Cale explains the shockingly powerful message of the Gospel of Mark, a truly revolutionary document that changed the world. For more on this topic, see this post.
Posts
I was interviewed this week for Deacon Doug McManaman’s new show, Podcasts for the Religious. It was a lot of fun to see Deacon Doug again. Aside from his great diaconal work, Doug taught philosophy to high school students for many years (no easy task, that), and has written extensively on Catholic education. On the show, we talked about all sorts of things surrounding Advent — how the Dead Sea Scrolls prove that Jesus indeed claimed to be the Messiah, the surprisingly deep meaning of the opening verse of Mark’s Gospel, and even a fun (although perhaps apocryphal) story about Queen Victoria! You can check out the full episode here, or subscribe (as you really should) to Deacon Doug’s show on Apple Podcasts, or wherever fine podcasts are downloaded!
(My latest for Catholic Answers Magazine.)
These days I take a lot of heat for my name.
When I introduce myself as “Cale”, I quickly have to add, “not spelled like the vegetable.” This often leads to a bit of repartee, in which I explain that my father was a big fan of the famed race-car driver Cale Yarborough. Eating Kale wasn’t really a thing when I was born, but now that it is, perhaps I should change my name to “Arugula.”
This sometimes gets me thinking about some of the more unique names in the Gospels, like that of St. Bartholomew, whose feast we celebrate on August 24th. Often it is alleged—in both scholarly and popular circles—that the Gospels are late, legendary documents written many decades after Jesus died, or that they are not based on eyewitness testimony, and, as such, are not to be trusted.
Recent studies on names in Jewish antiquity, however, give us new reasons to challenge such assumptions.
Building upon the work of the Israeli historian Tal Ilan, Richard Bauckham has compiled lists of the most popular Jewish names at the time of Jesus. In his magnificent tome, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses, the famed Cambridge New Testament scholar shows that there were clear regional preferences for certain names, even within the same ethno-religious group. In Egypt, for example, the most popular Jewish names would have been different from those in Roman-occupied Palestine, where Jesus lived, even though the regions were adjacent to one another.
Greg Monette, in his book The Wrong Jesus, takes Bauckham’s list of the most popular Jewish names in Roman Palestine and applies it to the list of Jesus’ apostles in Matthew (with their respective rank in parentheses):
The names of the twelve apostles are these: first, Simon (1), who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother; James (11) the son of Zebedee, and John (5) his brother; Philip (61) and Bartholomew (50); Thomas and Matthew (9) the tax collector; James (11) the son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus (39); Simon (1) the Cananaean, and Judas (4) Iscariot, who betrayed him” (Matt. 10:2-4).
Andrew is a Greek name, and therefore unranked, although he may have had another, more common Semitic name. Thomas’ name is Aramaic for “twin” and is likely his nickname, and therefore also was not ranked.
This explains why there are always “qualifiers” applied to figures in the Gospels who have extremely common names. “Simon”, as the list above shows, was the most popular Palestinian Jewish male name in Jesus’ day—hence the need to differentiate “Simon, who is called Peter (the name bestowed on him by Jesus, meaning “Rock”)” from “Simon the Cananaean”. Bartholomew owned only the fiftieth most popular name, and Philip had the sixty-first, so there was no danger, really, of confusing them with anyone else in the apostolic band. Hence, they could be identified by only one name.
Other common qualifiers included one’s father’s name, known as a patronymic, such as “Simon Bar-Jonah” (Matt. 16:17). The Aramaic “Bar,” of course, means “son of”. Place of origin was another differentiator; hence “Jesus of Nazareth.” By the way, in case you were wondering, “Jesus,” which is the same name as “Joshua” (or “Yehoshua” in Hebrew, meaning “God saves”), was the sixth most popular name at the time.
Why does all of this matter? Because it shows once again that the Gospels cohere with the way things really were at the time, making their historical accuracy much more likely.
If the Gospels, as critics allege, were really written many decades after the events in question and made up out of whole cloth, what would be the likelihood they would have picked the right names for their “characters”? This idea is akin to someone today penning a fictional story set a century ago in another country—one might have a hard time coming up with historically accurate names for that place, at that time. Of course, Google could help with this, but imagine trying to do that almost 2,000 years ago on your own! It would be technically possible, but highly unlikely.
The fact that the Gospels do display accurate first century Palestinian Jewish names is a mark of authenticity, making it extremely likely that they were indeed written very close in time to the historical events they narrate, and that they reflect eyewitness testimony.
One might argue, “Perhaps the names and accounts were still fabricated—but by contemporaries, not someone coming along several decades later.” One major problem with that objection is that and could have set the record straight as the Gospels began to circulate. In this scenario, they might have gotten the names right, but the events of Jesus’ career couldn’t have been fudged, with so many eyewitnesses who could have easily refuted such reports, were they not factual.
Before we go, I want to talk about Bartholomew in particular (it is his feast day, after all). Who was he, really?
This has proved to be a somewhat difficult question to answer. He’s a bit of a man of mystery, so he isn’t necessarily the most popular of Jesus’ disciples today. His first post-New Testament mention isn’t until the fourth-century Ecclesiastical History by Eusebius, which states that he, at some point, may have been evangelizing in India. Various accounts of his martyrdom have also been proffered.
To further complicate things, we’re not absolutely sure what his real name was. Many scholars have historically claimed that Bartholomew was the same person as Nathanael, who famously scoffed at the idea that the Messiah could hail from Nazareth (John 1:43-51). One reason that scholars believed this is that Nathanael, who is never mentioned in the Synoptics (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), appears in John’s Gospel, while Bartholomew, present in the Synoptics, is never mentioned in John. In the lists of the apostles in the Synoptics, Bartholomew’s name follows Philip’s, implying a connection between them—and it is Philip, in John’s Gospel, who introduces his friend Nathanael to Jesus.
But Bauckham cautions us about being too dogmatic about this. As we saw earlier, name differentiators were often used when a person’s given name was very common. Bartholomew’s name means “Bar-Tolmei”, or “son of Tolmei,” and the name Tolmei/Bartholomew was only the fiftieth most common name. So, Bauckham reasons, if one was going to use such a unique name as a replacement, that would indicate he had a common given name. But that would seem to rule out Nathanael as a name, since it was already an uncommon name in Israel. In fact, tied with Bartholomew for fiftieth place. In other words, there shouldn’t have been a need for Nathanael to call himself Bartholomew at all to differentiate himself from anyone else among Jesus’ apostles.
Perhaps ol’ “Bart” and “Nate” aren’t the same person after all—or maybe they are! We may not have absolute certainty about that issue this side of heaven, but we can take heart in the fact that the Jewish names in the Gospels are marks of authenticity for these books. And we can still celebrate the feast of St. Bartholomew with a great meal, perhaps even serving up some kale—or maybe arugula, instead.
Here’s my December article for Catholic Answers Magazine. Merry Christmas!
“The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (Mark 1:1).
The Gospel of Mark doesn’t have an “infancy narrative” about the events surrounding Jesus’ conception and birth as do Matthew and Luke. Rather, Mark begins in a deceptively simple manner with these opening words, known as an incipit.
Almost 2,000 years after these words were originally inscribed on parchment, we tend to read this line and think nothing much of it—perhaps even yawn—because it’s something we’ve heard many times before. And yet with this simple sentence, Mark would have absolutely shocked the entire world, arresting the attention of pious Jews and pagan Romans alike.
With respect to a Jewish audience, it’s easy to see why: in calling Jesus the Christ, Mark signals that he the long-awaited Jewish Messiah. But it’s the term Son of God that would have raised many a Roman eyebrow (remember—Mark’s Gospel was written to the Church at Rome, where he served as the chronicler of Peter’s memoirs of the Lord). Why is that?
Mark has a big problem as he tries to convince Romans that they should commit their lives to Jesus—and the crux of the matter is the cross itself. Who was the most powerful person in the Roman Empire? Why, the emperor himself, obviously. The Roman Caesars were crowned in an elaborate ceremony in which they were draped in a royal purple robe, with great pomp, amidst shouts of “Hail, Caesar!” When a new emperor ascended to the throne, or when Rome scored a great military victory, it was published throughout the empire as “Good News.”
In contrast, the most powerless person in the empire was the victim of crucifixion. This was an ordeal so brutal, so violent, so humiliating, that it was almost never administered to Rome’s own citizens (for whom the comparatively humane act of beheading was the preferred method of execution, as in St. Paul’s case). The contrast between the mighty Caesar and the seemingly defeated Jesus couldn’t have been more stark. This is why one major commentator on Mark calls that Gospel an “apology for the cross.”
We could add to this the many public inscriptions that have been unearthed from Rome’s ruins. These served as a civic catechism of sorts, proclaiming what one was supposed to know and believe as a citizen. And one thing all Romans were expected to assent to was this: not only was the emperor extremely powerful, he was to be considered the divine “son of god.” Here are just a few examples from a much longer list compiled by Craig Evans:
- Julius Caesar (48-44 B.C.):
An inscription from Ephesus describes him as “the manifest god from Ares and Aphrodite, and universal savior of human life.” Also, from Carthaea: “The Carthaean people honor the god and emperor and savior of the inhabited world, Gaius Julius Caesar, son of Gaius Caesar” (there are many more such inscriptions from the period).
- Augustus (30 B.C.-A.D. 14):
“Emperor Caesar Augustus, son of god”; “Emperor Caesar (Augustus), god from god”; “Emperor Caesar Augustus, savior and benefactor.” An inscription from Priene celebrates Augustus’s birthday as “the birthday of the god.”
- Tiberius (A.D. 14-37, who reigned when Jesus was crucified):
“Emperor Tiberius Caesar Augustus, son of god”; and “Emperor Tiberius Caesar, new Augustus, son of god, Zeus the liberator”.
- Nero (the crazed emperor who reigned from A.D. 54-68—there are some real doozies here):
“Nero Caesar, the lord”; “Nero Claudius Caesar… the savior and benefactor of the inhabited world”; “The good god of the inhabited world, the beginning and existence of all good things”; “the son of the greatest of the gods”; and “Nero, the lord of the whole world”.
So, in light of this exalted view of their emperor, why should citizens of Rome choose to pledge their allegiance to Jesus and not Caesar? Readers or hearers of Mark would no doubt be asking this question as they experienced this Gospel. Well, its account of Jesus’ authoritative teaching about the Kingdom, backed up with powerful exorcisms and healings, would no doubt have made an impression.
But so too would the presence in Mark’s Passion narrative of someone whom we might easily overlook: the figure of the Roman centurion who sees Jesus die.
The centurion, whose ultimate superior is Caesar, the alleged “son of god,” may have been aware of how his fellows had humiliated Jesus in a mock “coronation” replete with purple robe and a crown of thorns, and shouts not of “Hail Caesar” but, “Hail, King of the Jews!” as they beat him mercilessly (Mark 15:16-20). Yet somehow, as he watches Jesus die on the throne of the cross, and witnesses the powerful release of Jesus’ spirit, which tears the temple curtain in two, the centurion is granted the grace to recognize that one far greater than Caesar is here: “Surely this man” — and not Caesar — “is the Son of God” (15:37-39).
This was the very statement—politically perilous and subversive—that Roman Christians had to make their own. A statement about who truly possessed a sovereign claim over the world. Many of them were to stare down the absolute claims and power of the state and pay for it with their lives, as Jesus did. Peter himself, the source behind Mark’s Gospel, would also meet the horrific cross.
As we prepare to celebrate the true “birthday of the God” this Christmas, let us reflect on the kingship Jesus claims over our lives. Having conquered the grave, a foe no earthly ruler, however exalted, has ever defeated, he is worthy of it.
This is my latest piece for Catholic Answers. Have a Blessed Triduum and a very Happy and Holy Easter!
During this sacred Triduum and during Easter, as we commemorate Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection, it is not unusual for us to come across challenges—online, through the media, in our conversations with unbelievers—to the historical truth of these salvific events.
One criticism commonly leveled at the biblical record has to do with Jesus’ prophecies concerning his brutal death.
Skeptics allege that these are a case of prophecy ex eventu—prophecy after the fact. According to some critics, Jesus never really predicted such things. Rather, the early Church, in composing the Gospels, simply put these words in the mouth of our Lord afterward, making his “predictions” match what already happened.
There are, however, a number of compelling reasons to believe that Jesus did truly predict that he would be killed. But before we discuss these, a couple of housekeeping items are in order:
First, due to space constraints, we will only deal with Jesus’ prophecies concerning his death; though a treatment of his predictions concerning his resurrection is of equal value, it will have to wait for another day.
Also, we’ll leave aside the somewhat obvious fact that, as God incarnate, Jesus would have known the future. Those of us who already believe in Christ’s divinity won’t need much convincing on that front, so we’ll focus here on arguments that a skeptic might find plausible.
For the same reason, although Christians believe the Bible to be the infallible and inerrant word of God, we will look at the texts in question as a skeptic might assess any religious text purporting to be of a historical nature.
In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus makes three predictions (which are paralleled in Matthew and Luke) concerning his fate, the first of which is found in Mark 8:31-35:
And he began to teach them that the Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. And he said this plainly. And Peter took him, and began to rebuke him. But turning and seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter, and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are not on the side of God, but of men.” And he called to him the multitude with his disciples, and said to them, “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it” (RSV2CE; the other two instances are found in Mark 9:31 and 10:33-34).
When historical-Jesus scholars examine the Gospels, one of the criteria they use for determining authenticity is called the “criterion of embarrassment.” If something in the text is a potential source of embarrassment for Jesus or for the early Church, there is a greater probability that it is an authentic reminiscence.
There are a number of potential sources of embarrassment in this passage: Peter, the leader of the early Church, is seen to be rebuking his Master. Jesus, in turn, has to rebuke Peter! This could potentially undermine Peter’s authority in the Church. If, as some scholars believe, Peter is the main source of historical material in Mark’s Gospel, this also speaks to the great humility of Peter, who would have related this account at great potential embarrassment to himself.
There is another potentially embarrassing thing to consider. Not only does Jesus predict his own death, but he expects his own disciples to “follow” him in carrying the cross. And yet, as scholar Craig Evans points out, Jesus was unable to do what he asked his own followers to do. In Mark, as in all three synoptic Gospels, someone else (Simon of Cyrene) carried Jesus’ cross (Mark 15:21). It is thus highly unlikely that Mark would have “invented” either the saying or what Simon did—especially considering that Simon’s sons, Alexander and Rufus, were likely members of the church in Rome, to which Mark probably addressed his Gospel (Mark 15:21; Rom 16:13 specifically mentions Rufus), and could corroborate the account.
One obvious—and ominous—portent of Jesus’ own fate was what happened to his relative and forerunner, John the Baptist. Jesus affirmed John’s message of repentance in preparation for the coming kingdom of God, a message that ultimately led to John’s demise. Jesus clearly would have known that by affirming John as a prophet and by continuing in the same vein of teaching as John, he ran the risk of suffering John’s fate. Jesus even sends a message to John’s executioner, Herod Antipas, referencing Jesus’ own impending death:
At that very hour some Pharisees came, and said to him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you” [showing that not all Pharisees opposed Jesus!]. And he said to them, “Go and tell that fox, ‘Behold, I cast out demons and perform cures today and tomorrow, and the third day I finish my course. Nevertheless I must go on my way today and tomorrow and the day following; for it cannot be that a prophet should perish away from Jerusalem’” (Luke 13:31-33).
After arriving in Jerusalem and teaching about John in the temple precincts, Jesus tells the parable of the wicked vineyard tenants (Mark 12:1-12), in which Jesus clearly identifies himself with the “beloved son” who is killed. This is yet another piece of the puzzle. But perhaps the clearest piece of evidence that Jesus expected to be killed was something he said shortly before he was arrested.
In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus “began to be greatly distressed and troubled.” With his soul “sorrowful,” he prays that his hour might pass him by (Mark 14:33-36). That Jesus was “greatly distressed” and prayed to avoid his imminent suffering falls, once again, under the criterion of embarrassment. It is highly unlikely that a Christian would invent such a saying.
Much more could be said, but given these evidences, we already have very good warrant to believe that, in all likelihood, Jesus truly prophesied his passion. He knew, and he wanted his disciples to know, that his earthly mission was to culminate in the events of the Triduum that we will observe this week.
Q: In this Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus appears to be talking about the end of the world. Is he?
A: There is a real connection with what Jesus is saying here in Mark 13, and with the Book of Revelation, which we are studying on Thursdays here at St Justin’s – you’re welcome to join us! Jesus’ “eschatological discourse” on the end of the universe indeed has reference to the end of history, and the renewal of the space-time universe in which we live. But its most immediate meaning refers to the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple in the year 70 AD.
Remember, Jesus says “Amen, I say to you, this generation will not pass away
until all these things have taken place.” How long is a generation? 40 years. Let’s do some quick math: Jesus’ death and Resurrection took place in approximately 30 AD. Jerusalem and its temple were destroyed exactly 40 years later, in 70 AD. So, Jesus’ solemn prophecy came true. Should anyone be surprised?
Q: What does the destruction of Jerusalem’s temple have to do with the end of the universe?
A: To the Jews, the temple was a miniature model of the universe, and the universe was to them, as it were, a gigantic temple. The temple curtain separating the Holy Place from the Most Holy Place had images of the stars, the moon, and the planets. Thus, when it fell, it was like Jesus predicted: “the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from the sky”.
God’s judgment fell on the wicked temple establishment in 70 AD because of its rejection of the Messiah, as well as because of its avaricious, self-serving leadership. This was indeed the point of last Sunday’s Gospel reading from Mark 12 (the widow’s offering). Almost every preacher uses that text as an example of trust in God and sacrificial giving on the poor widow’s part – and that is undoubtedly a good application of the text.
But, read in context, it is a living parable of what Jesus had just explained about the religious leaders of his day. Jesus had said: “Beware of the scribes, who like to go about in long robes, and to have salutations in the market places and the best seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at feasts, who devour widows’ houses and for a pretense make long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.” And he sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the multitude putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. And a poor widow came, and put in two copper coins, which make a penny. And he called his disciples to him, and said to them, “Truly, I say to you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For they all contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, her whole living.” (Mark 12:38-44).
The religious leaders of Jerusalem were supposed to be caring for widows and orphans. Instead, they were “devouring widows’ houses”. And here we have a widow whose house is indeed “devoured”. The two small copper coins she had put into the offering represented, in a sense, her last meal – they were just enough money to buy flour to make one small loaf or cake. In a sense, this woman’s plight was a living illustration of what Jesus had been complaining about.
The ill-treatment of those who were to be cared for and the rejection of Jesus as Messiah were characteristic of an evil temple leadership whose hearts had been closed to God and others. This is why Jesus wept over the city of Jerusalem: he foresaw its destruction because many would fail to repent. May our own hearts learn the lesson well.
Q. Can you tell us about the significance of this Sunday’s Gospel reading?
A. For this Second Sunday in Advent, the Gospel reading is from Chapter 1 of Mark’s Gospel. Mark does not have an infancy narrative in his Gospel, but rather, gets right into the action of Jesus’ public ministry. His incipit (introductory statement) is as follows: “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (Mark 1:1). This may seem like a very basic declaration to us, as we read Mark approximately 2000 years after it was written. But, make no mistake, with this one line, Mark has instantly captured the attention of the entire world, Jew and Gentile alike.
Q. How is this so?
A. For the Jewish reader, Mark has declared Jesus to be the long-awaited Messiah. The word “Christ” is not Jesus’ last name! It is the English translation of the Greek word Christos, which in turn is a translation of the Hebrew word Meschiach (“Messiah”).
The Gentile world would have been arrested in particular by the statement that Jesus is “the Son of God”. The Roman Emperors were called “God”, “Son of God”, “God from God”, and “Universal Savior of Human Life”, among other exalted titles. Their victories were hailed as “Good News” throughout the Empire. We know this from archaeological inscriptions that have been uncovered in Roman cities. These were displayed publicly because they were things that citizens of the Empire were expected to know and believe.
Q. Is there, then, special significance to the Roman centurion’s confession of faith in Mark 15?
A. You are quite right, and this links Jesus’ Passion back to Mark’s incipit. When the centurion, assisting in Jesus’ crucifixion, witnesses the manner in which he dies and the portents that surround it, he is overwhelmed. He exclaims, “Truly this man was the Son of God!” (Mark 15:39, emphasis mine).
The most powerful person in the world was the Emperor of Rome, the Caesar. The most powerless person in the world was a victim of crucifixion. Beaten, scourged, naked – utterly forsaken. Crucifixion was so horrific that it was illegal for Roman citizens to be executed in this manner. Jesus, as a Galilean Jew, was afforded no such courtesy.
But the centurion was given an amazing grace. He recognized that his boss, the Emperor, on his Roman throne, was not the “Universal Savior of Human Life” and the “Son of God”. The seemingly powerless Jesus, on the “throne” of his cross, truly was. The centurion changes his allegiance from Tiberias to Jesus, and places all of his hope in the Lord. Mark invites his readers, and you and me, to do the same.
Don’t miss Dr Craig Evans live at The Faith Explained Conference on September 27. Cardinal Thomas Collins will also speak, so grab your tickets here while you still can! Check out Dr Evans’ response to Bart Ehrman in this YouTube clip.
Thomas Cardinal Collins will headline The Faith Explained Conference on Sept 27, along with Dr. Craig Evans. Get your tickets right here:
Cardinal Collins is a phenomenal speaker with a rare gift for opening the Scriptures. Check out this clip from the Cardinal’s phenomenal Lectio Devina series on the Gospel of Mark below. See you on Sept 27!
One axiom in biblical studies that needs to go away forever is the so-called “Messianic secret”. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this references in articles, commentaries, and sermons. What is the “Messianic secret”, you ask? It’s the idea floated by some Gospel scholars (especially of Mark and the other Synoptics) that Jesus was trying to keep his identity as Messiah a secret. This is allegedly why he doesn’t want people who he has healed to spread the news about him, and why he doesn’t allow demons to tell people who he really is, either (We just talked about that last item yesterday).
This is absolute nonsense! As Dr. Craig Evans, one of the best biblical scholars on the planet, is so fond of pointing out, Jesus is the Messiah and knows it. He wants others to know it, too. Today’s Gospel reading (Mark 1:29-39) sheds some light on the issue. In the Galilee of Jesus’ day, multitudes of people were sick at any given time. There were also a ton of people who suffered from demonic possession. And here comes Jesus: a one-man, walking, free health-care clinic. Obamacare, eat your heart out! This Mark 1 passage tells us that Jesus spent practically the entire night healing people and casting out demons. The demand for is services is insatiable. This is why Jesus announces the next morning that he and the Apostles need to move on to the next towns, to preach the Good News of the Gospel. This is also, by the way, why Jesus often preached from boats, while the crowd on the shore listened. If he had allowed the crowd to get near him, there never would have been a sermon, because everyone would have been pressing in for a healing – “all who touched him were made well”.
The healings, as great as they are, can actually get in the way of what Jesus came to accomplish: to preach the message of the Kingdom. No doubt, he proclaims it in both word and deed, and the deeds are the proof of the message, if you will. In this way, exorcisms are an even more clear proof of the establishment of the Kingdom of God and the destruction of Satan’s kingdom. But we have to start with the preached Word. Even if Jesus brings someone back from the dead, like Lazarus, it’s only temporary. Lazarus would die again. He was only resuscitated, not resurrected, like Jesus would be, never to die again. Saving souls is most important. Saving bodies is only #2, although Jesus wants to save both, and will ultimately save the bodies of all of God’s friends at the general resurrection. But for now, there’s a danger, in all the excitement about his healings, that the message Jesus is bringing is getting lost in all the excitement.
First things first.