Literary critics explore how authors use characters in articulating their stories. Since the 1980s there has been an upsurge of interest among biblical scholars in how the Gospels depict character using insights from the study of fiction (e.g. Culpepper, 1983, ch. 5; Conway, 1999; Rhoads and Syreeni, eds, 1999). But the Gospels, with their strongly evangelistic and hortatory aims, are bound to represent character differently from modern novels or even ancient epic and drama. The Evangelists show little interest in the ‘psychology’ of characters, and naturally know nothing of developmental psychology or Freudian analysis. They rarely relate what people thought (though note John 2.25; 6.6) and hardly ever describe what they looked like. Since 2000, studies on Johannine characters have proliferated (some 11 monographs appeared between 2002 and 2013): these mostly involve elaborate narrative-critical/narratological approaches or sophisticated reader-response and rhetorical criticism (see Moloney, 2012, pp. 427f.; Skinner, ed., 2013).
This chapter considers at a fairly simple level some of John’s characters for their intrinsic interest, for the part they play in his ‘plot’, and for the light they shed on his theology through possible ‘representative’ roles. Both groups and some key individuals will be discussed.
The (male) disciples
The word ‘disciple’ (mathētēs) means ‘learner’, or ‘pupil’. Jesus’ disciples appear in John as a group some 56 times (Mark about 44 times; Matt. about 67; Luke about 32). They are presented initially like rabbinic students: they seek Jesus out as their master and find fellow-disciples (cf. above, p. 73). They act as his companions (e.g. 2.2; 3.22; 6.3), buy food for him (4.8, 31) – rabbinic pupils often looked after their teachers’ physical needs – and are addressed as ‘children’ (teknia, 13.33; paidia, 21.5), a term often used by Jewish teachers for their pupils. They continue in this subordinate role throughout John 1—12, and, in contrast to the Synoptics, are not sent out to preach or heal (though note 4.38; 17.18). With the Last Supper, things change: Jesus reverses the roles by washing their feet (13.4–15), and calls them not servants but ‘friends’ (philoi, 15.14f.). He also makes it clear that, although some of them may have taken the initiative in seeking him, he in fact chose them (15.16); they were all entrusted to him by God (17.6, 12).
Do the disciples serve as role models for future believers? At first it might seem as if they do not. Though they put their faith in Jesus at Cana (2.11), they are not represented as particularly perceptive (see, for example, 4.27, 33; 9.2; 12.16). Even during the Last Supper they fail to understand him, asking naive questions (13.6, 36, Simon Peter; 14.5, Thomas; 14.8, Philip; 14.22, Judas, not Iscariot). But such misunderstandings are essentially literary devices, designed to give Jesus the opportunity to clarify his teaching. As the Last Supper proceeds, one becomes increasingly aware of the closeness between Jesus and the disciples as he prepares them for his departure. He tells them that he goes to get ready a place for them (14.1–3) – words that have produced comfort for countless Christians ever since – and promises to come again (cf. above, p. 91). He warns them to expect the world’s hatred and persecution (15.18–21; 16.1–4), but promises peace (14.27; 16.33). Their sorrow will turn to joy, like a woman’s after childbirth (16.20–22); his desire is that their joy should be ‘full’ (15.11; 16.24; 17.13; cf. 1 John 1.4; 2 John 12). He tells them that they will do even greater works than his (14.12), and that whatever they ask in his Name will be granted (14.13f.; 16.23f., 26). He promises them ‘another counsellor’ (paraklētos), the Spirit of Truth, to guide them, bear witness to him, and convict ‘the world’ (see above, pp. 87f.). He bids them love one another, abide in him, and keep his commands (13.34; 14.21, 23f.; 15.4–10, 17); it is by their mutual love that people will know that they are his disciples (13.35). He also assures them of the Father’s love (16.27), and prays for them and those who will believe through them (17.9–25).
The intensity and intimacy of Jesus’ final words to the disciples come as something of a surprise after their earlier subordinate role. But these are those who have been with him throughout his ministry and stayed faithful when others fell away (6.66). Jesus knows that Peter will deny him, and the others scatter after his arrest (13.38; 16.32; cf. 18.8). Yet he trusts them to be his witnesses, for they have been with him ‘from the beginning’ (15.27): they know in truth that he came from God and believe that God sent him (17.8).
This changing role of the disciples may explain why scholars assess John’s portrayal of them so differently. For Culpepper (1983, p. 115) they are far from exemplars of perfect faith; von Wahlde (1981, p. 404), however, sees them as becoming ‘perfect models for the total response to the witness of the Father’ (in Jesus). In a sense both are right. Their initial faith, as a group, based on Jesus’ first sign was imperfect, but under his loving tutelage and the Spirit’s guidance (14.17b) they have grown in understanding. After his ‘glorification’, when they have been commissioned and further empowered by the Spirit (20.22), they will comprehend and ‘remember’ more (2.22; 12.16; 13.7). Thus John’s depiction of the disciples can be said to help his readers grow and prepare to become witnesses themselves (so Farelly, 2010, esp. ch. 4).
Sadly, there is one disciple to whom this does not apply: Judas, ‘the son of perdition’, or ‘lost one’ (17.12). John consistently portrays Judas negatively: he is made a thief who cares nothing for the poor (12.6); as in the Synoptics, he is repeatedly labelled ‘the betrayer’ (12.4; 13.11; 18.2, 5; 19.11). Jesus alludes to him as ‘a devil’ (6.70); at the Last Supper, when he gives Judas the morsel, the devil is said to enter him (13.27); when Judas leaves to betray Jesus, John says dramatically, ‘It was night’ (13.30). Unlike novelists, playwrights and some modern scholars, who have speculated why Judas betrayed Jesus, John supplies no psychological, political or financial motivation. He simply says he was a disciple (12.4), one of the Twelve, who acted on the devil’s prompting (13.2), and fulfilled the role allotted him in Scripture (13.18; 17.12). John derived Judas’ role as betrayer from tradition; but he heightens his wickedness and his alignment with the powers of evil as a foil to the other disciples and Jesus. Culpepper (1983, p. 125) saw Judas as ‘the representative defector’; Martin (2010, ch. 4) as representing the ‘secessionists’ who seemingly leave the Johannine community in 1 John (he finds a threeway ‘syncrisis’ or rhetorical comparison between Peter, Judas and the ‘beloved disciple’; but this seems over-elaborate). In post-biblical tradition Judas became a symbol of wickedness and betrayal, the subject of gruesome legends (Ehrman, 2006, ch. 3).1 But John nowhere indicates that Judas represents other defectors or indeed Jewish people in general (John’s problematic depiction of ‘the Jews’ is discussed in Ch. 11). Beirne (2003, p. 167) sees him as ‘a tragic figure’.
Do the other disciples as a group ‘represent’ future Christian leaders? Before considering this question, it is worth glancing at some other named individuals. Andrew, Nathanael, Philip, Peter and Thomas all bear witness to Jesus through faith confessions, but so do others not specifically labelled ‘disciple’, including John the Baptist, Martha and the Samaritan woman. Some disciples seem to act as model ‘missionaries’ and facilitators of others: Andrew fetches his brother Peter (1.42), and brings the lad with the loaves and fishes to Jesus (6.8f.); Philip brings Nathanael and ‘the Greeks’ to him (1.45; 12.20–22); but neither is depicted in any depth. There is more development in Thomas’ portrayal: he moves from being loyal and impulsive in his wish to go to Jerusalem to die with Jesus (11.16), through puzzlement over Jesus’ enigmatic sayings (14.5) and doubting (20.25), to robust faith (20.28). He may be intended as a ‘realist’ (so Bonney, 2002, p. 158) and as model of a faith that grows but requires strong evidence, in contrast to the ‘beloved disciple’ and others who believe without even seeing the risen Jesus (20.8, 29).2
Of the remaining disciples (Simon) Peter is most fully portrayed. John names him 39 times (more often than any other individual except Jesus and more often than in any of the Synoptics). His brother Andrew brings him to Jesus, and Jesus tells him that he will be called Kephas, ‘Rock’ (1.42); but Peter makes no faith confession at this point. John’s basic characterization is similar to the Synoptists’ (from which it may be partly derived). Peter is a fisherman (though this is not apparent until John 21). He is keen and impetuous, enthusiastically declaring his willingness to die for Jesus (13.37f.; cf. Mark 14.29–31 par.); but he three times denies him (18.15–27; cf. Mark 14.66–72 par.). Only John describes his ‘rehabilitation’ (21.15–19), though his special commissioning is partially paralleled in Luke 22.32. John narrates several additional incidents illustrating Peter’s impetuousness: in 13.6–10 he protests at Jesus’ washing his feet, earning the rebuke, ‘If I do not wash you, you have no share with me’; whereupon Peter asks Jesus to wash not just his feet, but his hands and his head. On Jesus’ arrest (18.10f.) he draws a sword and cuts off the High Priest’s servant’s ear, earning another rebuke; in the Synoptics the overzealous defender is just a bystander (Mark 14.47) or one of those with Jesus (Matt. 26.51; Luke 22.49f.). In John’s Epilogue Peter leaps into the sea after the ‘beloved disciple’ has recognized the risen Jesus on the shore (21.7); compare his rash attempt to walk on the water in Matthew (14.28–31). John also describes Peter’s running to the tomb with the ‘beloved disciple’ (20.4), and seeing the linen clothes. He acts as spokesman for the Twelve in 6.68f. (cf. Mark 8.29 par.), when he says, ‘We believe and are convinced that you are God’s Holy One’ (cf. above, p. 78); there is no commendation and no reference to the future Church (contrast Matt. 16.17–19).
Some scholars claim that the ‘beloved disciple’ outshines Peter whenever they appear together. At the Last Supper Jesus reveals the betrayer’s identity to the ‘beloved disciple’, who reclines on his breast, rather than to Peter (13.23–26). When Jesus is arrested, Peter and ‘another disciple’ (probably the ‘beloved disciple’) follow him to the High Priest’s house; the other disciple enters, but Peter stands at the door until the other disciple arranges for him to be admitted (18.15f.). The ‘beloved disciple’ is present at the cross (19.26f.), but not Peter. At the tomb both Peter and the ‘beloved disciple’ see the grave-clothes, but only the ‘beloved disciple’ believes (20.8). At Jesus’ lakeside Resurrection appearance the ‘beloved disciple’, not Peter, recognizes Jesus first (21.7); later, when Peter enquires about the ‘beloved disciple’s’ fate, he is rebuked (21.22).
These incidents have led to the idea that John depicts a ‘rivalry’ between these two, reflecting tensions between Jewish Christianity, represented by Peter, and the Gentile Church, represented by the ‘beloved disciple’ (Bultmann, 1971, pp. 484f., 685), or between ‘Apostolic Christians’ and ‘the Johannine community’ (e.g. Brown, 1979, pp. 82–5). Sometimes the whole Gospel is seen as ‘anti-Petrine’ (Agourides, 1968; Snyder, 1971; cf. Smith, 1985, pp. 143–50). Such hypotheses read too much into the text. Some of the incidents in which Peter is ‘outshone’ by the ‘beloved disciple’ are quite trivial or capable of different interpretations. Peter’s gesture to the ‘beloved disciple’ to find out the betrayer’s identity (13.24) could indicate his initiative (Quast, 1989, p. 167). The other disciple’s success in getting Peter admitted to the High Priest’s courtyard may arise from his Jerusalem contacts (contrast Peter’s Galilean background). Even the ‘beloved disciple’s’ reaching the tomb first could be a literary device to have the two men arrive at separate points, so that the Evangelist can record different reactions from them (Mahoney, 1974). It is simply not true that Peter is portrayed in ‘a very bad light indeed’ (Maynard, 1984, p. 546). He is one of the first disciples to follow Jesus (preceded only by Andrew and one other), whereas the ‘beloved disciple’ is not even mentioned until John 13. Peter remains loyal to Jesus when other disciples withdraw, speaking on behalf of the Twelve (6.68f.). His initial protest at Jesus washing his feet is prompted by a sense of his own humble status compared with his teacher’s; his attempt to defend Jesus physically (18.10), though misguided, is surely motivated by devotion. Although he denied Jesus, he is given a special commission to shepherd Jesus’ flock, and marked out as a future martyr (21.15–19). On these and other positive aspects of Peter’s portrayal, see further Blaine (2007).
Nothing in the text connects Peter with ‘Jewish Christianity’; nowhere is he linked with ‘the Jews’, or Jesus’ mother (also understood by Bultmann as a symbol of Judaism). The claim to see him or the Twelve as representing ‘Apostolic Christians’, with whom Johannine Christians are in tension, is also dubious. If Peter is linked with the Twelve in 6.67f., it is because he is their spokesman and leader. The idea of the Johannine ‘community’ at loggerheads with other Christians is a scholarly construct arising from a surfeit of sociological speculation. What then does Peter ‘represent’? He represents himself, and in doing so he provides an example for future believers unable to live up to their heartfelt professions, who will be encouraged by the fact that so great a leader failed and was restored.3
In contrast to Peter, the ‘beloved disciple’ is a somewhat colourless personality: his principal trait is his closeness to Jesus, typified by his resting on his breast, and his spiritual perceptivity. He is a model for Christian behaviour, an ideal to which all should aim, and a living example of that love and mutual abiding which Jesus shares with the Father. Although probably based on a real person, his main function is christological, as a human counterpart to Jesus, who abides in the Father’s breast and reveals his nature (1.18). He also serves as a witness to the crucifixion and empty tomb, and as ‘ideal’ author guaranteeing the reliability of John’s text (cf. above, Ch. 3). Identified in ancient times with the apostle John he became the object of intense Christian devotion, the subject of frequent discussion in the Church Fathers and the theme of striking medieval (and later) art.
We return now to the question of whether the disciples in John serve as models for Christian leadership. It is clear that Peter must do so, at least in John 21. He would be a familiar figure to many of John’s readers, having been a leader in the Jerusalem church, and appearing in many early Christian texts, some of which must antedate John (Synoptics, Acts, Paul’s letters, 1 and 2 Peter, and various apocryphal writings). Jesus’ command to tend or feed his sheep (or lambs) would readily be understood as referring to pastoral ministry (the same metaphor is applied to other Christian leaders in Acts 20.28; 1 Pet. 5.2; Eph. 4.11; cf. Jesus’ role as ‘shepherd’ in John 10). This does not mean that Peter is given ‘primacy’ over other disciples, as suggested by some Church Fathers and historically claimed by the Roman Catholic Church.4 In John 21 Peter is restored because he alone of Jesus’ close disciples denied him (18.15–27). The scene of his threefold commissioning carefully balances that of his threefold denials: there is even a charcoal fire (anthrakia) on both occasions (a word occurring in the New Testament only here). Jesus’ repeated questions establish that Peter has the devoted love essential for discipleship (Brown, 1966, p. 1111), and Jesus’ final words to him are ‘Follow me’ (21.19).
It is difficult to determine how far the other male disciples are intended to symbolize the whole believing community, and how far its future leaders. The problem is particularly acute with the commission in 20.23 to forgive or retain sins. This has sometimes been interpreted as appointing the apostles to priesthood, with power to declare and withhold absolution (so the Council of Trent, XIV.3, cited in Hoskyns, 1947, p. 545; Edwards, 1996b, p. 132). More modern scholarship sees it as addressed to the whole Church, of which the disciples are representatives (von Campenhausen, 1969, p. 128; Hanson, 1979, p. 10; Bruner, 2012, pp. 1180f.). The authority to declare forgiveness cannot be separated from Jesus’ ‘sending’ of this group and the gift of the Holy Spirit, surely intended for the whole Church (Beasley-Murray, 1987, p. 381), nor from Jesus’ promises to the disciples in the Farewell Discourses, which are clearly intended for believers in general.5 Jesus’ words in 20.21–23 may be seen as John’s equivalent of Matthew’s Great Commission (28.18–20; cf. Luke 24.46–49). There is much more that could be said on this controversial topic: suffice it to say that John does not elsewhere present a hierarchical view of ministry, but rather an ideal of spirit-led service, shared by a faithful community who abide in Jesus’ teaching and love.
Other male characters
Those addressed at the Last Supper by no means constitute all Jesus’ followers. There are others – some lightly sketched and some portrayed in detail. Among the former is Lazarus, the recipient of Jesus’ most impressive miracle, who never makes any confession of faith. More than one scholar has remarked on his lack of personality, though some have seen his raising as itself the equivalent of a ‘testimony’ and the whole Bethany family as ‘prototypes’ for Johannine believers (so Esler and Piper, 2006, pp. 117−19). His raising was regularly interpreted symbolically in the Church Fathers and was popular in ancient art (see Ch. 6, n. 17). More clearly a model of faith is the anonymous royal official who ‘believed with all his household’ (4.53), in a story reminiscent of conversions in Acts (e.g. 16.25–34). The practical implications of his believing, however, are nowhere spelt out: how would he practise his new faith in his home? Assuming he is a Jew, would he have been able to continue worshipping in the synagogue?
The case is different with the newly sighted man, whose path to faith is so strikingly dramatized, culminating in his acknowledging Jesus as ‘Son of Man’ and prostrating himself before him (9.38).6 He comes into conflict with the Jewish authorities because of his loyalty to Jesus: note his sharp retort when they question him a second time about how he received his sight: ‘I have told you already and you didn’t listen; why do you want to hear it again? Surely you too don’t want to become his disciples?’ (9.27). Many scholars understand his subsequent ‘casting out’ (9.34) as expulsion from the Synagogue (cf. aposynagōgos in 9.22), and interpret him as standing for Johannine Christians who have had the courage to declare their Christian faith openly and so have been excluded from Judaism. Such interpretations remain speculative (cf. above, pp. 56f.). It is safer to read him simply as an example of someone who came to faith after receiving healing from Jesus, and maintained this faith robustly in the face of opposition. As such he would obviously be an encouragement to any Christians suffering persecution.
The newly sighted man contrasts with the healed lame man who seems to display neither faith nor gratitude to Jesus (though a few interpreters read his story more sympathetically: see Bruner, 2012, pp. 303–8, highlighting his potential social isolation before his cure). The former blind man’s boldness in facing the Jewish authorities is also sometimes contrasted with the supposed timidity of Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, who have been seen as lacking courage to come out openly as followers of Jesus. Joseph is explicitly described as ‘a disciple of Jesus, but secretly through fear of the Jews’ (19.38): Rensberger (1988, p. 40) interprets these words as aligning him with the authorities who were afraid to confess their faith (12.42f.). But Brown (1979, p. 72, n. 128) is probably right to see him as making his faith public by boldly requesting Jesus’ body for burial. Thus John’s portrait of him as a disciple seems consistent with that of Luke, who describes him as ‘a member of the Council [Sanhedrin], a good and upright man, who had not agreed with its decision and action’ and who ‘was looking for God’s kingdom’ (Luke 23.50f.; cf. Mark 15.43; Matt. 27.57).
Nicodemus also has been interpreted negatively as ‘a man of inadequate faith and inadequate courage’ (Rensberger, 1988, p. 40). He appears in the New Testament only in John (3.1–11; 7.50–52; 19.38–42), and is depicted in more detail than Joseph. The best-known episode is his visit to Jesus by night, when Jesus tells him that only those born anōthen – an ambiguous word meaning either ‘again’ or ‘from above’ – can ‘see’ the kingdom of God (3.1–3). Nicodemus fails to understand and is not helped by Jesus’ clarification that only those born of ‘water and the Spirit’ can enter the kingdom. Jesus reproaches him for being ‘the teacher of Israel’ and not grasping his meaning (3.10) – as a Scripture expert he might have been expected to recall passages like Ezekiel 36.25–27 or Psalm 51.2, which link water (or cleansing) with the Spirit. Jesus then speaks enigmatically about ‘earthly’ and ‘heavenly’ things, and the Son of Man. Nicodemus fades out of the picture, without the reader knowing exactly when he departed.
As far as Nicodemus’ character is concerned, the main interest of this passage is whether John intends him to be understood negatively or sympathetically. He is introduced as ‘a man of the Pharisees and a leader of the Jews’ (3.1); ‘leader’ (archōn) probably means member of the Sanhedrin. The Pharisees in John have generally a bad press, and ‘the Jews’ are often portrayed in a hostile manner. Goulder (1991, p. 153) therefore concludes that John’s attitude to Nicodemus is ‘solidly negative’. But at this stage no pejorative remarks have been made about Pharisees (in 1.24 they merely investigate the Baptist’s claims); ‘the Jews’ also have been mentioned only neutrally (2.6, 13; in 2.20 they misunderstand Jesus’ ambiguous saying, but so do the disciples). Nicodemus’ coming ‘by night’ has sometimes been seen as symbolizing alignment with the world of darkness (cf. Judas in 13.30). But it could have a less sinister significance, since Jewish religious teachers often studied by night; or Nicodemus might be coming out of the darkness into the presence of the true light (Barrett, 1978, p. 205). This section of John concludes with the comment that those who do evil will not come to the light lest their deeds should be exposed, but those who ‘do the truth’ come to the light (3.20f.). All this suggests that for the Gospel’s first readers Nicodemus would not appear obviously as a ‘baddy’. A favourable impression is reinforced by his first words to Jesus, ‘Rabbi, we know that you have come from God as a teacher’ (3.2). Far from being greasy flattery (Goulder, 1991, p. 154), this understanding of Jesus is closely comparable to that attributed to the disciples by Jesus at the Last Supper, ‘They know in truth that I came from you’ (17.8).
Nicodemus appears again in 7.50–52, when the High Priests and Pharisees want to arrest Jesus and have him put to death. Like Joseph in Luke (23.51), he dissents: ‘Surely our Law does not condemn a person without first hearing from him and ascertaining what he has done?’ This comes in the context of people asking whether any of the authorities (archontes) or Pharisees have believed in Jesus; this clearly suggests that Nicodemus is a believer rather than the reverse. In 19.38–42 he joins Joseph in bringing a hundredweight of spices for Jesus’ burial. Rensberger (1988, p. 40) criticizes him for burying Jesus ‘ponderously and with a kind of absurd finality’. But is this how John intends this episode to be understood? The burial is generous – Joseph (Matt. 27.57) and Nicodemus were apparently wealthy men7 – and nobody at this stage expected Jesus to rise again. Far from being ‘a type of unbelief’ (Collins, 1976, p. 37) or representing Jews to whom Jesus could not entrust himself (Meeks, 1972, p. 55, citing 2.23f.), Nicodemus is a good man doing Jesus a service.
The example of Nicodemus alerts us to the extraordinary variety of ways in which readers interpret characters. Brown (1966, p. 129) took him as standing for a group of Jewish leaders who came hesitantly to believe in Jesus (citing 12.42). He later decided that Nicodemus did not, after all, represent a group but simply showed that some of those attracted to Jesus did not immediately understand him (1979, p. 72, n. 128). Schnackenburg (1968, p. 363) saw him as ‘a well-intentioned representative of the ruling classes’. Bultmann (1971, p. 143) interpreted him more broadly, describing his question in 3.9 as representing ‘the inadequacy of the way in which man puts his questions’. Lindars (1972, p. 149) took him as ‘an example of official Judaism in a situation of openness’; Bassler (1989; cf. Renz, 2006) as deliberately ambiguous; Moloney (1998b, p. 97) as on a journey to faith; Conway (1999, p. 103) as a ‘pathetic character’, lacking courage and conviction; Bennema (2009, p. 82) as showing a ‘mix of boldness and fear’. These views may be contrasted with that of the poet Henry Vaughan (1622–95) in ‘The Night’:8
Through that pure Virgin-shrine,
That sacred vail drawn o’r thy glorious noon
That men might look and live as Glo-worms shine,
And face the Moon:
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.
Most blest believer he!
Who in that land of darkness and blinde eyes
Thy long expected healing wings could see,
When thou didst rise,
And, what can never more be done,
Did at mid-night speak with the Sun!
Women characters
We turn now to some female characters that have been of special interest to feminist scholars. These often consider John especially sympathetic to women (Scott, 1992; Schneiders, 1999; cf. Brown, 1979, pp. 183–98), sometimes arguing that he depicts an ‘alternative’ Christian community in which women share fully in leadership (Fiorenza, 1983, pp. 324–33). Some women are indeed sensitively portrayed; others are presented more ambiguously, but none is completely ‘bad’ like Judas. The fullest portrait is of the Samaritan woman (4.4–42). This episode balances that of Nicodemus, whose encounter with Jesus immediately precedes it. He is a Jew, a teacher and a man of authority; she is a Samaritan (traditionally regarded as heretical and unclean) and a woman, carrying out a woman’s regular task of fetching water. He meets Jesus by night, she at midday. He is a Pharisee and pillar of respectability; she has been married five times and is living with someone who is not her husband (4.17f.). Both stories involve ambiguity, misunderstanding and clarification. But they end differently: Nicodemus fails to grasp Jesus’ message (though his later conduct suggests a coming to faith); the Samaritan, to whom Jesus reveals himself more openly, recognizes him as a prophet (4.19), and wonders whether he could be ‘messiah’. After her encounter, she spreads the word among the townsfolk, and many come to faith through her witness (4.39).
The Samaritan’s character has been read in different ways, reflected most interestingly in her representation in art, where she is sometimes represented as modest and well-covered, at other times as voluptuous or seductive (Day, 2002; Wheeler, 2012, ch. 5, both with illustrations). Earlier commentators tended to treat her as sinful because of her multiple marriages and her living with an unmarried partner. More recently she has been described as level-headed, imaginative and feisty (Boers, 1988, pp. 163–72). Schneiders is highly critical of her treatment in the major commentaries, describing it as ‘a textbook case of the trivialization, marginalization, and even sexual demonization of biblical women’ (1999, p. 137), which she sees as reflecting and promoting similar treatment of real women in the Church. O’Day (1992, p. 296) similarly castigates unnamed commentators for ‘reflecting their own prejudices against women, not the views of the text’.9 Such comments are unduly harsh. Being married five times would have been unacceptable to Jews and, probably, Samaritans (cf. Schnackenburg, 1968, p. 433); O’Day’s comment that she might have been ‘trapped in the custom of levirate marriage’ (five times?) is just special pleading. Schneiders, following a long-standing exegetical tradition, argues that the woman’s marital situation should be interpreted allegorically: the five husbands represent the five pagan gods once worshipped by the Samaritans, while the woman’s current partner stands for the Samaritans’ imperfect worship of YHWH. The allegory breaks down when one discovers that the pagan deities, supposedly represented by her legal husbands, were seven in number (2 Kings 17.29–31). It is also most improbable that John would construct an allegory whereby a nation’s worship of YHWH is symbolized by an unmarried relationship.10 It is far more likely that the husbands and her partner are to be taken literally for the purposes of the story, and that the interchange in 4.16–18 is designed to reveal Jesus’ supernatural knowledge rather than the woman’s ‘sinfulness’, and to facilitate the Evangelist’s presentation of her growing faith.
A curious feature of recent interpretation is the attempt to see the conversation at the well as the Samaritan’s ‘wooing’ (e.g. Eslinger, 1993). The Hebrew Bible has scenes where a man approaches a woman at a well and asks for a gift of water; eventually a marriage results (cf. Gen. 24.10–67; 29.1–30; Exod. 2.15–22). Drawing on such materials Fehribach sees the Samaritan as ‘entering into a metaphorical betrothal/marital relationship with the messianic bridegroom’ (1998, pp. 45–81, esp. p. 69; cf. Brant, 2004, pp. 247f.). For Schneiders ‘the entire dialogue between Jesus and the woman is the “wooing” of Samaria to full covenant fidelity in the new Israel by Jesus, the new Bridegroom’; she is his ‘potential spouse whom he invited to intimacy’ (1999, pp. 141, 144). But nowhere in this passage is Jesus pictured as a bridegroom; in John’s whole Gospel that image only occurs once, in an analogy on the lips of the Baptist (3.29). This is not scholarly exegesis, but fanciful reinterpretation – without the power to move of Vaughan’s beautiful poem.
If we confine ourselves to the woman’s character as presented by John, she is practical (4.11); trusting and enthusiastic, if a little naive (4.15); impetuous and prone to exaggeration (4.28f.); but also theologically aware, perceptive and persistent (4.19f., 25, 29b). It is, however, too much to speak, as Schneiders does, of her questioning Jesus ‘on virtually every significant tenet of Samaritan theology’ (1999, p. 139). Perhaps most importantly she provides a model for Christians in her exemplary witness to the Gospel (note martyreō in 4.39), a remarkable feature in view of the generally low regard for women’s testimony in Jewish Law (Maccini, 1996, ch. 3).11
Two other women who are sympathetically portrayed are the sisters Martha and Mary, both described, along with their brother Lazarus, as loved by Jesus (11.5). The two episodes in which they appear – Lazarus’ raising and the anointing at Bethany – are linked by an unusual reference forward (11.2). In the first episode (11.1–44) Martha is presented as active and outgoing, while Mary appears quieter and more passive (cf. Luke 10.38–42). Martha goes out to meet Jesus, while Mary stays at home. Martha takes the initiative in speaking to him, expressing her trust in him (11.21) and her faith in future resurrection (11.24); she acknowledges him as ‘the Christ, the Son of God, the one coming into the world’ (11.27; cf. above, Ch. 7). This confession is made before Jesus raises Lazarus. Mary also shows faith: she gets up quickly when her sister tells her that Jesus is calling, goes to him, falls at his feet and weeps (11.28–33). But her only remark is an echo of Martha’s first words: ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died’ (11.32).
Many scholars see Martha as an example of full-blooded faith, and her ‘confession’ as equalling, if not surpassing, Peter’s in the Synoptic tradition (Mark 8.29 par.).12 Moloney, however, argues that she displays only a limited faith compared with Mary, whose unspoken gesture of prostration indicates her ‘total trust’ in Jesus (1996, p. 165). It is true that Martha’s confession may not be wholly adequate (any more than Peter’s) because the precise nuance of the ‘titles’ cannot be determined. But Mary’s gesture of falling at Jesus’ feet is even more ambiguous: John does not use proskyneō, which may denote worship (though it need not do so), but piptō, ‘fall’, the same verb as is used of those arresting Jesus, including apparently Judas (18.6).13 This gesture could indicate desperate grief, earnest request or humility, rather than adoration. For Moloney, Mary will always be ‘the special sister’: has he been unduly influenced by Luke’s picture of Mary as the contemplative one (10.39), or by her central role in John’s next episode? Or is he reacting against the idealization of Martha by some feminists? The most natural reading is to see Martha in this episode as an example of vibrant faith, while recognizing from John’s ‘prolepsis’ (11.2) that Mary’s turn will come.
The description of Mary’s anointing of Jesus is much shorter (12.1–8). John’s account seems to relate to both Luke’s story (7.37–50) of a sinful woman of the town, who washes Jesus’ feet with her tears and dries them with her loosed hair, and Mark’s story of an anonymous woman anointing Jesus’ head just before his Passion (14.3–9; cf. Matt. 26.6–13). In Luke, the woman’s action comes from penitence, love and devotion; in Mark it may be intended as a sign of Jesus’ kingship (though Jesus’ response links it with his burial). John supplies the woman with a name and identity, even though it would have been inappropriate for a respectable woman to loose her hair in public. He keeps Mark’s location at Bethany, but transfers the scene to the sisters’ house. And he has Mary anoint Jesus’ feet (rather than his head), anticipating Jesus’ own humility in washing his disciples’ feet (John 13). Mary’s lavish gift of the ointment illustrates her devotion to Jesus (cf. the generosity of Nicodemus and Joseph), though unlike the forgiven ‘sinner’ in Luke, or the unnamed woman in Mark, she is not directly commended. Her action contrasts with Judas’ meanness (12.4f.), and the whole scene points forward to Jesus’ death and burial.
John nowhere describes any group of women who travel round with Jesus (contrast Luke 8.2f.), but he does mention the presence of four women14 at the cross: Jesus’ mother, her sister, Mary [the wife] of Klopas, and Mary Magdalene (19.25; cf. Mark 15.40f.; Matt. 27.55f.; Luke 23.49). These have presumably followed him from Galilee to Jerusalem for the Passover. Nothing further is said about Mary of Klopas, whom John must have included from tradition. Jesus’ mother appeared in the Cana story when she showed confidence in Jesus by telling him of the shortage of wine, and bidding the servants ‘Do whatever he tells you’ (2.3f.). She has regularly been interpreted as a symbol of the Church by Roman Catholic scholars (see the discussion in Brown, 1966, pp. 107–9), but there is little evidence that John sees her in this way.15 There is even less to say for the theory that in 19.25–27 Jesus’ mother represents Israel being absorbed into the Church, despite Bultmann (1971, p. 673) and Brodie (1993a, p. 175). The incident can be interpreted quite simply as illustrating (a) the presence of women at the cross to witness the reality of Jesus’ death; (b) Jesus’ care for his mother in providing practically for her; (c) Mary’s love and faithfulness in being near her son, even at his painful and shaming death. John’s mention of Jesus’ mother at the foot of the cross has inspired Christian poetry, music, art and devotion over the centuries (see, e.g., Wheeler, 2012, ch. 7; also his ch. 4 on Cana).
Mary Magdalene (named after her home town Magdala in Galilee) appears only at 19.25 and in John’s Resurrection Narrative (20.1f., 11–18). It seems extraordinary that her initial conduct at the tomb has been interpreted as representing ‘unbelief’. Because she fails at first to recognize Jesus, Brodie (1993a, p. 567) sees her as corresponding ‘significantly to unbelieving Israel’;16 Moloney (1998a, pp. 158f.) speaks of the darkness when she comes to the tomb as ‘a setting of unfaith’ and of her ‘running away’. But Mary does not run away; she runs to Peter and the ‘beloved disciple’ to seek help and share with them her bewilderment that the body has gone. Her devotion to Jesus is illustrated by her early rising, her reference to him as ‘the Lord’ (20.2; cf. ‘my Lord’, 20.13), her weeping (20.11, 13, 15) and her willingness to go and fetch the body (20.15; see Bruce, 1983, pp. 388f.). Her initial failure to recognize Jesus is more likely a literary device to heighten the drama (cf. Luke 24.16, 31) than an indication that she is to be blamed for ‘blindness’. Mary’s instant recognition of Jesus when he calls her by name, and the fact that he entrusts her with a message for his ‘brothers’, are sure evidence that she is intended to be understood as a model of faithfulness. Her message to them, ‘I have seen the Lord’ (20.18), marks her out as an apostle; compare Paul’s words: ‘Am I not an apostle? Have I not seen the Lord Jesus?’ (1 Cor. 9.1). Thus Mary is the first witness of the risen Jesus. One cannot help contrasting her prompt obedience (20.18) with the behaviour of Peter when he sees the empty tomb: although the ‘beloved disciple’ believes, Peter is not said to do so. Neither of them understands ‘the Scripture’ that Jesus must rise from the dead, and both rather feebly just go away by themselves or possibly go home17 (20.10).
Mary’s part in announcing (angellō) the Resurrection to the disciples caught the imagination of later interpreters: in the Western Church she became the apostola apostolorum, ‘apostle of the apostles’ (Brown, 1979, p. 190, n. 336; Marjanen, 1996, p. 3, n. 9), and among the Greek Orthodox isapostolos, ‘equal to the apostles’ (Ware, 1983, p. 31). Gnostic writers used her as an interlocutor with Jesus in their dialogues (where she sometimes clashes with Peter) and attributed a Gospel to her (Marjanen, 1996). In later church art she is represented as proclaiming the Resurrection to the male disciples, and even preaching from the pulpit (Moltmann-Wendel, 1982, pp. 73f., with illustrations). She also became identified (by around the sixth century) with Luke’s repentant sinner (7.36–50), understood as a harlot. This identification, without basis in the New Testament, has given rise to countless representations of Mary as a beautiful, long-haired, repentant prostitute. In novels and films she sometimes becomes Jesus’ mistress, or at least his ‘last temptation’ (cf. Scorsese’s film, based on Kazantzakis’ novel). Despite its long endorsement by the Roman Catholic Church, the identification of Mary Magdalene with Luke’s repentant ‘sinner’ is today repudiated by biblical and feminist scholars alike,18 though it still continues in popular piety.
Conclusions
John uses a wide variety of characters. Some are ‘stereotyped’ or ‘flat’ (if we may still use Forster’s terminology, 1962, pp. 73–89), being based on a single readily recognized idea, e.g. the official’s faith; Judas’ wickedness; the ‘beloved disciple’s’ closeness to Jesus. Others are portrayed in more detail, without necessarily being fully ‘round’. Nicodemus, the blind man, the Samaritan woman, Peter, Mary Magdalene, the sisters Martha and Mary, and Thomas are all depicted with liveliness and some subtlety (though they have been read in different ways). Characters quite often serve as foils to Jesus, to set up situations where he may have the opportunity to perform certain actions or deliver particular teaching (cf. Philip’s role in the feeding miracle, and in the Supper Discourses; Peter’s protests at the foot-washing). Some have ‘functional’ roles for John’s ‘plot’ – Judas in betraying him; Caiaphas in handing him over to the Romans; Pilate in condemning him;19 Joseph and Nicodemus in burying him; Mary, Peter and the ‘beloved disciple’ in discovering the empty tomb. This does not prevent them also having ‘mimetic’ qualities, i.e. being portrayed in a realistic, lifelike way.20
As noted earlier (above, Ch. 7), an important role of many individual characters is to witness to Jesus through christological confessions. As a group, the disciples act as Jesus’ companions, pupils, and witnesses of his ministry and Resurrection appearances; in the Supper Discourses they may stand for future believers. Theirs is not a perfect faith that comprehends instantly (though the ‘beloved disciple’ sometimes seems to do this), but one needing correction and nurture. It is doubtful whether John’s characters are deliberately designed to reflect specific groups within the Church, e.g. Jewish Christians, Gentiles, ‘crypto-Christians’ or active female leaders; but in certain situations their behaviour can serve to encourage (or warn) future generations.
Does John portray women and men differently? His basic methods seem to be the same for both: he shows both men and women misunderstanding Jesus (e.g. Nicodemus; the Samaritan woman), and both failing initially to recognize him (Mary Magdalene; Peter). He shows both as loved by Jesus (11.5), both as making faith confessions and helping bring others to him. No woman denies Jesus, as Peter does, and no woman is depicted as completely ‘bad’ like Judas. The women are neither stereotyped as ‘sex objects’, nor presented as weakly subservient to men (though Fiorenza, 1995, pp. 95f., finds Mary of Bethany represented in ‘kyriocentric’ terms).
Christian interpreters have often attempted to draw inferences about the proper roles for men and women in ministry from their portrayals in the Gospels. Methodologically this is a dangerous exercise, as that is not the purpose of these writings. John depicts women as sharing the faith, as seeing the risen Christ, and as devoted and theologically perceptive. But he should not be taken as offering specific support to the ordination of either women or men, since he does not think in these terms (cf. Edwards, 1989, 1996b, pp. 140f.).