by Paul Johnson
So Sunday morning passed. In the afternoon, two disciples, one called Cleopas, were walking to Emmaus, a two hours’ distance from Jerusalem. They already knew about the events of the morning. But when “Jesus himself drew near,” they did not recognize him. The account of the meeting is only in Luke, and he may have been told it by Jesus’s mother, for it has her poetic touch about it. These three men walked together, and Jesus got the disciples to tell him about recent events—the trial and Crucifixion. They also told him that Jesus’s body had disappeared from the tomb. Jesus pointed out that all these happenings had been prophesied, “expound[ing] unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself.” They still did not recognize him. They arrived at Emmaus, “and he made as though he would have gone further. But they constrained him, saying, Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent.” So Jesus stayed with them, and they had supper. He “took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them.” Suddenly, recognizing these familiar gestures, they realized who it was. “[T]heir eyes were opened,” says Luke, “and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight” (24:13-31). The two disciples immediately returned to Jerusalem, “and found the eleven gathered together.” They told their story and how they had recognized Jesus when he broke bread. Then, says Luke, “as they thus spake, Jesus himself stood in the midst of them, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you.” Luke says they were “terrified” and “supposed that they had seen a spirit.” But he pointed out that his body was real and solid: “Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have.” He then showed them the nail holes in his hands and feet. He said he was hungry, too, “[a]nd they gave him a piece of a broiled fish, and of an honeycomb. And he took it, and did eat before them” (24:33-43).
John adds a footnote to this episode, one of those touches of detail which gives such vivid reality to the Gospels. The apostle Thomas was not present when the others saw Jesus eat his broiled fish and honeycomb. He refused to believe what they told him, saying, “Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.” John says that eight days later, when the disciples, Thomas included this time, were in a room, Jesus appeared, walking through the shut door. He “stood in the midst, and said, Peace be unto you.” He said to Thomas, “Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing.” Thomas said, “My Lord and my God.” Jesus replied, “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed” (20:24-29).
John records a further appearance, by the Sea of Galilee, to Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples. They went fishing all night but caught nothing. When day broke they saw Jesus on the shore and did not recognize him. He said, “Children, have ye any meat?” They answered, “No.” He said, “Cast the net on the right side.” They did, and caught 153 fish. John said to Peter, “It is the Lord.” Jesus had lit a charcoal fire and laid out bread. He invited them, “Come and dine.” He broke the bread and gave it to them “and fish likewise.” This, said John, was “the third time Jesus shewed himself to his disciples” (21:1-14).
Luke says that Jesus’s last act was to lead his disciples out to Bethany; he then gave them his blessing and was “carried up into heaven” (24:50-51). Mark gives his final command: “Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature” (16:15). Matthew adds a detail. He says Jesus told the eleven apostles to meet him on a mountain in Galilee. When they assembled together, he said, “All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” This was the first time the doctrine of the Trinity was clearly enunciated. He said their teaching was to include all he had “commanded” them. His last words to them, before ascending into heaven, were: “I am with you always, even unto the end of the world” (28:16-20).
We thus come to the end of Jesus’s life on earth. I have followed closely the text of the four Gospels. They are based primarily on the memories of Jesus’s mother, Mary; the evidence of Peter, whom Jesus always treated as the leader of the apostles and confided much in him; on the individual memories of apostles, and their collective memory, the basis of their teaching after Jesus left them; and finally on the account given by John, an eyewitness to many of the events in Jesus’s ministry. He was the only one of the apostles not to be martyred, and in his old age he put his memories of Jesus down in writing.
There is a further important source: St. Paul. He was born Saul, in Tarsus, a major city of Cilicia in southeast Asia Minor. The most likely year of his birth was AD 9, so he was about twelve years younger than Jesus. He was born a Roman citizen, of a Hellenized family, and probably spoke fluent Greek and Latin. But he was a circumcised Jew who knew Hebrew and probably Aramaic, Jesus’s native tongue. He was well educated, studied under the famous Jewish scholar Gamaliel the Elder in about 20, and was prominent among the orthodox Jews who persecuted the followers of Jesus soon after his ascension into heaven. According to the Acts of the Apostles, an early Christian text compiled by the same Greek doctor who was responsible for the written version of Luke’s gospel, Paul was a young man present at the time when Stephen, the first Christian martyr, was stoned to death about one year after Jesus’s ascension. He continued to take part in the persecution of Christians until a miraculous event, at the entrance to Damascus, converted him. Thereafter he met all Jesus’s surviving friends, cross-examined them about Jesus’s life, teachings, and sayings and traveled widely with Barnabas. Paul made it his business to learn everything he could about Jesus and then to convey it, in systematic form, to the Greek-speaking Gentiles outside Palestine. He taught in public but he also wrote letters of instruction to the earliest Christian communities, in Corinth, Rome, and elsewhere, and some of these have survived: the first Christian documents.
There are two points on which Paul’s written evidence is important. First, he gives an account of Jesus’s Resurrection, which is the first, in written form, to have survived. Paul says Jesus was seen first by Peter, then by the other apostles. Then “he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once; of whom the greater part remain unto this present, but some are fallen asleep.” Then, says Paul, Jesus was seen by James, then by all the apostles together: “And last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due time” (1 Cor 15 : 3-8). Paul’s testimony is impressive because his other references to Jesus and his characteristic qualities and behavior—his personality—accord remarkably well with the figure presented in the four Gospels, though Paul cannot have seen any of them in written form. Moreover, he gives an accurate description of Jesus’s institution of the sacrament of Holy Communion at the Last Supper, which is worth quoting: “[H]e . . . took bread: And when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me. After the same manner also he took the cup, when he had supped, saying, This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me” (1 Cor 11:23-25).
The final confirmatory document is the Acts of the Apostles, compiled by Luke (who was much in the company of Paul). Jesus, commissioning his disciples to spread his message to all the peoples of the earth, had said he would send the Holy Ghost to help, comfort, and inspire them, both physically and spiritually. The promise was fulfilled later in the spring of the same year, at the Jewish feast of Pentecost. It is described in chapter 2 of the Acts. This feast was an event which brought to Jerusalem Jewish pilgrims from all over the Roman Empire and beyond. There were, says Luke, “Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and the dwellers in Mesopotamia, and in Judaea, and Cappadocia, in Pontus, and Asia, Phrygia, and Pamphylia, in Egypt, and in the parts of Libya about Cyrene
, and strangers of Rome, Jews and proselytes, Cretes and Arabians. . . .”
Jesus’s disciples “were all with one accord in one place,” the account says, hoping to make converts. But in what language should they speak? Few of the visitors knew Aramaic or spoken Hebrew. Few of the disciples could speak Greek or Latin. “[S]uddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost.”
When the disciples went outside into the milling crowds of Jews from all nations, they found that the language difficulty had disappeared. The disciples “began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.” More and more people came to listen, as the word got around—and “every man heard them speak in his own language.” Some mocked, saying, “These men are full of new wine.” But Peter “lifted up his voice” and said, “[T]hese are not drunken, as ye suppose, seeing it is but the third hour of the day.” Peter, not normally a man of poetry, was inspired to speak with strong rhythms that I have set here in verse:Saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit, upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams: And on my servants and on my handmaidens I will pour out in those days of my Spirit; and they shall prophesy: And I will shew wonders in the heavens above, and signs in the earth beneath; blood, and fire, and vapour of smoke: . . . Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly, that God hath made that same Jesus, whom ye have crucified, both Lord and Christ. (2 :37-41)
This great Pentecostal hymn, heard in different languages, had its effect. They “were pricked in their heart” and asked, “[W]hat shall we do?” Peter replied, “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ.” So they proceeded to the first mass baptism, “about three thousand souls,” and the Christian Church was born.
I have tried to tell the story of Jesus of Nazareth, his life, death, Resurrection, and ascent into heaven, as simply and factually as possible. I have used primarily the four Gospel accounts which reached written form not long after the events they described, and which are essentially the memoirs of eyewitnesses to them. I have used throughout the authorized translation into English done in the early seventeenth century, known as the King James Version, because it combines better than any other a high degree of literal accuracy with archaic verbal elements which remind us we are dealing with events of two millennia ago. It is also a work of art.
This is important because the Gospels are literary as well as historical and spiritual documents. Brief, single-minded, direct, and purposeful, they constitute in combination one of the finest works to come down to us from antiquity. This is because they are short biographies, mutually reinforcing and correcting, of a man who was himself a poet and who used words with an astonishing gift for their meaning and resonance and delight. In his imagery and metaphors, in the way he told his stories and parables, in his constant invention of new ways of saying things, he was not merely a superb teacher but a great artist. He also drew people into his discourse and listened to them, asking them questions and commenting on their answers. A high percentage of the Gospels is speech given verbatim, often dialogue. It is vivid: one can hear it. That is one reason why so much of its phraseology has passed into common usage and literary reference in all the tongues of the world. At the beginning of the twenty-first century we still use the language of Jesus and his contemporaries—spoken in Aramaic, then translated into Greek—as often as ever, because it has become part, and a much-loved one, of our own. We hear Jesus for ourselves, almost as though we were sitting at his feet, on the mount. It is part of the continuing miracle of global communication which began on the feast of Pentecost.
The Gospels are designed to be read and reread. The oftener we do so, the greater our delight in them, the deeper our understanding, and the more we grasp their realism. They are the truth. What they tell us actually happened. The characters are real. The details are strangely, sometimes mysteriously, convincing. As we go on reading, the many centuries which intervene gradually slip away, and we become familiar with a world not so different from our own. Palestine in the first century AD was a land crowded (just as our earth is crowded) with a multiracial, multireligious population. The people believed themselves to be civilized, with ancient traditions of law, spiritual life, and government. But their tranquillity was constantly disturbed by barbarous events and acts of savagery. There was a sense of impending catastrophe. Wild visions of a terrifying future were discussed. There were prophets of both doom and utopias.
Government, both spiritual and temporal, was supposedly a blessing, being based, on the one hand, on the Law of Moses and, on the other, on Roman law. There were codes, precedents, courts, parchments—and plenty of lawyers. In practice it was corrupt, mendacious, grossly inefficient, and spasmodically cruel. It did not dispense justice so much as whim. It was run by men who were plainly inadequate and sometimes monsters. Herod the Great was an evil man who murdered innocent children to protect his throne. Herod’s son Antipas was a spendthrift hedonist, not unlike some Arabian princes today, but he was also a man who mingled his frivolities with an occasional murder. Caiaphas, the high priest, was an evil man like Herod, with an added dimension of hypocrisy, spiritual pride, and a peculiar malice toward good men. Pontius Pilate was an archetype of the weaknesses with which we are daily familiar in our own political world: a pretense to uphold truth and justice and to heed public opinion, combined with indecision, cowardice, and a final tendency to bow to pressure groups, even when knowing them to be wrong. Every aspect of bad government we experience today finds its counterpart in first-century Palestine, not least the listless mediocrity which was its usual characteristic.
Beneath the rulers were the contrasting worlds of the rich and the poor: men feasted unconcernedly while most did without and a few starved. The Gospels paint this panorama in vivid shades. There was a great deal of charity, institutional and personal; much of it was quite ineffective and hopeless: “The poor always ye have with you.” Cripples were ubiquitous. The destitute begged. Pious men took high seats in the synagogue or stood in the streets praying aloud. The Gospels tell it all. They show the activity of the good amid the prevailing indifference: rough men like Peter who were willing to leave their jobs to work, unpaid, with just their keep, for the common cause. And there were the women—the Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene, Martha, Susanna, Joanna, and many others who were decent and generous, like the widow with her mites, or trusting and long-suffering, like the crone with “an issue of blood.” Most of them were poor, a few wealthy; some, like Pilate’s wife, superstitious and yearning for spiritual help, we hear of only offstage. We find women in every chapter of the Gospels, almost on every page: the human pulse of emotion, the conduit of love. Their presence compensates for the cruelty, the sneers, the insensitivity, and the roughness we also find on almost every page.
Amid all this teeming humanity is the gregarious, friendly figure of Jesus: always there, teaching, listening, sometimes just chatting at a well or when dining or supping with people of all kinds. Occasionally he was stern. Once or twice he showed righteous anger. But he was usually soft-spoken and genial; images from the fields and groves, or from animal life, were always on his lips. He was a fascinating, irresistible figure, radiating love, benevolent, forgiving, talking always of mercy, smiling often. He was a serious man nonetheless, one who spoke with authority; a man to respect, obey, follow; a man who seemed to, perhaps occasionally really did, emanate light—one of his favorite words—and dispel the dark side of life. He was clearly a man who, despite his meekness, challenged official authority, especially that of those who dealt in spiritual matters. So they had him watched. Always, at his elbow, were agents, spies, informers, and provokers, committing his words to memory so that they could be twisted when used in court. He was a man rarely alone.
But when he was solitary, he prayed, kneeling. He prayed often, even on the cross: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
Jesus lived in a cruel, unthinking world, and his life and death formed an eloquent protest against it. He offered an alternative: not an outward life of revolution and reform but an inner life of humility and love, of generosity and mercy, of forgiveness and hope. We live in a cruel world, too, one just as unthinking, though teeming with knowledge, universities, communications, expertise. So Jesus’s alternative is still relevant: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” If Jesus were to appear again today, we can be sure not only that he would find countless followers but equally that he would be persecuted and killed. The Christianity he bequeathed has not been tried and failed. As G. K. Chesterton once wrote, it has been found difficult and left untried. But it remains at our disposal. Its message, at its simplest, is: do as Jesus did. That is why his biography, in our terrifying twenty-first century, is so important. We must study it, and learn.
Further Reading
On the historicity of Jesus, the two most valuable books are E. P. Sanders, The Historical Figure of Jesus (London, 1994); and Robert Geis, The Christ from Death Arisen (Lanham, Md., 2008). For the Gospels, see Andrew Lincoln, The Gospel According to St. John (London, 2005); Ulrich Luz, Matthew, 3 vols. (Minneapolis, 1989-2005); John Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids, 2005); Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (Grand Rapids, 1997); Joel Marcus, Mark 1-8 and Mark 8-16 (New York, 1999); and John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Mark (Collegeville, Minn., 2002). Among good recent books are Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony (Grand Rapids, 2006); Gerald O’Collins, Jesus: A Portrait (London, 2008); and Pope Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth (trans., London, 2007). For background I have used Walter A. Elwell, ed., Encyclopaedia of the Bible, 2 vols. (London, 1988); and James Hastings et al., A Dictionary of Christ and the Gospels, 2 vols. (Edinburgh, 1906), which, though old, is very full and useful.