Tag Archives: Historical Jesus

On the Preaching of John the Baptist and Jesus

Have you ever wondered why all four Gospels begin the story of Jesus’s public ministry with the ministry of John the Baptist? Could it possibly be because John came preaching, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” (Matt. 3.2), and Jesus began his own ministry by preaching, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” (Matt. 4.17)? They begin their preaching with virtually the same message. What, then, is the relationship between the preaching and ministry of John the Baptist and that of Jesus? Sometimes John is treated as little more than a necessary but largely preparatory prelude to the more important ministry of Jesus, almost as though his primary purpose were simply to baptize Jesus and then disappear from the story. But the Gospels reveal remarkable continuity between the preaching of these two figures. Jesus’s preaching stands in fundamental continuity with John the Baptist’s proclamation of the approaching kingdom, repentance, salvation, and judgment; yet it also develops John’s message by announcing that the kingdom has become present in Jesus’s own ministry while its final judgment remains future. The transition from John to Jesus, therefore, is not a transition from one eschatological message to another, but from the announcement of what God is about to do to the inauguration of that promise in Jesus himself. To understand this development, however, we must first consider what John was actually announcing.

Of course, John the Baptist’s preaching is fundamentally eschatological. He appears in the wilderness announcing, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” (Matt. 3.2). The nearness of God’s kingdom means that Israel has reached a decisive moment in the history of salvation, and repentance is the necessary response to what God is about to do. Indeed, John warns his hearers not to presume upon their covenantal identity: “Don’t presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father’” (Matt. 3.9). Instead, they must “produce fruit consistent with repentance” because “the ax is already at the root of the trees” (3.8, 10). John’s proclamation therefore contains both salvation and judgment. On the one hand, he announces the coming of one more powerful than himself who “will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (3.11). On the other hand, this Coming One already has “his winnowing shovel” in his hand and will separate the wheat from the chaff, burning the latter “with fire that never goes out” (3.12). John therefore stands at the threshold of Israel’s eschatological expectation, announcing that God’s promised intervention is no longer located in some distant future—it has drawn near. His call to repentance, promise of the Spirit, and warning of judgment all derive their urgency from this conviction. Most importantly, however, John does not present himself as the one who will accomplish these things. His entire proclamation points beyond himself toward the Coming One through whom God’s promised salvation and judgment will arrive.

The preaching of Jesus stands in basic continuity with the contours of John’s message. As noted above, Jesus also comes proclaiming the nearness of the kingdom and the need for repentance. In Matthew 4.17, Jesus declares, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” repeating verbatim the proclamation of John (Matt. 3.2). Similarly, Mark summarizes Jesus’s preaching: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!” (Mark 1.15). The point is that Jesus retains John’s basic eschatological framework: kingdom, repentance, salvation, judgment, restoration, and accountability before God. He does not correct John by suggesting that his expectation of judgment was mistaken or that Israel’s eschatological hopes were misguided. On the contrary, Jesus repeatedly warns of a coming judgment, whether in his teaching concerning Gehenna (Matt. 10.28), the separation of the righteous and wicked (Matt. 13.40–43), or the future judgment of the Son of Man (Matt. 25.31–46). We must therefore resist the simplistic dichotomy that John preached judgment while Jesus preached grace. Both proclaim salvation and judgment as dimensions of God’s coming kingdom. The fundamental difference between their preaching must be located somewhere else. The question is not whether Jesus abandoned John’s eschatological message, but what happened to that message once the One whom John announced actually arrived.

In Matthew 11.2–3, John sends messengers to Jesus to ask him, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?” We are not told exactly what prompted John’s question, but the apparent disconnect between his preaching and Jesus’s actual ministry was likely part of the equation. John had proclaimed the nearness of the kingdom alongside warnings of impending judgment, yet the ministry of Jesus did not seem to indicate that such judgment had arrived. This is why Jesus’s answer to John’s question is so significant. Rather than simply answering yes, Jesus points to the fruit of his ministry: “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor are told the good news” (Matt. 11.5). These signs reflect the expectations of eschatological restoration found throughout the Book of Isaiah (especially Isa. 35:5–6; 61:1–2). The healings, exorcisms, forgiveness, restoration, and proclamation of good news therefore demonstrate that Israel’s promised salvation has begun. John announced what God was about to do; Jesus points to what God is now doing through him. Here we encounter the essential development from John’s preaching to that of Jesus: John announces the Coming One; Jesus announces and embodies the arrival of the kingdom because he is the Coming One. The transition from John to Jesus is therefore the transition from eschatological expectation to eschatological fulfillment. The promised blessings of the kingdom have begun to enter the present through the ministry of Jesus. But if the blessings have arrived, what has happened to the judgment John so urgently announced?

John had proclaimed that the ax was at the root, that the winnowing fork was in the Coming One’s hand, and that the chaff would be burned with unquenchable fire. Yet Jesus heals, forgives, restores, eats with sinners, and proclaims good news. What is important to remember, however, is that John was not wrong: judgment is coming. Rather, the ministry of Jesus brings greater clarity to the temporal structure of John’s eschatology. The kingdom has arrived in the earthly ministry of Jesus, but final judgment has not. This distinction is illustrated particularly well in Jesus’s sermon at Nazareth in Luke 4. There Jesus reads from Isaiah 61:1–2 and then proclaims, “Today as you listen, this Scripture has been fulfilled” (Luke 4:21). Interestingly, however, Jesus’s reading stops with “the year of the LORD’s favor” and does not include the following phrase, “the day of our God’s vengeance.” We should probably not build too much upon this omission alone, but it fits the larger pattern of Jesus’s ministry remarkably well. The promised blessings of Israel’s restoration are being inaugurated in the present, while final judgment remains future. This does not mean that Jesus abandons John’s expectation of judgment. As noted above, Jesus repeatedly warns of a coming judgment and associates its consummation with the future coming of the Son of Man in glory. Judgment has not disappeared from God’s eschatological program; Jesus has revealed that the kingdom’s saving blessings enter history before its final judgment arrives.

The point is that John’s basic expectations were correct. The Coming One would bring salvation, the Spirit, restoration, and judgment. But the earthly ministry of Jesus reveals that these realities do not all arrive simultaneously in their consummated form. The preaching and ministry of Jesus operate according to what is often described as the “already and not yet,” or inaugurated eschatology. This simply means that in the earthly ministry of Jesus, the kingdom of God was already present even though its final consummation remained future. For example, Jesus declares, “If I drive out demons by the Spirit of God, then the kingdom of God has come upon you” (Matt. 12:28). His ministry of healing, exorcism, forgiveness, and restoration therefore demonstrates that God’s saving reign had already broken into history. Yet Jesus continues to speak of realities that remain future: the resurrection of the dead, the return of the Son of Man, final judgment, and the consummation of God’s kingdom. The kingdom is therefore genuinely present without yet being present in its fullness. Salvation has been inaugurated, while final judgment and consummation remain future. This is not a rejection of John’s preaching but its clarification and fulfillment. The Coming One has arrived, just as John announced, but Jesus reveals something John did not fully articulate: his first advent inaugurates the promised salvation of the kingdom before his return brings that kingdom to its consummation in final judgment.

In the final analysis, the preaching of Jesus neither abandons nor merely repeats the preaching of John the Baptist. Both proclaim the nearness of God’s kingdom, call Israel to repentance, announce the arrival of eschatological salvation, and warn of coming judgment. This is why Matthew can summarize their preaching with precisely the same words: “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” (Matt. 3:2; 4:17). Yet those words take on a new significance when spoken by Jesus. John stands at the threshold of fulfillment, announcing that the kingdom is near and pointing forward to the Coming One who will bring it. Jesus is that Coming One, and through his preaching, healings, exorcisms, forgiveness, and restoration, the saving power of the kingdom begins to enter the present. The transition from John to Jesus is therefore the transition from eschatological expectation to eschatological fulfillment—not yet fulfillment in all its fullness, but fulfillment genuinely inaugurated in history. John announces that God’s kingdom has drawn near; Jesus announces and demonstrates that in him its saving power has begun to arrive. Salvation has entered the present, while final judgment remains ahead, awaiting the return of the King who first came proclaiming good news.


On the Pericope Adulterae (John 7.53-8.11)

It is a familiar scene. The Jewish religious leaders bring a woman who has been caught in adultery before Jesus, seeking to trap him with the requirements of the Mosaic Law. Yet rather than immediately condemning her, Jesus responds, “The one without sin among you should be the first to throw a stone at her” (John 8.7). With their scheme exposed, the accusers depart one by one until only Jesus and the woman remain. He then tells her, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on do not sin anymore” (8.11). It is a beautiful picture of the compassion and grace of Jesus toward a guilty sinner. There is only one problem: a footnote in virtually every modern English translation informs us that “the earliest manuscripts do not include John 7.53–8.11.” Whether through brackets, footnotes, or some other notation, all modern translations alert readers that there is considerable doubt about whether this beloved story originally belonged to the Gospel of John. What, then, should Christians who believe in the inspiration and inerrancy of Scripture do with this passage? How should we think about a story about Jesus that may be historically ancient but was probably not written by John? In what follows, I would like to consider these questions by arguing that although the manuscript, internal, and patristic evidence strongly suggests that the Pericope Adulterae was not originally part of the Gospel of John, its textual status need not threaten Christian confidence in Scripture. Rather, the passage provides an important opportunity to distinguish between the possible historical authenticity of an ancient tradition about Jesus and the canonical authority of the inspired text.

Of course, our English Bibles are based upon a manuscript tradition that stretches back nearly two thousand years. Although we no longer possess the autographs—the original documents actually written by the New Testament authors—we have thousands of Greek manuscripts and manuscript fragments dating from the second century through the invention of the printing press in the fifteenth century. Through the process known as textual criticism, scholars compare these manuscripts with one another, alongside evidence from ancient translations, lectionaries, and quotations preserved in the church fathers in an effort to determine the earliest recoverable form of the text and, ultimately, reconstruct the original words of the inspired authors. (On the process of textual criticism, see my post here.) Importantly, however, textual criticism is not simply a matter of counting manuscripts. The evidence must be weighed according to such factors as age, provenance, textual relationships, and the character of the individual readings. A thousand late manuscripts containing a particular reading do not necessarily outweigh a handful of significantly earlier witnesses. This brings us to the problem of the Pericope Adulterae: the earliest and strongest manuscript evidence does not include the story at John 7.53–8.11. For this reason, most modern translations bracket the passage, place it in a footnote, or otherwise alert readers that its originality to the Gospel of John is seriously disputed.

The earliest extant Greek manuscript to include the story is Codex Bezae (D), a fifth-century diglot containing the text in both Greek and Latin. This is significant because the early textual reception of the passage appears to have been particularly strong in the Western church, where Latin increasingly became the primary ecclesiastical language. Moreover, although the story eventually appears in the majority of manuscripts from the medieval period, there is considerable discrepancy over where it should be located. It can be found in its familiar location after John 7.52, but in other manuscripts it appears after John 7.36, 7.44, or 21.25, while another textual tradition places it after Luke 21.38. In other words, this looks like a story looking for a home, so to speak. The early patristic evidence is similarly complicated. The Greek Fathers generally do not comment upon the passage, while in the West it appears in writers such as Ambrose of Milan, Augustine, and Jerome, all from the fourth century. Significantly, these Western witnesses themselves reflect awareness that the passage was absent from some manuscripts. Jerome nevertheless included it in the Latin Vulgate, after which the story became increasingly established within the Western textual and ecclesiastical tradition. However, the late appearance of the passage in extant Greek manuscripts, its unstable location within the manuscript tradition, and its uneven early reception provide substantial external evidence for concluding that it was probably not part of the original text of John’s Gospel.

There are still other reasons for doubting the story’s originality to the Gospel of John. For one, the passage contains some fourteen words that appear nowhere else in the Fourth Gospel—almost one distinctive word per verse. For example, John 8:3 is the only place in the Gospel where we encounter “the scribes” as a distinct group. John has several other ways of referring to Israel’s religious leaders, but he never refers to the scribes in this manner outside the Pericope Adulterae. Significantly, several of these words that are otherwise absent from John are quite common in the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), giving the story a linguistic character somewhat different from its surrounding Johannine context. This may also help explain why one manuscript tradition eventually placed the story after Luke 21:38. In addition to this linguistic evidence, the story appears to interrupt the natural flow of John’s narrative. At the end of chapter 7, Jesus is teaching in the temple precincts during the festival, culminating in his proclamation concerning “streams of living water.” Then, in John 8:12, Jesus continues his public teaching with the declaration, “I am the light of the world.” The Pericope Adulterae, however, interrupts this sequence with the statement that “each one went to his own house, but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives” (7:53–8:1). Read without the disputed passage, the narrative moves quite naturally from 7:52 to 8:12. When this internal evidence is considered alongside the external evidence discussed above, the cumulative case against the Pericope Adulterae being original to the Gospel of John appears very strong.

However, the textual question is quite separate from the historical question. It is entirely possible that this is an authentic story about Jesus that was passed down orally and only later written down and incorporated into the manuscript tradition. After all, the characterization of Jesus and the religious leaders is consistent with what we see elsewhere in the Gospel traditions, and the themes and principles of the story are consistent with what we know of Jesus’s teaching from the rest of the New Testament. In his A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament, Bruce Metzger concludes that “the story has all the earmarks of historical veracity.” In other words, even though the story may be textually secondary, this does not mean that it is historically late or fictitious. It is entirely possible that the Pericope Adulterae preserves an authentic tradition about the historical Jesus that circulated independently before eventually finding its way into copies of the Gospels. Nevertheless, we must carefully distinguish between saying, “Jesus may actually have done this,” and saying, “John wrote this under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit.” Historical authenticity does not by itself establish canonical authority. The early church undoubtedly preserved many true memories and traditions concerning Jesus that were never included in the canonical Gospels; indeed, John himself acknowledges that Jesus did “many other things” that were not written in his Gospel (John 21:25). The question of canonicity, therefore, is not merely whether an event actually happened, but whether the account of that event belongs to the text given through the inspired biblical authors. And that distinction has important implications for how Christians should read, teach, and preach the Pericope Adulterae.

Our doctrines of inspiration and inerrancy are specifically tied to the autographic text, that is to say, the documents that the biblical authors actually wrote are the locus of biblical authority. This is the text that we preach; this is the text that holds authority for our theology and doctrine. Therefore, if the Pericope Adulterae was not part of that original text, then we should not base any doctrinal claims upon it or preach it as though we know it possesses canonical authority. We can certainly discuss it as a potentially authentic tradition about the historical Jesus; we can also demonstrate how its principles and themes are consistent with what canonical Scripture teaches elsewhere. But we should be careful about preaching it as Holy Scripture. After all, consistency with Scripture does not make something Scripture. Many statements found in the writings of the early church fathers are thoroughly consistent with biblical teaching, but we do not therefore regard them as divinely inspired or canonically authoritative. The same distinction should guide our treatment of the Pericope Adulterae. Nothing essential to Christian doctrine is lost by recognizing its uncertain textual status: the grace and compassion of Jesus toward sinners, the universal reality of human sinfulness, the necessity of repentance, and the call to holiness are all abundantly taught in undisputed passages of the New Testament. We therefore lose nothing by allowing the textual evidence to determine the passage’s canonical status rather than our affection for the story. Indeed, a high view of Scripture requires us not merely to defend the Bible we have received, but to seek as carefully as possible the text that the inspired authors actually wrote.

In the final analysis, the textual questions surrounding the Pericope Adulterae should not weaken our confidence in Scripture. If anything, they demonstrate why the discipline of textual criticism is so important. Modern translations do not place brackets or footnotes around John 7.53–8.11 because translators have decided to remove an inconvenient passage from the Bible; they do so because they are attempting to be transparent about the manuscript evidence and recover as faithfully as possible the text that John actually wrote. The remarkable number of surviving New Testament manuscripts allows scholars to identify places where later additions, omissions, or other textual variations entered the tradition and to evaluate them openly. The Pericope Adulterae may preserve an ancient and even authentic memory of Jesus, and its beautiful portrayal of his grace toward sinners explains why Christians have cherished it for centuries. Yet our confidence in Scripture must rest not upon our attachment to a particular story, but upon the God who inspired his Word and has providentially preserved it through the manuscript tradition. Christians committed to the inspiration and inerrancy of Scripture should therefore have nothing to fear from textual criticism. Our desire should simply be to know, preserve, proclaim, and obey as faithfully as possible the words God actually inspired his servants to write.

See also:
On the Ending(s) of the Gospel of Mark


On Thinking Theologically (Weekend Vlog)


On Theology and History in the Gospel of John

When it comes to the study of the historical Jesus, there has long been a noticeable bias against the Gospel of John. While the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) are generally regarded as the primary sources for reconstructing the life and ministry of Jesus, the Fourth Gospel has often been treated with considerably greater suspicion because of its overt theological concerns. The assumption seems to be that because John is more explicitly theological, he must therefore be less historically reliable. Indeed, this tendency has led some scholars to call for a so-called “Fourth Quest” for the historical Jesus that takes the historical value of John more seriously. Nevertheless, the assumption that a more theological Gospel must necessarily be a less historical Gospel deserves to be challenged. Such an assumption depends upon a questionable distinction between historical reporting and theological interpretation. The simple fact of the matter is that all historical writing involves selection, organization, and interpretation according to the understanding and purposes of its author, and the Gospels are no different. In the Gospels, theology frequently consists of history interpreted in light of its ultimate significance, but interpreted history is still history. In this post, therefore, I will argue that John’s theological presentation of Jesus does not undermine the historical character of his Gospel; rather, John’s theology represents his interpretation of historical events whose significance he seeks to explain. But before making that case, we must first consider why theological interpretation should be regarded as historical distortion in the first place.

Let me be clear from the outset: there simply is no such thing as completely “neutral” history. No historian simply reproduces the past in a purely objective or uninterpreted manner. Every writer of history selects events, arranges material, emphasizes particular details, interprets their significance, and writes for particular purposes, and the author of the Fourth Gospel is no different. In John 20:30–31, he writes, “Jesus performed many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” John openly acknowledges that Jesus performed many other signs, but that he has deliberately selected certain signs in order to demonstrate that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God. (On Messianic Sonship in the Fourth Gospel, see my post here.) In other words, John tells his readers both what happened and why he has chosen to record it. His theological purpose could hardly be more explicit, but theological selection does not equal historical fabrication. Indeed, John presents the events he selects as signs actually performed by Jesus “in the presence of his disciples.” The events are historical; their selection and presentation are theological. Or, to put it somewhat differently, selectivity is not the enemy of historicity; it is an unavoidable feature of historical writing.

More importantly, John’s theology is grounded in historical claims. Throughout his narrative, Jesus attends identifiable Jewish festivals, travels between Galilee and Jerusalem, visits particular locations, and interacts with identifiable people. In other words, John presents the life and ministry of Jesus as events occurring within the concrete realities of first-century history. This historical grounding is essential because, as John declares at the beginning of his Gospel, “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). The eternal Logos entered into human history, meaning that John’s theology is fundamentally incarnational. It reflects the historical reality of the Word made flesh and therefore cannot be reduced to a collection of timeless spiritual ideals. Indeed, John explicitly grounds his narrative in eyewitness testimony: “He who saw this has testified so that you also may believe. His testimony is true, and he knows he is telling the truth” (John 19:35; cf. 21:24). John thus presents his theology as arising from testimony concerning things that actually happened. The point of all this is that John’s theological claims depend upon his historical claims; the two cannot simply be separated. If the Word did not actually become flesh, if Jesus did not die upon the cross, and if he did not rise again, then John’s entire theology collapses. Far from diminishing the importance of history, therefore, John’s theology depends upon it.

What I am suggesting, then, is that theological interpretation does not necessarily mean historical invention. Of course, John interprets the actions and words of Jesus, but interpretation is inherent to historical writing. He does not merely give us a transcript of Jesus’s life; rather, he seeks to explain what Jesus’s actions mean. For example, when Jesus feeds the five thousand, John presents him as the Bread of Life. When Jesus heals the blind man, he reveals himself as the Light of the World. When he raises Lazarus from the dead, Jesus declares that he is the Resurrection and the Life. When Jesus washes the disciples’ feet, the event reveals the nature of Christlike service and love. Even the crucifixion is paradoxically presented as the glorification and exaltation of the Son. In each of these instances, John takes events from the life and ministry of Jesus and unfolds their deeper theological significance. John does not merely ask, “What happened?” He also asks, “What did what happened mean?” The simple fact of the matter is that two people can describe the same historical event, with one explaining its significance much more deeply than the other, without the more interpretive account thereby becoming historically false. Interpretation and invention are simply not the same thing. John’s theological interpretation of the life of Jesus therefore need not be understood as the creation of a theological Jesus; rather, it represents his attempt to explain the true significance of the historical Jesus whom he presents to his readers.

In fact, John explicitly tells us that the disciples did not fully understand the actions and words of Jesus until after his resurrection and glorification. Reflecting upon Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem, John writes, “His disciples did not understand these things at first. However, when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written about him and that they had done these things to him” (John 12:16; cf. 2:22). Notice the progression. The disciples first experienced the historical events, later remembered what they had seen and heard, and then came to understand their deeper significance in light of Jesus’s resurrection and glorification. Moreover, Jesus himself promises that the Holy Spirit “will teach you all things and remind you of everything I have told you” (John 14:26). Thus, the resurrection and the coming of the Spirit did not require the disciples to invent a different Jesus; rather, they enabled them to understand more fully the Jesus they had already known. John’s Gospel therefore reflects both eyewitness memory and mature theological reflection upon that memory. His theological interpretation is retrospective, but retrospective interpretation need not entail historical fabrication. John’s mature Christology represents his retrospective understanding of Jesus, not necessarily a retrospective creation of Jesus. Indeed, by John’s own account, history came first and theological understanding followed as the disciples reflected upon what they had witnessed in light of the resurrection.

Of course, part of the confusion stems from the fact that the Fourth Gospel is noticeably different from the Synoptics (Matthew, Mark, and Luke). The Synoptics primarily focus on Jesus’s Galilean ministry, his parables, his proclamation of the kingdom of God, and his shorter sayings, while John gives considerably more attention to his ministry in Judea and Jerusalem, his identity and relationship with the Father, extended discourses, and signs. However, in my view, these differences are sometimes overplayed. There are significant points of continuity between the four Gospels, including but not limited to the ministry of John the Baptist, the calling of the disciples, the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus’s conflict with the religious authorities, his entry into Jerusalem, and the basic contours of the passion and resurrection narratives. Even where their emphases differ, they remain centered upon the same fundamental story of Jesus’s ministry, death, and resurrection. Moreover, we should hardly expect four different authors, writing for different audiences and emphasizing different theological concerns, to tell that story in precisely the same way. Difference in selection and emphasis does not necessarily amount to contradiction, any more than theological distinctiveness necessarily amounts to historical unreliability. John is not telling a different story; he is telling the same story from a distinct theological perspective. The Synoptics and John need not be flattened into identical accounts in order to be historically complementary.

In the final analysis, then, the relative marginalization of the Gospel of John in the study of the historical Jesus is unwarranted. John is both historical and theological. More to the point, John is theological because he believes that certain things actually happened. The Word became flesh. Jesus performed signs. Jesus died upon the cross. The tomb was empty. Jesus appeared alive. The disciples witnessed these events, and John’s theology represents his explanation of their significance. Of course, John writes with an explicitly theological purpose, namely that his readers “may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing [they] may have life in his name” (John 20:31). John does not conceal his purpose; he wants his readers to believe. But the faith he seeks to produce rests upon eyewitness testimony concerning the actions and teachings of Jesus. His theology therefore does not replace history but interprets it. The question is not whether John gives us history or theology. He gives us theological history: testimony concerning real events interpreted in light of the identity of the One who stood at their center. John’s theology does not require us to abandon the Jesus of history; it invites us to recognize who the Jesus of history truly was.

For further study, see also
On the Jesus of History and the Christ of Faith
On the Johannine Pentecost
On the Narrative Logic of John 21


On Thinking Theologically (Weekend Vlog)


On Knowing Jesus through the Old Testament: A Book Review

Wright, Christopher J. H. Knowing God through the Old Testament. Second Edition. Grand Rapids: Intervarsity Press, 2014.

Who was Jesus? How should he be understood? It has become almost a truism among historical Jesus scholars that Jesus must be understood within the context of Second Temple Judaism. He was a man of his own time, and this means that his teachings, actions, and self-understanding must be interpreted against the backdrop of first-century Jewish beliefs and expectations. More specifically, Jesus’s understanding of his own identity and mission was profoundly shaped by Israel’s Scriptures, what Christians know as the Old Testament. Although this observation may seem obvious, its importance is frequently overlooked. There remains a widespread tendency in modern discussions to disconnect Jesus from his Old Testament background, resulting in a portrait of Jesus that is neither historically satisfying nor theologically coherent. In Knowing Jesus through the Old Testament, Christopher J. H. Wright seeks to correct this tendency by situating the person and work of Jesus firmly within the unfolding story of Israel’s Scriptures. First published in 1992 and now available in a revised second edition as of 2014, Wright’s work has become something of a modern classic in biblical theology. Therefore, it is the thesis of this review that Knowing Jesus through the Old Testament succeeds admirably in demonstrating that Jesus’s identity and mission can only be fully understood against the backdrop of Israel’s Scriptures, even if some aspects of Wright’s approach invite further discussion.

Wright’s essential thesis is that Jesus’s understanding of himself and his mission was profoundly shaped by his study of and reflection upon the Old Testament Scriptures. In other words, Jesus repeatedly presents himself as the fulfillment of Israel’s story in ways that demonstrate his unique identity as the Christ, the Son of the living God. Wright develops this thesis by examining the major themes of the Old Testament that converge in the person and work of Jesus. He begins with Israel’s story itself, arguing that Jesus consciously understood his life and ministry as the climax of God’s covenant dealings with his people. From there, Wright explores Jesus’s identity as Israel’s Messiah and Davidic King, showing how the hopes and expectations of the Old Testament find their fulfillment in him. He then turns to the mission of Jesus, demonstrating that Christ’s proclamation of the Kingdom of God, his suffering, death, and resurrection, and his calling of disciples all stand firmly within the trajectory established by Israel’s Scriptures. Throughout the book, Wright carefully weaves together themes such as covenant, kingdom, redemption, mission, and fulfillment in order to show that the Old Testament is not merely a collection of predictions about Jesus but the very theological framework through which Jesus understood his own identity and vocation. The result is a compelling portrait of Jesus that is both historically grounded in first-century Judaism and deeply rooted in the unfolding story of God’s redemptive purposes revealed throughout the Old Testament.

The greatest strength of Wright’s work lies in its thoroughly canonical and biblical-theological approach to the person of Jesus. Rather than treating the Old Testament as a collection of isolated messianic proof texts, Wright demonstrates that Jesus understood himself within the unfolding story of Israel. The significance of Jesus’s identity and mission, therefore, cannot be grasped apart from the covenant, kingdom, promises, and expectations established throughout the Old Testament. This approach not only reflects the way Jesus himself repeatedly interpreted his ministry, but it also provides readers with a richer and more coherent understanding of the unity of Scripture. Closely related to this is Wright’s remarkable ability to integrate historical context, theological reflection, and biblical theology into a single, compelling presentation. He consistently situates Jesus within the world of first-century Judaism while never losing sight of the larger redemptive story that stretches from Genesis to Revelation. As a result, the reader comes away with a portrait of Jesus that is historically grounded without becoming reductionistic and theologically profound without becoming overly speculative. Another significant strength is Wright’s emphasis upon the continuity between Israel, Jesus, and the church. Rather than presenting Christianity as a departure from the Old Testament, he shows that the mission of Jesus represents the fulfillment of God’s covenant purposes for Israel and, through Israel’s Messiah, extends those blessings to the nations. Finally, despite engaging substantial theological themes, Wright writes with exceptional clarity and accessibility. His prose is straightforward, his arguments are well organized, and his illustrations are both helpful and memorable. This makes for easy and enjoyable reading from beginning to end.

Of course, no book is without its limitations, and Knowing Jesus through the Old Testament is no exception. Perhaps the most noticeable weakness is that Wright’s broad biblical-theological synthesis occasionally comes at the expense of detailed exegetical interaction with individual texts. His purpose is clearly to present the larger contours of the Old Testament’s witness to Christ rather than to defend every interpretive conclusion in detail. Nevertheless, readers looking for sustained engagement with particular passages or with competing scholarly interpretations may occasionally find themselves wanting more. Closely related to this is the fact that some themes receive considerably more attention than others. Wright’s discussions of covenant, kingdom, and Israel’s story are among the strongest sections of the book, while other important Old Testament motifs could have been explored in greater depth. Likewise, although Wright consistently situates Jesus within the world of first-century Judaism, greater interaction with developments in Second Temple Judaism would have further strengthened certain aspects of his argument by demonstrating more explicitly how Jesus both fulfilled and challenged the expectations of his contemporaries. Finally, Wright occasionally moves rather quickly from Old Testament themes to their fulfillment in Christ, assuming typological connections that many readers will readily accept but that others may have wished to see defended more fully. Even so, these observations do little to diminish the overall value of the work. They reflect the inevitable limitations of a synthetic volume rather than any significant weakness in Wright’s central thesis.

In the final analysis, Knowing Jesus through the Old Testament is a compelling and important contribution to biblical theology. Wright reminds us that Jesus did not appear in history as the founder of a new religion or as a figure detached from Israel’s past. Rather, he came as the fulfillment of God’s covenant purposes, bringing Israel’s story to its divinely intended climax. By consistently situating Jesus within the theological world of the Old Testament, Wright demonstrates that the Scriptures of Israel are not merely the background to the New Testament but the indispensable foundation for understanding the identity, mission, and message of Jesus Christ. In an age when the Old Testament is too often neglected or treated as merely preparatory to the New Testament, Wright reminds readers that the story of Jesus cannot be separated from the story of Israel, for the latter finds its fulfillment in the former. For this reason, I would readily recommend this book to pastors, seminary students, Bible teachers, and thoughtful Christians who desire a richer understanding of the unity of Scripture and the centrality of Christ within God’s redemptive plan. Though readers may occasionally wish for more detailed exegetical interaction or greater engagement with certain scholarly discussions, these minor limitations do little to diminish the book’s overall contribution. If readers come away from this volume with a renewed appreciation that the Old Testament is essential for understanding the person and work of Jesus Christ, then Wright will have accomplished precisely what he set out to do. Few books succeed so well in helping readers know Jesus by first learning to read him through the Scriptures that he himself loved, studied, and fulfilled.


On Thinking Theologically (Weekend Vlog)


On the Meaning of “This Generation” in the Gospels

When it comes to the eschatology of the historical Jesus, one of the most vexing questions concerns his repeated references to “this generation.” Few phrases have generated more debate in biblical studies. For example, what does Jesus mean when he says that the men of Nineveh and the queen of the South will rise up at the judgment and condemn “this generation”? (Matt. 12.39–45) Or when he declares that “all these things” will come upon “this generation,” who exactly is he talking about? (Matt. 23.36; 24.34) Discussions of these texts often focus on questions of chronology and fulfillment. We ask whether Jesus is referring to his contemporaries or to some future generation, and we speculate about when these events are supposed to occur. It is a question that has confounded even some of the greatest biblical scholars. In this post, I would like to revisit the issue, not because I am a great biblical scholar, but because I believe the discussion often overlooks an important biblical-theological dimension. I would suggest that “this generation” does indeed refer to Jesus’ contemporaries, but it functions as more than a simple chronological marker. Rather, Jesus employs the phrase to identify his contemporaries with the recurring biblical pattern of the rebellious generation that rejects God’s messengers and stands under covenant judgment.

Of course, at first glance, the meaning of “this generation” seems rather straightforward. Throughout the Gospels, the phrase consistently refers to those living during Jesus’s earthly ministry. For example, in Matthew 11:16, Jesus asks, “To what should I compare this generation? It’s like children sitting in the marketplaces who call out to other children.” Clearly, Jesus is reflecting upon the unbelief of his contemporaries and their rejection of both John the Baptist and himself. Or again, in Matthew 23:36, when Jesus declares, “Truly I tell you, all these things will come on this generation,” he is speaking directly to the religious leaders who stand before him. Texts such as these make it difficult to sustain interpretations that remove the phrase entirely from its first-century context. Jesus is not speaking primarily about a distant future generation but about the people of his own day. The crowds, the scribes, the Pharisees, and the religious leaders who heard his teaching constitute the immediate referent of the phrase. In other words, “this generation” is first and foremost a historical designation. Yet, as we shall see, it functions as more than a mere chronological marker. The phrase carries a theological significance that reaches beyond the simple identification of a particular group of people living at a particular moment in history.

This becomes even more apparent when we observe that Jesus rarely speaks of “this generation” in a neutral sense. Rather, he repeatedly describes it as an “evil and adulterous generation” (Matt. 12:39; 16:4) or as an “unbelieving generation” (Mark 9:19). These are not merely chronological descriptions; they are moral and theological evaluations. Jesus is not simply identifying the people who happen to be alive during his ministry. He is characterizing them according to their response to God’s revelation. Their defining feature is not that they belong to a particular moment in history, but that they have rejected the message of God’s prophets, resisted the ministry of John the Baptist, and refused to recognize the Messiah standing in their midst. In this sense, “this generation” functions as more than a temporal designation. It becomes a moral and covenantal category that describes a particular posture of unbelief and rebellion toward God. Indeed, the repeated use of terms such as “evil,” “adulterous,” and “unbelieving” suggests that Jesus is intentionally placing his contemporaries within a much larger biblical pattern. The question, then, is not simply who “this generation” is, but what kind of generation it is. And it is precisely here that the Old Testament background becomes crucial, for the language Jesus employs has deep roots in the Scriptures’ recurring depiction of “the generation of the wicked.”

The Old Testament repeatedly speaks of the “wicked generation,” and this theme stretches all the way back to the book of Deuteronomy. This is especially evident in Deuteronomy 32, where Moses describes Israel as a “crooked and perverse generation” (Deut. 32:5) and later speaks of them as a generation marked by faithlessness and rebellion (Deut. 32:20). This language is taken up again in the Psalms. For example, Psalm 78:8 describes the wilderness generation as “a stubborn and rebellious generation, a generation whose heart was not loyal and whose spirit was not faithful to God.” What is striking is that these texts are not merely concerned with identifying a particular group of people who happened to live at the same time. Rather, they are describing a recurring pattern of covenant rebellion. The wilderness generation rejected God’s Word, resisted God’s appointed leaders, refused to trust his promises, and consequently experienced his judgment. As a result, the wilderness generation became a paradigm for later generations of Israelites who repeated the same sins. Thus, in the Old Testament, the concept of a “generation” often carries theological significance beyond mere chronology. It becomes a covenantal category describing those who persist in unbelief and opposition to God’s purposes. This Old Testament background provides the conceptual framework for understanding Jesus’s repeated references to “this generation” in the Gospels.

The point of all this is that when Jesus speaks of “this generation,” he is making precisely this kind of moral and covenantal judgment. This is why he can declare, “that this generation may be held responsible for the blood of all the prophets shed since the foundation of the world—from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zechariah” (Luke 11:\.50–51; cf. Matt. 23.35–36). Clearly, Jesus is not suggesting that his contemporaries were personally present when Abel was murdered or when Zechariah was killed. Rather, they stand in continuity with those earlier generations because they are committing the very same acts of covenant rebellion. Indeed, in Matthew’s account, Jesus tells the religious leaders, “You are sons of those who murdered the prophets” (Matt. 23.31). They are not merely descended from their fathers biologically; they are following in their fathers’ footsteps spiritually. Just as earlier generations rejected God’s messengers, so now Jesus’s contemporaries reject John the Baptist, oppose Jesus himself, and will soon persecute his apostles. When Jesus reads Israel’s Scriptures, he sees a recurring pattern of covenant infidelity that reaches from the wilderness generation through the prophets and culminates in his own day. His contemporaries therefore represent not simply another generation in Israel’s history but the climactic manifestation of the rebellious generation. It is for this reason that they stand under the same covenantal judgment that had fallen upon those who came before them.

Of course, it is precisely this covenantal judgment that Jesus predicts in the Olivet Discourse (Matt. 24; Mark 13; Luke 21), where he declares, “Truly I tell you, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things take place” (Matt. 24:34). If the preceding discussion is correct, then this statement should not be understood merely as a chronological marker but as the culmination of the biblical pattern we have already traced. Because Jesus’ contemporaries embody the recurring motif of the rebellious generation, the coming judgment upon Jerusalem is neither arbitrary nor unexpected. Rather, it follows the well-established pattern of covenant history. Just as the wilderness generation experienced God’s judgment for its unbelief, just as the northern kingdom was judged for its covenant unfaithfulness, and just as Judah ultimately fell under divine judgment for rejecting God’s prophets, so also Jesus announces that “this generation” will experience covenant judgment in the destruction of Jerusalem. The judgment falls upon a specific historical generation living in the first century, yet that generation simultaneously represents the climax of a much larger biblical pattern. Jesus’ words, therefore, are historically specific while at the same time theologically rich. They announce the judgment of his contemporaries precisely because they have become the latest—and greatest—manifestation of the generation that continually rejects God’s revelation and resists his redemptive purposes.

Understanding “this generation” in this way also helps us see why the phrase remains relevant today. The issue is not merely one of chronology but of response to God’s revelation. Throughout the Scriptures, the “generation of the wicked” is characterized by unbelief, the rejection of God’s Word, resistance to his appointed messengers, and ultimately opposition to his redemptive purposes. Jesus identifies his contemporaries with that pattern because they rejected the Messiah standing before them. Yet the pattern itself did not end with the destruction of Jerusalem. It continues to reappear wherever men and women harden their hearts against God’s Word and refuse his gracious call to repentance. In this sense, every generation must ask whether it will follow the path of covenant faithfulness or repeat the rebellion of those who came before. More than that, Scripture teaches that history is moving toward a final day of judgment when Christ will return to judge the living and the dead. Just as the generation of Jesus’s day experienced a historical judgment in the destruction of Jerusalem, so also the final generation will stand before God’s ultimate judgment at the return of Christ. The warning of “this generation,” therefore, is not confined to the first century. It continues to summon every generation to repent, believe the gospel, and receive the King whom God has sent.

In the final analysis, then, “this generation” should not be understood as merely a chronological expression nor as a reference to some distant future generation. It refers first and foremost to Jesus’ contemporaries, the men and women who heard his preaching, witnessed his miracles, and ultimately rejected him as Israel’s Messiah. Yet Jesus deliberately frames them within the larger biblical category of the rebellious generation that recurs throughout the Old Testament. Like the wilderness generation before them, they resisted God’s Word, rejected his appointed messenger, and consequently stood under covenant judgment. The destruction of Jerusalem, therefore, was not an arbitrary historical tragedy but the covenantal consequence of a pattern of rebellion that had reached its climax in the rejection of God’s Son. At the same time, the warning extends beyond the first century. Every generation must decide how it will respond to God’s revelation in Christ, for history is moving toward that final day when the righteous Judge will return. The question is not simply whether we understand who “this generation” was, but whether we will hear God’s Word, repent, and believe while there is still time.


On Thinking Theologically (Weekend Vlog)


On the Gospel of the Kingdom and the Gospel of Jesus Christ

When Jesus stepped onto the scene in Galilee following the arrest of John the Baptist, he began preaching, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!” (Mark 1.15). His message focused on the arrival of the kingdom of God, the fulfillment of Israel’s prophetic hopes, and the call to repentance in light of God’s decisive action in history. Throughout the book of Acts and his epistles, however, the Apostle Paul repeatedly preached the gospel of Jesus Christ. His message emphasized the death and resurrection of Jesus, justification by faith, the forgiveness of sins, and the hope of resurrection. At first glance, these emphases can appear quite different. Jesus seems to proclaim the kingdom, while Paul proclaims Christ. Indeed, some scholars have argued that Paul transformed the original message of Jesus into something fundamentally different, shifting the focus from the kingdom of God to the person of Jesus himself. But are these really two different gospels? Must we choose between the message of Jesus and the message of Paul? It is my contention that the apparent tension disappears when both are understood within the broader framework of biblical eschatology. Far from proclaiming competing messages, Jesus and Paul announce the same good news from different vantage points within the unfolding drama of God’s redemptive plan.

Scholars of the historical Jesus are virtually unanimous in recognizing that the kingdom of God stood at the very center of Jesus’s preaching ministry. For example, in Matthew 4.23, we read, “Now Jesus began to go all over Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people.” Or again, in Matthew 24.14, Jesus declares that “this good news of the kingdom will be proclaimed in all the world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.” For Jesus, the kingdom is nothing less than the reign of God breaking into history to accomplish his redemptive purposes. It is the fulfillment of Old Testament prophetic hopes such as those found in Isaiah and Daniel. Isaiah envisioned a time when God would restore his people, forgive their sins, defeat their enemies, and bring salvation to the nations. Daniel likewise anticipated the coming of the Son of Man, to whom would be given an everlasting kingdom that would never pass away. These hopes converge in the preaching of Jesus. The kingdom involves the liberation and vindication of God’s people, the defeat of evil, the forgiveness of sins, and the establishment of God’s righteous rule over all creation. In other words, Jesus did not merely announce a message of individual personal salvation; he announced the arrival of God’s long-promised reign and the fulfillment of Israel’s eschatological hope.

However, it is important to remember that Jesus never separates the kingdom from himself. He is the one true and rightful king, God’s anointed Messiah, and wherever the king is, there the kingdom stands. This is why Jesus could say to the Pharisees, when they asked him about the coming of the kingdom, “For you see, the kingdom of God is in your midst” (Luke 17.21). The kingdom was in their midst because the King himself stood among them. In other words, the kingdom is inseparable from the identity and mission of Jesus. This reality is evident throughout the Gospels. In the Son of Man sayings, Jesus identifies himself as the one who will receive dominion and an everlasting kingdom in fulfillment of Daniel 7. Likewise, in the kingdom parables, the growth and consummation of the kingdom are tied directly to his own ministry and mission. The same connection appears in the triumphal entry, where Jesus deliberately presents himself as Israel’s promised king, and again at the Last Supper, where he speaks of the coming kingdom in the context of his impending death. Far from being an unfortunate interruption of the kingdom program, the cross stands at its very center. Jesus understood that God’s reign would be established through his suffering, resurrection, and exaltation. The kingdom does not arrive apart from the King; it comes precisely through the saving work of the King himself.

This is precisely where the Apostle Paul enters into the discussion. Throughout his missionary ministry and epistles, Paul repeatedly proclaimed the good news of Christ’s saving work. In 1 Corinthians 15, he summarizes the gospel in its most basic form: Christ died for our sins, Christ was buried, Christ was raised on the third day, and Christ appeared to many witnesses (1 Cor. 15.1–8). At first glance, this emphasis on the death and resurrection of Jesus may appear quite different from Jesus’s proclamation of the kingdom of God. However, such a conclusion overlooks the fundamentally royal character of Paul’s gospel. Paul is not merely interested in what Christ accomplished; he is equally concerned with who Christ is. Again and again, he identifies Jesus as the promised Son of David, the Messiah, and the exalted Lord. For example, in Romans 1, Paul describes the gospel as being “concerning his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, who was a descendant of David according to the flesh and was appointed to be the powerful Son of God according to the Spirit of holiness by the resurrection of the dead” (Rom. 1.3–4). Notice the royal language. Jesus is the Davidic king promised in the Old Testament, and his resurrection is the moment of his public vindication and enthronement. The point, then, is that Paul’s gospel is not less concerned with the kingdom than Jesus’s gospel. Rather, Paul focuses on the King through whom God’s kingdom has been established and through whom its blessings are now extended to the nations.

But the question remains: why the difference in emphasis? Why do Jesus and Paul sound so different in their proclamation of the gospel? The answer is that they stand at different points within the unfolding drama of redemptive history. The earthly ministry of Jesus occurs before the cross, before the resurrection, and before the ascension. He ministered primarily among Jews in Galilee and Judea, and therefore proclaimed a message that resonated deeply with Israel’s scriptural hopes and expectations. His preaching announced that the kingdom of God was at hand and that the promises spoken by the prophets were beginning to find their fulfillment. In other words, Jesus proclaimed what God was about to accomplish through his own person and work. Paul, by contrast, preached after these events had already occurred. He knew the crucified and risen Christ not merely as a future hope, but as a historical reality. Having encountered the exalted Lord on the road to Damascus, Paul devoted his ministry to explaining the significance of Christ’s death, resurrection, and exaltation for both Jews and Gentiles. Thus, Jesus announces the arrival of the kingdom, while Paul explains how that kingdom was established through the saving work of its King. The difference, then, is not one of substance but of historical perspective. Jesus proclaims the fulfillment that is coming; Paul proclaims the fulfillment that has come.

Of course, Paul is fully aware of the reality and significance of the kingdom of God. In fact, kingdom language appears throughout both his preaching and his letters. For example, in Colossians 1.13, he writes that God “has rescued us from the domain of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of the Son he loves.” Notice that for Paul the kingdom is not merely a future hope; it is a present reality into which believers have already been brought through their union with Christ. Likewise, when Paul arrives in Rome at the end of Acts, Luke tells us that “from dawn to dusk he expounded and testified about the kingdom of God” (Acts 28.23), and concludes the book by describing Paul as “proclaiming the kingdom of God and teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ” (Acts 28.31). Significantly, Luke treats these two subjects as complementary rather than contradictory. The same pattern appears in 1 Corinthians 15.24–28, where Paul describes the consummation of history as the moment when Christ delivers the kingdom to the Father so that God may be all in all. The point is that Paul never abandoned kingdom theology; rather, he interpreted the kingdom through the death, resurrection, exaltation, and future return of Jesus. For Paul, the kingdom remains central because the King remains central.

In the final analysis, then, we can say that Jesus announced the kingdom, while Paul explained how that kingdom was established through the person and work of Christ. Jesus proclaimed its arrival; Paul proclaimed its accomplishment. Yet beneath these differing emphases lies a profound theological unity. Both Jesus and Paul understood God’s saving work as the fulfillment of Israel’s long-awaited hopes. Both proclaimed the reign of God breaking into history to accomplish redemption. Both understood forgiveness of sins, salvation for the nations, and the resurrection of the dead as essential features of God’s eschatological plan. The difference is not that Jesus preached one gospel and Paul another, but that each proclaimed the same gospel from a different vantage point within the unfolding drama of redemption. Jesus announced that the kingdom had drawn near because the King had arrived. Paul proclaimed that the kingdom had been inaugurated because the King had died, risen, and been exalted to the right hand of God. Thus, the gospel of the kingdom and the gospel of Jesus Christ are not rival messages but complementary perspectives on the same redemptive reality. To separate the kingdom from the King is to misunderstand Jesus, and to separate the King from the kingdom is to misunderstand Paul. Both stand together in proclaiming the fulfillment of God’s promises in Christ.

Ultimately, this discussion reminds us of the profound unity of the New Testament witness. Too often, Jesus and Paul are set against one another, as though they were proclaiming different messages or pursuing different theological agendas. Yet the testimony of the New Testament is remarkably consistent. The God who promised to establish his reign through Israel’s Messiah has done exactly that in the person of Jesus Christ. The kingdom that Jesus announced is the same kingdom that Paul proclaimed, and the salvation that Paul explained is the same salvation that Jesus came to accomplish. Rather than forcing a choice between the message of Jesus and the message of Paul, we should allow each to illuminate the other. When we do, we discover a single gospel centered on a single Savior, through whom God is fulfilling his promises and reconciling the world to himself.


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