Jesus saw the signs –  as did many of the early Christians. Stone blocks mounted on the wall that divided the “Court of the Gentiles” from the inner courts, where only Jews were allowed to enter, proclaimed in Greek: “No foreigner may enter … the sanctuary and the enclosure. Whoever is caught, on himself shall he put blame for the death which will ensue.”

The text of these warning signs was preserved by the ancient Jewish historian Josephus, and two of the actual signs still survive today in museums in Jerusalem and in Istanbul – so there is no doubt about what they said or the threatened punishment for any foreigner who attempted to enter the temple.   The apostle Paul refers to this well-known “dividing wall” as a wall of hostility between Jews and Gentiles in Ephesians 2:14.  But was this the way the temple of God was originally organized with strict limits placed on Gentiles, no matter what their dedication to God?

The answer – which is somewhat surprising to many people –  is a definite “no!”  Although the Hebrew Bible states that only the descendants of Aaron could function in a priestly role within the temple (Numbers 18:7), there was no “Court of the Gentiles” in the original Tabernacle Israel was instructed to set up. Gentiles were permitted to pray and sacrifice to God in the same way Israelites did:

For the generations to come, whenever a foreigner or anyone else living among you presents a food offering as an aroma pleasing to the Lord, they must do exactly as you do. The community is to have the same rules for you and for the foreigner residing among you; this is a lasting ordinance for the generations to come. You and the foreigner shall be the same before the Lord: The same laws and regulations will apply both to you and to the foreigner residing among you (Numbers 15:14-16).

At the dedication of the first temple, in the tenth century BC, King Solomon prayed:

As for the foreigner who does not belong to your people Israel but has come from a distant land because of your great name and your mighty hand and your outstretched arm — when they come and pray toward this temple, then hear from heaven, your dwelling place. Do whatever the foreigner asks of you, so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your own people Israel, and may know that this house I have built bears your Name (2 Chronicles 6:32-33).

And the prophet Isaiah records the words of God regarding the Gentiles and the temple:

… foreigners who bind themselves to the Lord to minister to him, to love the name of the Lord, and to be his servants, all who keep the Sabbath without desecrating it and who hold fast to my covenant —  these I will bring to my holy mountain and give them joy in my house of prayer. Their burnt offerings and sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house will be called a house of prayer for all nations (Isaiah 56:6-7).

By the third century B.C., however, the Jews began to exclude Gentiles from the Temple enclosure.  By the time of King Herod the Great (immediately before the life of Jesus), when he rebuilt the temple, Herod even had priests trained in masonry so that they could carry out the construction of the sacred precincts rather than the Gentile builders he had used in other projects (Josephus, Antiquities 15.390).

As a result of this distancing of the Gentiles, throughout the life and ministry of Jesus, foreigners were allowed only into the specially added outermost court of the temple –  the “Court of the Gentiles.”

This situation was doubly sad. The outer court was also where the animals that would be sacrificed were kept, and the noise, stench, and excrement of the many animals hardly made the court a place conducive to prayer.  Gentiles were permitted, if not encouraged, to donate animals for sacrifice in the temple, but Roman coinage was not accepted, and so money changers conducted a lucrative business exchanging the foreign currency for Hebrew coins which could then be used to purchase sacrificial animals (very likely at inflated prices).

It was this situation, of course, to which Jesus reacted so violently when he drove the money changers and animal sellers out of the Court of the Gentiles, quoting Isaiah in saying: “Is it not written: ‘My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations’? But you have made it ‘a den of robbers’” (Mark 11:17). But while we tend to focus on Jesus’ words about the den of robbers or thieves, we may miss his equal stress on the fact that the temple of God was to be a house of prayer “for all nations” – for Gentiles as well as for Jews.   Jesus’ anger was clearly directed just as much at the exclusion and mistreatment of the Gentiles as it was at the financial gauging being perpetrated in the temple.

Perhaps it is not surprising then, that after the death of Jesus, when the temple curtain or screen blocking the view of the inner temple was torn in two by a great earthquake, Matthew’s Gospel (the Gospel originally written for a primarily Jewish audience) states that it was not a Jew, but a Gentile – the centurion who beheld Christ’s death – who was inspired to state:  “"Surely he was the Son of God!" (Matthew 27:54).   

The tearing of the temple curtain signified the opening up of access of mankind to God through the death of Christ, and the access was of course one given to Jew and Gentile alike.  With the granting of the Holy Spirit to the Gentles (Acts 10:44-46), God’s inclusion of non-Jews –  as was always his intent –  was made doubly clear.
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So it was that the apostle Paul could write of Christ (referring to the wall with its warning signs between the court of the Gentiles and the inner temple): “For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility” (Ephesians 2:14).  Although the Gentiles were excluded from the temple proper during the life of Christ, God’s intent was always to include all peoples.  

It is often said that the apostle Paul seldom, if ever, quotes the actual words of Jesus as we find them recorded in the Gospels and Acts.  This assumption is then sometimes used in attempts to claim that Paul ignored or rejected much of Jesus’ teaching and supplanted it with his own ideas. Unsound as these exaggerations are to those who know Paul’s writings well, it can be profitable to see just where Paul does quote Jesus.

First,  we must remember, of course, that many of Paul’s letters were written before most of the Gospels and Acts were composed – so he could hardly quote books not yet written. But Paul could and did quote sayings of Jesus that were already recorded or held in memory by the disciples and other early Christians. For example, in 1 Corinthians 11:22-24 the apostle clearly quotes Jesus’ words from the Last Supper, and these sayings are also found in Luke’s later account of the event (Luke 22:19-20). Clearly, both Paul and Luke were relying on words of Jesus from that event that had been preserved by those who heard them. 
 
There are a few other examples like this where Paul appears to quote things said by Jesus during his ministry.  In 1 Corinthians 8:6 Paul seems to quote words later recorded in the Gospel of John (John 17:3), and in 1 Timothy 5:18 Paul uses an expression of Jesus –  “the worker deserves his wages” – recorded by Luke (Luke 10:7), though Paul could possibly be  summarizing one or more Old Testament scriptures on this topic (Deuteronomy 25:4, Leviticus 19:13, etc.).

But are these few direct quotations from Jesus’ teachings all that we can find in Paul’s writings? The answer is a decisive “no” –  but we have to look carefully for evidence that is easily read over.  Where we do find Paul almost constantly quoting Jesus is in small expressions found in the parables recorded in the Gospels.

Jesus told his disciples that his parables were given to teach them, but to hide the truth from “those on the outside” or “them that are without,” as the King James Version puts it (Mark 4:11).  Interestingly, Paul uses this exact expression five times in his writing (1 Corinthians 5:12, etc.),  clearly following Jesus in referring in the same way to those who do not understand God’s truth.  In the opposite situation, Paul refers to those who do know God as the “children of the light” (1 Thessalonians 5:5, etc.), using an expression of Jesus recorded in Luke 16:8.

When we turn to the parables themselves, we find example after example of Paul using the expressions of Jesus – clearly from parables that Paul must have heard and memorized.  Some of those parables were doubtless the apostle’s favorites because he uses expressions from them or makes allusions to them frequently. Take, for example, Jesus’ parable given so that  “they ought always to pray and not lose heart” (Luke 18:1 ESV).  Paul uses the same word and expression in 2 Thessalonians 3:13 when he writes “do not grow weary in doing good” –  and the “doing good” that Paul is speaking of in context specifically includes prayer and perseverance (2 Thessalonians 3:1, 5) –  themes he repeats often.

The various parables regarding the sower and the seed, the different types of ground the seed falls upon, as well as the “tares” or weed seeds that are mixed in the crop are all reflected directly or indirectly in Paul’s writings. For example, Paul characterized those who perverted or attacked the truth (as in Acts 13:10) with the same term, “sons of the evil one,” used by Jesus in the parable of the tares (Matthew 13:28 ESV).  

Just as Matthew 13:22 states that riches can choke a person's spiritual development, Paul warns us that those who want to be rich are drowned by their desire for riches (1 Timothy 6:9). Conversely, just as Jesus spoke of the good ground that brings forth much fruit (Matthew 13:23), Paul encourages the Romans to be persistent in fruit-bearing (Romans 2:7) and praises the Colossians for this (Colossians 1:6).

Paul also takes expressions from the parables in describing his own ministry and work. In 1 Thessalonians 2:2 he states that he was “shamefully treated” in Philippi –  using exactly the same expression found in the parable of the king whose servants were “shamefully treated” by the tenants of his vineyard (Matthew 22:6).  

But perhaps nowhere do we see more connections between Paul’s writings and the sayings of Jesus than in the final parables Jesus gave at the end of his ministry.  Ephesians 5:32, for example, is based on an analogy Paul does not feel he need explain –  that of Christ as the bridegroom – because it was already made by Jesus himself (Matthew 25:1).  In the same way, Paul alludes to the spiritual application of the parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14-30) not once, but three times: in Romans 12:6, 1 Corinthians 12:11, and Ephesians 4:7.

In all these examples and a great many more, we find ample evidence that far from ignoring the teachings of Jesus, Paul was steeped in them, had them in his mind whenever he wrote his epistles, and  alluded to them constantly. 

“… But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger.  When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground” (John 8:6-8).

The story of the woman caught in adultery and brought before Jesus in the temple courtyard by the scribes and the Pharisees is found in John 8:2-11.  The teachers of the law hoped to trap Jesus and so, after reminding him that the law of Moses demanded that an adulterer be stoned to death (Leviticus 20:10), they asked him how he would judge her.  This was obviously a well-thought-out trap.  If Jesus concurred with the biblical law, the Pharisees could report him, as it was illegal for the Jews to execute anyone under the Roman occupation.  On the other hand, if Jesus said she should be spared, his enemies could use the fact as evidence that he did not follow biblical teachings.

It was at this point that Jesus stooped down and began to write in the dust in the temple courtyard. This prompts two obvious questions: Why did he write in the dust (as opposed to simply speaking or writing what he wanted to write on some parchment or other writing surface), and what was it that Jesus wrote?

We can answer the first question with some certainty.  The event described by John seems to have taken place on a Sabbath day (John 9:1) in which all the many Sabbath laws made by the Jews were in force. Although the biblical requirement for keeping the Sabbath law was simply to refrain from work (Exodus 20:8-11), the Jewish theologians defined many activities as “work,” including the activity of writing.  But these human religious leaders also determined that “writing” was making any permanent mark such as writing with ink on parchment. According to them, writing in the dust was permissible on the Sabbath, however, because the writing was not permanent and would soon disappear.   This law was first recorded in the Jewish Mishnah around AD 200, but it was doubtless in effect well before that and probably followed in Jesus’ day. 

The strict application of the Sabbath law to writing in this era certainly provides the most likely explanation of why Jesus wrote in the dust of the temple court, but what about what he wrote?  We cannot be certain in this area and scholars have long argued various explanations.  But two possibilities stand out.

Whatever Jesus wrote, it had the immediate effect of piercing the consciences of the woman’s accusers and causing them “… to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there” (John 8:9).  It is often said that what Jesus wrote consisted of laws that the accusers themselves had broken –  perhaps a list of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20), or even a single all-encompassing law such as “… [you shall] love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18).  Jesus frequently responded to questions using scriptures, so it is very possible that he answered here with a scriptural summary of the law.

The main problem with this idea is that the self-righteous Pharisees and other accusers of the woman could well have justified their own sins and not been moved by such scriptures.    Perhaps an even more likely possibility is that Jesus wrote down one of the numerous biblical statements stressing that everyone has sinned (Psalm 143:2, Ecclesiastes 7:20, etc.).  To then immediately state, after writing such a verse: “… Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her” (John 8:7) might well have placed the woman’s accusers in an impossible situation.

Another possibility often suggested is that Jesus actually wrote down the names of the individuals accusing the woman along with their sins.  A verse in Jeremiah is often quoted in this regard: “Lord, you are the hope of Israel; all who forsake you will be put to shame. Those who turn away from you will be written in the dust because they have forsaken the Lord” (Jeremiah 17:13). The point here is that by writing down the names and sins of the accusers Jesus put them to shame, and they could not then cast the stones of judgment.  While this possibility may be a little less likely than that which we considered above, we should note that Jesus wrote not once, but twice (John 8:8), so it is possible that after writing a verse stressing that all have sinned he then proceeded to “name names.”  

Ultimately, of course, we cannot know with any certainty what Jesus wrote on the ground, and had it been necessary to know in order to understand the story the words written would doubtless have been recorded.  Nevertheless, we do have a very likely reason why Jesus wrote on the dusty ground, and of the possibilities considered it may be most likely that his writing consisted of a verse or verses of scripture that affirmed “…there is no one who does not sin” (1 Kings 8:46).

By forcing the self-righteous Pharisees and teachers of the law to accept their own guilt and to drop their charges, Jesus was able to show mercy to the adulterous woman while still telling her “Go now and leave your life of sin” (John 8:11).

Scripture lists Daniel as one of most righteous individuals who lived in the Old Testament era (Ezekiel 14:14), and studying the book that bears his name can be particularly instructive regarding making the right decisions in matters of faith.   Yet Daniel’s sterling righteousness does not mean he was unbending and unwilling to exercise reason in applying his faith.  In fact, Daniel shows us that it is sometimes the exercise of flexibility that allows us to apply our faith in wisdom.

We see this in the very first chapter of the book of Daniel.  At the opening of the book we are told that Daniel and a number of other young Jewish men that had been taken captive to Babylon were chosen for special training in the Babylonian king’s palace.

But now a problem arose. We are told that “The king assigned them a daily amount of food and wine from the king’s table” (Daniel 1:5). This may sound great for the average young man with a good appetite, but for Daniel, as a faithfully observant Jew, this was a problem.  There is no question that foods from the pagan king’s table (or more accurately, “kitchen”) would have included many meats and other foodstuffs that were unclean according to the ceremonial laws of the Old Testament (Leviticus 11).

Righteous as Daniel was, he immediately tried to obtain an exception to this royal decree: “But Daniel resolved not to defile himself with the royal food and wine, and he asked the chief official for permission not to defile himself this way” (Daniel 1:8).   But obedience to the law of God was not going to be that easy in this case. The official told Daniel: “I am afraid of my lord the king, who has assigned your food and drink. Why should he see you looking worse than the other young men your age? The king would then have my head because of you.” (Daniel 1:10).

Given Daniel’s firm righteousness, this is the point when we might expect that he would “take a stand” on the issue and refuse to eat the food – even if it meant risking the king’s displeasure and likely punishment for refusing his command.  But Daniel took a very different approach.  When he did not gain success through the normal channel, Daniel took evasive action and tried another, more unusual tactic:

Daniel then said to the guard whom the chief official had appointed: “…Please test your servants for ten days: Give us nothing but vegetables to eat and water to drink. Then compare our appearance with that of the young men who eat the royal food, and treat your servants in accordance with what you see” (Daniel 1:11-13).

Notice that Daniel did not attempt to go over the official’s head, but rather went beneath him by making the same request to one of the guards under the official’s command.  In this case this was a brilliant move.  Had Daniel tried to go above the official to the king, his request would doubtless have failed if it were heard at all. By making the request of someone who had not been directly commanded by the king (as the official had been), Daniel was able to present an alternative “meal plan” to the guard that doubtless pleased the man. 

By forgoing the food from the “king’s table” Daniel opted for a diet of vegetables – basic food probably close to what the guard himself received as that was the traditional food of servants and poorer people.  The offer Daniel was effectively making to the guard was “How about we eat your inexpensive meals and you can have our rich royal fare?” Even if a direct exchange of meals was not involved, the guard simply had to give Daniel vegetables from the royal kitchen and could keep the rest of the rich meal for himself.  The guard’s response to this offer was what we might expect: “So he agreed to this and tested them for ten days” (Daniel 1:14).    

The results of this meal exchange were perhaps more surprising.  At the end of the ten days Daniel and the other Jewish trainees looked healthier and better nourished than the young men who ate the royal food.  As a result, the guard was doubtless happy to maintain the situation and we are told that he “…took away their choice food and the wine they were to drink and gave them vegetables instead” (Daniel 1:16).  

The outcome of this situation was perfect.  The royal official Daniel had first approached was relieved not to have to report a problem with some of the young men he was supposed to be training, and the guard who actually brought the meals from the kitchen had no complaints either.

But this simple outcome was based on a careful and well thought out approach on Daniel’s part. Instead of bluntly refusing the king’s commanded diet, Daniel used tact, interpersonal skill, ingenuity, and certainly wisdom in addressing the problem.  In taking this approach he not only saved himself from a difficult situation, but also avoided being the cause of difficulty or even punishment for those assigned to work with him.

In using wisdom in this way, Daniel did not compromise his own faith and also did not cause problems for himself or others.  We do not know what Daniel would have done if his second attempt had not been successful, but the story indicates it is likely he would have tried other alternatives as long as some were available.   Later in the Book of Daniel we see that Daniel was not afraid to “take a stand” when he had no choice but to do so (Daniel 3:13-18), but the first story we are given shows his success in balancing obedience with wisdom when that was possible.
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In our own lives we too may sometimes be called upon to make hard decisions regarding our faith.  In those cases, like Daniel, we should be willing to take a stand regardless of the cost. But, also like Daniel, we should be careful to apply our faith in wisdom and to avoid “taking a stand” when this is not necessary.  In many cases we will find that the application of wisdom to faith can bring about the best outcome for everyone. That is doubtless one of the reasons we are told that righteous Daniel found favor with both God and men (Daniel 1:9,19; 9:23).

​We tend to think of Luke as the most universal of the Four Gospels –  the life of Jesus that begins its genealogy with Adam rather than Abraham, and that stresses the importance of Samaritans and other Gentiles. But there is a less noticeable yet equally pervasive inclusion to be found in his Gospel that was just as revolutionary for his day: the inclusion of women.

Women are not simply injected into the story that Luke tells to give them a presence as “token female believers,” however. What Luke does is more surprising. He carefully arranges his Gospel to include a woman at every key point in the narrative in which a man is found.  In other words, Luke structures his Gospel around carefully arranged pairs of males and females.

Pairs in Luke’s Account of Jesus’ Life

We find male-female pairs from the very beginning of Luke’s Gospel.  Among the Gospel writers he alone tells of the angel Gabriel appearing to both Zechariah and Mary to announce the conception of John and Jesus (Luke 1), and he shows both a man and a woman –  Simeon and Anna –  testifying in the temple about the Messiah’s birth (Luke 2).  At the end of his Gospel, when we reach the death of Jesus, we see pairs or groups of both men and women as witnesses of his death, burial (Luke 23:50-56), and resurrection (Luke 24:1-12).

Between these opening and closing frames, Luke fills his Gospel with carefully selected pairs of men and women.  Not only is this pattern found in the key reference to the fact that the disciples who travelled with Jesus included a group of women as well as a group of men (Luke 8), but we find it time and again in the description of Christ’s miracles.

In Luke 4:31-39 we find that the healing of a possessed man is followed by the healing of Simon Peter’s mother-in-law. In Luke 7:1-17 the healing of the Centurion’s servant is followed by that of the son of the widow of Nain. And in Luke 13:10-17 the healing of a crippled woman on the Sabbath day is directly followed by the healing of a crippled man on another Sabbath (Luke 14:1-6). 

The pattern is clear. From the birth of Jesus through his ministry to his death and resurrection Luke is clearly intentional in balancing stories that give equal inclusion of women and men in the same or similar circumstances.  

Pairs in Luke’s Account of Jesus’ Teaching

The conscious pairing of men and women in the events of Christ’s life is also found in Luke’s description of the teachings of Jesus.  Instead of simply using single-gender examples to illustrate his teachings –  as was usual in the culture of the time –   Luke shows that Jesus frequently used pairs: “men and women,” “husbands and wives,” “fathers and mothers,” “fathers-in-law and mothers-in-law,” “sons and daughters,” and “sons-in-law and daughters-in-law” in his teaching.

Luke also shows that Jesus continually utilized both male and female oriented illustrations to convey his teachings.  For example, in the story of Jesus’ first public teaching in his hometown synagogue, he uses two stories with the same underlying message – that of the widow woman at Zarephath and the Syrian General Naaman (Luke 4:25-27). In the same way, Luke shows Jesus using both the story of the prophet Jonah in Nineveh and that of the Queen of Sheba as examples of Gentiles who believed (Luke 11:29-32).

Even clearer than these instances of paired examples taken from the Old Testament is Luke’s recording of the paired nature of the parables of Jesus.   For example, the parable of the shepherd and his lost sheep is paired with the parable of the woman with a lost coin (Luke 15:3-10).  The same pattern is found in the parables of the growth of the Kingdom of God being like a man who plants a mustard seed in his garden and that of the woman who puts yeast into her bread dough (Luke 13:18-21). The example of two men resting together at night is directly followed by the example of two women grinding grain in the day (Luke 17:34-35).

In these and in many other examples, Luke recorded parables that not only present their lesson from the point of view of both men and women, but also stress, by their conscious balancing, the equality of the experience of both male and female hearers.

Pairs as a Part of Luke’s Message

Scholars refer to this technique of repeating statements, changing the gender each time, as “complementary discourse” – a teaching method in which a statement or lesson is applied equally to both men and women.   We find it recorded occasionally in the other Gospels, so it seems clear that Jesus used the technique in teaching mixed groups of men and women. But it is also clear that Luke, more than any other Gospel writer, went to great lengths to show Jesus’ continual use of the technique.

This can only mean that the message of the full inclusion of women in the gospel story was one that was particularly important to Luke.  That is doubtless one of the reasons Luke begins his account of the ministry of Jesus by recording his sermon based on the prophecy of Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor” (Luke 4:18-19).

Judean women in the time of Jesus were unquestionably frequently oppressed, but in the use of gender-paired examples throughout his Gospel Luke presents women in a new way – as a group set free through the life and work of Christ and demonstrated to be equal participants in the community of Jesus’ followers.

While the apostle John wrote his first epistle as a major work on Christian doctrine and practice to an unspecified or unlimited group of Christians he calls “my children” (1 John 2:1), the much shorter second and third epistles attributed to John (the two shortest books in the Bible) clearly are much more like actual short letters sent to individuals.  They are named as such, of course, 3 John being addressed to an individual named “Gaius” (3 John 1:1) and 2 John being written to “…the elect lady and her children…” (2 John 1:1 ESV).

We do not know who the “elect lady” was to whom John wrote his second epistle, but the short letter provides a number of clues that can help us make an educated guess. Most biblical commentaries suggest that the elect lady could have been a wealthy or influential early Christian who may have supported John’s evangelistic work. Several such women supported the work of Jesus (Luke 8:1-3), and John’s comment regarding something that the lady knew – “As you have heard from the beginning” (2 John 1:6) – could even indicate that she was one of those same supporting women.

Many commentaries also consider the possibility that the term “elect lady” is used metaphorically of the Christian Church by John – who himself refers to the Church as a woman in the book of Revelation (Revelation 12:1-17).  But this possibility, while it is a commonly accepted one, does not fit well with some of the things John writes in 2 John. For example, in his command: “If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching, do not take them into your house or welcome them” (2 John 1:10), we would expect “houses” if the letter were written to a church. Similarly, the expression “I hope to visit you and talk with you face to face” (2 John 1:12) hardly sounds like something that would be said to a group. And it would seem strange indeed, if the woman’s “children” (2 John 1:1) were really the members of the congregation, for John to say: “It has given me great joy to find some of your children walking in the truth” (2 John1:4, emphasis added).

But there is another possibility that we should consider: that “the elect lady” to whom John wrote was actually Mary, the mother of Jesus.  We know that in his dying hour Jesus gave the care of Mary over to his disciple John (John 19:26-27), and tradition tells us that John did indeed care for Mary after Christ’s death and resurrection. 

The fact that John offers spiritual advice and counsel to the elect lady in his letter by no means suggests that she could not be Mary, when we properly understand John’s role as both a senior apostle and the one entrusted with Mary’s care.  It is perhaps only if we elevate Mary the mother of Jesus more than we should elevate a human individual that John’s counsel might seem in any way presumptuous. In any case, John offers no correction in his letter, simply encouragement not to doubt the divine sonship of Jesus because: “many deceivers, who do not acknowledge Jesus Christ as coming in the flesh, have gone out into the world” (2 John 1:7). Such encouragement might be particularly apt for the mother of Jesus.

Many other details of 2 John fit the possibility that the lady could have been Mary.  The Greek term used by John in calling the lady “elect” was eklektos: “picked out” or “chosen.” While this word could be used of any called Christian –  and is used this way in verse 13, and in Matthew 22:14, etc. –  the term obviously applied with special historical significance to Mary as the mother of Jesus (Luke 1:26-48).  The expression “As you have heard from the beginning” (2 John 1:6) would also obviously apply to her, as would John’s desire to visit her and see her “face to face” (2 John 1:12) if he wrote the letter while traveling for an extended time.

Most significantly, John’s statement that the elect lady was someone “whom I love in the truth—and not I only, but also all who know the truth” (2 John 1:1) fits Mary in a way that cannot be said of any other individual Christian woman.  What woman would be known by all Christians more than the mother of Jesus?  And what woman would be loved by all believers more than Mary, the mother of Jesus?

There are other possible clues in 2 John that make Mary a likely candidate as the addressee of this letter. John’s statement that “The children of your sister, who is chosen by God, send their greetings” (1 John 1:13) potentially fits Mary who, as John 19:25 tells us, had a physical sister.  Also, “It has given me great joy to find some of your children walking in the truth” (2 John 1:4) certainly fits the fact that some of the brothers of Jesus (Mark 6:3) were converted (Acts 1:14) and eventually became prominent figures in the early Church (Galatians 1:9).  

So, while it is possible that the apostle John wrote his second epistle to an unnamed and relatively unknown individual Christian woman who supported the work of the Church, there are problems accepting that as being likely.  In the same way, while it is possible that the “elect lady” represented not an individual woman but a local congregation or even the whole Church, there are reasons why this may not be likely, also.  On the other hand, while we have no proof that 2 John was written to Mary, the mother of Jesus, there is nothing within the letter that would discount that possibility – and much that fits it well.

​When we think of parables it is usually the parables of Jesus that come to mind.  His parables were one of the most characteristic features of his ministry. Yet they are not the first parables to be found in the Bible – parables were an essential part of the religious teaching of ancient Israel.  The book of Hosea tells us, for example, that God: “... spoke to the prophets … and told parables through them” (Hosea 12:10).  If we learn to recognize them, we can actually find this form of teaching throughout many books of the Old Testament; and understanding its nature can help us better understand the parables that Jesus gave.  

The key to recognizing true biblical parables in the Old Testament (as opposed to figurative or metaphorical statements, short riddles, or stories with an obvious moral) is that a true biblical parable has two parts. In the first part – called the mashal in Hebrew – a simple story is told for the sake of conveying a deeper truth. But that truth is never obvious in the story itself; it has to be revealed in the second part of the parable – called the nimshal – which provides the “key” to unlocking the parable’s meaning. The two parts of content and intent are only brought together at the conclusion of the narrative – which is why, of course, we read in the New Testament that Jesus often taught in parables and later explained them by providing the nimshal or key to his disciples (Luke 8:9, Mark 4:33-34, etc.).

We see this two-part structure in one of the earliest parables of the Old Testament.  The book of Judges records that the young man Jotham told the people of Shechem a detailed story of how the trees of the forest made themselves a king (Judges 9:7-15). When the parable is finished, he explains it by showing how the parts of the story fit their own political circumstances (Judges 9:16-20).

We also see the two-part structure in the famous story that the prophet Nathan tells King David about a sinful rich man who took his poor neighbor’s only lamb when he had plenty of lambs himself. When David indignantly states that the evil man deserves death, Nathan provides the nimshal to the parable by simply saying “you are that man” – because David had taken the only wife of his general, Uriah (2 Samuel 12:1-4). 

In these cases, the connection between the mashal/content of the parables and their nimshal/intent is easy to grasp, but sometimes the Old Testament gives parables that would be very difficult to understand without the explaining “key” or the background we are given.  Such is the case with the story of the two fighting brothers that was told to David by the wise widow from Tekoa (2 Samuel 14:1-7). In this story David’s general Joab carefully constructs a parable with a meaning we would not guess unless it is explained – as it is by the wise widow (2 Samuel 14:13-14).

When we look for such stories that have to be explained in the course of the narrative in which they appear, we find many parables in the Old Testament.  Parables were especially favored by the Hebrew prophets, and the book of Ezekiel, for example, contains at least nine of them. Isaiah also uses parables in his teaching, and some of these parables clearly influenced those given by Jesus.  In Isaiah chapter 5 the prophet tells a parable of a vineyard and its bad fruit (Isaiah 5:1-6) which he then explains as being relevant to the nation of Israel (vs. 7).   Although Jesus altered the details slightly in his parables found in Matthew 21:33–44 and Luke 13:6–9, the stories are recognizably similar, and their message is identical. 

Jesus often framed his own parables on both parable and non-parable stories found in the Old Testament.  His parable of the Good Samaritan is an example of this and appears to be based on a section of 2 Chronicles which tells of the kindness given to Judean captives by men of Samaria who:

“… clothed all who were naked among them. They clothed them, gave them sandals, provided them with food and drink, and anointed them, and carrying all the feeble among them on donkeys, they brought them to their kinsfolk at Jericho, the city of palm trees. Then they returned to Samaria” (2 Chronicles 28:15).

In this simple narrative Jesus found the basis for one of the most profound of his parables, the lessons of which are far-reaching and apply in every age. But the greatest reliance of Christ’s parables on the Old Testament is found not in their use of Old Testament story plots, but in their use of imagery applied to God.  Old Testament parables show God as a king, a father, a husband, and in other key ways.   Of the somewhat more than forty parables of Jesus recorded in the New Testament, at least twenty metaphorically refer to him by means of the same imagery used of God in Old Testament parables and stories.  This self-portrayal with imagery used of God is unique to the parables of Jesus and ties directly to his teaching of his own messianic role. 
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So the parables of the Old Testament are important not only in their own right in the stories in which they are found, but also in forming the basis for some of Jesus’ own parables, as well as providing images for his parables that Jewish hearers would associate with God when they understood the parables’ nimshal key or intent.  But although there are numerous well-crafted parables in the Old Testament, there is no doubt that Jesus perfected the art of parable-telling and brought to the form a subtlety and spiritual depth that had not been seen before.

At a time when Jerusalem lay under the shadow of the brutal Assyrian Empire – which had already conquered the northern tribes of Israel – the prophet Isaiah was given the difficult task of taking bad news as well as good news to the people of Judah.  The Book of Isaiah not only records those messages, but also shows us an important aspect of how they were delivered.

You may not have noticed it, but Isaiah delivered the news he was given to relay in a way that we can learn from. You can see the lessons that apply to us today by taking a look at our latest article: "How Isaiah Delivered the News." Read it here.​

​We tend to think of the apostle Paul as a somewhat unique New Testament figure –  a spiritual giant in his own right who received a different calling and training from the other apostles. Yet despite the unique nature of Paul’s identity in the New Testament Church, in one sense the apostle’s ministry was not unique. It was at least foreshadowed in the work of a great Old Testament figure.

We see this fact from the beginning of Paul’s ministry.  In the autobiographical section of his letter to the Galatian Christians (Galatians 1:11-2:21), the apostle tells us that after his conversion “I did not go up to Jerusalem to see those who were apostles before I was, but I went into Arabia. Later I returned to Damascus” (vs. 17).

Paul telescopes events somewhat here, as Acts tells us that immediately after his conversion “Saul spent several days with the disciples in Damascus. At once he began to preach in the synagogues that Jesus is the Son of God” (Acts 9:20). It was either then, or “After many days had gone by, there was a conspiracy among the Jews to kill him” (Acts 9:23) that Paul “went into Arabia.”

Today we might presume that the “Arabia” Paul mentions was the same area that we call Arabia today – the Arabian Peninsula –  but in Paul’s day that was not the case.  In New Testament times Arabia referred to the area of Jordan, the Sinai Peninsula, and the territory on the northwestern edge of the Arabian Peninsula. It was this area that was made into the Roman Province of “Arabia” beginning in the second century.

That this was the area Paul had in mind when he said he went to Arabia is seen just a little later in the apostle’s letter where he wrote about the symbolism of Hagar: “Now Hagar is Mount Sinai in Arabia …” (Galatians 4:25 ESV, NKJV, etc.). In fact, of all the places in “Arabia” to which Paul might have gone after his conversion, it is more than likely that Mount Sinai would be the one to which he would have been drawn.  As a devout Jew steeped in the law of Moses and the Covenant made at Sinai, Paul might naturally have desired to go to that very area to pray, meditate and learn how the truth he had now come to see related to what he already deeply believed.  

Additionally, of course, Paul was fully aware of the story of Elijah who, after the prophet’s life became endangered, fled to Horeb, the Mountain of God also called Mount Sinai (Deuteronomy 4:10, 1 Kings 8:9, 2 Chronicles 5:10, etc.) where he was instructed by God (1 Kings 19).  In fact, Paul mentions exactly this incident in his letter to the Romans:

“…I am an Israelite myself, a descendant of Abraham, from the tribe of Benjamin. God did not reject his people, whom he foreknew. Don’t you know what Scripture says in the passage about Elijah—how he appealed to God against Israel: “Lord, they have killed your prophets and torn down your altars; I am the only one left, and they are trying to kill me”? And what was God’s answer to him? “I have reserved for myself seven thousand who have not bowed the knee to Baal.” So too, at the present time there is a remnant chosen by grace” (Romans 11:1-5).

In this passage Paul shows a similarity between his own situation (“I am an Israelite myself”) and that of Elijah, the remnant in Elijah’s time and the remnant in his own time.  The verses he quotes are from 1 Kings 19 –  the story of Elijah running to the mountain of God in Sinai. A number of scholars have pointed out that there are repeated echoes of the story of Elijah going to Sinai in what Paul tells us of his own trip to Arabia.  Just as Elijah stressed at Sinai, “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty” (1 Kings 19:10), so Paul tells us he “was extremely zealous.” Just as Elijah complained at Sinai that his enemies were trying to kill him, so we saw in Acts that the Jews were apparently trying to kill Paul before his journey to Arabia. Just as God told Elijah to return to Damascus (1 Kings 19:15), so Paul returned directly to Damascus from Arabia (Galatians 1:17).  

As N.T. Wright has written, there are even more subtle parallels between the two stories.  Just as Elijah went to Sinai after zealously killing the prophets of Baal, so Paul, mistakenly but with equal zeal, went to Arabia after persecuting members of the Christian Church. Just as Elijah is told to return and anoint and thereby announce the new kingship of Hazael of Syria and Jehu of Israel, so Paul returned to announce the new kingship of Jesus as the anointed one – the Messiah (Journal of Biblical Literature, vol. 115, p. 689).

The similarities with Elijah do not stop with these parallel events.  One of the most significant aspects of Elijah’s ministry is recorded in his trip to the coastal area of Sidonian Zarephath (1 Kings 17:9-10), which Jesus himself used as a symbol of the Gospel going to the Gentiles (Luke 4:25-26).  Paul’s undoubted knowledge of the story of Elijah going to the Gentiles gives us even more reason to believe that he may well have seen himself as travelling in the footsteps of the zealous Old Testament prophet.

The autobiographical section of Paul’s letter to the Galatians shows us that God will always use zeal when he can guide it to his purposes.

If you have read the biblical book of Ruth, you probably think you know it well. But whether you have read it once or many times, we think you will find a lot more in this beautiful story with the help of our short new e-book.

Many people think of the book of Ruth as a simple love story, but in reality it is far from simple, and it is not really a “love story” in the modern sense of “romantic love” either! Instead, Ruth is a story of deep courage, strength, loyalty, determination, and kindness with an underlying message that reaches from the ancient world to our lives today.

You can download a free copy of our latest e-book in your choice of three formats (PDF, Kindle, and Nook (E-Pub) to read on your computer or e-book reader.  There is no registration necessary and you do not need to give an email address - just click on the file type you want to download!  Download RUTH from our e-book page, here. 

All of the four Gospels record an event in which a woman came to Jesus during a meal and anointed his feet and dried them with her hair (Matthew 26, Mark 14, Luke 7, John 12).  Many feel that Luke’s account refers to an event in Galilee early in Jesus’ ministry, while the stories told by Matthew, Mark, and John refer to a separate nearly identical event occurring in Bethany near the end of Jesus’ life.   Some even divide these latter three stories into separate events because John apparently says the event he described occurred “six days before the Passover” (John 12:1), while Matthew and Mark say the event occurred “two days before Passover” (Matthew 26:2, Mark 14:1).

But this confusion fails to put the various accounts together properly.  For one thing, John does not say the woman anointed Jesus six days before Passover. What he says is: “Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead.  Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor” (John 12:1). John says Jesus came to Bethany six days before Passover, and that at some point while he was there a dinner was given in his honor.  So there is no contradiction between the accounts of Matthew, Mark and John in this regard.

As for the account in Luke, that story does not say where the event took place –  or when, though it is placed with other material from the early part of Jesus’ ministry.  Although many presume that Luke’s “orderly” (Luke 1:3) account is chronological, it does, in fact, often stray from a chronological sequence.  For example, in Luke 3 we read that King Herod shut John the Baptist up in prison (Luke 3:19-20), but then we read in the following verses that Jesus was baptized by John (Luke 3:21-22).  In reality, of course, John baptized Jesus before being placed in prison (Matthew 3:1-17; 4:12; John 1:29-34).  An even more striking example of “achronological” recording is seen at the end of Luke’s Gospel where he appears to compress the five weeks between the resurrection of Jesus and his ascension into a single day – if we treat what is said chronologically (compare Luke  24 with Matthew 28 and John 21).

As for differences in the anointing stories, they are small and easily explained. For example, Mathew and Mark say the woman anointed Jesus’ head; the other Gospels say his feet were anointed. But the woman may well have anointed Christ’s head and feet – recorded differently according to the stress the individual Gospel writers had in mind (for a kingly anointing, or an anointing for burial). 
 
Luke’s account says the event occurred in the home of a Pharisee named Simon; the others say it was in the home of Simon the Leper in Bethany. But Simon the Leper and Simon the Pharisee were probably one and the same.  A leper could never have hosted a dinner nor have partaken in one with other people – Simon the Leper must have been healed and could thus have been the same as Simon the Pharisee.  Simon may well have been referred to as “the Pharisee” in Luke because Luke stresses Jesus’ reply to Simon’s pharisaical and self-righteous attitude, while the other Gospels remember him as Simon the Leper.

So there is no real reason why all the Gospel accounts could not be referring to the same thing. That being the case, consider the probability that they are, in fact, simply different accounts of the same event.   It would be a strange coincidence if two different women (or more!) had gone to the house of a man called Simon, had anointed Jesus with exactly the same amount (300 denarii worth) of exactly the same kind of expensive perfume (nard), and had wiped his feet with their hair.  If they were different women, why did the Gospel writers not differentiate them in some way?  On the other hand, that Mary sister of Martha was the one woman who anointed Christ may perhaps be seen earlier in John’s account where he tells us: “(This Mary… was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.)” (John 11:2).  Note that John says “the same one who” rather than “one of the women who.”

It would also be strange if not one of the four Gospel writers recorded both or all stories, if multiple similar events had occurred.  This is especially true considering Jesus’ words in Mark 14:9: “Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” Would Christ have put so much emphasis on this event if it was the second instance of two virtually identical cases?  If this had been done by two different women, surely both would be clearly recorded.

Beyond these facts, we should remember that in John (12:4-5) we are told Judas complained that the perfume used to anoint Jesus was worth 300 denarii and the money could have been given to the poor, but is rebuked by Jesus who tells him to leave the woman alone as she has done a good work.  In Matthew (26:9) and Mark (14:4) we are told that some of the disciples made exactly the same complaint (“300 denarii”) and were rebuked in the same way by Christ. Are we to believe that given identical circumstances, the disciples made exactly the same mistake after Jesus had already rebuked them for it just a few days before?  It is much more reasonable to put the Gospel accounts together and to see that they refer, with differing details, to one dinner, one woman, and one anointing of Jesus.

Regardless of how many women were involved in these Gospel stories, however, they teach lessons that we can apply in our own lives.  The attitude of love they exhibit is one we can all strive to imitate. How?  Just as love was shown to Christ through the gift given for his physical body, we too can give gifts to the Body of Christ, which is his Church (Romans 12:5; 1 Corinthians 12:12–13; Ephesians 3:6, 5:23; Colossians 1:18, 24; etc.).  The lessons of human love and godly forgiveness* that underlie these stories are ones which are indeed, timeless (Mark 14:9).
 
* Our article “Are Simon the Leper and Simon the Pharisee the Same? – and Why it Matters” shows a practical lesson we can all learn from these accounts, here.  
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The Gospel of Luke records a group of parables in which Jesus gave three examples of the concept of lost and found: the story of the lost sheep, the parable of the lost coin, and the parable of the lost son (Luke 15:1-31).  

​We know these are not just three similar stories that were grouped together thematically as Luke specifically shows they were given at the same time (vss. 3, 8, 11) in response to the Pharisees’ criticism that Jesus ate with “sinners” (vss. 1-2). 

In the first parable, Jesus said: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?” (vs. 4). In the second, he continued: “Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it?” (vs. 8). And in the third and best known parable we are told that Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them. Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had and set off for a distant country (vss. 11-13). This parable also tells us that when the prodigal son finally returned:  “…while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him” (vs. 20), showing the father had been waiting and looking for his son.

In all three of these parables we are told that when that which was lost was found there was great rejoicing (vss. 6, 9, 32), and the moral of each is clearly that God rejoices in “finding” the lost soul. But these are not just a group of similar parables.  Not only were they given at the same time in response to the same situation, with a clear connection between the stories, but also if we look closely, there is another important  aspect of what is said.
 
In the first parable we are told specifically that the sheep that was lost was one in a hundred; in the second parable the coin that was lost was one in ten; in the third parable the son who was lost was one of two.   Although each parable makes the same point, there is an additional message in the complete sequence – in all three taken together. 
 
Jesus began by showing that even one of many (one in a hundred) has great value.  One hundred  sheep would have been a very large flock in ancient Palestine, and one missing sheep might hardly be noticed.  Spiritually, the message is clear: God values everyone who is lost –  even if they are “only one” of the vast number of humans who have lived.  The sequence continues, however, in showing the relative worth of the one of ten coins that was lost. The fact that the woman called on her friends to rejoice with her when the coin was found shows that its value must have been significant to her – probably a tenth of all her savings. In the final parable, the sequence concludes by showing the tremendous value to his father of the one of two sons who had been “lost.”  The father in the story is shown as perhaps having been searching the distant road continually, hoping for his son’s return.
 
In this parable we often concentrate on the uncharitable reluctance of the elder of the two sons to rejoice when the younger one returned.  Although that is an important part of the story, we should not forget that the discussion between the father and the elder brother also serves another purpose – to show the great value of the lost brother who was found.  The elder brother’s argument is essentially that the father was placing as much value on the young brother as on the one who had stayed faithful –  and that argument was in fact accurate. 

The parable makes it clear that the elder brother would receive his due reward (vs. 31), but the father replies to him that: “… we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (vs. 32).
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The three “lost and found” parables Jesus gave were not just repetition for effect. The interlinked stories show successively  the value to God of the one who is lost. The sequence demonstrates at its beginning God’s personal attentiveness towards all of humanity and at its end his deeply focused love for each individual. Together, the parables show that no one is too small or insignificant to be viewed as of great value to God, and that every individual who returns to God, whatever their sins of the past, is of immense value – as valuable in God’s sight as any other.  The three parables show as clearly as anything in the New Testament not only the joy of the lost being found, but also the loving acceptance with which God views the one who is found.
 
* For more about the parables of Jesus, download our free e-book The City on a Hill.

Sometimes a little biblical detective work can open new windows into our understanding of the stories of the New Testament.

The Priest

The Gospel of John tells us that when Jesus was betrayed: “.… They bound him and brought him first to Annas, who was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the high priest that year” (John 18:12-13).  The apostle John apparently knew some of the high priest’s family and was able to provide this detail not found in the other Gospels.

Annas (also called Ananus and Ananias) himself was an interesting character. Serving as High Priest for ten years, from AD 6–15, this man was the patriarch of a dynasty of priests.  Immensely powerful, when he was deposed by the Roman procurator Gratus,  Annas maintained a high degree of power through arranging the appointment of his five sons (Eleazar, Jonathan, Theophilus, Matthias, Ananus) and his son-in-law, Caiaphas, to succeed him.
 
The Jewish High Priest normally served for life (Numbers 35:25, 28), so the rapid-fire changes in succession after Annas suggest that he may have worked to ensure that he kept control of things as the real power behind the temple hierarchy.  This maintaining power while technically deposed would explain why Annas was able to continue as head of the Jewish Sanhedrin (Acts 4:6), and perhaps explains why, when Jesus was arrested, he was first taken not to “Caiaphas, the high priest that year,” but to Annas.  In fact, so real was Annas’ behind-the-scenes power that Luke records the word of God came to John the Baptist “during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas” (Luke 3:2).

The Plot

In his Gospel, the apostle John gives us another bit of information relative to the dealings of the chief priests.   After Jesus raised Lazarus from the grave, John tells us that “… a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.  So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well, for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and believing in him” (John 12:9). 

Again, John may have learned this perhaps because of his contacts in the high priestly households; but it is clear that this was a very real plot to get rid of not only Jesus himself, but also Lazarus as evidence of Christ’s miracle.  Although Annas is not mentioned by name, it is inconceivable that such a plot would have been made without the knowledge of the chief priest and his sons – though it was more likely instigated by them as the “chief priests.” To understand the significance of this background, we must look at one of Jesus’ parables given at that time.

The Parable

In his parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man, Jesus told his listeners: “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus …” (Luke 16:19-20).  The parable continues to say that when he died, in the afterlife, the rich man implored the patriarch Abraham “… I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my family, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment” (vss. 27-28).

Notice that although the NIV says “to my family,” the Greek actually says “to my father's house” (as translated in the ESV and almost all other versions).  When Abraham replies that  “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them,” the rich man responds “No, father Abraham …but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent” (vss. 9-30).  To this Abraham states conclusively:  “… If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead” (vs. 31).

The cast of characters in this parable are unmistakable.  Although “Lazarus” is not specified to be the Lazarus of Bethany Christ raised from the dead, the New Testament does not speak of any other Lazarus; had it been a different individual, John would surely have identified him as he does in other instances when multiple people shared the same name.

The “rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen” is surely the high priest Caiaphas whose robes were exactly as described. Conclusively, the rich man has a father and five brothers.  In the close families of ancient Palestine, “brothers” could mean blood bothers or brothers-in-law.  So the identity of these individuals is clear – they are none other than Caiaphas (the rich man), Annas (the father) and his five sons (the brothers-in-law).  If this were not the case, there would have been no reason for Jesus to include five brothers in the parable – the rich man could just have pleaded for his family.

For Jesus’ original hearers it was doubtless clear that his parable made the point that just as the rich man’s father and brothers would not believe even after the return of the Lazarus of the parable from the dead, so the actual high priestly family had not believed when the real Lazarus had indeed been raised.   Understood this way, the story of Lazarus and the rich man is paralleled by  a number of other parables in which Jesus used actual historical situations of his day (see our free e-book on the parables for other examples).
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There is also perhaps a small practical lesson we can take from this understanding of Jesus’ parable: the unfailing discretion of Jesus.  Although the characters of his parable may have been recognizable to his audience, Jesus did not go as far as identifying them by name. This fits the pattern we see throughout the New Testament in which Jesus never identifies and condemns individuals by name, only as groups – the Pharisees, scribes, tax collectors, or whatever.  Although he could have publicly accused and discredited specific individuals on many occasions, Christ did not do so in his human life. In our own time – a time of heightened political invective – this is an example for every Christian to consider.

Does the woman caught in adultery (John 7:53-8:11) belong in your Bible? It is a story we may know well, but one which is hotly disputed in terms of its authenticity. This is because the earliest known manuscripts of the New Testament do not include the story, and when it does appear there is confusion as to where it should be placed – some manuscripts place the story in different parts of the Gospel of John and some even place it in Luke!

Yet many early manuscripts do have the story, and several of the early church fathers regarded it as authentic.  The passage certainly appears to be authentic in style, and everything about the section is in keeping with the character of the scribes and Pharisees who repeatedly tried to trap Jesus (Matthew 16:1; 19:3; 22:35; Mark 8:11; 10:2; 12:15; Luke 10:25; 11:16). Given this conflicting situation, we must look at the problem more closely.

Negative Evidence

Almost every one of the disputed verses in John 8 gives some indication that they were not composed by the apostle John.  Consider a few examples that use vocabulary that is never used anywhere else in John’s writings:

In verse 1 we are told that Jesus “went to” the Mount of Olives – a phrase that is never found in John’s Gospel apart from in these contested verses – and the place name “Mount of Olives” is likewise never used by John (see, for example, John 18:1 where John simply refers to Jesus going to “a garden.”). 
In verse 2 the expression “came early” is never used by John, nor is the phrase “all the people.”
In verse 3 the scribes are mentioned – John nowhere mentions the scribes.
In verse 6 the word “tempting” is used in the sense of trying to trap Jesus in a difficult situation.  John never uses this word in this way.
In verse 9, the word “conscience” is never used by John.  
In verse 10, the word translated “but” or “except” is never used by John.

Considering the combined evidence of all the verses in this section, it is difficult to believe that these words were written by John.  Why would the apostle suddenly use totally different vocabulary than that which he used throughout his Gospel, three epistles, and the Book of Revelation?

An Alternative Possibility

But just because it seems unlikely that John composed the verses we call John 7:53-8:11 does not necessarily mean that they are not authentic.  When they do appear in early manuscripts, these verses sometimes appear in the Gospel of Luke, and so we should consider the possibility of their Lukan origin.

When we look at this possibility, we find that every one of the expressions considered above, that never appear anywhere else in John’s writings, can be found – often on numerous occasions – in the writings of the Evangelist Luke.  For example, consider the phrase “all the people” that appears in verse 2. Although this expression was not used by John, it is a characteristic phrase used by Luke – it appears some twenty times in his writings.  Even the word “people” by itself is used only twice by John, but over fifty times in the writings of Luke.  In a similar way, the mention of the “scribes” in the “scribes and Pharisees” in verse 3, although never used by John, is found multiple times in Luke.
 
These facts should make us seriously consider the possibility that “John 7:53-8:11” originated not in manuscripts of John’s Gospel, but in the Gospel of Luke. But if that were the case, why are they not in the earliest manuscripts and why the confusion as to where they belong?

We must remember that Luke, perhaps more than any other Gospel writer, collected a great number of eyewitness accounts in composing Luke and Acts.  John reminds us that Jesus did many other things that could have been included into the Gospel narratives (John 21:25), and this doubtless applies especially to the situation with Luke’s many sources.   Ancient books were written on scrolls, of course, and Luke doubtless had to select his material carefully to make it fit on a fairly standard scroll.  This would mean that the story of the woman caught in adultery may well have had to be put aside along with other excess material that could not fit in the production of Luke’s Gospel.

This could easily have led to a situation where the story surfaced and “floated” within the early Christian community for some time before being included in the Gospel manuscripts. This would explain why it appears in manuscripts of several different Gospels and in different places.

Interestingly, if the story was recorded by Luke, it fits very well where it appears in some manuscripts – after Luke 21:38.  But although it fits well there, it would have broken the development of Luke’s account of the Passion narrative, giving another reason why he may not have included it. 

So despite the seemingly conflicting manuscript evidence, a great many biblical scholars feel that this story represents an actual episode in the ministry of Jesus.  The late renowned textual critic Bruce Metzger, Professor of New Testament Language and Literature at Princeton University, concluded that “… the account has all the earmarks of historical veracity” (A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament. London, England: United Bible Societies [1971], 220).
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The story of the woman caught in adultery fits well with Luke’s constant interest in the place of women in the Gospel narrative. The consistent Lukan vocabulary makes it highly likely that it was recorded by that evangelist, and the story’s acceptance by early church fathers – despite its uncertain location – all suggest the likelihood of authenticity, and that the woman caught in adultery does indeed belong in the text of our Bibles.  ​

The Sermon on the Mount is a central part of the teachings of Jesus that we all know and love – it  demonstrates the essential nature of the Christian way of life as much as any part of Scripture. Many of us have memorized parts of the sermon as found in Matthew’s Gospel (chapters 5-7), but how much time have we spent thinking about the setting of the sermon as opposed to the sermon itself?
 
We tend to take for granted that the sermon was given on a mountain because we know that Jesus frequently climbed mountains (Luke 6:12, John 6:15, etc.) – though he usually did this to get away from people, to be alone and to pray.   In this case we are told he specifically went up on a mountain with his disciples following him.

The New International Version tells us “Now when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them” (Matthew 5:1-2).  This gives the impression that Jesus simply went up on the side of a mountain – the lower slopes.  But “side” is not in the original Greek (or in most translations), and the Greek anebē  eis to oros  “he went up into a mountain” conveys the sense that he ascended  on to the mountain – certainly well up toward, or to, its summit.
 
Now this wording is interesting, because when we compare it with the Old Testament account of how Moses went up onto Mt. Sinai to receive the law from God, we find “When Moses went up on the mountain …” (Exodus 19:3, 24:12).  In fact, the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures which many of the writers of the New Testament used, translates this with exactly the same words as those used of Jesus ascending the mountain: anebē  eis to oros.

Many Jewish readers of the 1st century would have recognized the beginning of this story of the Sermon on the Mount as being identical to the beginning of the story of Moses receiving God’s law.  This would have struck a deep chord for those readers because every devout Jew knew that God had told Moses:   “I will raise up for them a prophet like you from among their fellow Israelites, and I will put my words in his mouth. He will tell them everything I command him” (Deuteronomy 18:18). Every devout Jew expected this prophet like Moses, and the similarities between Jesus and Moses were clear for those ancient readers who knew the Hebrew Scriptures. 

For example, the infant Moses and Jesus both escaped death when a ruler attempted to kill the male Jewish children in the area, both hid in Egypt as a child, both gave up  life in a kingly home to lead a humble life of service,  both fasted forty days and nights, both communicated directly with God, both performed miracles, both provided the people with bread to eat, both sent out 12 individuals, both chose 70 individuals, both taught with authority – and both ascended a mountain for the giving of  key commands and instruction from God. 

With that background in mind, we can see the significance of the fact that throughout the first third of the Sermon on the Mount the law of Moses is mentioned repeatedly, using the formula “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago …. But I tell you ….”  For example:

“You have heard that it was said to the people long ago ‘You shall not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment” ​ (Matthew 5:21-22, and see also Matthew 5:27, 31, 38, 43). 

Within the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus made it clear to his followers that he was not doing away with or replacing the principles of the law given through Moses (Matthew 5:17-19). Instead, in this pivotal sermon – the longest connected teaching of Jesus in the New Testament – he gave new insight into God’s spiritual laws, raising our understanding of their intent to the higher level to which we are called.

Biblical genealogies are things most of us read, accept and move on in our reading.  But the genealogy Matthew gives for Jesus at the beginning of his Gospel has a particularly interesting aspect.  Matthew divides the “family tree” he constructs for the promised Messiah into three sections of fourteen generations each, saying: “Thus there were fourteen generations in all from Abraham to David, fourteen from David to the exile to Babylon, and fourteen from the exile to the Messiah” (Matthew 1:17).

But if we look back into the Old Testament lists of the ancient kings of Judah who were among the ancestors of Jesus, we find that Matthew actually omits  three individuals between the kings Jehoram and Uzziah (Matthew 1:8):  Ahaziah (2 Kings 8:25), Joash (2 Kings 12:1) and Amaziah (2 Kings 14:1).  In other words, there were actually seventeen known generations between David and the exile, rather than fourteen as Matthew states.

How can we reconcile this apparent contradiction in the Scriptures?  First, we must understand that Matthew follows a common ancient practice in structuring the genealogy he gives into clear units which were more easily remembered and taught.   That Matthew omits some individuals in order to accomplish this pattern is not surprising because if we look back to the very first verse of his Gospel, he does that to an even more striking degree in saying “This is the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah the son of David, the son of Abraham” – where the practice of “jumping generations” is clearly utilized to make his point: to stress that Jesus was the descendant of David (who is actually named first, before Abraham).

When we remember Matthew’s stress – both here and throughout his Gospel – on Jesus being the son of David, we can consider another fact.  The Jewish audience for whom Matthew primarily wrote had no numerals of the kind we use today. Instead, the Jews gave numerical values to certain letters of the Hebrew alphabet.  In this way, a given word could have a numerical value as well as a phonetic one.  “David” was written with the letters dalet (4), vav (6) and dalet (4), giving a total numerical value of 14. So fourteen was a number associated with the name of David, and it is certainly possible that Matthew structured his genealogy of Jesus in a pattern of fourteen generations in order to stress, in a literary or symbolic manner, the connection between David and Jesus, the “Son of David.”

We must remember that precisely because Mathew wrote to a Jewish audience, he knew that his readers were familiar with the king lists of the Hebrew Scriptures and that they would understand he was “jumping generations” in Matthew 1:8 in exactly the same way he did in Matthew 1:1.

We can see this fact in another way.  Ancient genealogies usually omitted women in their reckoning, but Matthew includes four women who were Gentiles or had Gentile connections (Matthew 1:3, 5-6), even though he did not include the four great matriarchs of the biblical tradition – Sarah, Rebekah, Leah and Rachel.  The reason is clearly because another theme of Matthew’s Gospel is the inclusion of the Gentiles in God’s plan for humanity. 

​Matthew adjusted the details of his genealogy of Jesus in order to make the points that were vital for his story.  So, rather than contradicting Old Testament accounts, Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus is carefully constructed to stress Jesus’ descent from David and from Gentile ancestors – which gave him the genealogy to be not only the King of the Jews, but also the King of all mankind.

​The Book of John tells two stories, back to back, of encounters between Jesus and individuals who came to him  alone.  Rather than being part of the crowds that thronged Jesus daily, these individuals talked with him privately. One sought him out in the dark of night and the other was approached by him under the blazing sun at noon.  The two individuals were the priest Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman Jesus met at the well. The two stories, told in conjunction by John, clearly contrast in a number of ways, but also share something in common.

Nicodemus, a prominent Pharisee and ultra-righteous member of the Jewish Sanhedrin, came to Jesus, John tells us, “by night” (John 3:1-21) in order to question him about his teachings.  Nicodemus was part of the religious establishment of the time, and he clearly went to Jesus under the cover of darkness so as not to be seen and recognized. John’s record of the conversation between Jesus and the Pharisee shows us that Nicodemus  was beginning to believe the truth, but he held back because of the opinions of his friends and colleagues. 

The Samaritan woman Jesus met at the well outside the city of Sychar in Samaria came to draw water around noon (John 4:4-42), which was the hottest time of day when the fewest people would be at the well. It is unlikely that anyone would purposely plan a trip to the well at that time unless they wanted to avoid people.  But, as someone doubtless shunned or shamed by her neighbors because of her sexual relations with a number of men, the Samaritan woman had good reason to go to the well at a time when she would not meet others. She doubtless went then because of her discomfort with her neighbors’ opinion of her.

The two individuals were worlds apart.  Nicodemus was a respected member of the privileged religious elite in the Judean capital of Jerusalem; the Samaritan woman was a shamed individual from a despised culture in a rustic backwater of the country. Spiritually, Nicodemus may have needed help to see his sin and the Samaritan woman may have needed help to see her worth,  but both individuals shared something in common – they both evidently feared the opinions of others and sought to avoid those who might look down on them.

It is unlikely that John juxtaposed his accounts of these individuals in the way he did without intending his readers to see the connection of fear implied in both stories. Whatever our background, whatever our own perception of our standing before God, we may adjust our behavior in order to cope with our inherent human fear of the opinions of others.  But after meeting with the one they came to see was probably the Messiah, both individuals found the courage to act without shame and without cover.
 
Nicodemus later spoke with courage to remind his colleagues in the Sanhedrin that a person should be heard before being judged (John 7:50–51), and then, after the crucifixion, he helped to prepare the body of the reviled and executed Jesus for burial (John 19:39–42).  In the same way, after meeting Jesus, the Samaritan woman – if she had been avoiding her neighbors – now found the courage to tell them all about the one she had met who was the Christ.

We may not be like Nicodemus or like the Samaritan woman. Perhaps our lives are being lived out somewhere between those of the two individuals, the saint and the serial sinner.  But like them, if we have met with Jesus in our lives, we will be strengthened to live above the opinions of others.

​
​It is interesting that many of those who claim the Bible is not a historical book and its historical narratives cannot be trusted are quick to accept the historical nature of the statements in the Old Testament regarding the Israelites destroying the inhabitants of the Land of Canaan – which they claim to be an example of genocide.

But is this what the Bible actually shows? Is it also true that, contrary to some skeptics who claim otherwise, the ancient Canaanites were guilty of horrendous crimes including sacrificing their own children? You can find the answers in our new article: "Was Genocide Commanded in the Bible?" uploaded today.   

Some of the statements of Jesus concerning the end of the age have been interpreted as meaning that the end times would occur in the generation in which Jesus lived.  This view of some New Testament scriptures has been held by even prominent individuals such as the theologian and medical missionary Albert Schweitzer who believed that many of the words of Jesus recorded in the Gospels show this belief.  

One of the main areas of scripture to which Schweitzer pointed was Matthew 24; but if we look closely at that chapter, we see that after Christ listed many things that would happen at the end of the age, he said:

“Now learn this lesson from the fig tree:  As soon as its twigs get tender and its leaves come out, you know that summer is near. Even so, when you see all these things, you know that it is near, right at the door. Truly I tell you, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things have happened.  Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away. But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Matthew 24:32-36).

First, we should realize that Jesus’ words regarding “this generation” may simply mean that the generation Christ was speaking of – the generation that would witness the signs he said would occur – would not pass away till the signs were all fulfilled and the end occurred. The Greek pronoun translated "this" can often be translated "the same" and we should keep this meaning in mind. 

It is clear that some of the sayings of Jesus recorded in Matthew 24 found fulfillment in AD 70 with the Roman destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem (Matthew 24:1-2), but other statements contained in his discourse on the Mount of Olives in that same chapter have a clear setting in a distant future, as we see, for example, in the prophecies: “And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come” (Matthew 24:14), and “For then there will be great distress, unequaled from the beginning of the world until now—and never to be equaled again” (Matthew 24:21) – neither of which were fulfilled in AD 70.

Schweitzer also appealed to Matthew 23 as a chapter he thought showed Jesus taught the end would occur at that time, but there, in his criticism of the teachers of the law and Pharisees, Jesus simply said:

“You snakes! You brood of vipers! How will you escape being condemned … And so upon you will come all the righteous blood that has been shed on earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah son of Berekiah, whom you murdered between the temple and the altar. Truly I tell you, all this will come on this generation” (Matthew 23:33-36).

In this instance, Jesus stated that the guilt of the religious leaders who had persecuted and killed many of God’s servants would not escape them, and that punishment would come on that generation of leaders who were no different from their ancestors. Because the Romans destroyed the Temple and killed many of the religious leaders in AD 70, that prediction effectively came to pass. 

Other key verses that Schweitzer believed showed Jesus promised his return in his own day are: “There be some standing here which shall not taste of death till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom” (Matthew 16:28); “... until they see that the kingdom of God has come with power” (Mark 9:1); and  “... till they see the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:27). But these parallel accounts all record Jesus’ words being spoken immediately before the Gospels record the Transfiguration – in which some (as Christ said) of the disciples saw Jesus in a vision of divine splendor which was a "preview" of Christ in the Kingdom of God.

Although it is clear historically that many early Christians believed that Jesus would return in their lifetimes, the words of Christ and the apostles always focused not on the timing of the end, but on its imminence.  We must all live in readiness for the Kingdom of God - not only because we do not know the time it will be fully instituted at the return of Christ, but also because we do not know when our own lives will end. 

One of the parables Jesus told specifically against the Pharisees can be profitably applied in our own lives in a way we might not expect:

“... There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’ ‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went. Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go. Which of the two did what his father wanted? ”  “The first,” they answered.  Jesus said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you.  For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him”  (Matthew 21:28-32). 

In this parable, which is somewhat similar to the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector (Luke 18:9-14), Jesus uses the story of two sons to reprimand those who believed they were good people while not realizing that they were, in fact, self-righteous and not obedient at all.  The parable makes a strong contrast between these people and those who were clearly sinners by background, yet who were now accepting the message of the Kingdom of God.

Psychologically the parable is an interesting one in that it is difficult to read it without naturally siding with those whom Jesus exonerated. Noone finds it easy or pleasant to put themselves in the shoes of those  Jesus so clearly rebukes.  Nevertheless, we can apply this in various areas of life – not least in terms of the “vineyard” (Matthew 20:1) against which he set the parable.  Did we feel a call to do some good work which we accepted, yet which we have delayed or put aside? The story could apply to us in this or in many other ways.

And there is another way to approach this parable. Supposing we view ourselves as being both sons rather than just one of them.    This approach fits well with the Christian understanding that our carnal human nature remains with us and has to be constantly struggled against, even when we have repented and received the Spirit of God  (Romans 7:23-25).  We live our lives, in that sense, as both sons on a daily basis – the son (or daughter) who struggles to accept what we come to see is right and finally makes the right decision, as well as the son or daughter who may accept what we must do at first, but does not follow through because we forget our decision or are tempted away from it. This approach fits the details of the story in a number of ways.  Note the son who says “yes” at first seems to be respectful (he says “sir”) yet still fails, while the son who is rebellious (the first reaction of our own human nature is all too often wrong) is willing to finally turn and do what is right.

Jesus’ parable was clearly aimed at the apparently righteous Pharisaical individuals with whom he contrasted those who were rebellious yet finally obedient.  Yet it can be helpful to put ourselves in both situations in order to remember how our own human nature works.  Accepting the truth is not always easy and meditation on how this parable might apply to us in our own lives can help us to reach right decisions – to turn out to be the good son who even the Pharisees recognized was the son with whom God was able  to work.

It’s a simple principle, but one that can help us to profit from a number of Christ's parables that contrast right and wrong responses.

“At Caesarea there was a man named Cornelius, a centurion in what was known as the Italian Regiment.  He and all his family were devout and God-fearing; he gave generously to those in need and prayed to God regularly.  One day at about three in the afternoon he had a vision. He distinctly saw an angel of God, who came to him and said … “Your prayers and gifts to the poor have come up as a memorial offering before God” ( Acts 10:1-4).

Two aspects of Cornelius’ faithful walk before God are shown in these verses – twice over: his generous gifts to the poor and his prayer.  Now we may not be able to prove it, but given the fact of Cornelius’ evident  concern for those with needs, the final verse in this section of scripture seems to indicate he was praying  for the poor as well as giving to the poor.  If that’s the case, doubtless the poor were not all Cornelius prayed about, but the story of  this centurion reminds us that prayer and giving are both important in helping others and in learning the spirit of true giving ourselves.  Just as we can give without a concerned attitude, we can pray without actual giving, and in either case our concern is limited as well as our effectiveness.

This is a point the apostle James makes so clearly in his Epistle: “Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food.  If one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?" (James 2:15).  It’s a vital combination:  we should not speak without doing.  James doesn’t suggest that our words of comfort are not important, just that they should not be alone.  This applies as much in terms of our words spoken in prayers, of course, as it does in our direct relations with others.

The Book of Acts shows us that Cornelius understood the importance of both speaking and doing.  He reminds us of that other centurion who told Jesus “… just say the word, and my servant will be healed.  For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it” (Matthew 8:8-9).   Both these professional soldiers understood the relationship between speaking and doing; both understood that speaking of itself is not enough. But while the one story stresses what God does as a result of our requests, the other story stresses what we should do as a result of our requests.  Words and deeds are always interrelated, in prayer as in other areas of Christian life, and the more we remember that, the more we can accomplish.

Mary (Hebrew Miryam) was one of the most common women’s names in New Testament times, and so it is not surprising that the crucifixion and resurrection narratives seem to speak of as many as five separate Marys.  These women are usually identified in some way in order to distinguish them, but in the Gospel of Matthew (Matthew 27:61, Matthew 28:1) one is simply called “the other Mary.” Who was this “other Mary” and why was she called by that name – if it was, in fact, a name?

If we put the various accounts together that mention the women at the crucifixion and at the tomb of Jesus, we find:

Mary Magdalene (mentioned in Matthew, Mark, Luke, John)
Mary, mother of James and Joseph or Joses (mentioned in Matthew, Mark, Luke)
Mary, the wife of Clopas (mentioned in John)
Mary, mother of Jesus (mentioned in John)
Mary, “the other Mary” (mentioned in Matthew)
(One other woman, Salome, the wife of Zebedee and mother of James and John, is also mentioned in Matthew, Mark, and Luke.)

We know who several of these Marys are – Mary the mother of Jesus and Mary Magdalene present no problem.  Mary the wife of Clopas was also known as the wife of Alphaeus (Acts 1:13), the Hebrew form of which was Cleopas.

Notice what Matthew tells us regarding the women present at the crucifixion:  “Many women were there, watching from a distance. They had followed Jesus from Galilee to care for his needs. Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph [Joses] and the mother of Zebedee’s sons” (Matthew 27:56). A few verses later Matthew continues:  “Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were sitting there opposite the tomb” (Matthew 27:61). 

Of these women, we know that the mother of Zebedee’s sons was Salome (Mark 15:40 and Matthew 27:56), so “the other Mary” Matthew mentions would seem to be the same as Mary the mother of James and Joses.  James was one of the disciples and his father was Alphaeus – “James the son of Alphaeus” (Matthew 10:3 and Luke 6:15).  

Putting these facts together we see that it is likely that Mary the mother of James and Joses was the same person as Mary the wife of Alphaeus who was called Clopas or Cleopas.  This would mean that “the other Mary” mentioned in Matthew 27:61 was not a separate Mary, but simply the Mary other than Mary Magdalene whom he had mentioned a few verses earlier.  This would mean that Mary the wife of Clopas, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and “the other Mary” were in fact the same person.

According to many biblical scholars, and in early Christian tradition from the time of Papias of Hierapolis (c. AD 70-163), this Mary was the sister of Mary the mother of Jesus and the wife of Alphaeus, as we apparently see in John 19:25: “Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene."  So the “other Mary” may well have been Jesus’ aunt (and her husband, Clopas, his uncle).

Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. The soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head. They clothed him in a purple robe  and went up to him again and again, saying,  “Hail, king of the Jews!” And they slapped him in the face (John 19:1-3).

In these words, John summarizes the beginnings of the crucifixion of Jesus. Matthew, in his Gospel, adds the detail that the Roman soldiers also put a staff in his right hand (Matthew 27:29), which clearly imitated the emperor’s scepter, just as the purple robe and crown of thorns also imitated the emperor’s other attributes.  

The mockery of the soldiers is clear. Charged as “King of the Jews” (Matthew 27:37), and hence as someone attempting to take the place of the emperor, the imperial attributes of robe, scepter and crown were intended as a cruel, insulting joke.  But the mocking soldiers were doubtless unaware of how richly symbolic their parody actually was.   The crown of thorns given to Jesus was  doubtless intended as a parody of the Roman Civic Crown  given to military heroes. Like the crown of thorns, the Roman Civic Crown (Latin: corona civica) was formed of plant material: of leaves of the oak tree woven into a circle.  But the Civic Crown was granted only to  Roman citizens who saved the lives of other citizens.  So high was the honor of this crown that it became part of the  imperial regalia and was worn by all the emperors from the time of Augustus, and the emperors themselves were often hailed as the  “Savior” of the people.

Ironic or not, the richness of the symbolism that God allowed in the crown of thorns also finds much earlier foreshadowing in the Bible itself.  Not only does the biblical story of humanity’s “fall” tell us that as a result of sin the earth would produce “thorns and thistles” (Genesis 3:17-19), but also the crown of thorns is more specifically foreshadowed in the story of Abraham’s sacrifice of his son, Isaac. Genesis 22:13 tells us that the sacrifice of Isaac was transferred to the sacrifice of the male sheep God provided, that was caught by its horns in a “thicket.”  The Hebrew word used for thicket is sebak, derived from a word meaning to entwine in the sense of interwoven branches.  This was perhaps the Palestine Buckthorn (Rhamnus lycioides or Rhamnus palaestinus), a bush or small thorn tree which grows on hillsides in much of Israel.  Its botanical name Rhamnus refers to its intertwined, prickly branches.  The ram “caught by the horns” in such a tree was thus essentially a sacrificial sheep with thorns intertwined around its head, and the ram became a substitutionary sacrifice for Isaac, just as Jesus became a substitutionary sacrifice for everyone. 

So the crown of thorns given to the Messiah and intended as a cruel parody to mock him was, in fact, a fitting symbol for the One who took upon himself the thorny result of our human sin, who willingly acted as a substitutionary sacrifice for all, and whose bravery infinitely eclipsed that of heroes who may have saved others (Romans 5:7). It may have been intended as a parody, but no one else ever qualified to receive such an exalted crown as the one made of thorns worn by Jesus.

“… the people … spoke against God and against Moses, and said, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? There is no bread! There is no water! And we detest this miserable food!” Then the Lord sent venomous snakes among them; they bit the people and many Israelites died. The people came to Moses and said, “We sinned when we spoke against the Lord and against you. Pray that the Lord will take the snakes away from us.” So Moses prayed for the people.  The Lord said to Moses, “Make a snake and put it up on a pole; anyone who is bitten can look at it and live.” So Moses made a bronze snake and put it up on a pole. Then when anyone was bitten by a snake and looked at the bronze snake, they lived” (Numbers 21:5-9).

This dramatic story from the Old Testament is the background to something Christ said to the Pharisee Nicodemus:  “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him” (John 3:14-15).

The parallel mentioned by Christ makes it clear that the serpent erected on a stake by Moses was not some kind of healing  idol, but a symbol of sin and evil – a foreshadowing of the fact that Christ would personify sin in taking upon himself all mankind’s sin and evil (1 Peter 2:24) on the stake of crucifixion.  But there is much more that we can say about the strange incident of the serpent on the stake.

In his classic book, The Pursuit of God, A. W. Tozer commented many years ago that there is an interesting parallelism between the original account and what Jesus said about it.  Tozer pointed out that when the Israelites “looked at the bronze snake, they lived” (Numbers 21: 9, emphasis added) and that everyone who “believes” on  “the Son of Man who must be lifted up” would have eternal life (John  3:15).  As Tozer pointed out, it is clear that “looking” on the serpent was the equivalent of “believing” on Christ – that looking and believing are in a sense equal, that faith is in a very real sense “looking” without the eyes, or beyond what the physical eyes see, to a reality that saves.

Although Tozer did not develop the principle further, this understanding helps us to correlate a great number of scriptures that speak of “looking” with the concept of faith, and in so doing perhaps helps us to better understand faith itself.   Think, for example, of these words from the Psalms: “Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always” (Psalm 105:4); these from Isaiah: “Look to Me, and be saved, All you ends of the earth! For I am God, and there is no other” (Isaiah 45:22), or these from Micah:  “But as for me, I will look to the Lord;  I will wait for the God of my salvation; my God will hear me” (Micah 7:7).

The principle is one to utilize in study of the Scriptures. When we read “look to” in the Bible, we should often think “believe in.”  It’s a simple fact that gives new meaning to many verses – or perhaps helps us see the original meaning that was there all along.

Many Christians carry around a “portrait” as it were of a number of biblical figures. The portraits aren’t real ones, of course; they are mental ideas or “images” that we build up of individuals after reading and hearing about them.  We might have only a blurry or very partial portrait in our minds for some people mentioned in the Bible, but for others the image is often well developed – and wrong!

Take the apostle John, for example.  Many people know that John is often called the “apostle of love,” and he is often remembered as “… the disciple whom Jesus loved,” who reclined next to him (“leaning on Jesus’ bosom” KJV) during the Last Supper, and who wrote of strange visions in the Book of Revelation.  The mental picture many have of John is a somewhat ethereal one based on these images alone – a kind of gentle soul who perhaps didn’t mix well with the rough-hewn fishermen and some of the other disciples, but who understood Jesus’ call to love better than most, and who was a man of  mystical, otherworldly visions.

It helps to realize that although John certainly was a teacher of love and recorded mysterious visions, he was also a very real, warm-blooded man who was known as a man of thunder!   Mark’s Gospel tells us that when Jesus selected his disciples, he chose among the twelve “James son of Zebedee and his brother John (to them he gave the name Boanerges, which means ‘sons of thunder’)” (Mark 3:17).  The nickname is based on the Semitic custom of naming a person or thing after its distinguishing characteristic (as sparks are “sons of fire” - Job 5:7) and clearly reflects an aspect of personality and character that is anything but appropriate to someone who was merely a gentle teacher of love. 

It was John and his brother James, we must remember, who wanted to bring fire down from heaven on a village that would not welcome their Master (Luke 9:53-55) and had to be rebuked for this excess. It was John who wanted to forcibly stop the work of someone else casting out demons (Luke 9:49) and who had to be gently rebuked again. But it was John, by the end of Jesus’ ministry, whom Jesus selected as someone who would be both strong and loving enough to protect and look after Mary, his mother (John 19:26).

So John was no mild pushover of soft and ineffectual “love.”  Perhaps no other New Testament writer so forcibly teaches the need for truth and turning from darkness. We actually see this firm stress on truth, and on the “light” which symbolizes it, just as much as love in all his writings. And the love John taught was not a wispy or feeble emotion either, it was a reflection of the vigorous and commanding love that his Master, the Christ, had demonstrated every day John had known him – the love that mingled with, touched and helped the sick, the outcasts and the socially undesirable despite the outrage of the religious leaders of the day.   

To portray John as an ethereal teacher of love is in clear contradiction to the portrait the Bible actually gives of the apostle.  John, perhaps more than any other disciple, constantly portrayed in his writings the balance between an accepting love and uncompromising truth. The apostle of love was always, and equally, an apostle of truth.  He was always an apostle of love, and equally a son of thunder.