Tag Archives: Resurrection

05/04/2026

On Messianic Sonship in the Gospel of John

In my previous post, I argued that in the New Testament the title “Son of God” should be understood primarily as royal and messianic before it is understood in fully developed theological terms. However, because of its clear emphasis on the divinity of Jesus, many assume that the Gospel of John moves away from this historical and messianic framework. In this post, I want to suggest that John does not abandon these categories; on the contrary, he deepens them in order to reveal what it truly means for Jesus to be the Messiah. Or to put it another way, John presents Jesus in continuity with Jewish messianic expectations, while also showing that this messianic sonship entails a uniquely intimate and divine relationship with the Father that exceeds what was previously anticipated. The question, then, is not whether John’s understanding of Jesus is messianic, but what kind of messianism he presents.

In his purpose statement, John writes that “these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God.” Here again, the grammatical construction is significant. The term “Christ” (or “Messiah”) stands in apposition to the phrase “Son of God,” meaning that the two expressions are placed side by side, with one defining or clarifying the other. In this context, to confess Jesus as the Messiah is to confess him as the Son of God. This same connection appears at the beginning of the Gospel of John. In John 1:49, Nathanael declares, “You are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel.” The parallelism in these lines again equates divine sonship with messianic kingship, but more importantly, these two statements function as bookends to the Gospel, framing John’s presentation of Jesus from beginning to end. The point, then, is that John does not abandon the messianic meaning of “Son of God.” Rather, he affirms it at the structural level of his narrative. To believe in Jesus as the Messiah is to believe in him as the Son, and this understanding stands in direct continuity with the Synoptic presentation explored in the previous post.

This same connection appears at the midpoint of the Gospel of John. In the account of Lazarus in John 11, after Jesus declares that he is “the resurrection and the life,” he turns to Martha and asks, “Do you believe this?” She responds, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.” This confession is loaded with Christological significance. Not only does it once again place “Messiah” and “Son of God” in apposition, reinforcing the connection we have already seen, but it also adds a further layer by describing Jesus as “the one who is coming into the world.” This language resonates with broader biblical expectations of a coming deliverer—one who is sent by God and arrives to accomplish his purposes. It echoes themes associated with the coming figure of Daniel 7 and the one who comes in the name of the Lord in Psalm 118. Taken together with John 1:49 and 20:31, this confession strengthens the pattern: to be the Son of God is to be the Messiah, the King of Israel, the one sent into the world. In other words, John clearly preserves and reinforces the traditional messianic categories that were already in circulation.

Of course, conceptions of the Messiah in the literature of Second Temple Judaism were far from uniform. Expectations were diverse and often overlapping rather than monolithic. Some traditions emphasized a royal figure in continuity with the promises to David, drawing on texts like 2 Samuel 7 and Psalm 2, where the Messiah is understood as the anointed king who would rule on God’s behalf. Others envisioned a more prophetic figure, in keeping with the promise of a prophet like Moses in Deuteronomy 18, one who would speak God’s word with unique authority. Still others anticipated a more exalted or even heavenly figure, shaped by texts like Daniel 7, where the “Son of Man” is portrayed as receiving dominion and glory from God himself. The point is not that these expectations were clearly defined or neatly separated, but that Jewish messianism already contained a range of categories capable of accommodating a figure of significant authority and even transcendent status. This is important for reading the Gospel of John. When John presents Jesus in elevated terms, he is not abandoning messianic categories or importing something foreign into the tradition. Rather, he is drawing on a rich and developing matrix of expectation already present within Second Temple Judaism and showing how these strands converge in the person of Jesus.

Now, as I argued in my previous post, in the Synoptic Gospels the idea of sonship is primarily representative. As the Messiah, Jesus stands as God’s appointed ruler on earth, the true king who embodies and fulfills the role that Israel and her kings failed to carry out. But in the Gospel of John, the concept of sonship is taken further. The relationship between the Father and the Son is not merely one of representation, but of participation. That is, the Son does not simply act on God’s behalf; he acts in a way that is inseparably bound up with the Father’s own activity. This is made clear in passages like John 5:19, where Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, the Son is not able to do anything on his own, but only what he sees the Father doing. For whatever the Father does, the Son likewise does these things.” The claim here is remarkable. It is not merely that the Son imitates the Father, but that his actions are perfectly coordinated with and reflective of the Father’s own work. The same idea appears in John 10:30: “I and the Father are one.” In other words, the Son does not merely represent the Father as his agent; he shares in his work in a unique and unparalleled way. This is not a departure from messianic sonship, but a deepening of it—one that begins to press beyond simple representation into a more profound unity between the Father and the Son.

At this point, it is helpful to introduce a category that has received significant attention in recent scholarship, namely the Jewish concept of agency. In the ancient Jewish world, an agent functioned as a representative of the one who sent him. The basic idea was that “the one sent is as the sender,” meaning that the agent could speak and act with the authority of the one who commissioned him. This framework helps explain much of the language in the Gospel of John, especially the repeated emphasis that Jesus is the one “sent” by the Father. He speaks the Father’s words, performs the Father’s works, and carries out the Father’s will. In this sense, Jesus clearly fits within recognizable Jewish categories of agency. And yet, as the Gospel unfolds, it becomes evident that his sonship cannot be fully contained within that framework. Jesus does not merely speak for God; he speaks as one who uniquely knows the Father. He does not simply carry out God’s works; he does what the Father himself does. The point, then, is that while the category of agency is helpful, it is ultimately insufficient. The Son does not merely act on God’s behalf—he acts with God’s authority in a way that is inseparably bound up with the Father himself. In other words, John presents a form of agency that is intensified to the point of revealing something more about the identity of the Son.

According to John, this is precisely why opposition to Jesus intensifies. In John 5:18, we read, “This is why the Jews began trying all the more to kill him: not only was he breaking the Sabbath, but he was even calling God his own Father, making himself equal to God.” This observation is significant because it shows that the implications of Jesus’s claims are drawn from within the narrative itself. John does not import the idea of divine sonship from some external philosophical framework; rather, it emerges organically from the way Jesus speaks about his relationship to the Father. What is particularly striking is that Jesus does not correct this interpretation. Instead, in the verses that follow, he deepens it. He speaks of doing whatever the Father does, of giving life as the Father gives life, and of exercising judgment as the Father does. In other words, the claim to sonship entails participation in divine prerogatives that belong to God alone. The response of his opponents, then, is not a misunderstanding but a recognition of the implications of his words. They perceive that Jesus is not merely claiming to be God’s representative, but is placing himself in a unique relationship of shared authority with God. The point, then, is that in John’s Gospel, messianic sonship presses beyond representation into a form of equality that raises unavoidable questions about the identity of the Son.

And this is why Jesus is uniquely able to reveal the Father. In John 1:18 we read, “No one has ever seen God. The one and only Son, who is himself God and is at the Father’s side—he has revealed him.” There is a well-known textual question here as to whether the verse should read “the only begotten God” or “the only begotten Son.” While the evidence favors the reading “the only begotten God”, what is most striking is that both readings point in the same direction: John is describing a relationship between the Father and the Son that is without parallel. The Son stands in the closest possible relation to the Father—“at his side”—and precisely for that reason he is able to make him known. This is not simply the language of a prophet who speaks on God’s behalf; it is the language of one who knows God from within that relationship. Jesus makes this point explicit in John 14. When Philip asks, “Lord, show us the Father,” Jesus responds, “The one who has seen me has seen the Father.” In other words, the Son does not merely communicate information about God—he reveals him. The Son is uniquely qualified to make the Father known because his identity is inseparably bound up with the Father himself.

As in the Synoptic Gospels, the identity of Jesus as the Son reaches its fullest expression in his death, but in the Gospel of John this moment is framed in a striking way. The crucifixion is not merely suffering; it is glorification. In John 12:32, Jesus says, “As for me, if I am lifted up from the earth I will draw all people to myself.” The language of being “lifted up” carries a deliberate double meaning. On the one hand, it refers to the physical lifting up of Jesus on the cross. On the other, it points to exaltation, to being lifted up in glory. For John, these are not separate events but one and the same reality viewed from different angles. This is confirmed in John 13:31, where, immediately after predicting his betrayal, Jesus declares, “Now the Son of Man is glorified, and God is glorified in him.” In other words, the cross is not a contradiction of Jesus’s identity as the Son—it is its revelation. The glory of his sonship is displayed precisely in his obedience, his self-giving, and his willingness to suffer. The Son is most fully revealed not in avoiding the cross, but in embracing it.

And the resurrection brings this trajectory to its proper conclusion. After seeing the risen Jesus and placing his hands in his wounds, Thomas responds with the climactic confession, “My Lord and my God!” (John 20.28). This is not merely an emotional outburst; it is the narrative’s decisive answer to the question that has been building throughout the Gospel of John: Who is this Jesus who claims to be the Son of God? Thomas’s confession brings together the strands that John has been developing from the beginning. The one who is the Messiah, the Son of God, is also rightly confessed as Lord and God. In this moment, the identity of Jesus is not revised but fully recognized. The resurrection does not introduce something new; it confirms and unveils what has been true all along. As such, the arc of the Gospel reaches its climax in the full acknowledgment of Jesus’s identity, echoing the claims of the opening prologue. The Son who was sent into the world is revealed to be none other than God himself, now seen, known, and confessed in the risen Christ.

So, to bring all of this together, we can now see the full trajectory of the title “Son of God” across the canon. In the Old Testament, sonship is grounded in covenant and kingship. Israel is called God’s son, and the Davidic king is identified as God’s son, functioning as his appointed ruler and representative. In the Synoptic Gospels, this category is sharpened and focused in the person of Jesus, who is confessed as the Messiah, the Son of God—the one who fulfills the role that Israel and her kings failed to carry out. But in the Gospel of John, this messianic sonship is not abandoned; it is brought to its fullest expression. John shows that the Messiah is the Son in a deeper sense than previously expected. The Son does not merely represent God’s rule; he participates in the Father’s work, shares in his authority, and uniquely reveals his identity. In other words, John does not move beyond messianism into something else entirely. Rather, he reveals what messianism was ultimately pointing toward all along. The royal Son of the Old Testament and the messianic Son of the Synoptics find their fullest meaning in the one who is not only God’s appointed king, but the Son who stands in a unique and unparalleled relationship with the Father.

What all of this means, then, is that the confession that Jesus is the Son of God is not merely a doctrinal statement to be affirmed, but a reality to be believed and lived. In the Gospel of John, belief in the Son is consistently tied to life. To believe in him is to receive life, to enter into a relationship with the Father, and to know God as he truly is. This is because the Son is the one who uniquely reveals the Father. He is not simply a messenger who brings information about God; he is the one in whom God is made known. And so to come to the Son is to come to the Father. At the same time, this confession is grounded in the unfolding story of Scripture. The title “Son of God” begins in the Old Testament as a royal and covenantal designation, is sharpened in the Synoptic Gospels as a messianic identity, and is brought to its fullest expression in John, where the Son is revealed in a uniquely intimate and participatory relationship with the Father. To confess Jesus as the Son of God, then, is not only to affirm his role as Messiah, but to recognize him as the one who stands at the very center of God’s redemptive purposes, the one who makes the Father known, and the one in whom we find life.

For further study:
Reynolds, Benjamin E., and Gabriele Boccaccini, eds. Reading the Gospel of John’s Christology as Jewish Messianism: Royal, Prophetic, and Divine Messiahs. Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity. Leiden: Brill, 2018.

Leave a comment | tags: Biblical Theology, Christology, Crucifixion, Crucifixion/Resurrection, Divine Sonship, Eternal Life, Faith and Belief, Faith Seeking Understanding, God the Son, Gospel of John, Identity of Jesus, Incarnation, Jesus as Messiah, Jewish Messianism, Johannine Christology, Messianic Expectations, Messianic Sonship, Only Begotten Son, Phillip Powers, Resurrection, Second Temple Judaism, Son of God, Theology of John, Trinity | posted in Biblical Studies, Biblical Theology, Gospels Studies, Historical Jesus

05/02/2026

On Thinking Theologically (Weekend Vlog)

By Phillip Powers

Leave a comment | tags: 2 Samuel 7, Baptism, Crucifixion, Crucifixion/Resurrection, Davidic Covenant, Divine Sonship, Divinity of Jesus, Faith Seeking Understanding, God the Son, Historical Jesus, Humanity of Jesus, Israel, Jesus Christ, Judah, Messiah, Messianic Expectations, Messianic Sonship, Phillip Powers, Psalm 2, Psalms, Resurrection, Second Temple Judaism, Son of God, Thinking Theologically, Transfiguration, Trinity | posted in Thinking Theologically

03/30/2026

On the Unfinished Finished Work of Christ

By Phillip Powers

In light of this being the week of our Lord’s passion, it is interesting to note that one of the last things that he said before he gave up his Spirit on the cross was, “It is finished.” (τετέλεσται, John 19.30). With this powerful word, Jesus declared that his work on the cross in making full atonement for sin was completed, and “bowing his head, he gave up his spirit.” It must have been a powerful scene, and no more pregnant words have perhaps ever been spoken. However, the problem is that even though Christ finished his work, sin still seems to run rampant in this world. If it is finished, why, we might ask, is the world still broken, still full of pain and suffering and sin and death? Because of this, we might be tempted to suggest that his work is unfinished. Many Christians struggle to hold together what has already been accomplished and what still remains. However, what we must realize is that Christ’s work is finished; it is fully accomplished in its foundation, but not yet fully realized in its effects. In this post, I would like to consider this tension by offering just a few thoughts on what Christ accomplished in his first coming and what waits to be realized at his second coming.

In one sense, then, it is completely accurate to say that the work of Christ has been fully accomplished, and there are at least three aspects of his work that are completely finished. First, atonement has been accomplished. When Christ died on the cross, he made the full and final payment for our sin. In systematic theology, this is called penal substitutionary atonement. In other words, this means that Christ paid the penalty (penal) that we deserve (substitutionary) for our sin. (On the fact that this was Christ’s view of his death, see here.) He died the death that we deserve by dying in our place. But he did not stay dead; he rose again on the third day. This is the second aspect of Christ’s finished work, namely that victory over death has been secured. When Jesus walked out of the grave on the third day, he defeated death and disarmed Satan of his power. Death no longer has hold over those who are in Christ. We need not fear, we can have hope, even in the face of death. (On hope in the face of death, see here.) And lastly, by dying on the cross, Christ finished his work of establishing righteousness. In other words, his finished work on the cross is now the ground upon which God grants our justification, when we place our faith in Jesus. He lived a perfect life, he died an innocent death. And his righteousness is imputed to us by faith. We are made right, declared innocent, because of Christ’s finished work. This is the gospel. Nothing needs to be added to what Christ accomplished; his work is complete, sufficient, and final. It is not partial, not provisional. It is finished!

Moreover, his finished work on the cross inaugurated several important realities in which we now live. For one, the Kingdom of God has been inaugurated. Forty days after his resurrection, Jesus ascended into heaven to be seated at the right hand of the Father, and he is now reigning with all authority on earth as it is in heaven. (Matt. 28.18) He is not waiting to become King; he is already reigning as King. And he does this by his Spirit. This is the second reality in which we now live, namely that Christ has sent his Spirit to indwell his people. The Spirit mediates Christ’s real presence in and among his people. He is the down payment, the seal, and the guarantee of our faith. And he is actively working in us to make us more like Jesus. And lastly, but certainly not leastly, new life has begun. When we place our faith in Christ, the Spirit regenerates us. He brings to life what was once spiritually dead, and we are born again. In this way we are new creatures in Christ. The old has passed away, and behold the new has come. (2 Cor. 5.17) New creation realities are already at work in us through the Spirit. In these ways, the future has already broken into the present through the risen Christ, and we live in these future realities even now.

And yet, in spite of all of this, several aspects of Christ’s work remain unfinished. Perhaps most clearly, sin still remains in the world. We have been saved from the penalty of sin, but we have not yet been saved from the presence of sin. Our world is saturated and polluted with sin at every turn. People are burdened down with sin and its consequences. Our relationships suffer, bodies are diseased, conflict and turmoil abound at every level of our society. Sin continues its reign of terror nearly unchecked. In addition to this, death still operates in this world. This world reeks with the stench of death; it fills our nostrils everywhere we turn. Our loved ones get sick and die. Accidents and tragedy take lives too soon. Christ has been raised, and death has been defeated. But death still reigns in our mortal bodies, and we ache and groan for that day when death will be no more. Thirdly, the created order groans under the weight of humanity’s sin. When our first parents fell, the creation itself was subjected to futility and decay. The idyllic paradise of Eden was lost to the corruption of sin. And lastly, justice and restoration are yet to be realized. Injustice abounds in our society. From all appearances, the weak get weaker and the strong get stronger. There is no real justice; there is no real peace. Wickedness and evil seem to grow day by day. What is wrong is celebrated as right, and what is right is condemned as wrong. The world is turned upside down, and we long for the day when justice will flow like rivers and when peace will rest upon the earth. And we cry out with the Scriptures, “How long, O Lord? How long?”

In theological parlance, this tension between the finished and the unfinished work of Christ is often referred to by the shorthand phrase “already/not yet”. It simply means that God’s plan of redemption for the world has already begun, has already been inaugurated, but has not yet been fully consummated. The work of Christ’s first coming is finished. He died on the cross, he rose again the third day, he sent his life-giving Spirit. But we are still waiting for the work of his second coming, namely the resurrection of the dead, the final judgment, and the new creation. This is the tension in which we now live, and in this tension, we must avoid two extremes. First, we must avoid living as if nothing has been finished. We must learn to rest in the finished work of Christ. We have been forgiven; we have been indwelled by His Spirit. We can have peace. On the other hand, however, we must not live as if everything is already complete. We do live under the burdens of sin and death; we do long for justice and peace. And we can have hope. The work of Christ is finished in its accomplishment, but it is unfinished in its application to the whole of creation. And so, we wait faithfully as Christ has instructed us.

And this is the point, namely that this tension is not ultimately about stages of fulfillment, though that is certainly the best framework for understanding it. Ultimately, this tension is about Christ. His work is unfinished because his story is not over. (On my argument for the centrality of Christ in our eschatological reflection, see here.) In other words, the same Jesus who said, “It is finished” is the same Jesus who is coming again to make all things new. The same Jesus who died on the cross is the same Jesus who is coming again in glory. Or to put it another way, the second coming of Jesus is not a different work; no, it is the completion of the same work that he began 2000 years ago. The second coming completes what the first coming began, because Christ himself is the fulfillment of all our hopes. Our hope is not just about what Christ has done and will do; it is about Christ himself. It is about his presence. In John 14.3, Jesus promised that he would come again and receive us unto himself, that where he is there we may be also. And so, the unfinished nature of Christ’s work is not a failure of the first coming, but the promise of the second. He is our blessed hope.

And so, yes, we live in the middle of this tension; we live in between the already and the not yet. We are already forgiven, but we are still struggling. We are already alive, yet we are still dying. We are already redeemed, yet we are still waiting. We are waiting to be set free from the presence and the corruption of sin once and for all. This is the lived reality of the Christian life—caught between what has been accomplished and what has not yet been revealed. And I suggest that we must embrace this tension with open arms, because it is only when we embrace this tension that we will be able to hope without denying the pain of our sufferings, that we can be confident without giving into naive triumphalism, and that we can have patience without being paralyzed by despair. If we collapse this tension in either direction, we lose something essential. Either we deny the reality of our present struggle, or we forget the certainty of our future hope. This is the ground that we must stand on, the already and the not yet. We do not live as those waiting for Christ to begin his work, but as those waiting for him to complete it.

When Jesus said, “It is finished.”, he surely meant it. Christ’s work is finished, and yet, it is not yet finished completely. It is finished in its foundation, but it is unfinished in its consummation. We are waiting for the full glory of Christ and his work to be finally revealed on earth. And even in acknowledging the unfinished aspects of Christ work, we must affirm that the work of the cross is not undone; it is unfolding. The resurrection is not isolated; it is expanding. And one day, we will all be raised to meet him in the air, and from that point on, we will always be with the Lord. This is our hope, namely that the Christ who finished his work on the cross is coming again to bring it to final completion. Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus! Maranatha!

Leave a comment | tags: Already and Not Yet, Ascension, Assurance, Atonement, Christ, Christ-Centered Theology, Christian Life, Christological Eschatology, Christology, Consummation, Cross, Death, Eschatology, Faith, Finished Work of Christ, Hope, It is finished, jesus, Jesus Christ, John 19:30, Justice, Justification, Kingdom of God, New Creation, Peace, Penal Substitution, Perseverance, Phillip Powers, Redemption, Resurrection, Second Coming, Sin, Suffering | posted in Biblical Theology, Historical Jesus, Practical Theology, Systematic Theology

03/23/2026

On Christological Eschatology

By Phillip Powers

If you have followed my blog for any amount of time or if you have perused through the topics and tags, then you have probably noticed that eschatology is a primary interest of mine, both academically and pastorally. However, this area of theological reflection often evokes a mixed bag of responses and reactions. Some are quick to debate the various questions and details related to timelines, rapture debates, and millennium questions, while others are prone to avoid the questions altogether. I would suggest that neither one of these responses to the doctrines of the last things is healthy. Moreover, when we are so focused on identifying our particular eschatological system, whether dispensational, premillennial, amillennial, or postmillennial, we run the risk of displacing Jesus from the center of the question. This is not to say that these systems are wrong per se, but it is to say that we are often in danger of missing the forest for the trees as it were. Our eschatology is only as sound as our Christology. Every question about the end ultimately reduces to the question: Who is Jesus, and what is he doing? In other words, our eschatological views must be inherently Christological before they are anything else.

Christological eschatology is the conviction that the person and work of Jesus Christ are not merely part of the end times—they are the interpretive center of all eschatology. Of course, this does not mean that it is unconcerned with the unfolding of future events like the final judgment or the general resurrection. Eschatological reflection will always entail some understanding of the events that are yet to unfold, as Scripture itself directs our attention to these realities. However, Christological eschatology asserts that these events derive their meaning and significance from Christ and his work. They are not self-interpreting realities, nor are they ultimate in themselves; rather, they are the outworking of what God has already accomplished in and through Jesus. In this way, Christological eschatology is not event-centered nor system-centered, but Christ-centered. It refuses to treat the end as a sequence to be mapped or a system to be mastered and instead understands it as the fulfillment of the redemptive work of Christ. It is simply the view that every eschatological question ultimately revolves around the person and work of Christ in bringing redemption to the world.

In many ways, viewing our eschatology as centered on the person and work of Christ is simply a way of embracing the interpretive horizon of the New Testament. The New Testament authors consistently orient their eschatological claims back to the person and work of Jesus. For example, in 1 Corinthians 15, when Paul is addressing the question of the resurrection, he grounds his argument in the fact that Christ has already been resurrected from the dead. He is the first fruits of our resurrection; because Christ has already been raised, we will be raised. (On the logic of the resurrection, see here.) Or again, when the Gospel authors talk about the nearness or the presence of the Kingdom, they speak of it in relation to the presence of Christ. Because Christ is King, his coming to earth marks the beginning of the Kingdom age. This is why we regularly speak of the already and the not yet. The Kingdom has already been inaugurated at Christ’s first coming, and it will be finally consummated at his second coming. In other words, the already/not yet framework is grounded in Jesus himself. Jesus is not just a participant in the end; he is the turning point of history. The end does not merely arrive with Jesus. In a real sense, it begins with him.

We miss this emphasis when we become too focused on other eschatological questions. Both at the popular and at the academic level, we are quick to obsess about timelines, to speculate about sequences, and to read Scripture backward through our preferred eschatological systems. Entire interpretive frameworks are often constructed around the ordering of events, the identification of signs, or the alignment of prophetic texts with contemporary developments. None of these questions are unimportant in themselves, but they can easily assume a controlling role that they were never meant to have. When this happens, the center of gravity in our eschatology subtly shifts. When eschatology becomes primarily about events, charts, and sequences, Christ becomes secondary. Jesus becomes just another piece in the system rather than the center of the system. He is treated as a necessary component within a larger structure, rather than the one in whom that structure finds its meaning and coherence. And when a system can be mapped without reference to the living Christ, then it has already gone off track. At that point, eschatology risks becoming an exercise in speculative reconstruction rather than a theological reflection on the redemptive work of Christ. The question is not whether we have constructed a coherent system, but whether our understanding of the end is actually centered on the person and work of Jesus.

Now, there are several aspects of Christ’s person and work that ground our eschatological reflections. First, as I’ve already noted, Jesus is the Risen Lord. In other words, if eschatology begins with resurrection (and it does), then because Jesus has already been raised from the dead, the future has already broken into the present. We have been spiritually raised with Christ to walk in newness of life, and one day, we will be raised physically to walk hand in hand with him in glory. Second, and this has already been noted as well, but Jesus is the Reigning King. After his resurrection, he ascended into heaven to be seated at the right hand of the Father where he is currently reigning in glory. In this sense, the Kingdom is not merely a future reality; it is present now as he reigns over his people by his Spirit through his Word. He is coming again to reign on earth, but his present enthronement should shape our expectations. Third, Jesus is the Coming Judge. In other words, the final judgment is not some abstract threat. No, it is a personal reality that is tied to Christ authority. As the ancient creeds confess, he is coming to judge the living and the dead. The judge is the crucified and risen Christ. And finally, Jesus is the Center of Restoration. Or to put it another way, the new creation is not a system reset, it is the union that we now have with Christ being finally fulfilled on earth as it is in heaven. My point is that every eschatological hope—resurrection, judgment, kingdom, restoration—finds its coherence in the person of Jesus.

So, rather than asking “when is the rapture?” or “what is the millennium?”, we should be asking questions like, “What does Jesus’s resurrection mean for the future?”, “What does his kingship imply about the present?”, and “What does his return reveal about judgment and restoration?” These are not different questions so much as they are better-ordered questions. They move us away from speculative sequencing and toward theological reflection on the person and work of Christ. In other words, the question is not first what happens next, but what does Jesus’ work mean for what happens next? This shift in emphasis reorients the entire task of eschatology. It forces us to begin not with a timeline but with an event—the death and resurrection of Jesus—and to interpret the future in light of that reality. It reminds us that the resurrection is not merely a past miracle, but the decisive intrusion of the future into the present, the beginning of the end itself. Likewise, the present reign of Christ is not an abstract theological claim, but the governing reality that shapes how we understand the present age. And his return is not simply the final item on a prophetic chart, but the personal culmination of God’s redemptive purposes in the world. When we ask our eschatological questions in this way, Christ is no longer assumed in the background—he stands at the center.

This is not just some theological word game; this change has direct pastoral and theological payoff. Most importantly, it grounds our hopes for the future in a person and not in a system. This is our “blessed hope, the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ.” (Titus 2.13) We don’t have to have all the details figured out down to a T, so to speak; we simply have to trust in the one who has promised to make all things new. More than this, though, it produces stability in the midst of disagreement. The disagreements among eschatological systems are myriad, but in theory, we can all agree that Christ stands at the center of the eschatological program. I would go as far as to say that we must agree on this, as a matter of Christian orthodoxy. Our common hope in Christ should unify believers across all our eschatological differences. Our eschatology should bring us together not drive us apart. And finally, this reorientation in our eschatological reflection centers us on questions of discipleship rather than speculation. By focusing on Christ and his work, we are better able to wait patiently and faithfully as he has commanded us, instead of worrying about the details. The point is that the doctrines of eschatology are not meant to produce anxiety about the future, but confidence in the One who holds it.

Ultimately, the end times are all about Jesus. This may sound cliché, but it is the biblical emphasis. The New Testament does not give space to unnecessary speculations about the end times or invite us to lose ourselves in the details of timelines and sequences. Rather, every eschatological vision must revolve around the person and work of Jesus Christ. He is the one who is coming back to make all things new. He is the one who is coming back to receive us unto himself, that where he is there we may be also. He is the one who is coming back to set us free from the presence of sin once and for all and to bring God’s redemptive purposes to their final fulfillment. And so, the end of all things is not a timeline to decode, but a person to behold—the crucified, risen, and reigning Christ.

1 Comment | tags: Already and Not Yet, Biblical Theology, Christ-Centered Theology, Christian Hope, Christological Eschatology, Christology, Church Unity, Discipleship, End Times, Eschatology, Faith and Theology, Final Judgment, Inaugurated Eschatology, Kingdom of God, New Creation, New Testament Theology, Phillip Powers, Resurrection, Second Coming, Systematic Theology, Theological Method, Theology of Jesus | posted in Biblical Theology, Practical Theology, Systematic Theology

03/09/2026

On the (Un)Importance of the Gospel of Thomas

By Phillip Powers

In my last post, I argued that the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas has little to no value when it comes to the study of the historical Jesus. However, ever since the Jesus Seminar published their book, The Five Gospels, it has become somewhat common among Jesus scholars to include Thomas as another source for Jesus studies. The Gospel of Thomas is a collection of 114 logia, or sayings, that are attributed to Jesus, most of which are enigmatic and/or aphoristic in style. For example, saying 7 reads, “Blessed is the lion which becomes man when consumed by man; and cursed is the man whom the lion consumes, and the lion becomes man.” Thomas was discovered in 1945 at Nag Hammadi among some 52 other documents, most of which are from the 4th century CE. While Thomas contains intriguing sayings, its late date, its wholesale dependence on the Synoptic tradition, and its Gnostic coloring render it of very little importance for reconstructing the historical Jesus. Its primary value lies in understanding early Christian Gnostic interpretation and theological creativity, not the life and teaching of Jesus of Nazareth.

As noted above, the Gospel of Thomas, sometimes referred to as the Secret Gospel of Thomas, contains some 114 independent sayings attributed to Jesus without any kind of narrative structure or frame. Although the complete text found at Nag Hammadi in 1945 is in Coptic and dates to the 4th century CE, it also exists in three Greek fragments previously found at Oxyrhynchus around the turn of the twentieth century that date to the mid-second century CE. Some scholars argue that the oral traditions behind these Greek texts may be earlier, but this is speculation that is not supported by any physical textual evidence. The biggest difference between Thomas and the canonical Gospels is that it is completely lacking in narrative details; it contains no geographic markers, no passion narrative, and no account of the resurrection. More often than not, it simply reworks material from the Synoptic tradition. In spite of these differences, its non-narrative, aphoristic style is perhaps part of its appeal, but it is also the reason for its interpretive challenges.

This is perhaps why many, both scholars and popular readers alike, find Thomas so intriguing. It is cryptic, wisdom-oriented, less overtly theological, and resembles Synoptic style. For many, especially those who are skeptical of the canonical accounts of Jesus, Thomas reflects a non-apocalyptic, secretive, purely ethical Jesus, which is more in keeping with modern sensibilities. For example, saying 98 reads, “The kingdom of the father is like a certain man who wanted to kill a powerful man. In his own house he drew his sword and stuck it into the wall in order to find out whether his hand could carry through. Then he slew the powerful man.” Or again, saying 77 reads, “It is I who am the light which is above them all. It is I who am the all. From me did the all come forth, and unto me did the all extend. Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Lift up the stone, and you will find me there.” According to the scholars of the Jesus Seminar, these sayings represent independent (read secret) traditions not found in the canonical Gospels. However, these claims often overlook Thomas‘s dependence on earlier Synoptic material and its interpretive framing.

Estimates vary, but roughly half of Thomas‘s 114 sayings have parallel, often more primitive, versions in the Synoptics. For example, saying 54 reads, “Blessed are the poor, for yours is the kingdom of heaven.” This is clearly a restatement of the beatitude found in Matthew 5.3 and its parallel in Luke 6.20. Saying 55 reads, “Whoever does not hate his father and his mother cannot become a disciple to me. And whoever does not hate his brothers and sisters and take up his cross in my way will not be worthy of me.” This is taken from Matthew 10.37-38 and its parallel in Luke14.26-27. Saying 65 is simply a retelling of the parable of the vineyard owner found in Matthew 21, Mark 12, and Luke 20; saying 57 is simply a retelling of the parable of the wheat and tares found in Matthew 13. Other examples could be cited, but the point is clear, namely that the author(s) of Thomas have simply reworked Synoptic material, typically drawn from the Sermon on the Mount or the Kingdom sayings/parables of Jesus. Moreover, the ordering and grouping of these sayings typically mimics that which is found in Matthew, Mark, and Luke. This evidence clearly demonstrates the secondary literary dependence of Thomas and mitigates against arguments that it preserves independent oral traditions. To put it another way, if Thomas is so clearly dependent, then it cannot be used as an independent historical source in the study of the historical Jesus.

Beyond its late date and its dependence on the Synoptic traditions, another reason Thomas holds no value for the study of Jesus is its clear Gnostic leanings. Gnosticism is a second century syncretistic heresy that combined elements of Christianity with Jewish mysticism and Greco-Roman philosophy. It is primarily characterized by its dualistic worldview, its emphasis on hidden knowledge (gnosis) and spiritual ascent, and its devaluation of material reality. The Gospel of Thomas, as well as most of the other documents found at Nag Hammadi, clearly fall into this stream of thought. For example, saying 62 reads, “It is to those who are worthy of my mysteries that I tell my mysteries.” Saying 24 reads, “There is light within a man of light, and he lights up the whole world. If he does not shine, he is darkness.” Or again, saying 108 reads, “He who will drink from my mouth will become like me. I myself shall become he, and the things that are hidden will be revealed to him.” Clearly, sayings from the canonical Gospels have been filtered through Thomas’s Gnostic framework. This theological overlay makes Thomas more a reflection of early heretical Christian thoughts than of Jesus’ own teaching. While Gnostic themes are historically interesting for understanding the history of the early church, they further limit Thomas’s usefulness for reconstructing the historical Jesus.

Methodologically speaking, for a source to contribute meaningfully to historical reconstruction, it must be anchored in some kind of narrative frame, some cultural or geographic context, some chronological markers by which its historical veracity can be evaluated. The Gospel of Thomas is clearly lacking in this regard. It does not contain any of the details of Jesus’s life, his public ministry in Galilee, his conflicts with the Jewish authorities, or his passion, death, and resurrection. Without any anchoring in actual historical events like these, a collection of sayings cannot be attributed to Jesus with any real confidence. Therefore, using Thomas as a primary source in the study of the historical Jesus risks reconstructing him as an abstract, decontextualized, disconnected figure. Or to put it another way, a Jesus disconnected from historical realities can become anything and everything, except who he truly was. The Gospel of Thomas is simply too late, too dependent, and too Gnostic to be of any value in the study of the historical Jesus. Of course, this does not mean that Thomas has no value at all. After all, the Gospel of Thomas gives us an open window into early Christian theological creativity within heretical movements. It highlights the role of wisdom and of spiritual and mystical orientations in the beliefs of the early church. And it gives us insight into how the teachings of the historical Jesus were received and interpreted by one particularly Gnostic tradition. However, whereas canonical sources like the Synoptics and Paul ground their theological reflections in the reality of historical events, Thomas abstracts wisdom and secret knowledge from reality. In this regard, then, Thomas illuminates early Christian imagination and hermeneutics rather than the life of Jesus of Nazareth.

In light of the above evidence, I can only conclude that because Thomas is derivative and shaped by Gnostic and Synoptic traditions, it cannot be used as an independent source to reconstruct the historical Jesus. Sound theological reflection must be grounded in the historical realities of the person and work of Jesus. Or to put it another way, history grounds theology, and theology interprets history. The two must remain interconnected in the theological task. To neglect one or the other would necessarily lead us into either hardened skepticism or wild theological speculation. While Thomas is a great source for understanding early Christian diversity, it simply should not be conflated with the life of Jesus of Nazareth. Thomas may open a window onto early Christian imagination, but the historical Jesus stands firmly in the Synoptic Gospels and the apostolic testimony of the New Testament.

Leave a comment | tags: Apocryphal Gospels, Ascension, Beatitudes, Canonical Gospels, Didymus, First Century CE, Fourth Century CE, Gnosticism, Gospel of Thomas, Heresy, Historical Jesus, History and Theology, jesus, Jesus of Nazareth, Jesus Seminar, Kingdom Sayings, Literary Dependence, Logia of Jesus, Nag Hammadi, Narrative Frame, Oxyrhynchus Papyri, Passion, Phillip Powers, Proto-Gnostiicism, Resurrection, Sayings of Jesus, Second Century CE, Sermon on the Mount, Synoptic Gospels, Synoptic Traditions, Thomas | posted in Gospels Studies, Historical Jesus

02/23/2026

On the Jesus of History and the Christ of Faith

By Phillip Powers

One of my favorite topics in the study of the New Testament is the historical Jesus; it is an area of study that attempts to understand Jesus as he was within the context of first century Judaism. However, many who study the historical Jesus argue that the Jesus of history (the first century Jewish teacher) is not the Christ of faith (the exalted Lord proclaimed by the church). In other words, the early church’s understanding of Jesus has been embellished and augmented by influences that go well beyond who Jesus actually was and what he taught. This presupposition is one of the the primary factors that originally inspired the now century old quest(s) for the historical Jesus. Of course, we must affirm that historical investigation is indispensable for understanding the person and work of Jesus, but the hard distinction between the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith collapses under the weight of the earliest evidence. The church’s confession of Christ emerges not as a departure from Jesus, but as the historically grounded interpretation of his life, death, and resurrection. In the space that follows, I would like to defend this thesis by examining why history matters, where the split came from, and why the evidence actually favors continuity and not discontinuity.

It would seem to be readily evident that the historical study of the New Testament is essential for understanding the Christian faith. This is because Christianity makes several direct and specific claims about real events that took place in historical space and time. So understanding these events and their historical and theological significance is a matter of first importance when it comes to understanding our faith. As a case in point, when the eternal Son came incarnate in the person of Jesus Christ, he stepped into a particular place at a particular time, the fullness of time according to Galatians 4.4. In other words, the doctrine of the incarnation requires some historical understanding of the place and time when Jesus was born. In fact, the Gospels themselves are anchored in the geography, personalities, and events of the first century Palestine. The point is that if Jesus is severed from the places and times in which he lived, then we run the risk of distorting the significance of his life and teaching. More than this, we run the risk of reshaping Jesus into a man of our making, as a some kind of modern therapist or social reform mascot. The bottom line is that the hard work of history disciplines our theology and grounds it in the life of our savior as he lived it. Or to put it more simply, to confess that the Word became flesh is to confess that history matters.

The point of this is to say that historical inquiry is not the enemy of faith. The problem comes when we presume to dictate what history is allowed to contain. During the Enlightenment of the 18th Century, philosophers and historians began to doubt the details of the New Testament’s depictions of Jesus. Because of their presuppositions about the supremacy of human reason in the pursuit of truth, they were highly skeptical of the Gospels’ accounts of Jesus’s miracles, particularly his resurrection. Their skepticism resulted in an approach to history that might be called methodological naturalism, or the idea that anything that even remotely smells like it might be supernatural must be ruled out as a theological fabrication. Ultimately, their dismissal of the miracles of Jesus, particularly his resurrection, led them to conclude that the church’s high Christology, or its understanding of Jesus as the divine Lord of heaven, must be a late addition to the New Testament that has nothing to do with who Jesus was and what he did and taught during his lifetime, a conclusion which had more to do with their own presuppositions than with any actual analysis of the evidence. The real question, however, is not whether the theology of the early church developed over time (it clearly did), but the question is whether that development moved away from Jesus or unfolded from within the impact of his life and resurrection. An examination of the earliest documents clearly demonstrates that this is in fact what happened.

Now, the earliest Christian documents are the 13 letters of Paul, which were likely written between the years 49 CE and 68 CE. (The earliest of these is most likely 1 Thessalonians, and the latest is 2 Timothy.) Important for this post is the fact that several of these letters include embedded hymns and creedal material that clearly exalt Jesus as the divine Lord. For example, in Philippians 2.6, he “existed in the form of God,” and in Colossians 1.15, “He is the image of the invisible God.” In 1 Corinthians 8.6, the Apostle writes, “for us there is one God, the Father. All things are from him, and we exist for him. And there is one Lord, Jesus Christ. All things are through him, and we exist through him.” This is clearly a reworking of the Shema (Deut 6.4) which equates Jesus with the God of Israel. Even outside of Paul, in Hebrews 1.3, Jesus is “the radiance of God’s glory and the exact expression of his nature, sustaining all things by his powerful word.” And in James 5.9 (possibly the earliest document in the New Testament), he is “the judge [who] stands at the door!” The point of all this is to show that the church’s so called “high Christology” developed very early in the life of the church, and that within the context of strict Jewish monotheism. And so the question must be asked, “How did first century Jews come to worship Jesus as God so quickly?” The only possible answer is that the seeds of this belief were already present in the life and ministry of Jesus.

Of course, Jesus never articulated his identity in the language of the Nicaean Creed, but he clearly acted with divine authority. When the Pharisees ask, “Who can forgive sins but God alone?” Jesus says to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven. Get up, take your mat, and go home.” (Mark 2.1-12) When his disciples were rebuked for picking heads of grain on the sabbath, he responded, “For the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath.” (Matthew 12.1-8) He calmed the storms, he healed the sick, he cast out demons, he raised the dead. He equated his body with the temple, and he proclaimed a Kingdom of God that centered on his own person and work. And when the High Priest asked him if he was indeed the Christ, he responded, ““I am, and you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming with the clouds of heaven,” to which the High Priest responded by accusing him of blasphemy. (Mark 14.61-64) As a side note, the title Son of Man is most likely taken from Daniel 7, where Daniel sees “one like a son of Man” approaching the Ancient of Days to be vindicated and enthroned as king. The identity of this “one like a Son of Man” is debated, but it is highly likely that Daniel understood him as (quasi) divine figure. The point is that Jesus made several extraordinarily “high” claims about himself, claims that clearly threatened the Jerusalem religious establishment and eventually got him killed.

Moreover, the church did not invent these categories out of thin air; rather, it interpreted the shock of Jesus’ life and resurrection within the context and storyline of Israel’s Scriptures. And for them, the resurrection was the decisive interpretive key. The historical plausibility of the resurrection is practically certain given the cumulative effect of the evidence. The earliest confessions assume the truth of the resurrection (1 Cor 15.3-8). The earliest disciples went from fearing for their lives in the upper room to boldly proclaiming the truth of the resurrection in the temple square. The first witnesses of the resurrection were a couple of women whose testimony would have been viewed as untrustworthy in their day. All eleven of the disciples went to their deaths preaching Christ as risen from the dead, and the apostle Paul went from hateful persecutor of Christians to the most effective preacher and missionary in the early church. In other words, the resurrection was a central component of the early church’s belief, and its exalted understanding of Jesus flows naturally from this belief. If Christ was truly raised from the dead, then he truly was who he said he was, i.e. “the Christ, the Son of the living God.” The point is that the Christ of the church’s faith is what the Jesus of history looks like after Easter. Without the resurrection, a hard divide makes sense, but with the resurrection, the continuity between the two becomes inherently plausible. Or to put it another way, the resurrection is not some theological embroidery added to the story of the historical Jesus. No, it is the primary engine of the early church’s “high” Christology.

The bottom of line is simply this, namely that the hard division between historical events and their theological significance is a false dichotomy. There simply is no such thing as uninterpreted history; all historical events are immediately interpreted. The moment something happens, it is interpreted. The question, then, is not whether theology exists, but whether it faithfully corresponds to what actually occurred. In other words, theology is not the corruption of history; it is reflection upon it. And when it comes the person and work of Jesus, the Gospel accounts are just historical testimony that has been shaped by conviction. The faith of the early church was an organic and continuous development that grew out of the life and teaching of the historical Jesus, and the earliest confessions of Christ are best understood as historically grounded worship. If we separate the Jesus of history from the Christ of faith, the our faith becomes mere myth layered on memory. Jesus came incarnate at a particular time in a concrete place, and he was resurrected and he ascended to be seated at the right hand of the Father. And this is why both the history of Jesus and the faith of the early church matter. The one worshiped in the church is not a theological invention layered upon a forgotten Galilean. He is the crucified and risen Jesus of Nazareth. There is theological development, yes. There is interpretation, certainly. But there is no canyon between the Jesus who walked the hills of Galilee and the Christ that the church confesses as Lord. There is continuity — deep, historical, and theologically unavoidable continuity between the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith.

Leave a comment | tags: Christ of Faith, Christian Origins, Continuity, Discontinuity, Early Church, Enlightenment, Faith, First Century Judaism, Fullness of Time, Hebrews, High Christology, Historical Jesus, History, Incarnation, James, Jesus Christ, Jesus of History, John, Luke, Mark, Matthew, Paul, Phillip Powers, Quest of the Historical Jesus, Resurrection, Son of Man, Theology | posted in Gospels Studies, Historical Jesus

02/17/2026

On the Johannine Pentecost

By Phillip Powers

In John 20.19-23, Jesus appears in the upper room on the eve of his resurrection, and he breathes on the disciples saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” This is the so-called Johannine Pentecost, and at a glance, it would seem to contradict the very clear teaching of the book of Acts that the Spirit was given on the Day of Pentecost some 50 days after Jesus’s resurrection. If the events of that first Pentecost are understood as the climactic coming of the Spirit to indwell the followers of Christ, then Jesus’ giving of the Spirit in John 20.22 would seem to indicate that John (who was present at Pentecost) was hopelessly confused about the timeline. In the space the follows, I would like to suggest that John is not confused; rather, I think that John 20 presents Jesus’ giving of the Spirit as the breath of the new creation in fulfillment of Ezekiel’s restoration promises and in turn, it grounds the church’s corporate authority to forgive in the life of the risen Christ.

Of course, scholars and pastors have tried to resolve this tension in a variety of ways throughout the history of the church, and here I will identify just four. First, some suggest that the giving of the Spirit in John 20 is a kind of proleptic gift, a partial filling, that was meant to steel the disciples until the climactic coming of the Spirit 50 days later. Others suggest that John has theologized the giving of the Spirit by temporally relocating the event to the resurrection and directly connecting it with the risen Christ in light of his own “realized eschatology”. Still others suggest that John 20 functions as a kind of apostolic commission for the disciples which establishes their role as authoritative leaders in the early church. Finally, and this is my view, but the giving of the Spirit in John 20 should be understood as the inauguration of the age of the New Covenant/New Creation. This is not in contradiction to the Book of Acts and its descriptions of the Day of Pentecost. Rather, John has compressed these events theologically by linking the resurrection of Jesus with the concept of new creation, the giving of the Spirit, and the inauguration of eschatological life. He does this by alluding to the creation account in Genesis 1-2 and the New Covenant/Resurrection account in Ezekiel 36-37.

In John 20, the scene opens “On the first day of the week” (20.1), and this temporal note is repeated in our passage in 20.19, “when it was evening on the first day of the week.” This is a clear allusion to the first day of creation in Genesis 1. In other words, with the resurrection of Jesus comes a new first day, a new creation. This allusion is further confirmed by the fact that the scene takes place in a garden (19.31), and Mary mistakes the risen Christ for the “gardener” (20. 15). This is most likely a typological allusion to Christ as the second Adam. More significantly, we are told that Jesus “breathed on them.” The Greek word here (ἐνεφύσησεν ) is a verb that only occurs here in the New Testament. In the Greek translation of the Old Testament (LXX), in Genesis 2.7, we read that “The the Lord God formed the man out of the dust from the ground and breathed the breath of life into his nostrils, and the man became a living being.” In the same way (and with same word) that God breathed life into Adam, so also the risen Christ breathes life into his disciples. This is not just incidental language; the Evangelist has utilized this rare word intentionally, because he wants to connect the resurrection of Jesus with the new creation. When Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit on the disciples, they become participants in a new humanity.

However, there is another important Old Testament allusion that stands in the background of John 20, and that is the description of the New Covenant and the story of the Dry Bones in Ezekiel 36-37. In Ezekiel 36.26-27 (also 37.14), we read,

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will remove your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I will place my Spirit within you and cause you to follow my statutes and carefully observe my ordinances.

And in Ezekiel 37.1-14, we read where Ezekiel is commanded to prophesy to the breath to “come from the four winds and breath (ἐμφύσησον) into these slain so that they may live.” In the same way that Ezekiel stood in the midst of the valley of dry bones and the dead came to life by the “breath/Spirit” of God, so also the risen Christ stands in the midst of his disciples who are “dead/paralyzed” in fear, and breathes into them the Spirit of life. Now, in the book of Ezekiel, these chapters drip with corporate overtones, particularly in regard to the restoration of the people of Israel. The dry bones coming to life is a symbol of national (and individual) resurrection and restoration, and the Johannine Pentecost symbolizes the eschatological restoration of the people of God, such that the 12 (or 11) disciples function as the nucleus of that people as a renewed Israel. The point is that John portrays the resurrection of Jesus as the moment when the promised Spirit of restoration becomes reality.

Now, it is important here that we stop and recall what John has already said back in John 7. 39, where we read, “Those who believed in Jesus were going to receive the Spirit, for the Spirit had not yet been given because Jesus had not yet been glorified.” This is the heart of John’s theology, namely that the glorification/exaltation of Christ comes in the crucifixion/resurrection of Jesus. We know this because, Jesus said in John 12:32, “As for me, if I am lifted up from the earth I will draw all people to myself.” He said this to indicate what kind of death he was about to die.” The verbal idea of being “lifted up” refers both to the kind of death he would die but also to the idea of exaltation. Point being that in John 20, Jesus has now been glorified and so the Spirit can now be given as a sign of eschatological life.

However, there is one more problem in this passage. In verse 23, we read where Jesus tells the disciples, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” Of course, this language also occurs in the Gospel of Matthew, in Matthew 16:19 in Jesus words to Peter and then again in 18:18 in the context of the Community Discourse. Clearly, this is the language of commissioning and authority, but exactly what kind of authority is in view here is debated. Some (particularly in the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox traditions) understand these words to signify Apostolic/priestly authority to absolve sins. Others understand them to describe the authority of the church to announce the promise of forgiveness on the basis of the gospel. In my view, in the context of John 20, these words demonstrate that the Spirit-empowered community participates in the eschatological sorting of humanity. Forgiveness is determined by a person’s acceptance or rejection of the person and work of the Son (cf. John 3:18-21), but the church’s authority to forgive is part of its new-creation governance. In other words, just as the first humans were given dominion in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 1:28), so also the church as a new humanity is given Spirit-authorized responsibility as an agent of new-creation reconciliation. And John is clear that this authority is derivative, not autonomous; it flows from the risen Christ’s life and breath (i.e. Spirit).

In conclusion, then we must conclude that the Johannine Pentecost is not simply the relocation of the events of Acts 2; these are distinct narrative events serving distinct theological purposes. Whereas Acts emphasizes the public outpouring of the Spirit, the gift of tongues, and the church’s mission to the nations, John emphasizes the new creation, the restoration of the people of God, and ecclesial authority and identity. To put it more simply, John narrates the ontological beginning of the New Covenant age, and Luke narrates the Spirit-empowered expansion of the church’s mission. There is no contradiction; these are simply two theological angles on one redemptive reality. By tying his narrative to Genesis and Ezekiel, John gives us a theologically robust understanding of the significance of Christ’s resurrection. More importantly though, John 20.19-23 clearly demonstrates that the church exists because the risen Christ breathes his life into it. Its life is cruciform and Spirit-dependent, and its mission is one of reconciliation in the power of the new creation.

1 Comment | tags: Acts 2, Binding, Church Life, Creation, Crucifixion/Resurrection, Disciples, Ecclesiollogy, Exaltation, Ezekiel, Forgiveness, Genesis, Genesis 1-2, Giving of the Spirit, Glorifcation, Holy Spirit, Intertextuality, Israel, Jesus Christ, Johannine Pentecost, Johannine Theology, John 20, Loosing, New Covenant, New Creation, Pentecost, Phillip Powers, Resurrection, Second Adam, The Book of Acts, The Gospel of John, Valley of Dry Bones | posted in Bible Exposition, Biblical Theology, Gospels Studies

10/17/2025

On Our Conduct as Members of the Local Church

By Phillip Powers

TEXT

¹⁴I write these things to you, hoping to come to you soon. ¹⁵But if I should be delayed, I have written so that you will know how people ought to conduct themselves in God’s household, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and foundation of the truth. ¹⁶And most certainly, the mystery of godliness is great:

He was manifested in the flesh,
vindicated in the Spirit,
seen by angels,
preached among the nations,
believed on in the world,
taken up in glory.

~1 Timothy 3.14-16

Title: On Our Conduct in the Local Church
Text: 1 Timothy 3.14-16
Series: 1 Timothy: God’s Design for a Healthy Church
Church: Redeemer Baptist Church, Jonesboro, AR
Date: October 5, 2025

Leave a comment | tags: 1 Timothy, Ascension, Christology, Church Life, Church Membership, Clarity, Confession and Application, Conviction, Creed, Doctrinal Conviction, Ephesus, Exaltation, Family of God, God's Household, Godliness, Gospel, Incarnation, Mission, Paul, Phillip Powers, Presence of God, Purpose of 1 Timothy, Redeemer Baptist Church, Resurrection, Sanctification, Session, The Living God, Timothy, Trinity, Triunity of God, Truth, Unity in the Church | posted in Bible Exposition, Ecclesiology, Practical Theology, Sermons

07/23/2025

On the Curse of Death and the Hope of Resurrection

By Phillip Powers

TEXT

¹²The iniquity of Ephraim is bound up;
His sin is stored up.
¹³The pains of childbirth come upon him;
He is not a wise son,
For it is not the time that he should delay at the opening of the womb.
¹⁴Shall I ransom them from the power of Sheol?
Shall I redeem them from death?
O Death, where are your thorns?
O Sheol, where is your sting?
Compassion will be hidden from My sight.

¹⁵Though he flourishes among the reeds,
An east wind will come,
The wind of the Lord coming up from the wilderness;
And his fountain will become dry
And his spring will be dried up;
It will plunder his treasury of every precious article.
¹⁶Samaria will be held guilty,
For she has rebelled against her God.
They will fall by the sword,
Their little ones will be dashed in pieces,
And their pregnant women will be ripped open.

~Hosea 13.12-16 (NASB95)

Title: On the Curse of Death and the Hope of Resurrection
Text: Hosea 13.12-16
Series: Hosea: A Love Story Like No Other
Church: Redeemer Baptist Church, Jonesboro, AR
Date: July 13, 2025

1 Comment | tags: 1 Corinthians, 1 Corinthians 15, Assyrian Conquest, Bodily Resurrection, Covenant Curses, Death, Deuteronomy 28, Gospel, Hope, Hosea, Jesus Christ, Justice, Mosaic Covenant, Northern Kingdom, Northern Kingdom of Israel, Paul, Phillip Powers, Punishment, Redeemer Baptist Church, Resurrection, Romans, Romans 5, Sheol, Sin, The Book of Hosea, The Resurrection, Wrath | posted in Bible Exposition, Sermons

07/25/2024

On Resurrection and De-dustification

By Phillip Powers

It is common in Biblical studies to suggest that the doctrine of the resurrection is a late development in Old Testament theology. Of course, the clearest Old Testament affirmation of this belief is found in Daniel 12.2, where we read, “Many who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake, some to eternal life, and some to disgrace and eternal contempt.” While the dating of Daniel is a much debated question, this verse certainly stands as a clear affirmation of the doctrine of a general resurrection possibly from as early as the exilic period. But is it possible that the doctrine of resurrection has a much longer presence in the Old Testament. I would suggest that it does, and I would base this suggestion, at least in part, on the words of David in Psalm 16, verse 10, where we read, “For you will not abandon me to Sheol; you will not allow your faithful one to see decay.” In this psalm, David is seeking divine protection because he has remained loyal to God, and he is praising God for his rich blessings with full confidence God will vindicate him and deliver him from death.

Now, this particular verse is quoted twice in the in the Book of Acts in defense of the resurrection of Jesus, once by Peter in Acts 2.27, and once again by Paul in Acts 13.35. Of course, their appeal to this verse raises all kinds of questions regarding the interpretive methods of Luke and the other apostles, but suffice it to say here that there is no need to suggest that they have misinterpreted it. They haven’t read something into it that wasn’t actually there in the first place. No, they have rightly understood the implications of David’s words, and by way of typological prediction, they have applied these words to the Messianic Son of David, Jesus the Christ. David genuinely believed that that God could and would deliver him even from death, so while the doctrine of resurrection is not spelled out explicitly, we have ample reason to believe that David held some conception of physical life after death. This is why he says, “you will not allow your faithful one to see decay.”

However, Peter’s explanation here deserves our attention. In Acts 2.29, he says, “Brothers and sisters, I can confidently speak to you about the patriarch David: He is both dead and buried, and his tomb is with us to this day.” Likewise, Paul explains similarly in Acts 13.36-37, “For David, after serving God’s purpose in his own generation, fell asleep, was buried with his fathers, and decayed,but the one God raised up did not decay.” Jesus was only in the grave for three days; there simply wasn’t enough time for his physical body to see decay. But David’s bones turned to dust a long time ago, as it is written, “All are going to the same place; all come from dust, and all return to dust.” (Ecclesiastes 3.20) This dusty fate is part of God’s curse on human sin, as we read in Genesis 3.19, “For you are dust, and you will return to dust.” It is a fate that awaits us all. So, we must ask the question: was David wrong in his expectation that his body would not see decay? Was he wrong in his hope for a bodily resurrection?

The answer to these questions must be a resounding, “May it never be.” David was not wrong to believe that God could and would deliver him even from the depths of death itself, and even though his physical body has long returned to the dust from whence it came, one day, his body will be raised new, perfectly whole and completely glorified. This is the hope of resurrection; it is the hope of de-dustification. As the Apostle Paul writes in Romans 8.11, “And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you, then he who raised Christ from the dead will also bring your mortal bodies to life through his Spirit who lives in you.” Or again, in Philippians 3.21, “He will transform the body of our humble condition into the likeness of his glorious body, by the power that enables him to subject everything to himself.” If God can create man from the dust and breath the breath (the Hebrew word is the same word sometimes translated Spirit) of life into him so that he becomes a living soul, then he can certainly raise our bodies from the dust and give them eternal physical life by His Spirit.

In other words, far from being some late postulate in Old Testament theology, the idea of resurrection has a long standing place in Old Testament thought. It goes back at least to the time of David and the monarchy, some 1000 years before the time of Daniel and the exile, and it possibly goes back farther than that (but that is a topic for another time.) The point here is simply the Christian hope, nay, the biblical hope, is for nothing less than the perfected glory of bodily resurrection. As Jesus himself says, “a time is coming when all who are in the graves will hear his voice and come out—those who have done good things, to the resurrection of life, but those who have done wicked things, to the resurrection of condemnation.” (John 5.28-29) Maranatha!

For further study, see:
On the Logic of the Resurrection
On Christian Hope: Heaven or Resurrection
On Resurrection and the Path of Glory

See also,
Chase, Mitchell L. Resurrection Hope and the Death of Death. Short Studies in Biblical Theology. Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2022.

Leave a comment | tags: Acts, Christianity, Daniel, David, De-dustification, Death, Decay, Dust, Exile, Grave, jesus, John, Life, Monarchy, New Testament, Old Testament, Paul, Peter, Philippians, Phillip Powers, Psalms, Resurrection, Romans, Sheol, Theology, Three Days, Tomb | posted in Biblical Theology

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