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(2025)

The Quest for the Historical Paul with Nina Livesey (Part 3: Paul and the Gospel of John)

1. Jesus and Paul
2. Mythmaking and the Central Elements of Early Christianity
     2.1 Crucifixion
3. Who Influenced Who?
4. Sin Becomes Sinful Beyond Measure
5. The Crucifixion
6. Gethsemane
7. Mark
8. John and the Beloved Disciple
9. Conclusion

Appendix: What if Livesey is Wrong and Paul’s Letters are Early?

ABSTRACT: In this third of four articles, John MacDonald explores how John specialist Hugo Méndez appeals to an emerging consensus that there is an intertextual relationship between Paul’s letters and the Gospel of John. In particular, MacDonald looks at the lateness of the letters of Paul and how they might be appropriating the Gospel of John, such as with the indwelling of Christ’s spirit.

1. Jesus and Paul

The character Jesus may be a literary retrojection into the early first century CE made after the 130s CE. A literary Jesus would be exemplary of an apocalyptic messianic claimant around the first century and what would have tragically happened to him. And, as with all such claimants, even if Jesus was God’s most beloved (agapetos) messenger (angelos), narratives about him would ultimately appropriate some earlier historical philosophical cynic/Jewish school sources like Q. Theologically, such a people turning on Jesus would thus explain God’s wrath on the Jews with the destruction of the Temple (70 CE) and the horror of Bar Kokhba in the 130s CE. As we’ll see, the early convert Paul, too, might be an idealized figure appropriating certain historical material like Simon Magus—with Paul representing the one who was to come to continue Jesus’ mission to the Jews with a mission to the pagans (as the one prophesied in scripture to bring the message of God to the pagans before the coming of the end).

Just as the central story of the Christian religion is the cross crafted out of Psalms and Isaiah and in Mark, Matthew adds the Wisdom of Solomon and Paul adds Deuteronomy (the cursed hung on a tree). Likewise, the writer of Acts has crafted a conversion story for Paul out of Jewish and Greek sources. On Paul’s conversion, Robert M. Price comments:

Paul’s Conversion (9:1-21)

As the great Tübingen critics already saw, the story of Paul’s visionary encounter with the risen Jesus not only has no real basis in the Pauline epistles but has been derived by Luke more or less directly from 2 Maccabees 3’s story of Heliodorus. In it one Benjaminite named Simon (3:4) tells Apollonius of Tarsus, governor of Coele-Syria and Phoenicia (3:5), that the Jerusalem Temple houses unimaginable wealth that the Seleucid king might want to appropriate for himself. Once the king learns of this, he sends his agent Heliodorus to confiscate the loot. The prospect of such a violation of the Temple causes universal wailing and praying among the Jews. But Heliodorus is miraculously turned back when a shining warrior angel appears on horseback. The stallion’s hooves knock Heliodorus to the ground, where two more angels lash him with whips (25-26). He is blinded and is unable to help himself, carried to safety on a stretcher. Pious Jews pray for his recovery, lest the people be held responsible for his condition. The angels reappear to Heliodorus, in answer to these prayers, and they announce God’s grace to him: Heliodorus will live and must henceforth proclaim the majesty of the true God. Heliodorus offers sacrifice to his Saviour (3:35) and departs again for Syria, where he reports all this to the king. In Acts the plunder of the Temple has become the persecution of the church by Saul (also called Paulus, an abbreviated form of Apollonius), a Benjaminite from Tarsus. Heliodorus’ appointed journey to Jerusalem from Syria has become Saul’s journey from Jerusalem to Syria. Saul is stopped in his tracks by a heavenly visitant, goes blind and must be taken into the city, where the prayers of his former enemies avail to raise him up. Just as Heliodorus offers sacrifice, Saul undergoes baptism. Then he is told henceforth to proclaim the risen Christ, which he does. Luke has again added details from Euripides. In The Bacchae, in a sequence Luke has elsewhere rewritten into the story of Paul in Philippi (Portefaix, pp. 170), Dionysus has appeared in Thebes as an apparently mortal missionary for his own sect. He runs afoul of his cousin, King Pentheus who wants the licentious cult (as he views it) to be driven out of the country. He arrests and threatens Dionysus, only to find him freed from prison by an earthquake. Dionysus determines revenge against the proud and foolish king by magically compelling Pentheus to undergo conversion to faith in him (“Though hostile formerly, he now declares a truce and goes with us. You see what you could not when you were blind,” 922-924) and sending Pentheus, in woman’s guise, to spy upon the Maenads, his female revelers. He does so, is discovered, and is torn limb from limb by the women, led by his own mother. As the hapless Pentheus leaves, unwittingly, to meet his doom, Dionysus comments, “Punish this man. But first distract his wits; bewilder him with madness…. After those threats with which he was so fierce, I want him made the laughingstock of Thebes” (850-851, 854-855). “He shall come to know Dionysus, son of Zeus, consummate god, most terrible, and yet most gentle, to mankind” (859-861). Pentheus must be made an example, as must poor Saul, despite himself. His conversion is a punishment, meting out to the persecutor his own medicine. Do we not detect a hint of ironic malice in Christ’s words to Ananias about Saul? “I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name” (Acts 9:16). (Price, 2005)

We see similar mythmaking in Saul changing his name to Paul. In Acts 13:6-12 Sergius Paulus—a Roman proconsul in Cyprus, whose name Saul adopts—is depicted as a Gentile who converts after witnessing a miracle performed by Paul (blinding the sorcerer Elymas Bar-Jesus, who was trying to prevent the Christian message going to Paulus). This story positions Sergius Paulus as a symbolic figure: a prominent pagan who embraces the Christian message, marking a key moment in the spread of the gospel to the Gentiles. If the character Paul is crafted with Sergius Paulus as his inspiration, he could symbolically embody the mission to the pagans.

As the story goes, Bar-Jesus was a sorcerer telling a pagan Paulus not to convert to the Jewish-origin Christian faith. Paul, filled with the Holy Spirit, rebuked Bar-Jesus, causing him to be temporarily blinded. After witnessing this miracle, Sergius Paulus believed in the Lord, astonished by the teaching and the power of God. The reference to Bar-Jesus might reflect the wink at the reader that Jesus focused his mission primarily on the Jewish people, as is suggested by the earliest Gospel accounts and the cultural context of first-century Judea. In the Gospel of Matthew (15:24) Jesus is quoted saying that “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” indicating that he had a targeted mission to the Jews. His teachings, rooted in Jewish law and prophecy, addressed Jewish audiences, and his activities centered in Galilee and Judea, predominantly Jewish regions. Paul’s mission to the Gentiles thus evolves beyond this “Bar-Jesus” hindering Saul’s converting of Sergius Paulus. The consequence is that the Jewish name Saul is converted to the Roman name Paul/Paulus, and so the story seems completely fictional.

2. Mythmaking and the Central Elements of Early Christianity

The story of Jesus’ crucifixion also seems fictional since we are told what Jesus said from the cross, what Jesus and the high priest said to each other, and what Jesus and the crowd said to each other. Who would have been around to record these conversations?

Paul’s account offers one narrative detail of the crucifixion: Jesus died for our sins, was buried, and was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, as though Paul assumed that his reader knew the gospel account.

2.1 Crucifixion

In a box on his commentary on Mark, Lawrence M. Wills writes:

SCRIPTURE FULFILLMENTS

Mark highlights a number of events in such a way as to fulfill passages from Psalms and Isaiah.

Mark
14.1	kill by stealth	Ps 10.7-8
14.10-11	betray him	Isa 53.6,12
14.18	the one eating with me	Ps 41.9
14.24	blood poured out for many	Isa 53.12
14.57	false testimony	Ps 27.12; 35.11
14.61; 15.5	silence before accusers Ps 38.13-14?	Isa 53.7?
14.65	spit, slap	Isa 50.6
15.5,39	amazement of nations and kings	Isa 52.15
15.6-15	criminal saved, righteous killed	Isa 53.6,12
15.24	divided his clothes	Ps 22.18
15.29	derided him and shook their	Ps 22.7; 109.25
15.30-31	save yourself!	Ps 22.8
15.32	taunted him	Ps 22.6
15.34	why have you forsaken me?	Ps 22.1
15.36	gave him sour wine to drink	Ps 69.21

These connections call into question whether the events Mark depicts actually occurred or whether they were introduced into the narrative to establish that Jesus died in “accordance with the scriptures” (1 Cor 15.3-4). Whether actual incidents are here interpreted through a scriptural lens or whether Mark created the narrative from a series of prophetic texts, or a combination of both, remains debated. (Wills, 2017, p. 99)

Acts seems to allegorize this kind of creative writing via Paul as starting with the Old Testament, and writing about Jesus through that lens. Acts talks about reading from the Torah, then from the former prophets (Joshua through Kings), and then finally from the latter prophets (Isaiah through Malachi). At that point the synagogue leader would ask if anyone would like to bring any message or experience that might illuminate the readings. So Jesus’ followers may have fused their memories of Jesus with the scriptures, as primed by that Sabbath. This is what Paul does in Acts (13:16b-41). Likewise, the writers of the Dead Sea Scrolls came up with a biography for their Teacher of Righteousness by mining and repurposing the Old Testament.

3. Who Influenced Who?

We sometimes think that Paul’s letters influenced Mark, but if we date the New Testament into the second century, it could be that here Paul is summarizing Mark in 1 Corinthians 15:3-4 (as he seems to do with the trial of Jesus, as we will see below).

Some scholars try to rescue the historicity of the account of Jesus’ trial with the Jewish elite in a manner that seems highly dubious. For instance, from John Hamilton we read:

However, the Synoptic chronology is not impossible, for as [Josef] Blinzler says, the prohibition of legal proceedings on feast days was less strictly enforced than that of holding courts on the Sabbath, ‘therefore it is quite thinkable that it did not seem to the Sanhedrists an infringement of an important rule to start a legal trial even on the night of the Pesach’. It is the argument of this article that all the Gospels witness to such a trial which, while viable in its date, contravened accepted practice as subsequently enshrined in the Mishnah at many points, as Blinzler shows. For example, the proceedings took place in the house of Caiaphas, not in the Temple, and though Jesus had not actually pronounced the Name of God, he was condemned as a blasphemer. He was not offered an advocate; the witnesses were not warned before being examined; nor were they called to account for false witness. The members of the Sanhedrin, although witnesses of the alleged blasphemy, took part in the passing of the sentence, though it was not legal for them to do so. As Blinzler says, one is not able ‘to spare the Sanhedrin the reproach of very serious infringement of the law’. The question is, why did they do this?’ It will not do to suggest that the occasion was a sham—the proceedings were undoubtedly carried through before a competent bench of judges’. Nor can their contraventions of the Mishnaic code be simply dismissed by saying that it was not yet in force. It is true that it was not codified until about 200 AD, and reflects conditions which obtained then, but it certainly enshrines earlier practice to a considerable extent. For example, Segal says that in describing Temple ritual, it may be employed with confidence. May not the same apply to legal practice?… Before the Feast of the Passover Caiaphas is reported to have said in council: ‘It is expedient for you that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation should not perish’ (Jn. 11:50). Expediency was the factor which determined his conduct. When the opportunity unexpectedly presented itself to secure Jesus’ death, he and the priests avidly took it. Spurred on by their hatred of him; persuaded that as he was a false teacher, his execution on a feast day would be appropriate; and pressurized by shortage of time, they held his trial on the paschal night. In this trial they contravened normal legal practice at many points. The fact that they could do this in the legal sphere makes it likely that they could, because of the exceptional circumstances, also contravene ritual practice. For the exigencies of the case demanded that they work through the night. Early next morning therefore, they still had not eaten their paschal meal [emphasis mine]. (1992, pp. 335-336)

In order to maintain the historicity of the narrative, we can certainly explain away the apparent impropriety with just-so stories framed in terms like “maybe if we look at it this way” and “maybe that.” But it seems just as likely that the writers were emphasizing and augmenting the wrongs being done to Jesus—who they felt he was wrongly executed—to make a point about the world turning on God’s specially beloved agapetos. Is the most parsimonious explanation really that the historical occurrence of a multitude of apparent illegalities were accompanied by a multitude of loopholes? Or are the Gospel writers making the point that the crafty (1 Corinthians 3:19-29) Jewish leaders were manipulating God’s words while knowingly contravening His will in getting Jesus killed (e.g., John 18:31), tricking the Romans into executing Jesus in a manner akin to how Darius’ officials conspired against Daniel by tricking King Darius into throwing Daniel into the lion’s den (in Daniel 6)? Is the true meaning of blasphemy cursing God—or rather is it knowingly twisting God’s words to serve one’s own agenda? The Jewish trial of Jesus in the Gospels is expressed by Paul’s thoughts about the world versus the Christian approach that “We have renounced the shameful, underhanded ways; we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God’s word” (2 Corinthians 4:2).

Once again, just as we noted the extensive use of Jewish typology (in Jesus as the New and greater Moses) and Greco-Roman typology (in Jesus as the new and greater Dionysus), so too we have with Jesus’ “trial” a fiction made out of a sophisticated understanding and manipulation of Jewish law and tradition to create satire that screams at an elite educated writer, not at the oral traditions of an illiterate community:

Certainly therefore, an execution would have been contrary to the sabbatical nature of the first paschal day. However, Deut. 17: 12-13 prescribes the death penalty for anyone who opposes the decisions of the priests, to be carried out so that ‘all the people shall hear and fear,’ and the Mishnah (Sanhedrin 11:4) gives special instructions for the execution of a rebellious teacher: ‘He was kept in guard until one of the three feasts, and he was put to death on one of the three feasts’. This shows that in certain circumstances executions were permitted on feast days. Moreover, [Paul] Billerbeck says that where an example is required ‘to protect the Torah from wilfully severe transgressions, an execution may, as an exception, supersede a feast day.’ (Hamilton, 1992, p. 335)

Again, this seems to make perfect literary sense. It is just like Mark’s narrative of the crucifixion serving as haggadic midrash recapitulating Isaiah 53 and Psalm 22, perhaps with the Deuteronomy 17:12-13 trial as the literary origin of the story. Just as we have a very sophisticated use of the Hebrew scriptures using haggadic midrash, so too we see a sophisticated use of the Jewish tradition with the crafting of the satirical trial of Jesus about the corrupt Jewish leaders. Analogously, Jesus’ Temple tantrum story is absurd, as the Temple was huge and had guards to prevent just such a disturbance. The Temple incident narrative is just a way of connecting Jesus to the death by Rome as an enemy of the state (King of the Jews) because the Jewish leaders weren’t allowed to kill him.

4. Sin Becomes Sinful Beyond Measure

Paul seems to summarize Mark’s use of scriptural allusions to craft the crucifixion narrative; would not a reader be baffled by Paul’s statement if they didn’t have the Markan context? Similarly, Paul summarizes Mark’s trial theme of Jewish experts manipulating the letter of the law to their own ends and ignoring God’s intention, the spirit of the law. Paul says that “through the commandment sin might become sinful beyond measure” (Romans 7:13). We see then why Paul also says in 1 Thessalonians that certain Jews killed Jesus (the elite and the bloodthirsty crowd), and Matthew has the Jews say that Jesus’ blood is upon them.

The purpose of the law wasn’t just to teach you right from wrong, but to open your eyes by making sin sinful beyond measure to circumcise the fleshly from your heart. God is sometimes depicted as wanting a contrite heart, not animal offerings (Psalm 50:8; Hosea 6:6; Psalm 51:16; etc.). Mark’s Jewish trial of Jesus seems to be a caricature exploiting a negative view of the Jewish elite around the supposed time of Jesus. There is substantial historical evidence from first-century and near-contemporary sources indicating that Jewish leaders—such as Pharisees, Sadducees, priests, and members of the Sanhedrin—were often viewed negatively. These criticisms stemmed from intra-Jewish disputes over religious practices, purity laws, authority, corruption, and theological differences.

From the Gospels Paul’s theology also seems to assume a context of the temptations of Satan. Paul—who “taught nothing among us but Christ and him crucified”—made a major qualification that should leap out at the reader when he said “if Christ is not raised your faith is in vain and you are still in your sin” (1 Corinthians 15:17). How could that be if the cross paid the sin debt in full? Paul means something else here, which makes sense since the Old Testament does not speak of Adam with inherited sin. Paul seems to mean that Christ in you/the mind of Christ is welcomed as a holy possession to help you battle Satan’s temptations (e.g., “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” in Philippians 4:13—Christ being the resistor of Satan par excellence). But then Paul doesn’t have in mind sin as sin-debt paid in full by substitutionary atonement. Paul probably has in mind the temptations of Christ by Satan from the Gospels. Price notes: “Like Christ, John cannot be tempted. ‘Now I know that God dwells in you, blessed John! How happy is the man who has not tempted God in you; for the man who tempts you tempts the untemptable’ (Acts John, 242). Earlier, Christ himself is called ‘him that cannot be tempted’ (226)” (Price, 2012, p. 183). Paul notes that if the dead are not raised, we might as well embrace hedonism because tomorrow we die (1 Corinthians 15:32).

5. The Crucifixion

Normally, typology as an outgrowth of form criticism suggests that we would bracket the historicity of events that have a literary origin. But this is exactly what Paul does with the crucifixion. In Galatians 3:13 Paul finds Jesus’ crucifixion in the Old Testament passage in Deuteronomy 21:22-23, stating that Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written: “Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree.” When we try to narrow in on the meaning, it again shifts and changes. Does this passage mean that Christ took on our sins as a curse in substitutionary atonement? Maybe, but Daniel Street and others note that Paul uses the word “curse,” not “accursed.” So it could mean that people see the person hung on the tree to be like one who is cursed. Deuteronomy clearly didn’t mean that God cursed someone simply by virtue of them being hung on a tree. Scott Shauf explains that “there really is no case to be made for it [as a sacrifice]. Sacrificial victims were not cursed” (2022, p. 172).

In ancient Israel, criminals were typically executed by stoning (e.g., for crimes like blasphemy or idolatry). Hanging the body on a pole or tree was a postmortem act, not the method of execution, meant to publicly shame the offender and deter others (cf. Joshua 8:29, 10:26). The requirement to bury the body by nightfall prevented ritual impurity from defiling the land. The phrase “under God’s curse” (qelalat Elohim) indicates that the act of hanging the body publicly signifies divine judgment. The curse is tied to the crime that led to execution (a capital offense), not necessarily the act of hanging itself. However, the public display amplifies the perception of divine disapproval, as the body is exposed in a state of dishonor. Some scholars, like Jeffrey H. Tigay (2003), argue that the curse reflects how the act of hanging makes the victim appear accursed to onlookers. The public exposure of the body signals that the person has violated God’s covenant, incurring divine judgment. The curse is less about an ontological state (inherent cursedness) and more about the social and ritual significance of the act, which marks the individual as rejected by God in the eyes of the community.

The Babylonian Talmud’s Sanhedrin 43a (220 CE, though reports are of earlier traditions) contains a passage that is often interpreted as referring to Jesus of Nazareth, though there is debate among scholars about whether it definitively describes him given discrepancies in chronology, naming, and context. The passage, which appears in some uncensored manuscripts like the Munich Talmud, states:

On the eve of the Passover, Yeshu was hanged. For forty days before the execution took place, a herald went forth and cried, ‘He is going forth to be stoned because he has practiced sorcery and enticed Israel to apostasy. Anyone who can say anything in his favor, let him come forward and plead on his behalf.’ But since nothing was brought forward in his favor, he was hanged on the eve of the Passover.

In the Gospel accounts the first inclination of his persecutors was to stone Jesus on multiple occasions, and his end came around the Passover. The New Testament describes Jesus’ crucifixion by the Romans, not stoning or hanging by Jewish authorities, and lacks the forty-day herald period. But the truth may have been the opposite of what we think. Maybe John the Baptist wasn’t killed for insulting royalty, but rather (as per Josephus) because the sheer numbers he was gathering threatened the establishment. Similarly, maybe Jesus was not killed by the Romans for claiming to be the king of the Jews, but hung on a tree (as in Acts 5:30; Acts 10:39; Acts 13:29; Galatians 3:13; and 1 Peter 2:24) by the Jewish elite for insulting them. The New Testament account portrays Jesus as having suffered an analogous death to the archenemy of the Jews, Haman, but then characterizes (for the sake of distinction) his death as one by a much worse execution method, crucifixion. According to the New Testament, Jesus of Nazareth angered Jewish elites—particularly the Pharisees, Sadducees, and other religious authorities—during his ministry in the early first century CE. The Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) depict Jesus’ actions and teachings as frequently provoking tension with these groups, leading to conflicts that contributed to his eventual arrest and crucifixion under Roman authority.

And the “cross” serves a highly rhetorical/figurative function in the New Testament: “Crucified with Christ”; “Crucify the Flesh”; “Pick Up Your Cross and Follow Me”; “The World Has Been Crucified to Me”; “Enemies of the Cross”; “Bearing the Cross.”

6. Gethsemane

An invented cross may be an occasion to resolve an apparent contradiction between the Gethsemane prayer in Hebrews and the one in Mark. We read:

In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. (Hebrews 5:7)

He took with him Peter and James and John and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, “My soul is deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He said, “Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me, yet not what I want but what you want.” (Mark 14:33-37)

At first glance we seem to have a massive contradiction here, one account where the Gethsemane prayer is answered (Hebrews) and one where it isn’t (Mark). But if the writer of Hebrews knew that Jesus was killed, the passage can’t mean what it seems to mean, and may in fact be a clue to understanding Mark.

Paul specialist Pamela Eisenbaum notes that it has been notoriously difficult to date Hebrews as pre- or post-Temple destruction:

We cannot with confidence determine whether Hebrews was written before or after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE. Arguments for a pre-70 date observe that Hebrews nowhere mentions the destruction. Indeed, Hebrews makes no comment about the Temple; rather, it focuses on the wilderness Tabernacle (Ex 25.1-31.11; 36.1-40.38). Because the text claims that the Jewish sacrificial system is replaced by the one-time sacrifice of Jesus, an appeal to the Temple’s destruction would have greatly bolstered its central argument that Levitical sacrifices had become obsolete (chs 8-10). Conversely, the text may be assuming the reality of the Temple’s destruction and is responding to the catastrophe. Indeed, other Jewish texts produced after the destruction of the Temple sometimes read as if the Temple is still standing, as exemplified in the last two orders of the Mishnah, where we find elaborate instructions about appropriate ways to conduct the Temple sacrifices. (2017, p. 460)

Perhaps Hebrews 5:7—as a summary of a successful Markan Gethsemane prayermdash;actually points to a late date for Hebrews, as it seems to be offering a commentary on Mark’s Gethsemane pericope. It is quite striking that Jesus seemed to think that it was not necessary for him to endure tortuous prolonged crucifixion for God’s plan to be realized. Let’s briefly pause to consider the role of prayer in the Bible before returning to how to interpret Hebrews, Mark, and Gethsemane regarding an answered Gethsemane prayer. Perhaps God did answer the prayer, just not in the way that an apocalyptic Jesus thought that God would answer it (i.e., by sending Elijah).

An important biblical theme is represented by stories illustrating the consequences of desires or prayer requests that lead to unintended or negative outcomes. Many examples could be listed: Israel’s Demand for a King (1 Samuel 8); The Israelites and the Quail (Numbers 11:4-34); Lot’s Choice of Sodom (Genesis 13:10-13); and Hezekiah’s Request for a Longer Life (2 Kings 20:1-11; Isaiah 38), among other things. These stories suggest a biblical principle: that desires or prayer requests, when not aligned with wisdom or God’s will, can lead to outcomes that are harmful or regrettable. The underlying message is to seek discernment and trust divine guidance, rather than pursue fleeting or self-centered wishes.

It is remarkable that in Gethsemane Jesus thinks that God’s plan can be fulfilled without him knowing the horror of the slow, agonizing cross, so how is the prayer answered? John Dominic Crossan and Bart Ehrman note that it seems unhistorical that Jesus is taken down from the cross early; the whole point of crucifixion is to leave the victim on the cross to magnify suffering and to be seen in order to frighten onlookers. Jesus is heard screaming from the cross for Elijah to come rescue him, Elijah being prophesied to return at the end of the age (Malachi 4:5-6). But Elijah doesn’t come because the apocalyptic Jesus is wrong: it is not in fact the end of the age.

Two things counter a prolonged tortuous death for Jesus. First, Jesus dies unusually quickly, surprising Pontius Pilate, which seems to be God granting the Gethsemane prayer to alleviate suffering (Mark 14:36). The quick death of Jesus, like the hurried baking of the unleavened bread (an image that Paul uses for Jesus) to escape Egypt is a way that Jesus, thanks to God, escaped the prolonged brutality of the cross, and so in this way the Gethsemane prayer was answered. Second—apparently inspired by the soldier at the cross converting and God revoking Rome’s claim to prolonged torture with a quick, merciful cross—Joseph of Arimathea of the Jewish High Council (the Sanhedrin) that corruptly convicted Jesus is inspired in Mark and petitions the Romans for the body. This all would explain why the author of Hebrews thinks that the Gethsemane prayer is answered even though Jesus is crucified. Price notes:

Joseph is surely a combination of King Priam, who courageously comes to Achilles’ camp to beg the body of his son Hector (MacDonald, p. 159) and the Patriarch Joseph who asked Pharaoh’s permission to bury the body of Jacob in the cave-tomb Jacob had hewn for himself back beyond the Jordan (Genesis 50:4-5) (Miller, p. 373). Whence Joseph’s epithet “of Arimathea”? Richard C. Carrier has shown that the apparent place name is wholly a pun (no historical “Arimathea” has ever been identified), meaning “Best (ari[stoV]} Disciple(maqh[thV]) Town.” Thus “the Arimathean” is equivalent to “the Beloved Disciple.” He is, accordingly, an ideal, fictive figure. (Price, 2005)

It was not enough that Jesus suffered only to be rescued be Elijah; the theology required Jesus to fully die to reach even the hardest heart, akin to the repentance of Judas having his eyes opened to the fate (death) to which he consigned his teacher (Jesus).

As for the Resurrection, again we seem to see Paul postdating the Gospels, for it seems contrary to common sense that the Gospel writers would not include Paul’s detail of the appearance to the 500 if they knew of it. Empty tomb apotheosis narratives were common in ancient literature (such as the Greek romances that were most popular in the second century, as per Robyn Faith Walsh), as were eyewitness claims to the Ascension (such as the case of Caesar). But it is unclear that Paul meant visible appearances here, for he uses the same word as in Luke 3:6, where the word means “experience” rather than “see”; and Paul likewise says that “God revealed his son in me.” So these may have just meant mystical inner visions.

The logic of the cross is not only judicial substitutionary atonement, where someone pays my fine, a fine that needs to be paid by someone even if that person isn’t me. Paul has numerous salvation models, as I will discuss in the final article. We must imagine a world where God sent his especially beloved messenger who was the Word/Law incarnate, and the world responded by conspiring and giving him a death worse than the archenemy of the Jews, Haman. We need to see ourselves in those that wronged Jesus, which crucifies our fleshliness and brings about metanoia—a renewal of mind/repentance. It’s the same form as thinking that if you were a Roman at the time, you would have enjoyed watching people being fed to the lions in the arena, though you now think it horrific.

To recapitulate, while Paul is written in role as if written by an early first century apocalyptic Jew, the apocalyptism also makes sense post-70 CE of Mark 13, and even as the apocalyptism of post Bar Kokhba as figurative and rhetorical: ‘The end is near so you better get right with God and start loving one another!’ 1 Thessalonians 2:13-16 thus, speaks of the wrath of God already having been poured out on the Jews. Thus, as F. C. Baur and Jacob Berman note, 1 Corinthians 3:13-18 also speaks of not worshipping God in buildings that are subject to the flame, but of the temple of God that was inside, which would make sense if the Temple had already been destroyed. It would also make literary sense here of the Jews killing Christ in the Thessalonians passage, which can be combined with the corrupt trial of Jesus by the Jewish elite such that the corrupt Jewish elite are being blamed from a post-Bar Kokhba retrospective for the destruction of the Temple (70 CE) and the exiling of the Jews from the land by God via Bar Kokhba (130s CE) because of what they did to Jesus. Matthew too speaks of the blood of Jesus being on the Jews.

Price notes that Romans reference to the Jews’ table has become a stumbling block, which plausibly could mean that the altar in the Jerusalem Temple is gone. The idea in Paul and Hebrews seems to be that we no longer need the Temple because we have the heavenly high priest. This is very similar to rabbinical ruminations along the lines of ‘What are we going to do now that the Temple is over with?’ How can you make sacrifices if the Temple is gone? Maybe you can substitute acts of mercy or working it off and the like.

Paul specialist Benjamin White does not find reason to dismiss 1 Thessalonians 2:13-16 as an interpolation. Rather, White sees Paul as an apocalyptic Jew navigating through other Jews like the Pharisees and Essenes, stating that he is not of the Christ group, and the like. And we know from the Dead Sea Scrolls that these groups were always going after one another over who had the rightful claim as the true people of God. It is certainly possible of Paul, speaking among Gentiles, to speak badly of Jews that he thought killed Christ. Given his belief that the apocalypse was underway, with the resurrected Christ being the first fruits of the general resurrection harvest of souls at the end of the age, Paul thought that the judgment of the enemies of God had begun, and so need not refer to post-70 CE destruction of Jerusalem. But if the letters are post-70 CE, this passage fits nicely, too. As Joel Marcus relatedly points out, Paul says that the Jews are beloved by God because they come from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, but are enemies of God for rejecting Jesus and his message, per Romans 11:28. This passage basically summarizes the whole of Mark.

To recapitulate, John the Baptist, who Jesus called the greatest among men and whose humiliating death (contradicting the Josephus account) is a literary pair to Jesus’ more humiliating death, anticipates Jesus’ own ignoble death as a criminal where God’s especially beloved agapetos was given a more tortuous but analogous death to the archenemy of the Jews, Haman. God gave his most beloved and righteous man, and the world turned on him in the worst possible way. This explains God’s wrath destroying the Temple (70 CE) and booting the Jews from the land (Bar Kokhba).

In the Old Testament the prophet Jeremiah is a strong example of this. He was called by God to speak truth to Judah’s corrupt leaders and people, warning them of impending judgment. Despite his righteousness and fidelity to God’s message, he faced relentless hostility—he was mocked, beaten, imprisoned, and nearly killed (Jeremiah 20:7-10; 26:8-11; 38:6). The ruling class and populace turned on him for his uncompromising stance, akin to John the Baptist’s fate for condemning Herod’s sins. God is depicted as warning the people of Judah through Jeremiah about impending judgment if they do not repent from idolatry, injustice, and disobedience. When they fail to heed these warnings, the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem in 587 BCE—resulting in the destruction of the Temple and the exile of many Jews to Babylon—is presented as divine punishment (Jeremiah 25:8-11; 52:12-30). The text explicitly links this catastrophe to the refusal to listen to Jeremiah and other prophets (Jeremiah 7:24-26; 44:4-6). If you can imagine a crime so horrendous that the Temple cult would be rendered ineffective in its wake, it would be the world turning on God’s beloved favorite Jesus.

We thus see an ambiguity as to whether the Temple cult was nullified by godly substitutionary atonement, as traditionally thought by some commentators, or because the world did the worst thing possible, making the Temple cult powerless: the withering of the fig tree. No sacrifice could address the monstrosity of what was done to God’s beloved Jesus, so the punishment of the 70s CE and the 130s CE were greater than Sodom—because in addition animal sacrifice no longer had any power to redeem the Jewish people. The fig tree cursing and the Temple tantrum are closely linked in Mark’s narrative, forming a “sandwich” structure (an intercalation) that ties the two events thematically. And though it is sometimes thought to mean that Jesus has reconciled man with God through atonement, the cursing of the fig tree and the anger with how the Temple is being used suggests a negative reason for the Temple curtain-tearing. It would reflect the profane going through the Holy of Holies and defiling the sanctuary. We see such imagery during the Siege of Jerusalem in 70 CE, when the Roman general Titus (who later became emperor) entered the Holy of Holies during the destruction of the Second Temple. According to Josephus (in The Wars of the Jews 6.4.7), Titus entered the sanctuary and desecrated it further, including by sacrificing a pig to Roman ensigns in the Temple. This was a deliberate act of defilement given the Jewish prohibition against pigs. Though it was performed as part of a Roman ritual (suovetaurilia) to purify the site, it was nevertheless deeply offensive to Jewish religious sensibilities. Titus’ entry and the subsequent destruction of the Temple were seen as catastrophic desecrations, mourned annually by Jews on Tisha B’Av. Sandwiched together, the cursing of the fig tree and the negative Temple pronouncement suggest this negative interpretation over one where God is reconciled to man because of substitutionary atonement.

So Isaiah 53 can be reimagined beyond a substitutionary atonement reading. One way to read it is of a description of the nations of the world coming to see how poorly they treated Israel. Many Jewish interpretations of Isaiah 53 support this view. The “suffering servant” as Israel could symbolize the nations of the world recognizing their mistreatment of the Jewish people, who endured suffering and persecution. In this reading, the servant’s vindication (Isaiah 53:10-12) reflects a future where the nations acknowledge Israel’s role and God’s covenant, seeing their past hostility as unjust. Verses like 53:5 (“he was wounded for our transgressions”) are often understood as Israel bearing the consequences of others’ sins, with the nations later awakening to this truth. This aligns with traditional Jewish exegesis, such as Rashi’s, emphasizing Israel’s collective suffering and eventual redemption, Jesus not being so much an individual, but representing Israel. 1 Peter, like Mark, alludes to Isaiah 53, which is commonly referred to as substitutionary, but Andrew Rillera counters:

Second, the use of Isa 53 is neither evidence for “atonement” nor for “substitution.” All of the NT quotations from Isa 53, except Matt 8:17 (see below), come from the LXX.621 While in the Hebrew MT Isa 53:10 has “the one who gave his life as a redemption of debt” the LXX reads “the Lord wanted to cleanse him from the blow; if you offer sin offerings, then your souls will see eternal offspring.” Shauf highlights how “[u]nlike in the Hebrew … here [in the LXX] the servant does not suffer to redeem others; rather, God desires to rescue him from his suffering” and “it is the audience who is encouraged to offer a sacrifice for its own sin. Moreover, the reception of the Suffering Servant song in Isa 52:13-53:12, as attested in Daniel, Wisdom of Solomon, Romans, Revelation, and 1 Clement, establishes that the Servant was understood as a paradigm for all the suffering righteous. Isaiah 53 is read as the “script” for what it looks like for the righteous/just to live in an unjust/unrighteous world All this confirms that Isa 53 was read as a paradigmatic script for what living righteously in an unrighteous world will entail (suffering, probably martyrdom, but ultimately vindication to resurrected life). (2024, p. 246)

The whole sacrificial system is being rethought in recent literature, which helps us narrow in on Paul. Certain Jewish scholarship has the idea that the horrific death of the scapegoat reflects getting people to consider the effects of their sin, animal sacrifice being otherwise done humanely. Recent scholars like Rillera and Gary Anderson note that the sacrificial system wasn’t substitutionary at all. Regarding Paul, Rillera comments:

Moreover, the fact that the resurrection is the basis for “dealing with sins” (cf. 1 Cor 15:3) is made clear in 1 Cor 15:17: “If Christ has not been raised … you are still in your sins.” If it was Jesus’ death alone that dealt with sins in some substitutionary way, then the consequence of Jesus not being resurrected would not be that humans are still in their sins (15:17). It would be something like: Well, your sins are dealt with (forgiven/cleansed/whatever concept you wish to place here), but we still do not know what is going to happen for sure after your body perishes (but most of us Jews believe in some sort of bodily resurrection of the dead so let us hope for that for Jesus and everyone else on judgment day; and let’s just be glad we do not have to worry about being damned for our sins). Paul is consistent with this emphasis upon Jesus’s resurrection as dealing with sins in Rom 4. First, he equates justification with forgiveness in Rom 4:6-7 in his only use of aphiemi (“forgiveness”) in the (undisputed) Pauline letters denoting divine forgiveness of sins (and he is quoting its use in LXX PS 31:1-2). Second, in Rom 4:25 he states that Jesus “was raised on account of our justification” immediately after saying “he was delivered over on account of our transgressions.” Thus, as with 1 Cor 15:3, 17, it is the resurrection that effects “dealing with sins.” If there is no resurrection, then, according to Paul, you are not justified/forgiven (Rom 4:6-7, 25b) and you are still in your sins (1 Cor 15:7). Therefore, in the same way that Jesus’s resurrection is “for the benefit of” (hyper) others and no one attempts to conceptualize it as a substitution, I do not think Paul is conceptualizing Jesus’s death as a substitution in these passages either. The two go together hand in hand. The death and resurrection of Jesus are “for” others only to the extent that others are joined with them (e.g., 1 Cor 15:22; Rom 6:3-8)…. What is made clear in Rom 5-8 is that Jesus’s death is a benefit to others only to the extent that they participate in it (e.g., 6:5)!… Therefore, if one is united with Jesus’s death (co-crucifixion), then one can walk in the newness of life a life of obedience like his by putting to death the deeds of the flesh and be assured of one’s own co-resurrection as well…. Not only is there no such thing as substitutionary death sacrifice in the Torah, but also everything in the NT texts is aimed at grounding the exhortation for the audience to be conformed and transformed into the cruciform image of Jesus by sharing in his death… (Rillera, 2024, p. 267)

Markus Vinzent notes that among the early Church Fathers, no one writing about the religion mentions the resurrection of Jesus until Paul starts writing about it. For example, our earliest catechism, the Didache, doesn’t mention the Resurrection. The same is true of the Shepherd of Hermas. This provides further evidence of the later nature (than the Didache and the like) of the Pauline letters given the centrality to Paul’s message of the Resurrection in 1 Corinthians 15:17, the Corinthian Creed, and so on. We thus have traditions preserved in Mark of salvation happening apart from cross/resurrection theology, as Ehrman notes. The gospel begins with a call to repentance, there is the story of the sheep and goats, and the story of the rich young ruler, but also the narrative of the soldier’s transformation in declaring Jesus the son of God at the cross—none of which reflect the Pauline judicial salvific cross/resurrection theology that we see in Romans (though there are other models).

This makes sense historically since Paul claimed to be a Pharisee of Pharisees, and the Pharisees were idiosyncratic among the Jews in believing in a final resurrection. (The Pharisees introduced this pagan-like idea following the time of Alexander, when some Jews were synchronizing their beliefs with Greek, Zoroastrian, and Roman theology.) These items may have been absent from the Judaism of the Jesus. The majority of tombstones in the time of Jesus do not reflect belief in an afterlife because the Torah says that we only live on through our male descendents. If the Christians were recruited from Jews who believed in the Torah, rather than from the later prophets, then the absence of the Resurrection from the Didache and the Shepard of Hermas makes sense. The Apostle’s Creed likewise, in the manuscripts in the Fathers, is in one tradition integrated into the baptism, but in another tradition only has that Jesus was born and suffered, omitting baptism/resurrection. For 200 years we only had this non-Resurrection version. The resurrection of Jesus only entered into the creed in the fourth century. For us, Easter was a celebration of the Resurrection, but originally it was the celebration of Christ’s suffering. The Gospels, Acts, and Paul seem to be superimposing a Pharisaic understanding of Jesus’ resurrection back onto a tradition that lacked it, and so it would make sense that the letters postdate Acts since in the Corinthian Creed/poetry, Paul says that the Jerusalem apostles before him place the Resurrection at the beginning of the faith. Though, importantly, Paul identifies the Resurrection in the creed with a fictive haggadic midrash scriptural base like the crucifixion with Psalms, 2 Isaiah, and Deuteronomy, with Paul potentially commenting on Matthew on the Resurrection (understood with Jonah being three days in the stomach of the great fish with “he was raised on the third day according to the scriptures”).

We see Mark creatively solving the problem that Jesus must have known about the Resurrection, but taught it to simpleton disciples who didn’t understand, which makes sense of the disciples in Mark carrying weapons and getting violent at the arrest as though they had no idea that the death and resurrection were part of God’s plan.

Crossan argues that the Resurrection accounts (e.g., Matthew 28, Luke 24, and John 20-21) function as parabolic stories rather than literal history. He points to their literary and theological nature. The Resurrection accounts differ significantly across the Gospels regarding who visits the tomb, what they see (angels, Jesus, or an empty tomb), and the sequence of events. Crossan sees these variations as evidence of creative storytelling, not eyewitness reporting. For instance, Luke’s Emmaus road story (Luke 24:13-33) has a parabolic feel, with its dramatic recognition of Jesus recalling the surprise twists in Jesus’ own parables. The Resurrection stories emphasize Jesus’ triumph over death and his continued presence, aligning with the early Christian community’s need to affirm faith in a risen Christ. Crossan argues that these accounts were crafted to inspire belief and convey meaning, much like Jesus’ parables were intended to provoke spiritual insight rather than describe literal events. Just as Jesus’ parables (e.g., the Prodigal Son or the Good Samaritan) were not historical but nevertheless carried profound truth, Crossan suggests that the Resurrection narratives are “true” in a theological sense—expressing the disciples’ experience of Jesus’ enduring impact—without requiring historical factuality. Crossan doesn’t deny Jesus’ historical existence or the possibility of post-Crucifixion experiences, but he questions the historicity of specific resurrection details, viewing them as symbolic megaparables. For example, the empty tomb or appearances (e.g., Jesus walking with disciples in Luke 24) might reflect the community’s conviction that Jesus’ mission continued, not necessarily reflect physical events. In the final article I’ll look at the indwelling of the resurrected Christ in Paul and John and why it contributes to the religion.

As noted, Paul identifies strongly with this Pharisee resurrection concept and so self-identifies with the Pharisees (Philippians 3:5; Acts 23:6). The resurrected Jesus is thus understood by the apocalyptic Paul as the first fruits of the general resurrection harvest of souls at the end of days (1 Corinthians 15:20-25), which had already begun. The problem with the traditional interpretation here is that 1 Corinthians is traditionally dated to the mid-50s, so Paul would be writing that the End Times was urgently underway twenty years prior with Christ’s resurrection, but Christ still hasn’t returned to further the process. This represents the passage of half of a lifetime, as 2000 years ago life expectancy was significantly lower than it is today (with most people failing to live past their 30s or 40s due to high infant mortality, disease, lack of modern medicine, and similar factors). Paul would have looked like he was writing about another failed prophecy, akin to what some scholars and critics characterize as failed prophecies in Daniel (particularly those in chapters 11-12) since they appear to be inaccurate or unfulfilled. Imagine Paul trying to convert pagans by telling them that they should abandon their gods because some peasant that they never heard of before began the End Times some twenty years ago—though the End Times are not currently evident! Paul was not a general apocalypticist: he did not teach that the end was coming, but that it was already here. For example, he said that he would present his churches as chaste brides to Christ the bridegroom when Christ returns: “I feel a divine jealousy for you, for I promised you in marriage to one husband, to present you as a chaste virgin to Christ” (2 Corinthians 11:2). Thus one of the many iterations of Paul that we have been discussing is of an urgent apocalyptic caricature willing to present the most minimal faith requirements possible (Romans 10:9) in his gospel to be a sophist and all things to all people:

To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to gain Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though I myself am not under the law) so that I might gain those under the law. 21 To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (though I am not outside God’s law but am within Christ’s law) so that I might gain those outside the law. 22 To the weak I became weak, so that I might gain the weak. I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. (1 Corinthians 9:20-21)

This is ultimately with the minimum requirements to be saved: “because if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (Romans 10:9). And with the urgency of the End Times being underway.

The letters add incidental details to imagine Paul writing and acting in the time following Jesus’ death, and so imagine his resurrection apocalyptically as the first fruits of the End Time resurrection harvest of souls at the end of the age, and in the same milieu as Jesus’ brother James and Cephas. If these are fictive letters, then anchoring Paul with James and Cephas may just be historical fiction. In 1 Thessalonians 1 Paul says that he was persecuted by the same Judeans who killed Christ.

Matthew is a gospel of reader-winking. It is the most Jewish gospel, but blames the Jews for killing Jesus (e.g., in how the Jews were promised the land, but wandered endlessly because of sin). Matthew is the most conspicuous in grounding Jesus’ biography in scriptural allusion, but is completely over the top with Jesus extensively recapitulating Moses; riding in on two animals; and so on. Matthew also lampoons the Pharisaic interpretation of Christ’s resurrection with his mass rising zombie story when Christ dies (Matthew 27:51-53), which Paul could be interpreted as trying to correct if the letters are post-Matthew.

7. Mark

In Mark, Jesus repeatedly predicts his passion/resurrection and even conveys this idea in the Last Supper. And yet his disciples bafflingly don’t understand, so are armed and get violent and flee at the arrest as though they had no idea that Jesus was going to get arrested. Jesus was thereby figuratively “talking to himself” at the Last Supper in Mark, as he literally is in Paul’s account of the Last Supper with Jesus, alone, talking to future Christians in general through/as revelation. Again, here Paul seems to summarize Mark’s complex themes. Interestingly for a literary Jesus lens, Paul does not say that Jesus had disciples, but rather that he had apostles. As history, it seems confusing that Paul would claim to be an apostle since he never knew Jesus and was not appointed one by Peter, James, or John, and nothing that he describes would convey that title on him (e.g., he saw the risen Jesus, but so did the 500, and they were not apostles).

We see similar fictionalizing with Peter denying Jesus three times, even though Jesus warned Peter that he would do this. Mark seems to have crafted an odd account of abandonment and denial. In the Gospel of Mark, the theme of the disciples’ failure to understand Jesus’ predictions of his passion, death, and resurrection, despite his explicit teachings, is a recurring motif. This includes their confusion, fear, and actions, such as fleeing at Jesus’ arrest (Mark 14:50) and Peter’s denial (Mark 14:66-72), even after Jesus forewarns them (Mark 14:27-31).

Mark explicitly connects the disciples’ abandonment to an Old Testament prophecy in Mark 14:27, where Jesus says: “You will all fall away, for it is written, ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.'” This quotes Zechariah 13:7, which in its original context refers to God striking a shepherd, leading to the scattering of the people (sheep) as a form of judgment and purification. In Mark Jesus applies this to himself as the shepherd and to the disciples as the sheep who will scatter upon his arrest and crucifixion. This fulfillment of Zechariah’s prophecy frames the disciples’ abandonment as part of God’s divine plan, aligning Jesus’ passion with Old Testament expectations of a suffering yet redemptive figure. Not to mention that these disciples failed to live up to Jesus’ message as a teacher by getting violent at the arrest.

Jesus predicts Peter’s denial in Mark 14:30, saying: “Truly I tell you, this day, this very night, before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.” While this prediction is not explicitly tied to a single Old Testament passage in Mark’s text, it resonates with broader scriptural themes of human failure and divine foreknowledge. For example, Psalm 41:9, which speaks of betrayal by a close companion (“Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me”), could be seen as a thematic parallel, especially since the Last Supper context in Mark 14 involves shared bread and betrayal (Judas’ betrayal is predicted alongside Peter’s denial). Additionally, the motif of denial and scattering aligns with the suffering servant in Isaiah 53, who is despised and rejected (Isaiah 53:3), though Mark does not directly quote this passage here.

Mark’s portrayal of the disciples’ failures serves a theological purpose: it underscores the human inability to fully grasp or remain faithful to God’s plan without divine intervention. The disciples’ misunderstanding and abandonment highlight Jesus’ isolation as he fulfills his role as the suffering Messiah. Jesus was sent into a world where the good were simpletons (e.g., the disciples’ failure to understand “yeast of the Pharisees” in Mark 8:14-21; predictions of Jesus’ death and resurrection in Mark 9:32; and so on) and the intelligent were corrupt (e.g., the corrupt trial by the Jewish elite).

Which is more likely: that Jesus had disciples that were fisherman, or that the story of how the disciples made a living was just a literary element to pair with “I will make you fishers of men”? This also sets up the post-Resurrection restoration (Mark 16:7, where the angel instructs the women to tell the disciples and Peter that Jesus is going ahead to Galilee), emphasizing God’s grace despite human weakness. While Zechariah 13:7 is the clearest Old Testament fulfillment for the disciples’ scattering, Peter’s denial and the broader abandonment resonate with patterns of human failure and divine faithfulness found in texts like Psalm 41 and Isaiah 53. Mark’s narrative suggests that these events are not random, but part of a divinely orchestrated plan fulfilling Scripture and revealing Jesus’ identity as the Messiah who suffers alone yet triumphs through resurrection.

Paul seems to reflect on Mark and often connects Jesus’ suffering to Old Testament prophecies (that can relate to abandonment), which makes sense if Paul read Mark. For example, in Romans 15:3, Paul quotes Psalm 69:9: “For Christ did not please himself, but as it is written, ‘The reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me.'” Psalm 69 is a lament of a righteous sufferer who is abandoned and mocked, and Paul applies it to Jesus. This resonates with the idea of Jesus being forsaken in Mark, potentially encompassing the disciples’ abandonment and Peter’s denial as part of the broader rejection foretold in Scripture. Like with the haggadic midrash scriptural death and corrupt trial, Paul might be summarizing Mark here if the letters indeed postdate Acts and the Gospels. Peter’s eyes are opened to his sinful inner nature when he realizes that he betrayed Jesus, just like Adam’s eyes were opened to his nakedness when he broke God’s law. The abandonment and betrayal by the disciples are all part of the dystopian vision of what the world would have done if God’s beloved (agapetos) messenger (angelos)/messiah had indeed appeared in the early first century as (some say) predicted in Daniel.

In making conspicuous the world turning on Jesus, it grieves us to see ourselves in those people, knowing that we probably would have done the same. Our eyes being opened to our flaws prompts repentance. Paul says regarding highlighting faults: “For although I grieved you with my letter, I do not regret it. Although I did regret it (for I see that that letter caused you grief, though only briefly), now I rejoice, not because you were grieved but because your grief led to repentance, for you felt a godly grief” (2 Corinthians 7:8-9).

This certainly would have made sense thinking back into the early first century from the perspective of the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, or the later Bar Kokhba, because there were many failed messianic claimants (and indeed there was even a major failed one during Bar Kokhba). Judas the Galilean (circa 6 CE) had the Romans crush his revolt, and Judas was likely killed. Theudas (circa 44-46 CE) was executed by Roman authorities and his followers were dispersed. John the Baptist (circa 20s-30s CE) was executed by Herod Antipas, likely due (according to Josephus, and counter to the account in Mark) to his growing influence and perceived threat to political stability. The movement led by the Samaritan Prophet (circa 36 CE) was suppressed by Roman governor Pontius Pilate, who killed the prophet and many of his followers. Athronges (circa 4-2 BCE) had his rebellion quelled by the Romans, and Athronges’ fate is unclear. Simon of Perea (circa 4 BCE) was killed by Roman forces and his rebellion was suppressed.

Jewish messianic hopes in this period were diverse, drawing from biblical prophecies (e.g., in Isaiah 11 and Daniel 7). Some expected a Davidic king, others expected a prophetic figure like Moses or Elijah, and others still expected a priestly or eschatological leader. The Roman occupation and Herodian rule intensified these expectations, leading to various movements. Many unnamed or lesser-documented “prophets” and “bandits” (as labeled by Josephus) likely emerged, promising divine deliverance. These figures often attracted followers, but were suppressed by Roman authorities. It makes a great deal of sense, then, that later post-70s/130s writers would invent a generic crucified Jesus messiah in the early first century who nonetheless was not stopped by the Roman crucifixion, as that would really capture the imagination and zeitgeist of the era. A post-130s writer would have said ‘Yes, Jesus as a messianic claimant would have been killed, but he would have overcome the corrupt Jewish elites,’ with Rome converting the soldier at the cross, having a quick death instead of a prolonged crucifixion, and being vindicated in God’s eyes via resurrection. I will try to place the transition from cynic-like wisdom theology to an actual Jewish prophet in the next article on the Q source.

8. John and the Beloved Disciple

As I noted in an earlier essay, Paul seems legendary. If the Pauline letters are pseudonymous, then Paul might just be an idealized figure representing the Old Testament prediction that at the end of days/the age a prophet would bring the message of God to the pagans (echoing the apocalyptic overtones of the Bar Kokhba revolt). Paul is also cast as a chief persecutor of the Church, one who ultimately becomes its hero, second only to Jesus. What an amazing apologetic about the truth and converting power of the faith! We should attend carefully to Nina Livesey’s analogy of the pseudonymous letters of Plato and the related analysis by Hugo Méndez’s of the pseudonymous Gospel and Epistles of John, written in a style to make it seem as if the beloved disciple John wrote them. So even though we have earlier testimonies like Mark, Matthew, and Luke, the beloved disciple (John son of Zebedee, since Peter and James are excluded) knew what Jesus really meant, and so the earlier gospels should be read through the lens of John, which is what people usually do. (This was Méndez’s early position, which later evolved, as I will discuss below.) The massive conservative Christian Daystar Television Network, for instance, will send a copy of the Gospel of John to new converts who know nothing about Christianity, but to say the sinner’s prayer. As will become important below, Jesus in John recapitulates the Temple-dismantling imagery of the Synoptics, but then reinterprets its meaning to refer to his body: “Jesus answered them, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.’ The Jews then said, ‘This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?’ But he was speaking of the temple of his body” (John 2:19-21). The problem being ‘resolved’ here is that Mark 13’s little apocalypse puts the gospel post-70 CE for the astute reader, but John wanted the reader to think that the narrative was early so that it could be attributed to eyewitnesses (the Beloved Disciple), not secondhand hearsay. John had to reimagine the story so that the theology was Temple-independent (since its destruction was a historical fact), but while avoiding claiming knowledge of the destruction. This was furthered by establishing that it was written when the pool of Bethesda was still intact, prior to 70 CE. I will look at this below.

The earliest reception history for the Gospel of John, John 21 (a later stratum addition to the Gospel of John itself), understands the author as the beloved disciple. The gospel presents itself as the work of an eyewitness to the events of Jesus’ ministry and death. It doesn’t say that it was written by John, but instead that it is the work of a “disciple whom Jesus loved,” who “testifies” to what he has seen (1:14; 19:35; 21:24). Eyewitness testimony is an important point in this gospel—it is because the one who wrote it had seen these things happen and written them down that “we know that his testimony is true” (21:24) (Moss, 2020). Méndez argues that the Gospel of John and the three letters of John fictively “imply” the beloved disciple as the author, though writing differences suggest that a group of different authors were actually behind the pseudonymous beloved disciple.

We’ve already considered Livesey’s thesis that Paul was invented in Acts, which in turn spawned fictive letters writing in role in Paul’s name, letters akin to the fictive letter collections of Seneca and Plato. Perhaps here, too, we have the invention of a pseudonymous beloved disciple in the Johannine literature who was the only one who really knew Jesus’ true message, as shown in the Gospel of John and the three-letter collection of John’s epistles, also written in role as the beloved disciple (Méndez, 2020a; 2020b). Like Walsh, Méndez sees a Johannine writing group, but not the existence of a Johannine community:

Critically, Prof. Anderson and I stand in two different camps on the question of whether the Beloved Disciple is a historical figure—a question currently dividing Johannine scholars. Prof. Anderson assumes that the Beloved Disciple definitely existed. I, on the other hand, am skeptical. I have found the arguments of Ismo Dunderberg and Harry Attridge that the Beloved Disciple is probably some sort of literary device compelling. I have also been persuaded by David Litwa’s comparisons of the Beloved Disciple to invented eyewitnesses in ancient literature. As I see it, the most damning evidence against the disciple’s existence is the fact that “every Synoptic parallel that could corroborate [the disciple’s] presence at a given moment in Jesus’ life does not—not the Synoptic crucifixion scenes (cf. Mk 15.40-41; Mt. 27.55-56; Jn 19.26-27) nor Luke’s description of Peter’s visit to the tomb (Lk. 24.12; cf. Jn 20.2-10)” (363). I also find the artificial and idealized texture of the disciple highly suspicious. These issues cannot be dismissed easily. Because we differ on the historicity of the “Beloved Disciple,” we also differ on the historicity of “the Elder” since my paper revives the case for seeing the two as a single authorial construct (as indeed the earliest writers to comment on these texts inferred). (Méndez, 2020b)

Méndez notes that there is emerging consensus among John scholars that John knew the Synoptics. John begins with the baptism, spends a lot of time on the last week of Jesus’ life, ends with the empty tomb, and so on. The gospel uses Synoptic evocative imagery like shepherd imagery and harvest imagery. John wants to take the story of Jesus but add a new theology different from that of the Synoptics. Humans are born of flesh, but can become pneuma, spirit here and now—the impartation of spirit that allows us to commune with a God that is spirit and rise up to God and experience the indwelling of God within them. In John Jesus says that he will dwell spiritually in humans, and humans will dwell spiritually in him. Méndez understands John to be inventing new theology not present in the Synoptics and placing it on Jesus’ lips, akin to what is typical of a second-century Gnostic gospel (e.g., Judas). This is a spiritual resurrection and ascent into Heaven. Believers possess eternal life now, which contrasts with the Synoptics’ focus on a future physical resurrection in the age to come.

This is reminiscent of Aristotle’s idea that the philosopher is athanatos/deathless, attuned to the eternal, not to the everyday, which is temporary and transitory. The common person, by contrast, is restlessly going from one distraction to the next. This lens makes sense since John is heavily influenced by Hellenistic Jewish philosophy like that of Philo. Aristotle says that only a beast or God are at home in solitude. Méndez notes that in the past ten years New Testament scholarship has recognized that John has a theology of human deification: the idea that humans can acquire a divine status. In John 17 Jesus says that he has passed on to his followers a glory given to him by God, that believers can be one with the father as he is with God. In John 10 Jesus teaches that humans can become gods with a small “g.” Méndez suggests that John very much swims in theological streams that come from Paul, such as “Christ in You.” In Deutero-Pauline texts like Ephesians we have the Johannine idea that believers ae seated in Heaven with Christ, and there is a robust Pauline literature about how humans can acquire divine attributes. John seems to show that the Synoptics don’t have the in-Christ motif or becoming spirit that we see in Paul, suggesting that Paul read John since the Synoptics omit this. According to the model presented here, it may not be that John is expounding Paul, but that Paul is expounding John due to a more sophisticated theological development of Christ in you / Mind of Christ in Paul.

John was evidently uncomfortable with the Temple destruction imagery in Mark because this dates the gospel post-70 CE, thus not from an eyewitness. In the Gospel of John, Jesus does not predict the destruction of the Temple in the same explicit way as in Mark 13:1-2, where he foretells that “not one stone will be left upon another.” Instead, John presents a different perspective, emphasizing Jesus himself as the Temple. In John 2:19-21, during the cleansing of the Temple, Jesus says: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The text corrects Mark and clarifies that he was speaking about “the temple of his body,” referring to Jesus’ death and resurrection, not the destruction of the physical Temple in Jerusalem. This distinction is key: in John the Temple’s significance shifts from the physical structure to Jesus as the embodiment of God’s presence. John is written in role from the point of view of Jesus’ most beloved disciple, an eyewitness who knew him best. John thus changed the Temple destruction imagery, though John’s transfer still retains the crumbs of Synoptic Temple destruction as being superseded.

Eyewitness narration generally enhanced credibility; it wasn’t foolproof. Ancient historians sometimes fabricated or embellished claims to “be there” for narrative flair, as with Herodotus’ potentially invented travels. Audiences were aware of this, and credibility ultimately depended on the teller’s reputation and consistency. Nonetheless, the preference for firsthand over secondhand accounts was a hallmark of ancient storytelling, influencing how analepses were structured to build trust. Mark’s imagery often carries apocalyptic and judgmental overtones, such as Jesus’ prediction of the Temple’s literal destruction (Mark 13:1-2) and accusations during his trial and crucifixion that he claimed to destroy and rebuild the Temple in three days (15:29). These elements symbolize divine judgment on the Temple system and foreshadow the historical destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE. In contrast, John transforms the motif by spiritualizing it, relocating it narratively, and centering it on Jesus’ identity as the fulfillment and replacement of the Temple itself. During the cleansing, Jesus declares, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2:19). The narrator clarifies that this refers to “the temple of his body” (John 2:21), linking it directly to Jesus’ death and resurrection. This adapts Mark’s accusation motif (where witnesses misquote Jesus as threatening to destroy and rebuild the physical Temple: Mark 14:58; 15:29) by presenting it as a misunderstood prophecy fulfilled in Jesus himself, not the Jerusalem structure. Unlike Mark’s Olivet Discourse (Mark 13), which vividly predicts the Temple’s stones being thrown down amid cosmic signs and tribulation, John omits any explicit anticipation of the Jerusalem Temple’s physical destruction. This omission aligns with John’s broader theology, where Jesus’ presence and ministry fulfill Temple functions without needing to prophesy its end as judgment. John uniquely organizes his narrative to portray Jesus as “the way of the Temple,” mapping Jesus’ life onto the Temple’s layout and festivals in a sacramental framework that contrasts with Mark’s more linear, apocalyptic style. John’s adaptation reflects a post-70 CE context of Jewish-Christian tension, transforming Mark’s imagery of Temple judgment into one of divine self-revelation. Jesus is not a destroyer, but the incarnate locus of God’s presence (John 1:14: “the Word became flesh and tabernacled among us”). This avoids replacement theology’s pitfalls by portraying Jesus as enhancing Temple worship’s deeper intent—encounter with God—while rendering the physical Temple secondary. In essence, John internalizes and eternalizes the motif, making the “destruction” (of Jesus’ body) a pathway to resurrection and new life, rather than an end-time event, as in Mark.

The main similarities between Paul’s authentic letters and the Gospel of John include the indwelling of Christ/the Spirit, transforming believers (Romans 8:9-11; John 14:16-17); a high Christology, portraying Jesus as divine (Philippians 2:6-11; John 1:1-14); eschatological hope, blending future and realized elements (1 Thessalonians 4:15-17; John 5:28-29); ethical emphasis on love (Romans 12:14-21; John 13:34-35); and community identity and unity through divine presence (1 Corinthians 12:12-13; John 17:20-23).

It’s interesting that Paul and John share a very high Christology (a great angel that becomes exalted in Paul/Galatians 4:14, God in John / “I am”), and both emphasize the indwelling of Christ in the believer. John’s gospel emphasizes a mutual indwelling between believers and Jesus, as in John 15:4-5 (“Remain in me, as I also remain in you”) and John 17:23 (“I in them and you in me”). This concept resonates with Paul’s “Christ in you” language, suggesting a possible shared theological framework or literary dependence, but Paul’s language seems more developed because while John speaks of a paraclete/helper, Paul clarifies the it is Christ in you / the mind of Christ language to supercharge your defense against Satan’s temptations, Paul evidently having in mind the participation model of sin as a Power/entity in Romans combatting things like Luke’s idea of Satan entering Judas. Luke 22:3 explicitly states “Then Satan entered into Judas called Iscariot,” indicating a direct demonic influence. John 13:2 notes the Devil “had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him,” and John 13:27 adds that “Satan entered into him” after Judas takes the bread. 1 John 4:4 (“The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world”) shows that the functions of the indwelling Spirit strongly imply the ethical role of Christ in you in Paul. The Spirit guides believers into “all the truth,” countering the deception associated with Satan, who is the “father of lies” (John 8:44).

By grounding believers in Jesus’ teachings, the Spirit equips them to discern and resist falsehoods or temptations that align with Satan’s influence. The Spirit reminds believers of Jesus’ words, which include warnings about the world’s hostility and the need for faithfulness (e.g., John 15:18-20). This strengthens believers to remain loyal to Christ, resisting temptations to abandon their faith. The Spirit facilitates a mutual indwelling (believers in Christ, Christ in believers), which fosters obedience and love (John 15:10). This relational bond can be seen as a safeguard against succumbing to sinful or Satanic influences, as abiding in Christ aligns believers with God’s will. The Spirit empowers believers to bear witness to Jesus, even in the face of opposition (John 16:33). This mission-oriented empowerment suggests strength to resist pressures or temptations that would hinder their testimony, including those inspired by Satan. The Spirit convicts the world regarding sin, righteousness, and judgment, including the fact that “the ruler of this world has been condemned” (John 16:11). This implies the Spirit’s role in exposing and overcoming Satan’s influence, reinforcing believers’ confidence in Christ’s victory over evil.

Galatians 2:20 is one of the most profound statements in Paul’s authentic letters, where he writes (NRSV): “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” The “crucifixion” of the old self in Galatians 2:20 suggests liberation from the sinful nature, which Paul associates with Satan’s influence elsewhere (e.g., in 2 Corinthians 4:4, Satan is the “god of this world” blinding unbelievers). Christ living in the believer provides the strength to resist temptations that would draw them back to their old way of life. Paul describes a mystical participation in Christ’s death, where the believer’s old self is put to death (cf. Romans 6:6). This signifies a break from the power of sin, which Paul elsewhere links to Satan’s influence (e.g., in Romans 7:17, with sin working through the flesh).

Paul emphasizes Christ’s indwelling, a mystical union tied to crucifixion and resurrection (Galatians 2:20; Romans 6:4). The focus is on personal transformation and ethical living. John emphasizes the Spirit’s indwelling (John 14:17), focusing on guidance, truth, and relational intimacy with God post-Resurrection. In John, Satan is the “ruler of this world” defeated by Jesus’ crucifixion (John 12:31; 16:11), and the Spirit empowers believers to live in that victory by guiding them into truth and strengthening their witness. In Paul, Satan is less prominent in Galatians, but appears elsewhere (e.g., in 1 Corinthians 7:5, Satan is tempting due to lack of self-control). The indwelling Christ equips believers to overcome sin, which aligns with resisting Satan’s temptations. Paul sees Christ’s indwelling as a present reality through faith and baptism (Galatians 3:27). John views the Spirit’s indwelling as a post-Resurrection gift (John 16:7; 20:22), emphasizing future guidance. In John, the Spirit counters Satan’s temptations by guiding believers into truth (John 16:13), reminding them of Jesus’ teachings (John 14:26), and empowering their witness against worldly opposition (John 15:26-27). This indirectly protects against deception and disobedience, which are linked to Satan (John 8:44). In Paul, the indwelling Christ (Galatians 2:20) transforms the believer’s identity, enabling them to live “by faith” and produce the “fruit of the Spirit” (Galatians 5:22-23). This new life resists the “works of the flesh” (Galatians 5:19-21), which Paul associates with sinful desires that Satan might exploit (cf. 1 Thessalonians 3:5). Paul’s statement in Galatians 2:20 implies that the indwelling Christ empowers believers to resist Satan’s temptations by Replacing the Old Self, and the “crucifixion” of the old self (linked to sin) breaks the power of sinful desires, which Satan could manipulate (cf. Romans 6:11-14). Christ’s presence, through the Spirit, produces virtues like love and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23), which counter temptations to selfishness or disobedience. Living “by faith in the Son of God” (Galatians 2:20) strengthens believers to trust in Christ’s victory over sin and Satan, resisting temptation through reliance on Him.

While John’s indwelling Spirit focuses on guidance and truth to counter Satan’s lies, Paul’s indwelling Christ emphasizes a new identity and power to live victoriously over sin, which includes resisting Satan’s influence. The Gospel of John explicitly calls Jesus “Rabbi,” meaning “Teacher” (John 1:38, 3:2, etc.), highlighting his role as a divine teacher who reveals God’s truth. This teaching ministry is extended through the indwelling Spirit, which guides believers into truth and empowers them to resist Satan’s temptations by reinforcing Jesus’ teachings and victory over the “ruler of this world” (John 16:11). Compared to Paul’s “indwelling Christ” (Galatians 2:20), which transforms believers to live righteously, John’s indwelling Spirit continues Jesus’ teaching role as “Rabbi,” equipping believers against deception and evil through truth and abiding in Christ. Paul’s indwelling Christ causes revulsion to sin, like a child to Brussels sprouts, much like we see the vileness of the society that executed Socrates, though we know tha if we were the judge back then, we probably would have convicted him, too, or enjoyed Christians being fed to the lions in the arena. Seeing ourselves as equally guilty to those who killed God’s beloved Christ crucifies the flesh, circumcising the heart to reveal the Law written on it.

The earthly Jesus could save himself from Satan, but could not save those closest to him. Believers participate in Christ’s death and resurrection, sharing his life (Romans 6:4-8). Christ’s presence empowers believers to live righteously (Philippians 2:13). The indwelling Christ assures future glory (Romans 8:17). In John “Spirit of truth” or Paraclete dwells in believers (John 14:17; 16:13); Father and Son also “abide” (John 14:23) in relational intimacy with God/Jesus via the Spirit; guidance and empowerment for mission, and distinct as the Paraclete, are sent post-Resurrection to teach, guide, and testify (John 14:26, 16:13). Both emphasize transformation—Paul through ethical living and union with Christ, John through abiding in love and obedience.

In Paul’s authentic letters, the “indwelling Christ” and “mind of Christ” focus on a mystical union with Christ, mediated by the Spirit, emphasizing transformation, ethical living, and eschatological hope. The “mind of Christ” specifically highlights spiritual discernment and Christ-like humility. In contrast, John’s “indwelling Spirit” emphasizes the post-Resurrection gift of the Paraclete, fostering relational intimacy, guidance, and mission. While Paul’s language is more ethically and eschatologically oriented, John’s is more relational and revelatory. Both, however, affirm a divine presence transforming believers and enabling their participation in God’s work.

The idea of intimate union with Christ could reflect familiarity with Johannine thought, especially from letters like Galatians or Romans. John and Paul both emphasize faith in Christ (e.g., John 6:29; Romans 3:22), the role of the Spirit (John 14:16-17; Romans 8:9-11), and the contrast between light and darkness (John 1:5; 2 Corinthians 4:6). With the Synoptics, John includes events paralleled in the Synoptics, such as the feeding of the 5,000 (John 6:1-15; cf. Mark 6:30-44), the walking on water (John 6:16-21; cf. Mark 6:45-52), and the anointing at Bethany (John 12:1-8; cf. Mark 14:3-9). These suggest that the authors were familiar with Johannine traditions, or that John was familiar with them. Mark could have known John or vice versa, due to structural similarities in the Passion narrative (John 18-19; Mark 14-15) and the Temple cleansing (John 2:13-22; Mark 11:15-17), though John places the latter earlier. Shared details, like the mention of “five loaves” in the feeding miracle, hint at possible awareness of John by Mark, or Mark by John. John seems to be responding to the Synoptics (e.g., the Temple theology), which would put John later. John contains much figurative language about death and self-sacrifice, such as the grain of wheat dying (John 12:24), laying down one’s life (John 10:11; 15:13), and rejecting the flesh for spiritual life (John 3:3-6; 6:63). These metaphors align with the broader New Testament theme of dying to self, though John’s language is more symbolic and tied to Jesus’ identity and mission.

As I argue elsewhere, the Gospel of John is most playful with the reader about self-consciously inventing material to foster belief, so that might be what is going on here. Méndez, a Johannine specialist, notes that the Gospel of John doesn’t have unique sources about the historical Jesus, but is rather the first of the type of later apocryphal gospels, like the Gospel of Judas, that uses the Synoptics as a framework while inserting its own theology. The events never happened, but are related to foster belief: “But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name” (John 20:31). For example, with the fictive Cana wine miracle, Price argues:

Water into Wine (2:1-11)

Though the central feature of this miracle story, the transformation of one liquid into another, no doubt comes from the lore of Dionysus, the basic outline of the story owes much to the story of Elijah in 1 Kings 17:8-24 LXX (Helms, p. 86). The widow of Zarephath, whose son has just died, upbraids the prophet: “What have I to do with you, O man of God?” (Ti emoi kai soi, 17:18). John has transferred this brusque address to the mouth of Jesus, rebuking his mother (2:4, Ti emoi kai soi, gunai). Jesus and Elijah both tell people in need of provisions to take empty pitchers (udria in 1 Kings 17:12, udriai in John 2:6-7), from which sustenance miraculously emerges. And just as this feat causes the woman to declare her faith in Elijah (“I know that you are a man of God,” v. 24), so does Jesus’ wine miracle cause his disciples to put their faith in him (v. 11). (Price, 2005)

The clearest wink by the author is Jesus lying to his brothers that he is not going up to the party before going in secret, which results in the chance to preach and cause belief in John 7:8-10.

John may have known Q, given some overlap between them, like John’s emphasis on Jesus as a teacher of wisdom and his use of short, pithy sayings. This might suggest familiarity with the Q sayings tradition. John is not pre-70 CE, and he seems to be aware of the soldier at the cross tradition in the Synoptics, putting his own spin on it to counter a swoon death objection considered in Matthew.

John is usually dated as the latest of the Gospels, but internal evidence problematizes this. George van Kooten notes that the statement in John 5.2—’There is (ἔστιν) in Jerusalem […] a pool […] which has five porticoes’—offers internal evidence for dating the Gospel prior to 70 CE, when Jerusalem was destroyed. The formula ‘There is in …’ (ἔστιν δὲ ἐν) followed by a location (in the dative), with an architectural structure as the subject, is a formula that has been used since Herodotus’ time in geographic and topographic descriptions that assume the existence of this structure at the time of writing. The colonnaded pool complex of Bethzatha had likely been destroyed and/or dismantled during the First Jewish Revolt, when the Bezatha area, where the pool was located, was twice destroyed and was also stripped bare of timber. Against this reading, we seem to have allusions to the destruction of the Temple and expulsion from the synagogue, which suggests a late date. John 5:2 might just contain an earlier preserved tradition or linguistic anomaly. If the author of John is writing in role as the beloved disciple, the present tense here may serve a literary function, one somewhat analogous to Mark’s death of the baptizer as analepsis or flashback. Dennis MacDonald (2022, pp. 80-81, 176) shows how the story of John’s martyrdom matches in all essentials the Odyssey‘s story of the murder of Agamemnon (3:254-308: 4:512-547; 11:404-434), even to the point that both are told in the form of an analepsis or flashback. Likewise, John declaring the pool intact at the time of writing seems to relate to his fabricated claim that he was the beloved disciple.

The unreality of the pool description in John echoes the unreality of the pool itself compared to Jesus. In the story, the paralyzed man had been ill for 38 years and couldn’t reach the water in time (John 5:5-7). Jesus heals him directly by saying, “Stand up, take your mat and walk” (John 5:8), without relying on the pool’s waters or any ritual. This contrast highlights Jesus’ divine authority as “Rabbi” (teacher). Unlike the pool, which required human effort and competition, Jesus’ healing is immediate, personal, and based on his power alone. This underscores a key theme in John: true salvation and healing come through Jesus, not through external rituals or systems. So the pool figuratively wasn’t there even though it was there physically, as though a figurative nothingness anticipates a literal destruction. We see the Gospel of John saturated with symbolism like this, such as the disciples leaving John the Baptist to see where Jesus dwells, which would later become humans spiritually dwelling in the heavenly place and minor deification as they see Jesus there. Its symbolic form is reminiscent of the Last Supper, where the ritual symbolizes Jesus’ death, as Jesus had explained many times before—and yet the disciples don’t understand that Jesus is supposed to die and so get violent at the arrest. Jesus was essentially alone, talking to himself, so when Paul portrays the Last-Supper-Jesus, Jesus is alone talking to all future Christians through revelation. Similarly, just as in Mark it was no longer the season for figs/the Temple, it was no longer the season for the pool in John.

Eyewitness recall like analepsis lent credibility to the tale. In the context of flashbacks (analepsis), this technique was particularly effective when the teller was a participant, as in Homer’s Odyssey. Odysseus’ recounting of his adventures (books 9-12) to the Phaeacians is a firsthand analepsis, not a secondhand rumor. This direct narration adds credibility because it positions Odysseus as an authoritative source, whose personal suffering and observations (e.g., encounters with the Cyclops) make the tale more believable than if relayed by another character. Ancient critics noted that such eyewitness elements distinguished Homeric epics, privileging “realities” through the hero’s voice. It also allowed for emotional force, as seen in Virgil’s Aeneid (books 2-3), where Aeneas’ eyewitness account of Troy’s fall to Dido lends both credibility and pathos, mirroring Greek models. In Greek tragedies, messengers often functioned as eyewitnesses in analepses, reporting off-stage events with phrases implying direct observation, which heightened dramatic realism and trustworthiness (e.g., in Euripides’ plays).

Pretending that a written document was written earlier than it was composed was commonplace in antiquity, particularly in religious, philosophical, or historical texts. The goal was often to claim proximity to significant events or figures, lending the text greater legitimacy or influence. The Book of Enoch, likely composed in the second-to-first century BCE, claims to be written by Enoch, a figure from Genesis who lived before the Flood. By attributing the work to such an ancient figure, the authors sought to give it divine or prophetic credibility, as if it were written closer to primordial events. There’s also Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, written in the Hellenistic period (second century BCE), presented as the final words of the sons of Jacob, giving the impression that they were composed much earlier to align with patriarchal times. The motivation was often to tie the text to a revered figure, making it seem as though the writer had direct knowledge of divine or historical events, thus enhancing its spiritual or moral authority. Daniel speaks as a contemporary of Babylonian and Persian events, but the text reflects later Hellenistic concerns. The Book of Jubilees retells Genesis and Exodus with added details, claiming Mosaic authority, but reflects later Jewish legal and calendrical concerns. The Wisdom of Solomon uses Solomon’s voice to address Hellenistic Jewish audiences, blending biblical wisdom with Greek philosophical ideas. The Psalms of Solomon mimics Solomonic authorship to address contemporary political and religious crises. The Apocalypse of Abraham narrates Abraham’s experiences in the first person, but reflects later Jewish apocalyptic themes. Likewise, the Gospel of John is written in role as an eyewitness, and in fact the most important eyewitness, the beloved disciple, but reflects a later date given knowledge of the Synoptics.

John’s Gospel presents a highly developed theology, emphasizing Jesus as the divine Logos (Word) from the beginning (John 1:1-14). This contrasts with the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke), which focus more on Jesus’ human and messianic roles. The advanced Christological framework aligns with later theological debates, suggesting time for Christian doctrine to evolve. The gospel includes tensions with “the Jews” (e.g., John 9:22; 12:42), hinting at a post-70 CE context after the Jewish-Roman War, when Christians and Jews were increasingly distinct. References to believers being expelled from synagogues (John 16:2) suggest a formalized separation, likely sometime post-80s CE, possibly reflecting the Birkat HaMinim (a Jewish prayer cursing heretics, dated to around 85-90 CE). The gospel’s reflective and symbolic style (e.g., extended discourses, allegories like the Good Shepherd) differs from the Synoptics’ simpler, parable-based narratives, indicating a later literary development. John’s gospel lacks detailed references to the Jerusalem Temple’s destruction (70 CE), but still assumes a context where Temple worship is no longer central (e.g., in John 4:21-24, worship “neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem”). This suggests a time after the Temple’s fall, likely decades later, as the community has adapted to this reality. The Gospel’s precise knowledge of Jerusalem’s topography (e.g., the Pool of Bethesda in John 5:2, confirmed by archaeology) could reflect access to pre-70 CE traditions, but its narrative framing suggests a retrospective view, consistent with later composition.

In the Hellenistic period some philosophical texts, such as letters attributed to Socrates or his disciples, were written centuries after Socrates’ death (in the fifth century BCE). These were crafted to appear as if written by Socrates himself or his immediate followers to lend authenticity to certain philosophical teachings. The Sibylline Oracles, compiled in the Hellenistic and Roman periods (third century BCE to second century CE), were attributed to ancient prophetesses (Sibyls) to give them an air of timeless authority. By claiming ancient origins, the texts gained credibility as predictions of historical events, even though many were written or edited after the events that they described.

Some ancient historians included fabricated or embellished documents to bolster their narratives. While Herodotus (in the fifth century BCE) is considered a foundational historian, some of his sources for events like the Trojan War (traditionally dated to the twelfth century BCE) rely on oral traditions or later accounts that may have been presented as older to seem closer to the events. While not outright forgery, the practice of claiming proximity to events was common. Though composed during a later period (eighth century CE), the Donation of Constantine was a forged document claiming to be a fourth-century decree by Emperor Constantine granting authority to the Pope. It was presented as an earlier text to give it historical weight, showing how this tactic persisted beyond antiquity.

Early Christian communities circulated letters (e.g., Paul’s epistles), gospels, and apocryphal texts across the Mediterranean, from Rome to Antioch to Alexandria. The New Testament texts were copied by hand, with scribes introducing variants (e.g., the longer ending of Mark 16:9-20; Luke’s preface; the various strata of John; and so on). This reflects biblical practice generally, as Joel Baden notes that in the Hebrew Bible, contradictions and layered storytelling reveal a long editorial history. This also speaks to a school origin of the Pauline letters, since we seem to have with Paul editorial work of multiple voices (Romans) and letters stitched together (1 Corinthians). And some communities added apocryphal gospels (e.g., the Gospel of Thomas) to their canons. Church Fathers like Origen and Jerome commented on and revised texts, creating recensions (e.g., the Vulgate). Theological debates led to selective copying or suppression of certain texts. Monastic scriptoria became hubs for copying and annotating texts, with monks adding scholia or harmonizing gospel accounts (e.g., Tatian’s Diatessaron). Papyri like P66 (c. 200 CE) show early gospel variants, and the Codex Sinaiticus (fourth century) includes corrections by multiple scribes.

So when we see the literary centrality—and yet four different purposes—of the soldier at the cross between the four canonical gospels (which in a previous article I identified as central to the texts), this suggests that the Gospels were in circulation and being created and revised in relation to one another more than just the traditional observation that ‘Matthew copied 90 percent of Mark.’ We similarly see the two Joseph genealogies in Matthew and Luke as too idiosyncratic to just be there by chance, but also too different to reflect a common source like Q.

In a previous article we considered that a first-century Jesus may have been invented post-Bar Kokhba as historical fiction in order to consider what would have tragically happened had God’s especially beloved appeared when some interpretations of the seventy weeks of Daniel timeline predicted. God’s wrath of 70 CE and the 130s CE would make sense as yet another instance of God’s wrath at Jewish disobedience. And I will argue in the next article, we see this beginning in the transition and development from Q1 to Q2 of a literary Jesus who was later appropriated by the Synoptics/Acts and John.

Expanding on the thoughts of Neal Sendlak, the writings could have made sense for a Jew trying to understand the destruction of the Jews following the Bar Kokhba revolt as re-appropriate in scriptures like Lamentations 4:20. Invent a messiah figure Jesus (meaning “God Saves”) who succeeds where the messianic claimant of the revolt, and in fact all such messianic claimants, historically failed. The verse reads: “The Lord’s anointed, our very life breath, was caught in their traps; we had thought that under his shadow we would live among the nations.” The name ‘Jesus’ was just the name of the great hero Joshua, and many messianic claimants like Theudas and the Egyptian were trying to re-enact Joshua’s legacy.

9. Conclusion

Livesey suggests that Paul created post-Acts. Fictive letters like Seneca’s moral epistles usually appear in collection (not as individual letters) and so Paul assumes that the reader is well versed in the collection—in Marcion’s Galatians 5:21 we have a reference to “the flesh is not inheriting the kingdom of heaven as I have said before.” Though Paul does not specify, the reference is to 1 Corinthians 15:50, with Paul assuming an audience familiar with the collection. It also suggests a school:

And though [Hans-Martin] Schenke himself does not invoke the analogy of the schools of the Old Testament prophets, I believe the comparison is a helpful one. It invites us to understand the Pauline corpus, as Marcion did, as the private canon, the sectarian scripture, of a particular Christian body, the Pauline School in this case. This is much like the composite Book of Isaiah, which contains not only the oracles of the original Isaiah of Jerusalem but also the deutero- and trito-Isaianic supplements of his latter-day heirs. As in the case of the Isaiah canon where (a la Paul D. Hanson) we find intra-canonical collisions (cf. Ernst Käsemann), so we find Pauline versus deutero-Pauline clashes here and there…. Van Manen saw no reason to doubt the existence of Paul as an early Christian preacher, whose genuine itinerary he thought had been preserved in Acts, but he judged the so-called Pauline epistles to have as little direct connection to this early apostle as the so-called Johannine and Petrine writings have with their historically obscure namesakes. The epistles, Van Manen argued, display a universalizing and philosophizing tenor unthinkable for the apocalyptic sect pictured in Acts or the Gospels. Their greatest affinity was with Syrian Gnosticism. Nor did they represent the thinking of one theologian (the “Paulus Episcopus” of [Allard] Pierson and [Samuel] Naber). Rather, in the Pauline epistles, we overhear intra-scholastic debates between different wings of Paulinism. Has God finally cast off the Jewish people or not? Does grace imply libertinism, as some hold? Do some preach circumcision in Paul’s name? Can women prophesy or not? (Price, 2012, pp. 77-78)

Paul seems to be of a type of the one prophesied in the Hebrew Bible to bring the message of God to the pagans in the End Times, a literary pair of Jesus, who in turn was a type of failed messianic claimant (popular at the time) whose message was to the Jews. But Jesus was exceptional because, unlike the other failed messianic claimants, he was specially chosen by God. The expectation of someone like Paul is prominent in prophetic books like Isaiah, Micah, and Zechariah, portraying a universal expansion of God’s covenant beyond Israel.

Saul’s name change to Paul seems to be created in Acts with the story of the important conversion of the pagan Sergio Paulas overcoming ben Jesus in mind. In the Book of Acts (13:4-12) Paul and Barnabas arrive on Cyprus during their missionary journey and are summoned by the Roman proconsul Sergio Paulas, an intelligent man interested in hearing God’s word. A Jewish sorcerer and false prophet named Bar-Jesus (also called Elymas, meaning “son of Jesus” or “ben Jesus”) opposes them, trying to turn Sergius Paulus away from the faith. Paul, filled with the Holy Spirit, confronts Bar-Jesus, calling him a “child of the devil” and striking him with temporary blindness as a sign. Astonished by this display of the Lord’s power, Sergio Paulas believes and converts to Christianity. This idea of overcoming bar Jesus reinforces the idea that Paul is to overcome Jesus’ limited mission to the Jews. The converted Paul in Acts seems to be a literary pair with the converted soldier at the cross in the Synoptics, just as the forgiving dying Jesus in Luke is a literary pair with the forgiving dying Stephen in Acts. Price notes that the conversion seems to be modeled on 2 Maccabees 3’s story of Heliodorus and Euripides’ Bacchae.

Helen Bond argues that Mark views Jesus’ death as the reason why the Temple was destroyed in 70 CE. Bond notes that in Mark, Mark thinks that the Temple was destroyed in 70 CE because of sin and the Jewish leadership’s execution of Jesus, like the first Temple fell to the Babylonians because of sin. Many thought that the Jewish elite of Jesus’ time were corrupt. In a plausibly authentic section of the Testimonium Flavianum, Josephus notes that Jesus was executed by Pilate because he was accused “by the leading men among us,” the Jewish elite. Similarly, the Jewish elite enlisted the Romans to deal with the doomsday nuisance of Jesus ben Ananias (62 CE).

These interpretations were shaped by the belief that God actively governed history, using tragedies to discipline and restore His people. With the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE and the loss of their homeland after Bar Kokhba, it was ‘as though’ God was punishing them for a horrific crime like torturing and killing God’s beloved innocent Son. Jesus was thus analogous to the two angels’ visit to Lot in Genesis 19, which serves as both an investigation and a catalyst/test for the people’s vileness to become conspicuous through their desire to rape the angels.

Regarding literary pairs, Ali Ataie seems to be right that the Gospels’ and Acts’ use of parallelism is reflective of Plutarch’s Parallel Lives, which would place the Gospels and Acts at the turn of the second century or later. For example, we see the dead crucified Jesus converting enemies from the cross, similar to what we find in Plutarch’s Cleomenes III:

A few days afterwards those who were keeping watch upon the body of Cleomenes where it hung, saw a serpent of great size coiling itself about the head and hiding away the face so that no ravening bird of prey could light upon it. In consequence of this, the king was seized with superstitious fear, and thus gave the women occasion for various rites of purification, since they felt that a man had been taken off who was of a superior nature and beloved of the gods. And the Alexandrians actually worshipped him, coming frequently to the spot and addressing Cleomenes as a hero and a child of the gods (39:1-2)

In the general structure of the New Testament we see similar parallels between figures with Jewish haggadic midrash and Greek mimesis (e.g., in John the Baptist as the new and greater Elijah, as well as between figures like the forgiving dying Jesus and the forgiving dying Stephen). The Gospels seem to be dependent on Plutarch here, and so unlikely to have been written earlier than the second century CE.

Appendix: What if Livesey is Wrong and Paul’s Letters are Early?

Beyond the Genesis 3:7 account of Adam and Eve having their eyes opened to their nakedness after eating the forbidden fruit, the Bible includes numerous references to eyes being opened. These instances often symbolize gaining physical sight, spiritual insight, awareness, or divine revelation. Think of a lover who is unwittingly in a toxic relationship and can’t see the dysfunction that is obvious to his friends, who have the distance of observers. The lover can’t see the forest for the trees.

Other biblical examples include:

• Psalm 119:18: A prayer to “Open my eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of your law,” seeking deeper insight into God’s word.
• Luke 24:31: On the road to Emmaus, the disciples’ eyes were opened, and they recognized the resurrected Jesus as he broke bread with them.
• Acts 26:18: Paul describes his mission as being sent “to open their eyes, so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God.”
• Ephesians 1:18: A prayer for “the eyes of your hearts [to be] enlightened,” to understand the hope and inheritance in Christ.

Interestingly, Paul views sin not only as the transgressing of God’s law, but as a demonic force controlling and influencing people to disobey God. In this case what is needed is for something to happen that breaks the spell of evil. Think of Satan entering Judas. This spell breaker is none other than the wrongful crucifixion of God’s especially beloved (agapetos) Jesus. When we see ourselves in the world that turned on God’s chosen one Jesus, it opens our eyes and makes conspicuous our hidden sinful nature, which then makes repentance possible.

Central to Jesus’ teaching, Ehrman argues, was the need to repent in preparation for the coming Kingdom of God. Those who returned to God would be graciously forgiven for their transgressions, with no penalty or payment required. After Jesus’ death, his followers reversed his teaching, maintaining that God did not freely forgive sins, but required an atoning sacrifice.

John the Baptist practiced a baptism for the remission of sin, which was needed because a Day of Judgment was imminent (the axe was at the tree). People needed to repent and turn back to God. Temple sacrifice was not needed. Jesus’ first message is repent because the Kingdom is near. Evil forces and people will be destroyed. The Lord’s Prayer suggests that we will be forgiven, a debt that does not need to be paid. This is reflected in the parable of the unforgiving slave in Matthew. There is also the story of the rich young man who will be saved by giving everything to the poor, and the story of the sheep and goats. Jesus taught that God forgives sins. His followers taught that God required atonement. Jesus taught for sinners to repent and be forgiven. The story of the prodigal son is about God forgiving if we repent and turn back to him.

Ehrman argues that Paul doesn’t talk about forgiveness, but atonement. Mark 10:45 also sees Jesus’ death as an atonement. The Temple curtain rips, suggesting access to God without a further atoning sacrifice. Luke does not have atonement and has the curtain tearing beforehand, indicating the destruction of the Temple for what the Jews did to Jesus. Luke-Acts also has the forgiveness of sins. The followers of Jesus experienced their master crucified, but he was seen after death, so there must have been a greater reason why Jesus died.

Following Ehrman, there is the judicial model in Romans 1-4. God is a law giver. He also judges criminal cases. Everybody breaks God’s laws, so there is a penalty, and it’s the death penalty. Everyone sins, so everyone dies. Put differently, you’ve incurred a fine and it must be paid. Jesus pays it for you. Jesus being raised from the dead shows that the penalty has been paid because he’s no longer dead. We see this kind of substitutional view in 4 Maccabees. It’s long been debated whether—if Christ paid the penalty—everyone is saved. For Paul, you have to believe in Christ and accept the payment because if you don’t agree with Christ for him to pay your fine, he can’t pay it. It would be like your mother offering to pay your fine in court, but where you refuse that the payment be made on your behalf. Salvation comes when you believe and trust that Christ’s payment works. This fits in with the ancient notion of sacrifice satisfying a god’s wrath.

Modifying Ehrman, there is also a participation model in Romans 5-8. Sin brings about separation from God. In this model sin is not a transgression, but a cosmic power in the universe. It has imprisoned, trapped, and enslaved people: think of Satan entering Judas in the Gospels (Luke 22:3; John 13:27). It controls people and forces them to do things against God’s will. In this theology readers being implicated in the world turning on Christ / Christ’s death breaks the spell of Sin and opens people’s eyes to their vileness. Sin is a power that forces you to do wrong even if you want to do right, and the power of Sin hands you over to the power of Death. Being implicated in Jesus’ death solves the problem of alienation from God here with your metanoia/renewal of mind/repentance, but not as a payment (as with the judicial model). The heart is circumcised to reveal the Law written on it. It’s not that you’re breaking the law, but that you’ve been enslaved, so you have to be liberated. The reader shocked at seeing himself in the world that brought about Christ’s unjust death interrupts the power of sin/breaks the spell, and the resurrected Christ indwells within you, uniting you with him as buried and raised when baptized, to combat Satan’s temptations. You participate in Christ’s death because when his death convicts you, your fleshly is crucified / circumcising your heart, revealing the Law written on it (Romans 2:14-15). Christ’s resurrection shows that he nullified the Power of Death, which is important since the Bible says that if the dead are not raised, we might as well be gluttons and drunks, for tomorrow we die (1 Corinthians 15:32; Isaiah 22:13). By contrast, Paul urges: “So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31). Paul also says: “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins” (1 Corinthians 15:17).

Paul also has the model of Christ’s death reconciling God and man as two estranged friends. Having a multitude of competing models reflects ancient literary practices, like that found when Plato proposes the wax model and aviary model in the Theaetetus. Paul said that he would approach the sin problem from whatever angle people were most comfortable with (a Jew to the Jews and a Gentile to the Gentiles), while all Paul thought was necessary and sufficient for salvation was confessing that Jesus is Lord and believing that God raised him from the dead (Romans 10:9-10).

Regarding the substitution model, Jesus rebukes Peter by saying ‘Get behind me, Satan!’ in Mark 8:33 after Peter objects to Jesus’ prediction of his own suffering and death. However, in the Gospel of Mark, at least one of Jesus’ disciples was armed with a sword and used it to attack a member of the arresting party. This would be odd if it was known among the disciples that Jesus was supposed to be arrested and killed. Appparently the atonement theology was a post-Jesus development and Mark invented material to create the impression that he had taught it all along, though the historical memory of the disciples fleeing didn’t reflect this.

There seems to be a historical core behind the idea that after Jesus’ death, people were championing Jesus-faith positions that did not reflect what the historical Jesus taught. Peter and the Jerusalem bunch seem to have invented an atonement theology grounded in a similar scriptural allusion process to that used to create a biography of their Teacher of Righteousness by the Dead Sea Scrolls sect. The position of Peter, James, and John seems preserved in the pre-Pauline Corinthian creed, and was at odds with others, including those who taught the historical Jesus’ message. Paul says “What I mean is that each of you says, ‘I belong to Paul,’ or ‘I belong to Apollos,’ or ‘I belong to Cephas,’ or ‘I belong to Christ'” (1 Corinthians 1:12). Mark may satirically preserve this with Peter’s denials of Jesus.

In support of an alternative theological interpretation, Vinzent appeals to the absence of a salvific cross/resurrection in the Q source. This adds support to Vinzent’s other points, which I paraphrased earlier thus:

Markus Vinzent notes that among the early Church Fathers, no one writing about the religion mentions the resurrection of Jesus until Paul starts writing about it. For example, our earliest catechism, the Didache, doesn’t mention the Resurrection. The same is true of the Shepherd of Hermas. This provides further evidence of the later nature (than the Didache and the like) of the Pauline letters given the centrality to Paul’s message of the Resurrection in 1 Corinthians 15:17, the Corinthian Creed, and so on. We thus have traditions preserved in Mark of salvation happening apart from cross/resurrection theology, as Ehrman notes. The gospel begins with a call to repentance, there is the story of the sheep and goats, and the story of the rich young ruler, but also the narrative of the soldier’s transformation in declaring Jesus the son of God at the cross—none of which reflect the Pauline judicial salvific cross/resurrection theology that we see in Romans (though there are other models).

This makes sense historically since Paul claimed to be a Pharisee of Pharisees, and the Pharisees were idiosyncratic among the Jews in believing in a final resurrection. (The Pharisees introduced this pagan-like idea following the time of Alexander, when some Jews were synchronizing their beliefs with Greek, Zoroastrian, and Roman theology.) These items may have been absent from the Judaism of the Jesus. The majority of tombstones in the time of Jesus do not reflect belief in an afterlife because the Torah says that we only live on through our male descendents. If the Christians were recruited from Jews who believed in the Torah, rather than from the later prophets, then the absence of the Resurrection from the Didache and the Shepard of Hermas makes sense. The Apostle’s Creed likewise, in the manuscripts in the Fathers, is in one tradition integrated into the baptism, but in another tradition only has that Jesus was born and suffered, omitting baptism/resurrection. For 200 years we only had this non-Rresurrection version. The resurrection of Jesus only entered into the creed in the fourth century. For us, Easter was a celebration of the Resurrection, but originally it was the celebration of Christ’s suffering.

It has long been suspected by New Testament scholars that there is a now-lost Q source that contained sayings by Jesus found in Matthew and Luke that did not come from Mark, and that it may have been very early. The earliest layer of these sayings seems to be a collection of Cynic-like sayings, which (as noted) need not come from a single Cynic sage, let alone the historical Jesus, since the commonality between these sayings is just in their same Cynic flavor. In this way the Son of Man imagery in Q may be appropriating a corporate Son of Man from Daniel, the collective “holy ones of the most high.”

About a decade ago Crossan published The Power of Parable arguing that fictions told by Jesus developed into fictions about Jesus (Crossan, 2012). We might extend this to suppose that sayings preserved in the Q source actually reflect how the Jesus story originated.

Scholars note that ancient interpretations of the cross included the idea that the wrongful crucifixion of God’s especially beloved (agapetos) Jesus resulted in God’s wrath with the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, as well as the Jews getting booted from the land post-Bar Kokhba. This interpretation is similar to that of the destruction of the first Temple, and along the same theological lines of the angels being sent to test the people in Lot’s story.

In the same way that Adam’s eyes were opened when he broke God’s command and he saw his nakedness, the idea is to see yourself in the world that wrongfully turned upon Jesus (e.g., the corrupt trial by the Jewish High Council), and have this perspective reboot your moral outlook/disposition. We thus have the central story of the soldier at the cross looking up at Jesus and being converted, akin to Cleomenes in Plutarch. Jesus reflects the failed messianic type prevalent at the time, one who can nonetheless be victorious if specially favored by God.

In Q Jesus says to turn the other cheek (Matthew 5:39), to turn the tables on those who seek to harm us, and to overcome evil through creative acts of nonviolent resistance. There Jesus also says to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). These seem to have been the source for the Jesus story.

In the Bible there are several instances where individuals endure suffering or show mercy in the face of persecution, leading their adversaries to recognize the injustice or divine truth in their actions. These align with the theme of nonviolent resistance or forbearance that prompts a moment of clarity for the wrongdoer.

With David sparing Saul’s life (1 Samuel 24), while hiding in a cave David has the opportunity to kill King Saul, who is pursuing him unjustly. Instead, David cuts off a corner of Saul’s robe as proof, but spares his life, declaring that he will not harm the Lord’s anointed. When Saul learns of this, he weeps and acknowledges his wrongdoing, saying, “You are more righteous than I; you have treated me well, but I have treated you badly.” This act of restraint opens Saul’s eyes to his own malice, leading him to bless David and recognize him as the future king.

A similar event occurs in 1 Samuel 26, where David again spares Saul during a vulnerable moment, and Saul admits: “I have sinned…. I have acted like a fool and have been terribly wrong.”

As Jesus suffers and dies on the cross without resistance, enduring mockery and violence, a Roman centurion overseeing the execution witnesses the events, including the earthquake and darkness. He declares: “Surely this man was the Son of God!” (or, in Luke, “Surely this was a righteous/innocent man”). This realization comes from observing Jesus’ innocent suffering and composure, prompting the soldier—part of the oppressive Roman forces—to affirm Jesus’ divine or righteous nature.

After the fiery furnace (Daniel 3) Nebuchadnezzar has Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refuse to worship King Nebuchadnezzar’s golden image, leading to their being thrown into a blazing furnace. They emerge unharmed, protected by a divine figure. Witnessing this miraculous survival amid the intended violence, Nebuchadnezzar praises their God, saying: “Praise be to the God of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, who has sent his angel and rescued his servants!” He then promotes them and decrees that no one should speak against their God, recognizing the error in his coercive idolatry. A parallel occurs in Daniel 6, where King Darius sees Daniel unharmed in the lions’ den and issues a decree honoring Daniel’s God.

These stories illustrate how enduring persecution without retaliation can lead oppressors to confront the moral or spiritual implications of their actions, which is a popular theme in ancient literature, and probably influenced the Jews as part of the Greco-Roman culture. Examples from other ancient literature depict similar themes, where suffering or nonviolent endurance exposes the perpetrator’s flaws, often leading to remorse, empathy, or transformation.

With Ashoka after the Kalinga War (from Ashoka’s Rock Edicts and Buddhist legends), Emperor Ashoka of the Maurya Empire wages a brutal war against Kalinga around 261 BCE, resulting in massive bloodshed and suffering. Horrified by the devastation he witnesses—hundreds of thousands killed, deported, or left in misery—Ashoka renounces violence and converts to Buddhism. His edicts express deep remorse, stating that the conquest caused him “profound sorrow and regret,” and he commits to dharma (righteousness) and nonviolence, promoting welfare and tolerance across his empire. Here the victims’ suffering opens Ashoka’s eyes to the futility and horror of his aggression.

For Creon in Sophocles’ Antigone (c. 441 BCE), Antigone defies King Creon’s edict by burying her brother Polyneices, leading to her imprisonment and eventual suicide. Creon’s rigid enforcement of state law over familial and divine rites causes cascading tragedies, including the suicides of his son Haemon (Antigone’s fiancé) and his wife Eurydice. Too late Creon realizes his hubris and the violence of his decisions, lamenting “Alas, I have learned it in my misery!” and acknowledging that his stubbornness has destroyed his family. Antigone’s principled suffering highlights Creon’s error, forcing him to confront the human cost of his tyranny.

Achilles and King Priam in Homer’s Iliad (book 24, c. eighth century BCE) presents Achilles killing Hector in rage over Patroclus’ death and desecrating the body. King Priam, Hector’s father, risks his life to beg Achilles for the corpse, enduring humiliation and invoking shared human grief. Witnessing Priam’s suffering and vulnerability, Achilles is moved to pity, recognizing their common fate under the gods’ whims. He weeps with Priam, returns the body, and arranges a truce for burial. This moment humanizes the enemy, leading Achilles to a profound realization of empathy amid war’s brutality.

So with the Jewish-Cynic nature of Q, we may in fact have a tradition of sayings preserved in the Q source that later became the story of the wrongful death of Jesus. And narratively, it works. The wrongful death of Socrates, for instance, taught us not to kill people guilty of Socrates’ charge, which in reality amounted to simply being a gadfly and annoying people. This is the image in the most famous book in the ancient world, Plato’s Republic, as to why being an impaled just man (noting that crucifixion is a kind of impalement) is better than the longevity of an evil man—because of what a righteous death can accomplish. We thus have the image in the Republic of the fate of the impaled just man being more desirable than that of the wicked man in a lap of luxury.

Whether to date Paul as early or late is currently an active area of discussion in New Testament scholarship. So is whether the cross represents substitutionary atonement to satisfy God’s wrath at the sinfulness of the Jews, or represents the moral influence of people having their eyes opened to the way that Satan has been controlling them (e.g., Satan entered into Judas), or represents both interpretations, reflecting the multiple modes of dealing with sin (and various meanings of sin), such as found in Romans.

We see the extensive legal loopholes in Mark’s satire of the highly corrupt trial of Jesus in front of the Jewish High Council. Jesus was sent by God to test mankind, resulting in, in Paul’s words, sin becoming sinful beyond measure. Because of this, the Jews were judged. As I noted earlier:

Helen Bond argues that Mark views Jesus’ death as the reason why the Temple was destroyed in 70 CE. Bond notes that in Mark, Mark thinks that the Temple was destroyed in 70 CE because of sin and the Jewish leadership’s execution of Jesus, like the first Temple fell to the Babylonians because of sin. Many thought that the Jewish elite of Jesus’ time were corrupt. In a plausibly authentic section of the Testimonium Flavianum, Josephus notes that Jesus was executed by Pilate because he was accused “by the leading men among us,” the Jewish elite. Similarly, the Jewish elite enlisted the Romans to deal with the doomsday nuisance of Jesus ben Ananias (62 CE).

These interpretations were shaped by the belief that God actively governed history, using tragedies to discipline and restore His people. With the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE and the loss of their homeland after Bar Kokhba, it was ‘as though’ God was punishing them for a horrific crime like torturing and killing God’s beloved innocent Son. Jesus was thus analogous to the two angels’ visit to Lot in Genesis 19, which serves as both an investigation and a catalyst/test for the people’s vileness to become conspicuous through their desire to rape the angels.

This is why Paul presents Jesus in Great Angel imagery. Paraphrasing his How Jesus Became God on his blog, Ehrman comments:

The Synoptics simply accept a different Christological view from Paul’s. They hold to exaltation Christologies and Paul holds to an incarnation Christology. That, in no small measure, is because Paul understood Christ to be an angel who became a human.

Christ as an Angel in Paul

Many people no doubt have the same experience I do on occasion, of reading something numerous times, over and over, and not having it register. I have read Paul’s letter to the Galatians literally hundreds of times in both English and Greek. But the clear import of what Paul says in Galatians 4:14 simply never registered with me, until, frankly, a few months ago. In this verse Paul indicates that Christ was an angel. The reason it never registered with me is because the statement is a bit obscure, and I had always interpreted it in an alternative way. Thanks to the work of other scholars, I now see the error of my ways.[1]

In the context of the verse Paul is reminding the Galatians of how they first received him when he was ill in their midst, and they helped restore him to health. This is what the verse in question says:

Even though my bodily condition was a test for you, you did not mock or despise me, but you received me as an angel of God, as Jesus Christ.

I had always simply read the verse to say that the Galatians had received Paul in his infirm state the way they would have received an angelic visitor, or even Christ himself. In fact the grammar of the Greek suggests something quite different. As the aforementioned Gieschen has argued, and has now been affirmed in a book on Christ as an angel by New Testament specialist Susan Garrett, the verse is not saying that the Galatians received Paul as an angel or as Christ; it is saying that they received him as they would an angel, such as Christ.[2] By clear implication, then, Christ is an angel.

As I indicated, the reason for reading the verse this way has to do with the Greek grammar. When Paul uses the construction “but as … as” he is not contrasting two things; he is stating that the two things are the same thing. We know this because Paul uses this grammatical construction in a couple of other places in his writings, and the meaning in these cases is unambiguous. For example, in 1 Corinthians 3:1 Paul says: “Brothers, I was not able to speak to you as spiritual people, but as fleshly people, as infants in Christ.” The last bit “but as…as” indicates two identifying features of the recipients of Paul’s letter: they are fleshly people and they are infants in Christ. These are not two contrasting statements; they modify each other. The same can be said of Paul’s comments in 2 Cor. 2:17, which also has this grammatical feature.

But this means that in Galatians 4:14 Paul is not contrasting Christ to an angel; he is equating him to an angel. Garrett goes a step further and argues that Gal. 4:14 indicates that Paul “identifies [Jesus Christ] with God’s chief angel” [p. 11].

If that’s the case, then virtually everything Paul ever says about Christ throughout his letters makes perfect sense. As the Angel of the Lord, Christ is a pre-existent being who is divine; he can be called God; and he is God’s manifestation on earth in human flesh. Paul says all these things about Christ, and in no passage more strikingly than in Philippians 2:6-11, a passage that is often called by scholars the “Philippians Hymn” or the “Christ Hymn of Philippians,” since it is widely thought to embody an early hymn or poem devoted to celebrating Christ and his incarnation.

My friend Charles Cosgrove, a life-long scholar of Paul who is also one of the world’s experts on music in the early Christian world, has convinced me that the passage could not have been an actual hymn that was sung, since it does not scan properly, as a musical piece, in the Greek. And so it may be a poem or even a kind of exalted prose composition. But what is clear is that it is an elevated reflection on Christ coming into the world (from heaven) for the sake of others and being glorified by God as a result. And it appears to be a passage Paul is quoting, one with which the Philippians themselves may well have already been familiar. In other words, it is another pre-Pauline tradition (see the discussion of Romans 1:3-4 on pp. xxx).

We’ve looked at how the Gospels view the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE as divine punishment for the Jews collaborating with the Romans to wrongfully kill Jesus. That perspective was expressed in the light of the two angels sent to Lot (to Sodom and Gomorrah) to test the people, after which the city was destroyed after its people demanded to rape the angels. In Paul, Jesus is seen as a catalyst/testing angel in this same sense.

In the main we have been considering Livesey’s thesis that Paul’s letters are late, but if Paul’s letters are early, note Paul’s accusation that the Jews killed Jesus in 1 Thessalonians. Paul thought that Jesus was killed and then buried before being raised on the third day. He also thought that the resurrected Jesus was the first fruits of the general resurrection harvest of souls at the end of the age, which was already underway. This fits nicely with the idea that Jesus was seen as the Godly Chosen Davidic messiah by his followers, but then brutally crucified as an insurgent. For Paul this egregious conspiracy-murder was the catalyst for the final judgment that was underway.

In other words, if Paul’s letters are early, then it makes much more sense that Jesus was painted as a being that existed on Earth rather than as a celestial being in outer space (as some mythicists contend).

A look at Plutarch’s Parallel Lives suggests that the conversion of the Roman soldier by the dead crucified Jesus on the cross was derived from the conversion of onlookers by the dead crucified Cleomenes III in Plutarch. Such parallelism abounds in the Bible, such as John the Baptist and Jesus imitating Elijah and Elisha, as well as Jesus serving the role of the new and greater Moses. For example, Joshua—which is what the name Jesus refers to—was filled with divine wisdom, as Jesus was the personification of Wisdom, and messianic claimants at the time looked to reenact the legacy of Joshua. And so on.

The trials of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark—before the Sanhedrin in Mark 14:53-65, and before Pilate in Mark 15:1-15—can also be interpreted as literary pairs or parallels. This is a common view among biblical scholars, who note structural and thematic similarities that serve narrative purposes, such as emphasizing Jesus’ identity and innocence while contrasting Jewish and Roman authority. For instance, both scenes involve direct questioning about Jesus’ messianic claims: The high priest asks, “Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?” (Mark 14:61), to which Jesus affirms, “I am.” Pilate similarly asks, “Are you the king of the Jews?” (Mark 15:2), with Jesus replying, “You say so.” This parallel highlights the irony of Jesus’ kingship being acknowledged even as he is condemned.

The trials mirror each other in progression: accusation, interrogation, false witnesses (explicit in the Sanhedrin scene, implied in Pilate’s), condemnation, and physical abuse (mockery and beating after each). They function as a diptych, underscoring Mark’s theological themes like the “messianic secret” and the fulfillment of prophecy, without explaining why two trials are needed. Other analyses point to broader synoptic parallels across gospels, but Mark’s concise style accentuates this pairing for dramatic effect.

There is little history to be found in the satires of the two trials here, such as in a concerned Pilate trying to please the crowd and releasing Barabbas, a known killer of Romans. Pilate is frequently depicted as cruel, corrupt, and inflexible in historical sources outside of the New Testament. In Antiquities of the Jews and The Jewish War, Jewish historian Flavius Josephus (c. 37-100 CE) describes Pilate as insensitive and violent. Examples include his introduction of Roman standards bearing Caesar’s image into Jerusalem, provoking Jewish protests that he quelled by threatening massacre; his use of sacred Temple funds for an aqueduct, leading to a brutal suppression of riots where many were killed; and a later incident in Samaria where he ordered a slaughter of Samaritans, resulting in his recall to Rome around 36 CE for excessive cruelty. Philosopher Philo of Alexandria (c. 20 BCE-50 CE), in On the Embassy to Gaius, portrays Pilate as a vindictive and corrupt governor prone to bribery, insults, and gratuitous executions, emphasizing his “inflexible, stubborn, and cruel” nature in dealings with Jews. Roman historian Tacitus (c. 56-120 CE) briefly mentions Pilate in Annals as the procurator who executed Jesus under Tiberius, without much detail on his character, but in alignment with the broader Roman administrative context where governors like Pilate maintained order through harsh measures. Overall, the consensus from ancient sources leans toward viewing Pilate as a harsh administrator who prioritized Roman interests over local sensitivities.

As previously noted, Hamilton comments:

However, the Synoptic chronology is not impossible, for as [Josef] Blinzler says, the prohibition of legal proceedings on feast days was less strictly enforced than that of holding courts on the Sabbath, ‘therefore it is quite thinkable that it did not seem to the Sanhedrists an infringement of an important rule to start a legal trial even on the night of the Pesach’. It is the argument of this article that all the Gospels witness to such a trial which, while viable in its date, contravened accepted practice as subsequently enshrined in the Mishnah at many points, as Blinzler shows. For example, the proceedings took place in the house of Caiaphas, not in the Temple, and though Jesus had not actually pronounced the Name of God, he was condemned as a blasphemer. He was not offered an advocate; the witnesses were not warned before being examined; nor were they called to account for false witness. The members of the Sanhedrin, although witnesses of the alleged blasphemy, took part in the passing of the sentence, though it was not legal for them to do so.

As Blinzler says, one is not able ‘to spare the Sanhedrin the reproach of very serious infringement of the law’. The question is, why did they do this?’ It will not do to suggest that the occasion was a sham—the proceedings were undoubtedly carried through before a competent bench of judges’. Nor can their contraventions of the Mishnaic code be simply dismissed by saying that it was not yet in force. It is true that it was not codified until about 200 AD, and reflects conditions which obtained then, but it certainly enshrines earlier practice to a considerable extent. For example, Segal says that in describing Temple ritual, it may be employed with confidence. May not the same apply to legal practice?… Before the Feast of the Passover Caiaphas is reported to have said in council: ‘It is expedient for you that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation should not perish’ (Jn. 11:50). Expediency was the factor which determined his conduct. When the opportunity unexpectedly presented itself to secure Jesus’ death, he and the priests avidly took it. Spurred on by their hatred of him; persuaded that as he was a false teacher, his execution on a feast day would be appropriate; and pressurized by shortage of time, they held his trial on the paschal night. In this trial they contravened normal legal practice at many points. The fact that they could do this in the legal sphere makes it likely that they could, because of the exceptional circumstances, also contravene ritual practice. For the exigencies of the case demanded that they work through the night. Early next morning therefore, they still had not eaten their paschal meal [emphasis mine]. (Hamilton, 1992, pp. 335-336)

And Hamilton adds:

Certainly therefore, an execution would have been contrary to the sabbatical nature of the first paschal day. However, Deut. 17: 12-13 prescribes the death penalty for anyone who opposes the decisions of the priests, to be carried out so that ‘all the people shall hear and fear’, and the Mishnah (Sanhedrin 11:4) gives special instructions for the execution of a rebellious teacher: ‘He was kept in guard until one of the three feasts, and he was put to death on one of the three feasts’. This shows that in certain circumstances executions were permitted on feast days. Moreover, [Paul] Billerbeck says that where an example is required ‘to protect the Torah from wilfully severe transgressions, an execution may, as an exception, supersede a feast day’. (Hamilton, 1992, p. 335)

So there seems to be a connection between the death of Jesus and the sinfulness of the Jewish elite. If we keep in mind the blame assigned to the Jews for wrongfully killing Jesus with the destruction of the Temple, this falls squarely within Jewish tradition. There are numerous examples in the Bible where God is depicted as punishing the Israelites (the ancestors of the Jews) for various forms of sinfulness, such as disobedience, idolatry, complaining, rebellion, and moral failings. These punishments often served as consequences under the covenant outlined in books like Leviticus and Deuteronomy, where blessings followed obedience and curses (including plagues, exile, and oppression) followed sin:

• The Golden Calf Incident: After escaping Egypt, the Israelites turned to idolatry by worshiping a golden calf while Moses was on Mount Sinai. God sent a plague as punishment, and the Levites killed about 3,000 people under divine command (Exodus 32).
• Wandering in the Desert for 40 Years: Due to lack of faith and rebellion after spies reported on Canaan, God decreed that the entire generation (except Joshua and Caleb) would die in the wilderness without entering the Promised Land. This was a prolonged punishment for distrust and complaining against God’s plan (Numbers 13-14).
• Plague from Complaining about Food: The Israelites grumbled against God and Moses for lacking meat, rejecting the manna provided. God sent quail but struck them with a severe plague while they ate, causing many deaths (Numbers 11:31-35).
• Fiery Serpents for Grumbling: During their journey, the people complained about food and water, speaking against God. He sent venomous snakes that bit and killed many; repentance led to the bronze serpent as a means of healing (Numbers 21:4-9).
• Plague at Baal Peor: The Israelites engaged in sexual immorality and idolatry with Moabite women, worshiping Baal. God sent a plague that killed 24,000 people until Phinehas intervened. This example parallels Sodom and Gomorrah in involving sexual sin (Numbers 25).
• Oppression in the Time of Judges: In a recurring cycle, the Israelites repeatedly turned to idolatry and evil, leading God to allow foreign nations (e.g., Philistines, Midianites) to oppress and conquer them as punishment. Repentance brought deliverers like Gideon or Samson (Judges 2:11-15; entire Book of Judges).
• Assyrian Conquest and Exile of the Northern Kingdom: Due to persistent idolatry, fearing other gods, and following pagan practices, God allowed the Assyrians to conquer Israel (the northern tribes) and scatter them in exile (2 Kings 17:7-18).
• Babylonian Exile and Destruction of Jerusalem: For sins including idolatry, shedding innocent blood, and breaking the covenant, God sent the Babylonians to destroy the Temple, burn Jerusalem, and exile the people of Judah. This is one of the most severe collective punishments, akin to the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah (2 Kings 24-25; Jeremiah 32:30).

These instances often emphasize themes of covenant unfaithfulness, with prophets like Amos and Jeremiah warning of such judgments (e.g., Amos 9:8; Isaiah 24). In many cases, punishment was followed by opportunities for repentance and restoration. As I said, key to this were the angels being sent to test and then God judging Sodom and Gomorrah, as this appears to be the purpose that Paul sees with Jesus, identifying him as an angel. The Jewish High Council and bloodthirsty crowd failed the test and condemned God’s especially beloved Jesus to torture and death.

The Old Testament implies an increase or accumulation of sinfulness reaching a peak before End-Times events: “And in the latter time of their kingdom, when the transgressors are come to the full, a king of fierce countenance, and understanding dark sentences, shall stand up” (Daniel 8:23). This verse is part of a prophetic vision about the “latter time” (often interpreted eschatologically), where the rise of an oppressive king (historically Antiochus Epiphanes, but sometimes seen as a type of the Antichrist) occurs once transgressions have reached their “full measure.”

Biblical commentaries commonly explain that “transgressors are come to the full” as referring to the Jewish people’s apostasy and wickedness escalating to a critical height—through idolatry, Temple profanation, and adopting pagan practices—triggering divine judgment. Paul’s belief that the Apocalypse and Final Judgment was actually underway thus makes sense if the society was viewed as particularly sinful (both with transgression and Satan clouding people’s minds, as Paul says in Romans) and the Jewish elite conspired to kill God’s especially beloved Jesus (Paul blaming the Jews in 1 Thessalonians, as Matthew does with Jesus’ blood being on the Jews).

This motif echoes broader Old Testament themes where judgment follows when iniquity overflows (e.g., Genesis 15:16 regarding the Amorites), but Daniel 8:23 ties it specifically to latter-day events. While the New Testament more explicitly describes escalating lawlessness in the last days (e.g., Matthew 24:12; 2 Timothy 3:1-5), prophetic books like Daniel emphasize moral decline leading to the Day of the Lord or messianic era.

The death of Jesus is seen in the Gospels as the reason for God’s wrath producing the destruction of the Temple. In Paul Jesus was the messianic claimant of the Davidic line (“of the seed of David”), especially beloved (agapetos) and favored by God, which is why his death was so egregious. Clearly, then, contrary to the Christ myth theory, Jesus did seem to live on Earth if Paul’s letters are early, since the whole story is predicated on putting Jesus’ death at the hands of the Jewish elite. A significant portion of first-century Jews, from ascetic sects (Essenes) to urban poor, rural peasants, and proto-revolutionary groups, viewed the Jerusalem elite as corrupt, exploitative, and theologically compromised. This perception fueled both spiritual withdrawal (Qumran) and violent resistance (Zealots) and contributed to the social volatility that erupted in the First Jewish Revolt (66-70 CE).

If Paul’s letters are early, Paul in 1 Thessalonians identifies the Jewish elite/crowd as responsible for the most blasphemous thing possible—torturing and killing God’s especially beloved Jesus, triggering the Apocalypse (with Paul calling the resurrected Jesus the first fruits of the now-begun End Time harvest of souls). This gives us good evidence as to why Paul/Saul was persecuting the Christians before he converted, and to what Peter/James/John thought about the metaphysics of the crucified resurrected Jesus, since Paul knew the Jerusalem bunch and incorporated their highly developed view of the death and resurrection as outlined in the Pre-Pauline Corinthian creed/poetry. This also explains why Mark wrote, since the destruction of the Temple blamed on the Jews killing Jesus would further the argument that the End-Time process was underway.

References

Crossan, John Dominic. (2012). The Power of Parable: How Fiction by Jesus Became Fiction about Jesus. London, UK: SPCK.

Ehrman, Bart. (2020, February 4). “Was Christ an Angel, According to Paul?” The Bart Ehrman Blog. <https://ehrmanblog.org/was-christ-an-angel-according-to-paul/>.

Eisenbaum, Pamela. (2017). “The Letter to the Hebrews.” In The Jewish Annotated New Testament, 2nd ed. (pp. 460-488), ed. Amy-Jill Levine and Marc Zvi Brettler. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Hamilton, John J. (1992). “The Chronology of the Crucifixion and the Passover.” Churchman Vol. 106: 323-338.

Kooten, George van. (2025). “The Pre-70 ce Dating of the Gospel of John: ‘There is (ἔστιν) in Jerusalem … a pool … which has five porticoes’ (5.2).” New Testament Studies Vol. 71, No. 1 (January): 29-55.

MacDonald, Dennis R. (2022). Synopses of Epic, Tragedy, and the Gospels. Claremont, CA: Mimesis Press.

Méndez, Hugo. (2020a). “Did the Johannine Community Exist?” Journal for the Study of the New Testament Vol. 42, No. 3 (March 2): 350-374.

Méndez, Hugo. (2020b). “The Elusive Contexts of the Johannine Literature.” The Bible and Interpretation website. <https://bibleinterp.arizona.edu/articles/elusive-contexts-johannine-literature>.

Moss, Candida. (2020, March 8). “Everyone’s Favorite Gospel is a Forgery.” The Daily Beast. <https://www.thedailybeast.com/everyones-favorite-gospel-the-gospel-of-john-is-a-forgery-according-to-new-research>.

Price, Robert M. (2005). “New Testament Narrative as Old Testament Midrash.” In Encyclopaedia of Midrash: Biblical Interpretation in Formative Judaism (Vol. 1, pp. 534-573), ed. Jacob Neusner and Alan J. Avery-Peck. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill.

Price, Robert M. (2012). The Amazing Colossal Apostle: The Search for the Historical Paul. Salt Lake City, UT: Signature Books. (Kindle edition).

Rillera, Andrew. (2024). Lamb of the Free: Recovering the Varied Sacrificial Understandings of Jesus’s Death. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books. (Kindle edition).

Shauf, Scott. (2022). Jesus the Sacrifice: A Historical and Theological Study. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books.

Tigay, Jeffrey H. (2003). The JPS Torah Commentary: Deuteronomy. Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society.

Wills, Lawrence M. (2017). “The Gospel According to Mark.” In The Jewish Annotated New Testament, 2nd ed. (pp. 67-106), ed. Amy-Jill Levine and Marc Zvi Brettler. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

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