process, once begun, is practically beyond stopping. The function of naming in the early days of Christianity was to generate an audience that would commit to the new teaching with energy and a missionary spirit. Adulation, in Christianity, came naturally; its purpose was to confirm that God had chosen this person and not someone else for His work. Naming in the Christian tradition had a long period of practice in Judaism; it was no stranger to adulation and diversity. For converts the process began with something extraordinary about the protagonist. How was Jesus special? From the story of the temptations through the appearances after the crucifixion, Jesus’ life became an opportunity to deify him. A physical resurrection served as the final extraordinary event. Crucifixion was grisly enough for those who beheld it or heard the early reports. Jesus’ execution is remembered with very few words; John’s “it is over” says it all. Jesus’ death and resurrection, by the end of the first century, had a ceremonial quality, as if the script were familiar to a typical reader and the outcome well known. His resurrection was the ultimate miracle and served to validate Jesus’ presumption to a divine nature, deification in act as well as word. Resurrection was not the only approach to Jesus’ deified status, however. Other names were hung as if decorating a statue. Paul had a similar venture with his very different names. The stories end up being a cumulated mix of many perspectives.

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The factor of “differing paths” brings to the mix not only a potpourri, but separate assumptions and conflicting themes and the likelihood that diversity fostered contradiction and conflict. If we take the history of the movement as being dominated by diversity, our view of Jesus will be affected. The impact of his deification will be modified. Deification will be seen through the glasses of his many authors. We are faced with the effects of diversity once the sources are compared. The impact is substantial.

Differing Paths Again “Separate assumptions” was a real-life factor in the churches’ growth. I suggest that this diversity was not just a technical difficulty, but—a value accepted without question by the apostles. There is no record of any acceptance of diversity’s limits. There is also no sense of being complementary to another author when it might have been natural. Each thought his version was correct and because of this, doctrinal clashes would eventually become obvious. To say they cooperated and created a sense of harmony is not borne out by our study. We focused on the obvious circumstance that different authors chose different names, so that there was a gathering of titles that did not always agree in content or purpose. In addition, some writers would choose a name and alter its associations. This was especially true in Mark’s use of the son of Adam image as of one who must suffer and die. The title remained the same but the context was new. As we saw in Paul’s letters, diversity is also evident within a single author; it can be called “personal growth,” i.e., using a name by twisting its original meaning. This is what occurs in Paul’s ruminations about Jesus becoming the curse. I am sure there are other forms of the naming game, but it is clear there were many ways to practice it. It was a laissez faire process of spreading the new faith, but whether we see diversity in the individual or compare two authors, separate paths became a powerful influence. The man, Jesus, was extraordinary in so many ways. We come to know that through the gospel writers’ use of power-laden words and titles, as well as through Jesus’ healing and other miracles. As Jesus’ teachings became the first line of apologetics for the Roman world of discourse, deification of their leader was a requirement to grow the faith. The wonderment of such an approach to Jesus’ life is the lack of attention paid to the titles, once introduced. Not only are we thrown a

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mixture of images, we are not told how they apply to Jesus’ mission and role. The resulting mixture of labels leads to a wide mixture of doctrines. The literary pieces comprising the New Testament were a library of uncoordinated efforts of a number of authors and their communities, who all believed that they played a part in a single history. In truth, they sang differing songs, but in the earliest days it was not a significant problem, as the communities were so isolated. For the most part, they spoke and read the same language but each had a “score” that differed from his neighbors and that made for eventual dissonances. Writers who told their story, differed so much that the “music” often confused interested parties rather than enlightened them; it was not a jumbled mess, but definitely had cacophonous moments. The growing library contained so many diverse materials that a single story was unobtainable. If it were not for the impressive growth throughout the eastern Mediterranean Basin, the entire movement could have been history’s aberration. For adherents it was a symphony of salvation. So the various parts of the leader’s ministry were perceived by believers as divine signs of the next coming of the messiah, and any inconsistencies were overlooked. Our model also showed the almost constant drift towards equating Jesus with the Father: it does seem to intensify with the growth of the movement—uneven and often using different titles, but with persistence. Deification is the sole theme which held its direction in our study. I refer to this condition as “the single goal, reached by many paths.” This phrase brings together different characteristics. With such diverging voices and the sharing of one common objective, it is pretty clear that potentially chaotic conditions prevailed. It is also likely that conflicts involving substantially divergent theological perspectives coexisted for a time, but deep disagreements were just around the corner. Peaceable harmony was never the dominant theme in the life of the church. Our hunch confirmed—deification and diversity do interact—how do we juggle the single-minded objective to divinize Jesus with frequently differing titles and perspectives? With such inconsistent titles and images, can the two elements be reconciled—should they be? We are dealing with a steadily growing trend—a frequent transformation of the charismatic teacher into a reflection of the unseen God. If there is one message from the period studied, it is that the two influences contested each other from the very beginning, and did so without conscious intent. If such confusing use of language did claim to be a polished, orderly presentation of the faith, the process would be judged bizarre and superficial. It is a seriously defective conclusion even if we accept the product, because of the way it

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was achieved, i.e., without design or consistent reasons for the belief, or consent along the way. Thankfully no such claims were made. The mix we are faced with is presented—warts and all. It didn’t matter to the many converts; the rules were different and the time for a Messiah was ripe. This ambiguity will always be a fence limiting constructive efforts. With discoveries of “new” manuscripts, the opportunity for knowledge may grow, but the sense of separate visions of Jesus is so embedded in the existing library that it is almost sure to remain, or even grow. In sum, the sources we have chosen to analyze produce conclusions that limit reconstruction. We have traveled some of the paths and found no one title or description viable. (And this is not because I think there should or should not be an adequate name.) Jesus will seem an enigmatic figure because we know a bit more than before; his personality is incurably elusive. The intent of this book has been to uncover the implications of reading thoughtfully the beginnings of Christianity, and to review the authors’ views of the identity of Jesus. I have tried to listen to the authors without foisting my biases onto the materials, but I accept the responsibility for my choices and perspectives. Any misleading reading of the sources would be glaring, for many have traveled this territory before. Even though there is no definitive single portrait of the man, there are themes which give glimpses into his character and leave the reader with partial understandings, if not a clear picture. The foil for the discovery of the historical Jesus is the diversity trend we have seen as being most operative. We can’t come to some great insight about the historical Jesus because our sources are so mixed. The term “different paths,” calls into question just about every judgment we make. For every interpretation we attempt, there is a contrary one just around the corner. The overall effect is a gathering of views which defeats our modest efforts to gain the authors’ perspectives. The contrary condition is closer to a skeptic’s position, that is, a modern reader’s perspectives. Reading the records, the metaphors pile up and any deep reading which seeks to understand can be justifiably confused. Comprehending the mixture takes a relaxation of rationality—all right for the committed, but difficult for the inquirer. If we are going to fashion faith as a response to the findings of history, or in this case, histories, the most plausible is to register frankly our relative ignorance. That leaves a number of options.

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Some Alternatives Separating faith and history runs into trouble immediately. If faith denies everything taught in the natural world, we are in bad shape indeed. The notion of paradox, i.e., accepting historical and theological contrasts as complimentary, only muddies the messages. The perception that opposites complement is a hard pill to swallow. We cannot follow up other options, for that would take us far afield, but we note that our quest will not put the issues to rest. And the following conclusion is most plausible, I believe. When the question is simply put, “Who is this man?” or more appropriately, “what early images work to describe him?” we are asking a question of history. This book is predicated on that being a legitimate question. Our conclusion: confusion was there in the earliest years—it was not an add-on in later history. The early Christians were searching for images which fit their experience, and that entailed accepting just how differently each of them perceived their leader. They most likely would not have comprehended the question we ask today. It must be frankly admitted that, with all the diversity we have seen in that period, their hunt for right teaching prevailed. It is tempting to see diversity and the developments we have traced as a planned process with a complementary influences. But we met no human or divine “Director.” John with his poetic appeal, Paul and his energetic persistence, Luke’s global mission: three recorders of apostolic memory, and the inheritance by all of them of thirty, to almost a hundred years of oral storytelling, do affect any realistic evaluation of the first century. Cumulatively, they add to the skeptics’ reticence to accept the truth claims of the faith. It should be clear why I hold that the best answer to our query “Who is this person?” or “What did people think of him?” is, “I’m not sure.” While investigating the materials is continually fascinating, the question we sought to clarify, if not resolve, remains cloudy and evasive. The issue was not the search for the one true version of the man Jesus but was the more accessible writers’ perspectives about him—a project much less contentious. I thought that by clearing away some of the inconsequential obstacles, we might gain reassuring clarity but the “dung” (like Kepler’s lifelong project) is still in the barn! And it looks as if it will stay there. New perspectives are sparse. To say “I don’t know,” involves something other than an admission of ignorance; it amounts, in our case, to the

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discovery of confusion and fortuitous conditions in the environment we scrutinized. Instead of decrying a cloudy condition, it is a good opportunity, to turn over the notion of a modern response, one that emerges from a skeptic’s view. Just when we think we have a viable, well prepared addition to the issues, we meet the different paths. Certainty evades us when we try to evaluate the variety of ascriptions, but it is what we find out about Jesus that prevents us from being certain. The critical side of our existence is short-changed if we make decisions based on our passions: we disregard the past, present, and our own experience of alternatives. It is human but foolish to conduct ourselves with enthusiasm as the only engine for action, as if that alone were enough.

Agnosticism, A Viable Alternative The most viable tradition to draw on for “conclusions” is agnosticism. I said in the introductory comments that I seek a philosophy that is informed by history and celebrates the life of the mind as well as the heart. If I take these findings in their most obvious forms, a restrained version of agnosticism comes closest to a position I can live with in modest confidence. Three factors lead to this choice. First, when advocates of agnosticism are willing to welcome an experiential form of that tradition, using an empirical or existential methodology, we can develop a sufficient store of proximate knowledge. The main difference in the conduct of a “critical faith” for the agnostic would be that the limits of knowing are set by personal and social experience, not by some arbitrary rule or metaphysical assumption. We know that sensual and mental, intellectual and perceptual theories— our concepts—are derived at some point from experience. The challenge is to develop proximate knowledge that can withstand constant scrutiny. Although certainty (100%) is a rare occurrence in scientific method, knowledge depends on the attainment of “high percentage” accuracies. The study of religious experience is a main avenue to construct a position using these methods. It strives for narrow tolerances in judging difficult issues, but knows also that near but limited proximities are the gold standard in making conclusions. Experiential agnosticism also sets out a new definition of faith—as “thoughtful” or “critical” commitment. This form of agnosticism respects thoughtful faith and is open to doubts in order to refine and challenge one’s commitments. If history points towards change, the doubter considers it seriously. The ultimate test is the empirical method, and its continued use is the primary source of learning.

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The person is not paralyzed by prohibitions in the “can’t know” category, but is willing to spend extra effort to develop a proximate answer. The student is open to issues but is not convinced about the existence of God unless new evidence is presented. The empirical method is not always useable, for by nature religious practices are esoteric and deeply personal. Claims to know in the field of religion are an infrequent outcome when seeking reliable information and newer perspectives. Legitimate conclusions are those that can face disagreement and stand constant scrutiny. A restrained agnosticism uses naming to learn what believers count as their own. Naming, which has been our focus from the beginning of this report, plays such an important role in setting the horizons, but it can easily be misinterpreted as having the power to exercise authority just by uttering the appropriate name. The danger is that the believing speaker accepts the function of saying the right thing while assuming that its utterance will unlock the mind of the listener because the word itself activates reality in him. That naming has this power is blatant overstatement. The prophetic word is still the human word and only points to the human project of searching for meaning and understanding. Words which name can help clarify and perhaps convince, but there is no necessary connection between the word and our experience; the sole justification for naming rests in the attempt to communicate, to connect ideas and make decisions. Without its critical function, Christian faith is a representation of the biblical prophet; the code words are “thus says the Lord.” There are many who adhere to this description—wrongly, I believe. I think we have shown how influential naming can be, and the agnostic is on the right track in calling out its proper functions. It shows how we can get it right, within reasonable human limits. The third and last outcome of a concept of naming is that it protects the realm of mystery surrounding our existence, What I mean by mystery is similar to the term the unknown. Our limited experience dictates such an admission. We do not have everything figured out, especially with regard to life’s meaning or lack of same. When debating the merits of agnosticism our objective may be unrelated to the veil of the unknown. It should not be so. Sensitivity for the unknown is an attitude that reflects our miniscule and partial knowledge. Every exercise in philosophy and naming in religion is subject to it. The reconstruction remains, at best, proximate and partial. Our study is an example of this. We should be ready to accept the absence of a more direct answer or quick response as to how the stories became acceptable

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for entry into the sacred tradition. In the modern era, when opponents who inevitably have different stories focus on their shared responsibilities, tolerance can be achieved. But it is rare. So far, such reaching out has occurred at a minimum; stories of conflict have been made into sacred truths and divisions between faith-groups intensified. Indeed, a secular event that is sacralized (we used the term divinization) during its journey to prominence is often more divisive than anything in the secular world. This condition alone urges me to suggest the “nameless god” option. As for our study of a portion of the New Testament sources, the stories of faith revealed an abundance of diversity among the writers, and evidence of disagreements, shifts of opinion and editing within each “biography.” We are left with an array of theological perspectives. If we insist on lumping viewpoints together as if they could be pureed into one tasteful sauce, difficulties arise. While there is a modicum of harmony among given texts and somewhat similar logic to many of the gospels, their approaches to theology can and do differ. We are on shaky ground to attempt reconciliation of the various titles. It is better to attempt understanding of a complex picture than to end up trying to integrate an incongruous mishmash of images, or more seriously, a cobbled together synthesis which does not grasp unique contributions and individuality. If no single voice emerges, there is likely no single or simple truth. We have, in the gospels, a stew rather than a soup. For those who adhere to this view, the above condition is reason enough to regard the entire New Testament in human terms. For me, variety is a strong hint in that direction. It is right-headed to read the NT as a human project. There is an orientation that views the agnostic as anyone who claims we can’t know whether there is a God or not. We’ll call it “Stiff Agnosticism.” It is guided by a Kantian-like stipulation—Kant used stipulations as weapons in argument. Every bit of evidence is bracketed by the “stiff” declaration, i.e., “we cannot possibly know.” For Kant it was a matter of obvious fact that a finite mind cannot wrap itself around a concept of the “Whole” when it is itself limited. Minds are finite. Concepts are infected with the experience of the conceiver. The effect is to stifle debate before it commences. It seems unfair to the spirit of debate and the gravity of the concern simply to call the domain of faith “dead upon arrival.” So much for “stiff agnosticism.” The strength in agnosticism (Kant’s version) lies in reminding us that all our ideas about God, in the best of imagined circumstances, are but pale reflections of a domain shrouded in mystery. If we do not follow the rigid version of agnostic thought, are there alternatives that will be firmly within the skeptical tradition and yet listen to the language of reverence? We have

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probed the names assigned to Jesus, one of the most named people in the history of the globe. In a flurry of adulation he was given progressively divine powers—a sort of discovery, for believers, of his increasing divinity with every story told. Our observation of the outcome of this activity was less enthusiastic. Instead of a symphony of coherent movements, we are treated to a cacophony of themes. Binding names to this person was unsettling and inconclusive; the best a melange can produce is a cluster of divine titles which leaves the man in a haze of adulation. With the increase in divine status came contradictory images. We rehearsed a few. The most dramatic was a contest between Paul’s early perception of Christ as “curse” and its uncomfortable companion, Eucharistic host and flesh versus John’s portrayal of Jesus as an untouchable demi-God (Logos) and the executed lamb of God. There was an increase in confusion no matter what the added power. Paul’s Jesus is both sacrificial object and Eucharistic host; the bizarre nature of the mixture becomes apparent. The use of metaphor clouds the window to faith, and no clear image is shown. One side effect: where there is an decrease in clarity as a result of multiple images, and an undercurrent towards increasing power, the picture of the divine being becomes less personal, less in touch with the person, and less convincing. I don’t see this as a predestined outcome, but the study of other “charismatic leaders” bears this out. Where others have also faced increased adulation and even been worshipped, splitting straws as to how this divine power is to be understood is a major project. I think of Gotama the Buddha and Muhammad the prophet, When a trend towards divination is perceived, the forces for and against mobilize and carry doctrinal torches as if to war. Only stiff resistance and scriptural strength to maintain the leader’s humanity have avoided what we witnessed in the Gospels—the persistent elevation of Jesus to divine status. We have attempted a critique that is as close to history as we can. To understand Jesus’ time and place was our highest priority. Repeat—we have observed in principle the warning against finite minds being limited to finite observations, but have sought entry into the world of that firstcentury person and movement, and discovered even more, not fewer, barriers. The agnosticism supported by our study is one which reveals much about Jesus and concludes that those who try to understand Jesus’ personality, will confront a genuine mystery. His churches presented so many characteristics of a political/ religious/ charismatic/ miracle worker/ end time judge/ redeemer of Israel, and a host of additional metaphors that fire the creative imagination, we can’t find a definitive one. Our summations

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are based, I hope, on taking the twenty-century gap seriously. That means we cannot ask the gospel writers to meet modern standards. We entered into (religiously speaking) “foreign territory” hoping for some resolution, but not at the expense of every modern tool for evaluation. Yet even with these guidelines, it remains a mystery how such conflicting descriptions of Jesus coexist. My experience of confronting divergent images intended to demonstrate divine status, is more mystifying than first anticipated, because we encountered the melange in seeking to disentangle role and status issues. This makes agnosticism a legitimate response to Christian tradition. It is not that we cannot know Jesus in historical context; it is that the conflicting images add up to a seriously complex picture, in which some conflict is basic. The result is a mysterious person. After summarizing the elements that lead to a recognition of mystery, it is also clearer at this point that we have chosen confounding, frustrating items to introduce the agnostic tradition. Focusing on the “negative” aspects of multiple imagery cannot but stiffen the ideological principles we have said we would avoid. But high priority does triumph over literary image: in other words, we need to know the limitations and strengths of agnosticism as we study tradition. Likewise, at the intersecting points where Jesus and his adversaries debate and fail to understand each other, we need to read the compromises and stand-offs. That leads us to a more general concern. What does a restrained version of agnostic thought look like on the positive side? First, it promotes a view of Jesus that embraces his own crises of role definition. We have adopted an approach similar to Mark’s account that takes Jesus’ hesitancy at face value; he was afraid. The garden experience in Mark included Jesus’ angst without hesitation. Mark’s Jesus was not afraid to be afraid. To miss this sense of turmoil at a moment when his future was most in doubt is unrealistic and lacking in credibility. The awareness of pathos accompanying the coming of the end is captured. Such an editorial stroke cannot be verified. (How can any report be serious when Jesus was supposed to have been alone?) We are now in speculative territory, and we will never be sure of the case, but not knowing and relying on coherence rather than the ideological certainty which prohibits such speculation, makes sense. In other words, the form of agnosticism we advocate takes us into the unknown rather than excluding it as irrelevant, One solid gain is that “experiential agnosticism” seeks to realize candor in its descriptions and formulations. It is not expected that an agnostic version of events will include supernatural explanations, for there is no agreed upon criterion or method to govern how one might qualify for that status. There is no court or jury that moves an event’s meanings from

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the ordinary into the zone of the divine, as if there were a set criteria for the move and a special behavior that set boundaries for the Holy. In simple terms, experience is not divided into segments titled “sacred” and “profane.” It is assumed that perception is a human affair and is not dependent upon categories from outside that realm. Agnostic thought can be as open as any other approach to the tremendous mystery of our life on this planet. Its self-imposed inclination to bracket divine power tends to make it more sensitive to the phenomenal mysteries in the natural world. The Agnostic attitude is curious without being expectant of mystery and the hidden in ordinary life. It exults in the well-asked question and is happy, if not euphoric at a well-crafted response. What emerges from its skeptical heritage is a hesitancy to accept special ways of knowing, ways which are supposed to trump our feeble disciplines of experimentation and logical examination. Our main priority is to iterate that faith, to be an acceptable conception, cannot appeal to itself to gain legitimacy. It needs its feeders, or sources, in the perceived domain. Faith, in other words, springs from some ascertainable perception—unless it is to become the object of derision, classed as an apparition. That tendency is often the way the gospels are viewed in our day. With most other things, we demand the anchor of plausible or verifiable experience to qualify something as having a metaphysical status; the agnostic commentary is like other endeavors in that it sets requirements for religious experience as other disciplines do in their subject matter. If there is to be a hearty, thriving commitment it must be confirmed over long periods and stamped into the everyday routine as a promoter. It is best lived as a revolutionary version of the ordinary, an affirmation of meaning that sees in a routine the makings of greatness, disaster, or just more routine. True faith is unconcerned about doctrine insofar as it tries to normalize the unspeakable, and therein lies its great power—to transform our doctrinaire leanings and lay bare our apprehension of the mystery in all our naming. Again, why a Nameless God? We rehearsed the drift towards idolatry, the easily passed over egoism that creeps into any passing on of the tradition, the very human desire to think God’s thoughts after Him. Yet to base a regimen of worship on human needs and carry them out in the same spirit seems a complete surrender to the skeptic’s view—“we worship because we need to—it is testament to our needs, not God’s.” I have little expectation that readers will throw away their devotional books or stay away from church because they have agreed on the thesis of this project. I would be quite concerned if they did. What comes from a reading that I could support is the reader’s creativity growing, no matter

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what is believed religiously. Is the reader growing in his or her understanding of the issues? Are limits clarified and adjusted with study? I look forward to spirited discussions over the kitchen table soon.

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Note: RSV citations refer to The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version. SV citations refer to Miller, Robert J., ed. 1994. The Complete Gospels, Annotated Scholars Version. Allegro, John. 1996. The Dead Sea Scrolls, A Reappraisal. Middlesex England: Penguin Books. Barclay, William. 1959. Letters to the Philippians, Colossians, and Thessalonians. Philadelphia:Westminster Press. Barrett, William. 1986. Death of the Soul, Garden City, New York. Berger, Peter. 1967. The Sacred Canopy, New York, Anchor Books. Borg, Marcus J. and N.T. Wright. 1998. The Meaning of Jesus, San Francisco: Harper Collins. Bowker, John, ed. 1997. The Oxford Dictionary of World Religions. Oxford, U.K.: Oxford University Press. Brown , Roger and James Kulik. 1977. “Flashbulb Memories.” Cognition 5:73-99. Buber, Martin. 1958. I and Thou, 2nd ed. New York: Charles Scribners Sons. Campbell, Jeremy. 2006. The Many Faces of God. New York: W.W. Norton & Co. Capra, Fritjof. 1992. Belonging to the Universe, San Francisco. Harper Collins. Chilton, Bruce. 2000. Rabbi Jesus. New York: Doubleday. Coles, Robert. 1999. The Secular Mind. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Crossan, John Dominic. 1998. The Birth of Christianity, San Francisco: Harper Collins. —. 1994. The Essential Jesus: Original Sayings and Earliest Images. Edison NJ: Castle Books. —. 1991. The Historical Jesus: The Life of A Mediterranean Jewish Peasant. New York: Harper Collins. Dennett, Daniel C. 2006. Breaking the Spell, Religion as a Natural Phenomenon. New York: Viking Penguin Group. Edwards, Paul, ed. 1972. Encyclopedia of Philosophy. New York: McMillan Publishing Company.

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Ehrman, Bart D. The New Testament, 2nd Ed. 2000. New York: Oxford University Press. Fredriksen, Paula. 1988. From Jesus to Christ, The Origins of New Testament Images of Jesus. New Haven: Yale University Press. —. 1999. Jesus of Nazareth King of the Jews. New York: Vintage. Funk, Robert W. 1996. Honest to Jesus, for a New Millenium. San Francisco: Harper Collins. Grant Michael, 1977. Jesus. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons. Hick, John. 1977. The Existence of God. New York: Macmillan Co. The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version, (RSV). 1952. New York: Thomas Nelson and Sons. Griffith-Jones, Robin. 2000. The Four Witnesses, the Rebel, the Rabbi, the Chronicler, and the Mystic. San Francisco: Harper. Kee, Howard Clark. 1970. Jesus in History. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Kloppenborg, John S. 1988. Q Parallels. Sonoma, CA: Polebridge Press. Koester, Helmut. The Gospel of Thomas: Introduction, TheologyWebsite, accessed November 9, 2010, http://www.theologywebsite.com/etext/naghammadi/thomas.shtml. Loftus, Elizabeth F. and Katherine Ketcham. 1994. The Myth of Repressed Memory: False Memories and Allegations of Sexual Abuse. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Mack Burton L. 1993. The Lost Gospel, the Book of Q and Christian Origins. San Francisco: Harper. Miles, Jack. 2001. Christ, A Crisis in the Life of God. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Miller, Robert J., ed. 1994. The Complete Gospels, Annotated Scholars Version (SV), San Francisco: Polebridge Press. Neisser, Ulrich and Nicole Harsch. 1992. 9,12. “Phantom Flashbulbs: False Recollections of Hearing the News about Challenger,” In Effect and Accuracy in Recall: Studies of “Flashbulb” Memories, edited by Winograd and Neisser, 9-31. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Newberg, Andrew. 2001. Why God Won't Go Away. New York: Ballantine. Otto, Rudolf. 1971. The Idea of the Holy. London: Oxford University Press. Oxford English Dictionary, Eleventh Ed. 1971. New York: Oxford University Press. Pagels, Elaine. 1979. The Gnostic Gospels. New York: Vintage Books. —. 2003. Beyond Belief. New York: Random House,.

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Patterson, Stephen J., Marcus Borg, J.D. Crossan and Hershel Shanks, eds. 1993. The Search for Jesus. Washington D.C.: Biblical Archaeology Society. Perrin, Norman C. and Dennis C. Duling. 1982. The New Testament an Introduction. New York: Harcourt Court Brace Jovanovich. Riley, Gregory J. 1997. One Jesus, Many Christs. New York: Harper Collins. Roetzel, Calvin. 1999. Paul. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Schachter, Daniel L. 1996. Searching for Memory: The Brain, the Mind and the Past. New York: HarperCollins (Basic Books). Shermer, Michael. 1999. How We Believe. New York: W. H. Freeman and Co. Smith, Huston. 2001. Why Religion Matters. New York: Harper Collins. Spong, John Shelby. 1998. Why Christianity Must Change or Die. New York: Harper Collins. Spoto, Donald, 1998. The Hidden Jesus. New York: St. Martin's Press. Van Buren, Paul. 1996. The Secular Meaning of the Gospel. New York: Macmillan Co. Vermes, Geza. 2000. The Changing Faces of Jesus. Middlesex: Viking Compass. Young, Dudley. 1991. Origins of the Sacred. New York: St. Martin's Press. Watts, Alan W., 1968. Myth and Ritual in Christianity. Boston: Beacon Press. Winograd, Eugene and Ulrich Neisser, eds. 1992. Effect and Accuracy in Recall: Studies of “Flashbulb” Memories. Emory Symposia in Cognition, 4. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Wills, Garry. 2006. What Jesus Meant. New York: Penguin Group. Wilson A.N. 1992. Jesus, a Life. New York: Fawcett Columbine. —. 1999. God's Funeral. New York:W.W. Norton. —. 1997. Paul. New York: W.W Norton.

INDEX

Note: Boldfaced entries indicate names for Jesus or God. Page numbers followed by “n” indicate footnotes.

A Abraham, 66, 67, 83, 114, 119, 156, 192, 211 actions (lifestyles, manual of living, practice). see also asceticism Matthew and, 129 Paul and, 62, 64, 72, 76, 77, 83, 84 Q and, 20, 35, 36 Thomas' gospel and, 41, 52 Acts of the Apostles (Luke). see Luke-Acts (Luke) Adam, 78, 110 adulation. see deification (divinity) agnosticism, 220–226 agreement (consensus; orthodoxy). see also canon basics, 208 early churches and, 216, 217 John and, 171–172, 182, 190, 199–200 Luke and, 134, 140, 146, 163 Mark and, 146, 163 Matthew and, 116, 126, 131, 146, 163 suffering and, 50 angels, 24, 44, 45, 107, 115, 136, 137, 166 Anointed. see also Messiah John and, 171, 176, 177, 178, 179n3, 183–184, 185, 191, 204 Luke and, 133, 135, 137–138, 141–143, 146–147, 148, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168

Mark and, 98–99, 101, 104, 108, 146, 164, 206 Matthew and, 114, 115, 124, 128, 130, 146 Paul and, 65 anti-Semitism, 69, 175, 202 apocalypticism (end time; Eschaton) early churches and, 18, 31, 33, 35 John and, 186, 188 Luke and, 147, 163, 165 Mark and, 101–102, 106, 108, 109, 111, 112, 163 Matthew and, 126, 128–129, 163 Paul and, 59–61, 62, 75, 76, 77, 86, 109, 163, 210 Q and, 17–18, 21–22, 28, 29–31, 34–36 resurrection and, 58 son of Adam/man and, 33, 210 Thomas' gospel and, 42–43 apostles, 153–156, 208. see also disciples/discipleship; individual apostles asceticism, 20n6, 41, 42, 78

B baptism of Jesus John and, 178 Luke and, 139–140, 148 Mark and, 100, 105 Matthew and, 115–116, 125, 199 Q and, 16 Barclay, William, 81

232 bards, 7, 12–13 baseball example, 5–6, 8–9 Beatitudes, 16, 17 The Birth of Christianity (Crossan), 4n2 blasphemy, 100, 193 blood. see body and blood bodies (flesh), 19, 20, 50–51, 85, 161, 162, 175 body and blood, 75–76, 78, 110, 161, 188–189 Bonhoeffer, Dietrich, 153 "bread alone," 25, 26 bread of life, 188 Brown, Roger, 6 Bruce, F.F., 56 Buddhism, 215, 223

C canon, 40, 57, 90–91, 95–96 carpenter, 103 Catholicism, 74, 211 Challenger tragedy, 6 cheek offering, 19 children of God, 85, 158, 171, 173 children of light, 42, 50 Chilton, Bruce, 101 Chosen One agreement and, 205, 213 divinization and, 215 John and, 182, 183, 190, 192 Luke and, 147, 148, 164, 165 Mark and, 98, 99 Matthew and, 116 Paul and, 59, 80 Christ. see also Jesus Christ John and, 195 Luke and, 137, 138 Mark and, 99 Matthew and, 130 Paul and, 59, 60, 61, 62, 78, 79, 81, 110 Teacher versus, 159

Index Christianity. see early churches (communities); specific branches Christology, 121–122 circumcision, 63, 64–65, 65–66 Clement of Alexandria, 94 Common Sayings Tradition (CST), 18n4, 34–35, 41, 42. see also Sayings Gospel compassion, 68, 82, 117, 129, 151, 190 Complete Gospels (Miller, ed.), 18n4, 91, 170, 185 consensus. see agreement contradictions (paradoxes), 140, 219, 223 converts, 40, 58, 64, 77, 105 Corinthians 1 and 2, Letters to (Paul), 57, 71, 72–79, 110– 111, 161–162 The Cost of Discipleship (Bonhoeffer), 153 courtroom imagery (trials), 32, 33, 36, 82, 84, 89 creation, 48, 51 Crossan, John D. apocalypticism, on, 34–35 early communities, on, 36 Kloppenborg, on, 17n3 memory, on, 4–7, 9–11 oral transmission, on, 7–9, 11–13 Peter's gospel, on, 89–91 Q, on, 17n3, 18, 18n4, 20, 23, 34– 35 Thomas' gospel, on, 40–41, 42, 43 wisdom sayings, on, 20 crosses, 93, 104 Cross Gospel, 90–91, 94 crucifixion, 9, 47, 48, 50, 90, 155, 165–166, 211 CST (Common Sayings Tradition), 18n4, 34–35, 41, 42. see also Sayings Gospel curse (ransom image) basics, 211 contradiction and, 223

Nameless God Galatians and, 64–66, 66–67 Gentiles/Jews and, 68–69 Greek influences, 70 Hellenism and, 70 Logos and, 212, 213 Mark and, 107, 110, 111 Paul and, 73, 84, 216 Cynics, 21

D Daniel, Book of John and, 186 Mark and, 106–107, 108, 111 Paul and, 59, 60, 109 Q and, 33, 36 son of Adam/man and, 27, 33 David, 83, 94, 95, 99, 102, 114, 115 day of Coming (last day), 27, 28, 60 dead in Sheol, 93 death of Jesus, 47, 48–49, 81, 101, 194. see also resurrection of Jesus; Risen Christ/Lord; tomb of Jesus deification (divinity). see also God; God; specific names for the divine basics, 205–208 contradiction and, 223 diversity and, 208–209, 213–218, 222 early communities and, 37 Eucharist and, 207 Gnosticism and, 53 John and, 170, 181, 184, 186, 193, 194, 195, 197, 212 Judaism and, 207, 215 Luke and, 137, 145, 147–148, 167 Mark and, 99, 105, 206 Matthew and, 116, 118, 119, 120– 121, 122, 125, 128, 131, 164 names of Jesus and, 210, 215, 217 Paul and, 59, 61, 70–71, 78, 80, 81, 83, 86, 206–207, 209 Q and, 21, 22, 25, 29, 30 religion and, 215

233

resurrection of Jesus and, 206, 215 Sadducees and, 176 Thomas' gospel and, 46, 47–48, 49, 51, 209 Demiurge, 47, 48 demons, 100, 102–103, 143, 145 devil (Satan), 25–26, 116, 140–141 Didache, 35 discernment, 75–76 disciples/discipleship. see also apostles; individual disciples deification and, 205, 206 gospel fragments and, 95 John and, 178, 180, 189, 195, 198, 199 Luke and, 151, 153–155, 166 Mark and, 98, 102, 103, 104, 105, 1110 Matthew and, 114, 117, 122, 124, 126, 128, 146, 147, 148– 150, 151, 153–155, 166 memory and, 6 Paul and, 55, 64 psychological aspects, 6 Q and, 20, 21, 28, 36 Thomas' gospel and, 41, 44–45, 46–47 diversity (different paths). see also agreement; theology basics, 205–206, 208–210, 219– 220 deification and, 208–209, 213– 218, 222 early churches and, 37, 126, 168, 169–170, 216–218, 219 gospel fragments and, 95–96 John and, 183, 186, 195, 208 Last Supper and, 162 Logos and, 212 Luke and, 134, 140, 163, 166 Mark and, 106, 111–112 Matthew and, 118, 119, 121, 126, 208 modern, 222

234 names of Jesus and, 77, 165, 209– 210, 212, 216 oral period and, 22 Paul and, 66, 69, 77, 81, 85n5, 86, 87, 208, 209, 216 Q and, 22, 32, 37, 53–54 religion and, 215 son of Adam and, 210 synoptic gospels and, 169 theology and, 222 Thomas' gospel and, 40–41, 53– 54 divinity. see deification divorce, 126 donkey and colt, 127, 195, 209 dust images, 78

E early churches (communities) agreement, 216, 217 apocalypse and, 18, 31, 33, 35 diversity and, 37, 126, 168, 169– 170, 216–218, 219 Eucharist and, 167 holy spirit and, 198 John and, 183 Luke and, 133, 134 Mark and, 112 Matthew and, 114, 120, 121–122, 124–125, 131 Paul and, 55, 56, 62, 79 Q and, 18, 28, 36 Q1 and, 20, 21, 22 Q2 and, 23, 28, 32 right teaching and, 26 Son of man and, 33 Thomas' gospel and, 40, 53 Eastern Orthodoxy, 74 eating, 74, 75 Ehrman, Bart D., 56, 169 Elijah, 45, 99, 104, 120, 125, 147 Elijah, 146 emissary of God, 128

Index Emmanuel, 115 emotion, 9, 10, 11 empiricism, 220–221 emptying, 79, 80, 81 end time. see apocalypticism Epictetus, 172 Epicurus, 70 equality with God, 185–186, 187 Eschaton. see apocalypticism eternal life, 67, 182, 188, 190 ethicism, 35 Eucharist (Communion supper). see also Last Supper (Lord's Supper) confusion and, 223 deification and, 207 John and, 177, 189, 190 Luke and, 167 Paul and, 62, 75–76, 77 Eucharistic Host, 77, 78 evidence, 181, 187 exclusivity John and, 182, 187, 190, 197 Luke and, 154 Mark and, 154 Matthew and, 122, 154 Paul and, 62, 66 Q and, 28 exorcisms, 102, 103 experience, 220–221, 224–225 eyewitnesses, 5, 133, 135

F faith experience and, 225 John and, 185 Kierkegaard on, 67–68 Luke and, 134, 135 Mark and, 99, 103 Paul, 83–84 Paul and, 64, 65, 66, 69, 79, 82, 85 Peter's gospel and, 93

Nameless God Father deification and, 217 John and, 121, 151, 176, 180, 185, 186, 187, 193–194, 196, 197, 200 Luke and, 139, 151, 165, 196 Mark and, 107, 196 Matthew and, 117, 120, 122, 127, 130, 131, 196 Paul and, 80, 81, 83, 92 Q and, 19, 25, 26, 28 Thomas' gospel and, 41, 42, 46, 48, 50 Father in [the] heaven[s]. see also sky (in the air) Matthew and, 117, 118, 119, 120, 123, 124, 126 Q2 and, 25, 26 fire, 23, 31, 44, 152 flashbulb memories, 6–7 "Flashbulb Memories" (Brown and Kulik), 6 flesh (bodies), 19, 20, 50–51, 85, 161, 162, 175 the flood, 24 flour, measures of, 20 forgiveness, 30, 81, 100, 142, 145 form, 79, 80 foxes and birds, 19, 30 fragments, gospel, 89–96

G Galatians, Letter to (Paul), 57, 62– 71, 110 gate for the sheep, 193 Gentiles circumcision and, 63, 65–66 divinity and, 177 John and, 174, 183 Luke and, 135, 138, 144, 148 Matthew and, 114, 122, 123, 131 Paul and, 60, 64, 65, 67, 69, 82, 84, 86–87 Q2 and, 29

235

Gethsemane, 195–196, 224. see also transfiguration Gnosticism creation and, 48 deification and, 53 early communities and, 40 knowledge and, 42, 43, 46, 49, 50, 51, 52 suffering and, 50 Thomas' gospel and, 40, 41, 42– 43, 46–47, 52–53 God. see also deification; idolatry equality with, 185–186, 187 Hellenism and, 71 John and, 175 Judaism and, 175 Luke and, 149–150 Matthew and, 116, 117, 125 Paul and, 62, 67–68, 78, 79, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 211 Q and, 31, 35, 36 skepticism and, 222–223 Stoicism and, 172, 174, 175 Thomas' gospel and, 46, 47, 49, 51, 53 God, 59, 141, 204 god/man. see deification (divinity); Logos God's holy man, 100 God with us, 115, 116 Good Samaritan, 151 gospel fragments, 89–96 grace, 64, 83, 84, 175 Greek influences. see also Logos; individual Greeks; specific schools divinity and, 177 John and, 172, 174–175, 176, 181, 183, 184, 212 Mark and, 99 Matthew and, 121 Q and, 16–17 Thomas' gospel and, 53 Torah and, 40 Greeks, 82, 99, 122n2, 133, 138– 139

236 Gunkel, Hermann, 3

H hagion pneuma, 86 harmonia, 173, 174 Harsch, Nicole, 6 harvests, 19 healings John and, 185, 187 Luke and, 144, 153 Mark and, 100, 102, 103 Matthew and, 129 heaven, 50, 59, 78, 117, 125. see also sky (in the air) heavenly father, 25, 26. see also Father in [the] heaven[s] Hebrews. see Judaism Hellenism. see Greek influences Heraclitus, 172 heresy, 193 Herod, 91, 115 history, 9, 37, 114, 218, 219–220 Holy Spirit John and, 198–199 Judaism and, 207 Luke and, 136–137 Mark and, 103 Matthew and, 131 Paul and, 85n5, 86 Q2 and, 23, 25, 27, 30, 32 host, 76, 77–78, 207

I I am, 184 idolatry, 25, 76, 177, 185, 193, 207, 225 imperial rule, 50 incarnation, 86, 119 inclusivity, 168 interpretation, 8 Isaac, 211 Isaiah, Book of, 68n3, 99, 106, 108, 123, 136, 141, 177–178. see also suffering servant

Index

J James, 64, 66 James the Just, 44 Jesus, 62, 79, 103, 115 Jesus, historical, 35, 86, 216, 218 Jesus Christ, 62, 63, 72, 80, 99 Jesus the Nazarene, 200, 202 Jewett, Robert, 56 Jews. see Judaism John, Gospel of audience for, 172, 174 basics, 169–170 diversity and, 183, 186, 195, 208 Father and, 48 lamb of God and, 177–178 Logos, 172–177 Luke and, 149–150, 151 Matthew and, 121 miracles, 179–200 names of Jesus and, 179n3 Prologue, 170–172, 176, 181 Q2 and, 28 son of Adam and, 168, 179, 181, 182, 186, 188, 189, 190, 195 theology and, 175, 177, 178, 182– 185, 190, 193–194, 195, 197 Thomas' gospel and, 48 trial, 200–204 John the Baptist, 23, 45, 104, 120, 137, 139, 177, 206 John the Baptist, 146 Jonah, 27, 30, 31 Judaism. see also Law, Hebrew (Torah); messianic promise; prophecies/prophets; specific books and individual figures of the Old Testament circumcision and, 64–65 converts and, 40 deification and, 207, 215 diversity and, 215 early communities and, 40, 135, 205 Greeks and, 138–139

Nameless God John and, 174–175, 176–177, 183, 184, 185, 193, 194, 201–202 Logos and, 173, 212 Luke and, 139, 149, 153, 157 Mark and, 98, 106, 109 Matthew and, 122, 123, 127, 130 names for Jesus and, 105 Paul and, 66, 67, 68, 71, 72, 73, 76, 78, 82, 85n5, 123 Peter and, 90 Q and, 21, 29 resurrection and, 61 sacrifices and, 71 Secret Gospel of Mark and, 95 son of Adam/man and, 33, 101, 149, 210 transfiguration and, 148 Judas, 104, 197 judgment John and, 190 Mark and, 106, 108 Paul and, 60, 68, 82 Peter's gospel and, 92 Q and, 19, 25, 27, 30, 32, 34, 36 son of Adam and, 210 suffering and, 68, 106 Thomas' gospel and, 45 judgment day, 27, 32. see also courtroom imagery (trials)

K Kant, Immanuel, 222 Kee, Howard Clark, 40 Ketcham, Katherine, 11 Kierkegaard, Søren, 67–68 King, 111, 164, 188 kingdom of God (of the Father) Paul and, 78 Q and, 19, 20, 23, 24, 25, 33 Thomas' gospel and, 43, 50 King of Israel, 92, 179, 195 King of the Judeans, 104, 130– 131, 164, 165, 201–202 Kloppenborg, John, 16–17, 18, 23

237

knowledge, 46, 47, 48, 49, 51. see also wisdom Koester, Helmut, 20–21, 42–43, 53 Kulik, James, 6 kyrios, 157

L lamb, 71, 72, 73, 75, 77, 110 lamb of God, 177, 178, 179n3, 223 Last Supper (Lord's Supper). see also Eucharist (Communion supper) gospel comparison, 160–163 John and, 187–188, 197 Mark and, 107, 111 Paul and, 74, 76, 110, 111, 162– 163 Law, Hebrew (Torah). see also messianic promise Jewish converts and, 40 John and, 176, 179, 185 Luke and, 156 Mark and, 102 Matthew and, 113, 114, 115, 118, 119, 120, 127 Paul and, 64–65, 66, 67, 68–69, 73, 83, 84, 85 Q and, 21 son of Adam and, 108, 210 lawyers, 19, 24, 32 Lazarus, 194, 195 leader, 146 Leviticus, 101 life, 194, 197 Life Tradition, 35 light Gnosticism and, 51 John and, 173, 175, 182, 197 Paul and, 62 Peter's gospel and, 92 Thomas' gospel and, 42, 49, 50 light, 48, 49, 193 loaves and fishes, 103, 187–188 Loftus, Elizabeth F., 11 logia, 40

238 Logos, 71, 172–178, 190, 212–213, 223 Lord John and, 177 Luke and, 137, 138, 140–141, 157, 163, 164 Mark and, 109, 157 Matthew and, 118, 119, 120, 125, 128, 129 Paul and, 58, 59, 61, 62, 65, 74, 75, 80, 92, 109 Peter's gospel and, 91, 92 Q2 and, 25, 29 Teacher versus, 159 Lord in the air, 58, 59, 60. see also sky (in the air) Lord of heaven and earth, 120 Lord's day, 92 Lord's Supper. see Last Supper Lord your God, 25, 26, 116 The Lost Gospel (Mack), 18n4, 19 Lot, 31 love canon, 72 Luedeman, G, 56 Luke, Gospel of audience for, 133–136, 138–139, 142–143, 144, 148, 149 John and, 183 Last Supper and, 160–163 Mark and, 145, 146, 147, 156– 157, 159, 165–166, 167 Matthew and, 135, 136n1, 138, 139, 143, 145, 149–150, 165–166 names of Jesus and, 136–159, 163–164 Noah and, 31 Paul and, 62, 159 poetry of, 158 Q and, 15–16, 18n4, 19n5, 29–31 resurrection and, 166–168 Secret Gospel of Mark and, 94 son of Adam and, 27–28, 143, 144, 147, 148–149, 152– 156, 159, 163–164, 165, 166, 167–168

Index theology and, 135, 138, 140, 142, 147, 158, 159, 167, 168 trial and crucifixion, 164–166 Luke-Acts (Luke), 133, 134 Luther, Martin, 83

M Mack, Burton early communities, on, 21, 32–33, 36 Kloppenborg, on, 17 mythmaking, on, 33–34 Q and, 16, 17, 18, 18n4, 19, 21, 23 Son of man, on, 33 man of heaven, 78 manual of living. see actions Mark, Gospel of Act I: Prelude, 97–105 Act II: Final Act, 97, 104, 105– 112 agnosticism and, 224 agreement and, 146, 163 Anointed and, 98–99, 101, 104, 108, 146, 164, 206 deification and, 99, 105, 206 Father and, 107, 196 Jerusalem and, 95 John the Baptist and, 139 Last Supper and, 160–163 Luke and, 140, 145, 146, 147, 156–157, 159, 165–166, 167 Luke and Matthew and, 16, 138, 143, 144 Matthew and, 114, 115–116, 116– 117, 118, 120, 123–124, 125, 126–127, 129 names of Jesus and, 97, 98, 104– 105 Paul and, 62 Secret Gospel of Mark and, 94, 95 son of Adam and, 154, 210 theology and, 99, 104 Thomas' gospel and, 44, 45, 46 Mark's Secret Gospel, 90n1, 94–96

Nameless God marriage, 126, 158 Mary, mother of Jesus, 114–115, 136, 179–180 Mary and Martha, 194 Mary of Magdala, 203 Masoretic text, 40 Master John, 197 John and, 189, 194, 204 Luke and, 143, 144, 145, 146, 156–157, 163 Matthew and, 118, 119, 120, 125, 127 Paul and, 59 Q and, 20, 21, 25, 29 Matthew, Gospel of baptism of Jesus, 115–116 basics, 113–114 crucifixion and resurrection, 129– 131 diversity and, 118, 119, 121, 126, 208 holy spirit and, 199 John and, 183 John the Baptist and, 139 Jonah and, 30 Last Supper and, 160–163 Luke and, 135, 136n1, 138, 139, 143, 145, 149–150, 165–166 Mark and, 113 Mark's Secret Gospel and, 94 names of Jesus and, 124, 127 Noah and, 31 Paul and, 62, 123, 126 Q and, 15–16, 18n4, 19n5, 28, 30 son of Adam and, 27, 154 son of David and, 137 teachings and, 116–117, 119, 126–129 teachings of Jesus, 116–129 theology and, 117, 119, 120–121 Torah and, 40, 114–115 Matthew the apostle, 45 memory, 4–12, 41 Messiah. see also Anointed canonical gospels and, 205

239

John and, 176, 178, 179n3, 184, 185 Luke and, 135, 139–140, 167–168 Mark and, 101, 105, 108, 112 Matthew and, 122, 126, 128, 129 Q and, 21, 25, 29, 36 messianic promise basics, 40 gentiles and, 131 John and, 151, 199 Luke and, 135, 142 Mark and, 109, 112 Matthew and, 113, 114, 115, 117, 119, 127–128, 129, 131 Paul and, 65, 66, 67, 109 metaphors, 73, 189, 193, 218, 223– 224. see also specific metaphors Miller, Robert J., 170 miracles, 23, 97, 100, 103, 129, 153, 179–200. see also healings; supernatural (wondrous) events missionaries, 2, 21n6, 206, 207, 215 Mister, 183 moneychangers, 180 morphe, 71, 80, 81 Moses, 125, 147, 176, 187 Most High, 137 motion and rest, 42, 50 Mount of Olives, 157 Muhammad, 223 mystery, 96, 221, 222, 223–224, 225 mysticism, 62, 76–78, 79, 82, 85, 162, 189 mythmaking, 33–34

N Nag Hammadhi discoveries, 16 names of Jesus. see also specific names agnosticism and, 221, 223 belief in, 179n4 casual uses of, 27n8

240 deification and, 210, 215, 217 diversity and, 77, 165, 209–210, 212, 216 Last Supper and, 163 Paul and, 72–74, 77, 81–82, 87 power of, 199, 210, 221 theology and, 73–74, 198 third person self-reference, 31 Neisser, Ulrich, 6 Nicodemus, 180–182 Noah, 25, 31

O Old Testament. see Law, Hebrew (Torah); prophecies/prophets; individual figures; specific books one who came into being before coming into being, 47, 52 one who comes from what is whole, 49 one who comes in the name of the Lord, 29, 127, 195 one who is to come, 25, 29 one who sent me, 25, 121, 188, 196 one who was not born of woman, 46 oral period diversity and, 22 duration of, 1–2, 10 memory and, 4–7, 10–11 outcomes, 9–10 skepticism and, 219 storytelling and, 2–4, 7–10, 12–14 oral tradition, 18n4, 26, 43, 121. see also Sayings Gospel orthodoxy. see agreement

P parables, 43, 50, 103, 114, 117, 124, 128, 144, 156 paradoxes (contradictions), 140, 219, 223 parallels, gospel, 3, 160

Index Paschal lamb, 72, 73, 75, 110 passion. see suffering Passover, 72, 161, 178, 187 Patterson, Stephen J., 18n4 Paul. see also specific works apocalypticism and, 210 basics, 55–58 credentials of, 63–64, 75, 82 Cross Gospel and, 91 deification and, 59, 61, 70–71, 78, 80, 81, 83, 87, 206–207, 209 diversity and, 66, 69, 77, 81, 85n5, 86, 87, 208, 209, 216 Gentiles and, 138–139 influence of, 86–87, 163 John and, 178 Judaism and, 40, 66–67 Last Supper and, 161–163 Luke and, 159 Mark and, 99, 109–111, 126 Matthew and, 62, 123, 126 names for Jesus and, 73, 77, 87, 212 Q and, 36 Secret Gospel of Mark and, 95 theology of, 55, 57, 59–62, 65, 67, 69, 70, 72, 73, 77, 78, 79, 80–81 Peter, Gospel of, 89–94 Peter the apostle John and, 190, 197, 200 Luke and, 146 Mark and, 104 Matthew and, 124, 125 Paul and, 64, 66 Pharisees Luke and, 50, 143, 145, 149, 150, 152, 153, 146 Mark and, 44, 101, 102, 103 Paul and, 56, 69, 70 Q and, 32 son of Adam and, 149 Philemon, Letter to (Paul), 57 Philip, 197–198 Philippians, Letter to (Paul), 57, 71, 79–81

Nameless God philosopher, 45, 46 Pilate, 90, 91, 104, 130, 165, 200– 203 poetry , 72, 74, 80 popularity of Jesus, 152, 181–182, 195 practice. see actions pre-existent Christ, 49, 73, 78, 79– 80, 81, 83, 140, 142, 183 pronouncements on the age, 23–24 prophecies/prophets. see also messianic promise faith and, 221 John and, 179 Luke and, 135, 137, 138, 157 Paul and, 75 Q2 and, 24 son of Adam and, 27 son of God and, 99 Thomas' gospel and, 45 transfiguration and, 147–148 prophet, 104, 127, 146, 183, 187 prophetic sayings, 18 Protestantism, 68, 74, 211 Psalms, 99, 105, 118, 127

Q Q. see also Q1; Q2 basics, 15–19 diversity and, 22, 32, 37, 53–54 interpretation of, 18, 29 John and, 183 layers of, 17–18, 23 Luke and, 135, 138, 139, 140, 141, 143, 144, 149–150 Mark and, 108–109 Matthew and, 113, 114, 115, 116– 118, 119–120, 122n2, 123– 124, 126, 127, 129, 140 oral period and, 3n1 Paul and, 61 theology in, 21, 28, 29, 33, 52 Thomas' gospel and, 40 Q1 basics, 18–22

241

Common Sayings Tradition and, 35–37 diversity and, 32 Matthew and, 121 Paul and, 57, 86 Q2 and, 23, 25 son of Adam and, 27 Teacher and, 29 Q2, 18, 22–37, 60, 61, 108–109, 206 Q3, 28, 29 Q Parallels (Kloppenborg), 16 Quakers, 78

R Rabbi John and, 178, 179n3, 203 Luke and, 148 Mark and, 104, 125 Master and, 119–120 Matthew and, 113, 119–120, 128 Q and, 19 Rabbi Jesus (Chilton), 101 ransom image. see curse rationality/reason, 172, 173, 174– 175 Reagan, Ronald, 10–11 redemption. see also salvation John and, 190 Mark and, 106, 108 Matthew and, 129 Paul and, 65, 84 Q2 and, 25, 33 resurrection and the life, 194 resurrection of the dead, 58, 78, 109, 110–111, 158, 188, 196 resurrection of Jesus. see also death of Jesus; Risen Christ/Lord; tomb of Jesus apostles and, 155 deification and, 206, 215 John and, 180, 196–197, 198, 203–204 Luke and, 149–150, 155

242 Mark and, 104, 107, 108, 109, 112 Matthew and, 125–126, 128, 129, 131 Paul and, 61, 63, 72, 78, 80, 82, 83, 109 Peter's gospel and, 90, 92–94 Q and, 22, 36 Risen Christ/Lord. see also death of Jesus; resurrection of Jesus; tomb of Jesus diversity and, 77 Eucharist and, 75, 207 John and, 189–190, 203 Mark and, 109 Paul and, 61, 63, 75, 76, 80, 85, 109, 111 Robinson, James, 17 Rock, 73, 77 Roetzel, Calvin, 56, 70 Roman officer, 164 Roman officer's slave, 144 Romans, Letter to (Paul) basics, 57, 81–86 Law (curse) and, 66, 69 Luke and, 133 Matthew and, 124, 125, 130–131 Peter and, 90 popularity of Jesus and, 152 son of God and, 99 trial of Jesus and, 200, 202

S Sabbath day, 102, 153, 185 sacred history, 134, 137, 168, 188 sacrifice, 65, 66–67, 68, 71, 76, 84, 108, 110. see also curse; lamb Sadducees, 176 salvation. see also redemption Gnosticism and, 51 Law and, 69 Matthew and, 129 Paul and, 60, 64–65, 65–66, 76, 78, 81, 82 Q2 and, 29

Index Samuel, Books of, 98, 115, 136 sapient sayings, 17 Satan (devil), 25–26, 116, 140–141 Savior early communities and, 122 John and, 184–185, 190 Luke and, 137 Peter's gospel and, 92 Q and, 21 Thomas' gospel and, 48, 52 sayings, 17–18, 20–21, 20n6, 34– 37, 41, 42, 170, 194, 195 Sayings Gospel, 20n6, 194, 195. see also Common Sayings Tradition (CST) Schacter, Daniel L., 5, 9 schema, 81n4 Searching for Memory (Schacter), 5 second Adam, 78 second coming, 199 secrecy Mark and, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 107 Q2 and, 28 Thomas' gospel and, 40, 44, 45, 46–47, 50, 52 Secret Gospel of Mark, 90n1, 94–96 Septuagint, 40 sexual abuse, 11 sexuality, 47 shepherd, 103, 193 Signs Gospel, 170, 177, 178, 179, 185, 187, 200n5, 203 Simeon, 138 Simon Peter, 44, 124 sins, 82, 85, 211 skepticism, 10, 219–220, 222–223 sky (in the air). see also Father in [the] heaven[s]; heaven John and, 179, 196 Luke and, 167 Mark and, 100, 108 Matthew and, 130 Paul and, 58, 59, 60 Peter's gospel and, 93 Smith, Morton, 94

Nameless God

Sodom, 27, 31 Solomon, 99 son John and, 121, 197–198 Matthew and, 120, 122, 128, 131 Q2 and, 25, 26 son of Adam. see also Son of man basics, 108, 210–211 John and, 168, 179, 181, 182, 186, 188, 189, 190, 195 Judaism and, 101, 149, 210 Last Supper and, 163 Logos and, 190, 212 Luke and, 27–28, 143, 144, 147, 148–149, 152–156, 159, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167–168 Mark and, 97–98, 100–102, 104, 105, 106–109, 110, 111, 112, 210, 216 Matthew and, 114, 119, 120, 126, 127, 129, 130, 146 Paul and, 59, 109 Q and, 19, 20, 25, 27–32, 36, 144, 210 son of God versus, 99 Son of man and, 21 suffering and, 97–98, 105, 106– 109, 147, 148–149, 210, 216 Thomas' gospel and, 45 son of David Luke and, 136, 137 Mark and, 98, 120 Matthew and, 114, 120, 127, 128 Secret Gospel of Mark and, 95 son of God John and, 151, 176, 178, 179, 182, 183, 186, 193 Luke and, 136, 137, 139, 140, 150, 151, 164–165 Mark and, 98–99, 100, 102, 105 Matthew and, 116, 122, 124, 130, 131, 164 Paul and, 82, 83, 85 Peter's gospel and, 90, 92 Psalms and, 105

243

Q2 and, 25, 26 Thomas' gospel and, 48 son of Joseph, 114–115, 179 Son of man, 19, 21, 24, 33. see also son of Adam son of Mary, 103 son of the Blessed One, 108, 164 son of the Most High, 136, 145 souls, 19, 51 spirit, 51, 83, 84–86, 98. see also Holy Spirit Stoicism John and, 172–174, 175, 181, 194, 212 Paul and, 70–71, 80–81 Thomas' gospel and, 42, 43, 51 storytelling, 2–3 suffering (passion) basics, 196, 211 Gnosticism and, 50 John and, 176, 187, 196, 200, 202 Luke and, 145, 147, 148–149, 153, 156, 159, 165, 166 Mark and, 97–98, 104, 105, 106– 109, 110, 111, 112 Matthew and, 129 memory and, 9 orthodoxy and, 50 Paul and, 65, 66–67, 80 Peter's gospel and, 89, 90, 91 son of Adam and, 97–98, 105, 106–109, 147, 148–149, 210, 216 Thomas' gospel and, 53 suffering servant, 68n3, 108, 111 supernatural (wondrous) events, 93– 94, 97, 125, 225. see also angels; miracles; specific events synoptic gospels (Luke, Mark, Matthew), 3, 57. see also specific gospels synoptic problem, 16

244

T Teacher John and, 178, 179n3, 197, 203 Luke and, 158, 159 Mark and, 103, 104 Matthew and, 119, 129 Q and, 19, 20, 21–22, 25, 28, 29, 37 Thomas' gospel and, 45–46, 48 teachings Luke and, 139, 141, 143–144, 152 Matthew and, 116–129 Q2 and, 33–34 theology and, 211 Thomas' gospel and, 43 temptations of Jesus, 25–26, 116, 140–141, 215 theology (doctrine), 52, 73–74, 161, 163, 198, 211, 222, 225. see also agreement; individual writers and works; specific theological elements Theophilus, 133 Thessalonians, First Letter to (Paul), 57, 58–62, 206 Thomas, Gospel of basics, 39–44, 51–52 deification and, 46, 47–48, 49, 51, 209 Matthew and, 119, 121 names for Jesus, 44–54 Paul and, 57, 61 Q and, 16, 17, 40–41 theology in, 42 Thomas the apostle, 197, 203–204 tomb of Jesus, 92–93, 166, 203 Tonos, 71, 172, 194

Index Torah. see Law, Hebrew; Septuagint transcendence, 47, 125 transfiguration, 93, 125–126, 147, 149 trial of Jesus, 200–201 trials. see courtroom imagery Trinity, 85n5, 131, 165, 198, 207 the truth/truth teller, 197, 201

V violence, 35, 44, 45, 68, 72, 98, 178, 211

W walking on water, 124, 188 washing of feet, 145, 194, 197 the Way, 24, 197 Weisse, Christian, 16 Wilson, A.N., 56, 67, 69, 76 wisdom, 33, 34. see also knowledge wisdom, 172, 173, 174 wisdom sayings, 17–18, 20–21 wise philosopher, 45 women, 25, 155, 183, 203 wondrous (supernatural) events, 93– 94, 97, 125, 225. see also angels; miracles; specific events Word, 71, 172, 173, 174, 175 written text, 8, 209

Z Zacchaeus, 156 Zealots, 202 Zechariah, 127, 137