IMAGINE A SCENE in the renowned city of ancient Ephesus. Ships heavy with cargo ply the Aegean Sea bringing commercial goods from as far away as Rome. Marble quays protrude into the water waiting to receive the ships’ cargo and passengers while wagons filled with products from eastern provinces such as Galatia, Cappadocia, and Bithynia stand idle, waiting for their trip west. Ephesus thrives on its celebrated status. Visitors can see any number of famous temples dedicated to the Greek gods. Some consider the Temple of Artemis one of the wonders of the ancient world. Ephesus’ great theater, built into the shoulder of Mount Pion, seats twenty-five thousand guests. From the harbor travelers walk into the city along a column-lined road over thirty feet wide, which reminds them of the grandeur of the city they are about to enter.1
And yet on this day, few visitors see the small circle of Greeks gathered at a graveside beyond the columned thoroughfare. They are no different than the usual citizens of the city, with the exception that a few seem to have the characteristic dress and head coverings of Jews. They are poor; one can see this at once. But together they are burying a person of such significance, of such importance, that his marble tomb suggests a costliness far beyond the reach of any one person in the circle. These are Christians. And they have come to bury their beloved pastor and leader, John.2
Christianity had begun in this cosmopolitan city through the efforts of the apostle Paul in about A.D. 52 (see Acts 18). It was anchored within the large, influential Jewish community there,3 and its earliest leadership consisted of Priscilla and Aquila (whom Paul left behind on his earliest trip, 18:19), Paul himself (who spent more than two years there later in his ministry, 19:10; 20:3), and Timothy (1 Tim. 1:3). However, the community also enjoyed a large group of Greeks with no Jewish heritage, who became influential as well. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians and his two letters to Timothy give a glimpse of what life must have been like. These were average citizens of the city, people like any today, with names such as Epaenetus, Mary, Andronicus, Junia, Ampliatus, Urbanus, Stachys, Apelles, Aristobulus, Herodion, Narcissus, Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermes, Patrobas, Hermas, Philologus, Julia, Nereus, Rufus, and Olympas.4
John too became a leader. Ephesus may have been his base of ministry if he had jurisdiction over the seven leading churches of Asia (Rev. 1–3). He no doubt traveled to places such as Pergamum, Sardis, and Thyatira. For these churches, John was the historian and theologian who brought to them the story of Jesus. He was a valued eyewitness to the life of Jesus (John 19:35), the source of their many stories from faraway Galilee and Judea. He could write with authority:
That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched—this we proclaim concerning the Word of life. The life appeared; we have seen it and testify to it, and we proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and has appeared to us. We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us. And our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ. (1 John 1:1–3)
John had been there. He had heard and seen and touched the Word of life himself. He was the one who told about Nicodemus and rebirth, who described Jesus’ miracle at Cana and many other episodes in his life. Other stories were circulating about Jesus, but John had his own recollection, his own insights into the thoughts of Jesus. Surely, they thought, John was Jesus’ beloved disciple. In the final years of John’s life, he knew that he would not be with his followers forever, so he began to organize his stories into writing, providing an early edition of his beloved “Fourth Gospel.”
John also stood by the church in times of terrible persecution and conflict. When it seemed as if the fledgling community’s struggle with the prestigious synagogue community would overwhelm them, John stood fast, holding to a courageous witness to Jesus Christ. When struggles later came to the church, struggles of internal controversy and conflict, John again was the community’s strength. Writing letters to encourage and exhort (see 1–3 John), he became known as the heroic pastor-theologian of Asia Minor, a spiritual giant whose Gospel would be known as “the spiritual Gospel.” When later medieval scribes copied this Gospel into sacred collections of scriptures, this gift of the Beloved Disciple would be decorated with an eagle—a majestic eagle—to indicate the heights attained by the Gospel’s thought.
The Fourth Gospel Today
TODAY, THE FOURTH Gospel is the legacy of John’s ministry—and it is no less beloved today than it was in the earliest years among his disciples. Few books of the Bible have influenced the life and thought of Christendom as has the Gospel of John. Its profundity and literary energy have always been noted. Here Christians have discovered a portrait of Christ that has been deeply satisfying. We are intrigued to witness how John joins intimacy of expression with penetrating insight. Scholars have poured so much energy into unraveling the Gospel’s many enigmas that the flood of academic articles and books published regularly shows no sign of abating. The Gospel seems to evade our grasp and as a result has become an inexhaustible subject of interest.
In the New Testament there is a considerable body of literature traditionally attributed to John: a Gospel, three letters, and the book of Revelation. In addition there are extrabiblical writings that make some claim on his name: The legendary Acts of John was written almost two hundred years later and provides a fictional biography of the apostle. The Syriac History of John shows the apostle to be a magic-working evangelist. Gnostic sources5 such as the Gospel of Philip show fragments of Johannine-style sayings while others provide accounts of his contact with Jesus, his mission, and his martyrdom.6 But while this apocryphal literature may be set aside with ease, the significance of the biblical Johannine material has aroused considerable academic debate.
The Early Period
IN THE EARLY church, the Fourth Gospel was given the highest place of honor. Since it was thought to originate with the apostle (the Beloved Disciple) who was one of the closest to Jesus, it was esteemed as the most valuable Gospel. John offered a depth of insight that was unparalleled in the Synoptics. But unfortunately even the heretics loved it. A second-century gnostic writer in Egypt penned the Gospel of Truth, which shows surprising Johannine parallels. Even the earliest commentaries on John were gnostic (see Heracleon, a disciple of Valentinus). Themes in the Gospel were so popular that one charismatic leader (Montanus) claimed he was the coming Paraclete or Comforter described in John 14–16! Because of this gnostic interest, many orthodox leaders were reluctant to promote the Gospel; in fact, they were openly opposed to it. But on the whole where it was accepted, John was deeply revered.7
Early fathers such as Irenaeus (c. A.D. 175) also learned that John’s incarnational theology was an important resource against the sort of heresies being spawned in Christian-gnostic circles. Later in the fourth century, when the Arians were depicting Jesus as fully subordinate to the Father—a creature along with us—Athanasius and the leaders of Nicea looked to the Fourth Gospel’s incarnational theology and doctrine of Christ as an uncompromising affirmation of Jesus’ divinity.8
Medieval Christendom gave the Gospel this same respect. From Augustine to Aquinas, John provided the portrait of a Jesus who directly revealed the Father. Mysticism and sacramentalism likewise found in John the language and symbolic images they enjoyed. Therefore commentaries from this period abound.
Until the eighteenth century, the Fourth Gospel was held to be the most accurate and valuable Gospel of all. But with the rise of technical biblical criticism, John’s prominence went into eclipse. Critics noted its differences with the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke). Lengthy discourses had replaced parables and pithy sayings. John’s language and theology seemed to indicate that here the story of Jesus had been refashioned for the Greek world. The result was that the Fourth Gospel was no longer viewed as contributing reliably to the history of Jesus’ life. Its early apostolic origin was regarded with grave doubt.
A New Look on John
TODAY SCHOLARS HOLD a tremendous variety of opinions concerning John’s Gospel. Textual, grammatical, historical, and theological issues are constantly being weighed. There are few “agreed” results. This alone should caution us when yet another interpretative theory is ushered into view. But at least one trend can be charted in this mass of literature. Since the 1950s a fresh appreciation for John has almost become universal. J. A. T. Robinson of Cambridge University has even dubbed it “a new look” altogether. While John does diverge from the Synoptic Gospels, still, its independent narratives are to be valued. For instance, only John records Jesus’ dialogue with Nicodemus, but this single witness in no way implies that the story never happened.
More important, John’s cultural orientation is now viewed as heavily dependent on the Palestinian Judaism of Jesus’ day. John’s thought world, in other words, does not have to be Greek. For example, important Jewish scrolls discovered near Israel’s Dead Sea (Qumran) have proven that Judaism in Jesus’ day was using language similar to that of the Fourth Gospel. Even archaeological finds have substantiated some of the specific narratives of the Gospel that formerly had weathered heavy criticism (such as the pool with five porticoes in John 5:2).
This “new look” has reopened a number of old questions. If John’s frame of reference is Jewish, then the Gospel’s date may be early. And if it is early, it may have originated with the circle of apostles—even John son of Zebedee. Now the possibility of apostolic authority behind the Gospel is a legitimate defensible alternative. Johannine study has indeed come full circle.
Above all, this new outlook on John demands that the exegete seriously use the Old Testament and all available Jewish materials. No longer will it do to interpret, say, the miracle at Cana (2:1–11) in terms of the Hellenistic god Dionysus, who also supposedly changed water into wine. On the contrary, John’s primary reference is to Jesus’ messianic announcement (using Old Testament and synoptic imagery). This will be the approach used in our commentary. The message of the Fourth Gospel is clothed with allusions and metaphors that spring from first-century Judaism. Granted, this Judaism was complex and well-acquainted with Greek influences, but still, the Gospel’s text is elucidated best when seen as firmly rooted in the Old Testament and Palestinian Judaism.
Authorship
THE FOURTH GOSPEL provides no explicit internal evidence concerning its author. “John” is nowhere identified as such. But this silence is not unusual and is a feature found in the Synoptics as well. The Fourth Gospel may, however, provide us with clues concealed in the enigmatic figure of the “Beloved Disciple” (NIV, “the disciple whom Jesus loved”). This title occurs in five passages (13:23; 19:26; 20:2; 21:7, 20). John 21:24 describes the Beloved Disciple (cf. 21:20) as the “disciple who testifies to these things and who wrote them down.” Therefore the origin of the Gospel must in some way be connected to this person. The Gospel of John may be a record of his eyewitness account of Jesus’ life.
But who is this disciple? (1) Initially, some have suggested that he is an idealized literary figure: the ideal Christian disciple. To a degree this is true (he is faithful and intimate in his knowledge of Jesus). But this hardly excludes the possibility of a genuine historical person.
(2) Lazarus has sometimes been nominated. Lazarus is the only figure of whom it is said that Jesus loved him (11:3, 36). Further, the Beloved Disciple texts occur only after Lazarus is introduced in chapter 11. But this solution is unlikely. Why would Lazarus’s name be mentioned in chapters 11–12 but then left shrouded in subsequent accounts?
(3) A man named John Mark was a part of the early church (Acts 12:12), and he was associated with Peter. This may explain the rivalry between Peter and our disciple in John (cf. 20:2–8; 21:7–14). Furthermore, if Mark was related to the Levite Barnabas (Col. 4:10), this may also explain how the Beloved Disciple knows the high priest in 18:15. Nevertheless, there is a strong patristic tradition that Mark authored the Second Gospel; besides, the Beloved Disciple was certainly one of the twelve apostles (13:23), and John Mark was not.
(4) The most recent suggestion points to Thomas as the Beloved Disciple. Throughout the Gospel Thomas is presented as a person of leadership (11:16). His story with Jesus even concludes the Gospel (assuming that chapter 20 originally ended the book) and parallels the resurrection story of the apostles. Above all, Thomas asks to see the wound in Jesus’ side, and the Beloved Disciple was the only one who would have known about this (19:35). Added to this is evidence for a “school or community of Thomas” with its own literature (Gospel of Thomas, Acts of Thomas, Infancy Gospel of Thomas, etc.) and its interest in the Fourth Gospel.9
(5) The best solution is the traditional one: John son of Zebedee (Mark 3:17; Acts 1:13). This man was one of the Twelve and along with James and Peter formed an inner circle around Jesus. This is the origin of his eyewitness testimony and penetrating insight. In the Synoptics John appears with Peter more than with any other, and in Acts they are companions in Jerusalem (Acts 3–4) as well as in Samaria (8:14). This dovetails with the Peter/John connection in the Fourth Gospel. Raymond Brown has offered a novel theory to buttress this.10 He suggests evidence that John and Jesus may have been cousins (through their mothers). This would explain why Jesus entrusts Mary to John (19:25)—a natural family relation (she may have been John’s aunt)—and John was known by the high priest through Mary’s priestly relatives (18:15–16; cf. Luke 1:5, 36).
Patristic evidence seems to confirm this conclusion. Irenaeus, writing at about A.D. 200, says that the Beloved Disciple was John, the disciple of Jesus, and that John originated the Gospel at Ephesus. Irenaeus even writes that when he himself was young, he knew another teacher, Polycarp, Bishop of Smyrna (c. A.D. 69–155), who claimed to have been tutored by John. The church historian Eusebius (c. A.D. 300) records this John/Polycarp/Irenaeus connection in the same way. Further, Polycrates, Bishop of Ephesus (A.D. 189–198), refers to John’s association with the Gospel in his letter to Victor the Bishop of Rome. It is also confirmed by Clement of Alexandria (c. A.D. 200) and the Latin Muratorian Canon (A.D. 180–200).
Criticisms of this conclusion are commonplace, and we would do well to consider the most important ones. (1) Earlier in the 1900s critics regularly pointed to John’s inaccuracies on geographical details. This, it was affirmed, could hardly come from an eyewitness writer. But subsequent historical and archaeological study have, if anything, shown John’s reliability.
(2) Could a fisherman-turned-apostle have penned a work of such subtlety and insight? Could a Galilean such as this be acquainted with Greek thought? Of course. Recent study of Palestinian Judaism has shown a remarkable degree of Greek cultural penetration at all levels of society. While the New Testament does affirm that John the apostle was a “commoner” (Acts 4:13), we still are unwise to predict what John could or could not accomplish. Furthermore, this criticism fails to consider that the final edition of the Gospel may have been edited by John’s disciples, an amanuensis (professional scribe), or John’s community.
(3) Finally, some lodge the complaint that this Gospel was not readily accepted in the early church. This is true. But we have to reckon with two facts. (a) Our evidence for John’s neglect is not as weighty as it seems. Important early writers may not quote John or allude to him, but to note what a patristic writer fails to say is an argument from silence. (b) John found wide acceptance in heretical, gnostic circles. This has been confirmed recently by the gnostic documents found at Nag Hammadi, where in The Gospel of Truth Johannine themes abound. The unorthodox on the fringes of the Greek church embraced John and provided the earliest widely known commentaries (Valentinus, Heracleon). Therefore the church was cautious in its use of the gospel because of its dangerous abuse elsewhere.
Date and Origin
ALL THAT WE have been saying about the new appreciation for the Jewishness of the Fourth Gospel and the fact that John son of Zebedee stands behind the Gospel’s authority infers some conclusion about its date. The sources of John must be early and have their roots in first-generation Christianity. But fixing a certain date for the publication of the Gospel is difficult because objective data is slim. The latest possible date is A.D. 125. Not only do patristic references, allusions in apocryphal gospels (Gospel of Peter), and Nag Hammadi point to this, but recently in Egypt two papyrus fragments of John (Rylands Papyrus 457 and Egerton Papyrus 2) have been dated to the first half of the second century. Allowing time for John to circulate, we may wish to say that John could not have been completed long after 110.
The earliest possible date for the Gospel is more difficult. If John knows and employs the Synoptics (and this is disputed), then A.D. 70 or 80 is appropriate. In John 9:22, 12:42, and 16:2 we read about Jewish believers being excommunicated from the synagogues. In A.D. 85 the rabbis of Palestine instituted such expulsions for Christians (Rabbi Gamaliel II). Therefore we find a remarkable consensus of scholarly opinion that John was published somewhere between A.D. 80 and 100. Irenaeus says that the apostle lived to a great age—until the reign of Trajan (A.D. 98–117). And Jerome, writing much later (ca. 375), argued that John died “in the 68th year” after Jesus’ death: hence, about A.D. 98.
Nevertheless, an earlier date may be within reach. Current research has challenged John’s “dependence” on the Synoptics (esp. Mark and Luke). If anything, John may know pre-Synoptic traditions. Above all, the way in which John describes the topography of Jerusalem, his knowledge of the geographical and political divisions in Judaism, and his use of metaphors all point to a date approximating that of the Synoptic writers. The great watershed date of A.D. 70 (when Jerusalem was destroyed by Rome) is critical: John presupposes a Judaism before this war. And with his critical disposition toward the temple (2:13ff.; 4:21ff.) and severe conflicts with Jewish leadership (cf. chs. 5, 8, 10), we are surprised to find no mention of this catastrophic event. To paraphrase C. H. Dodd, much in John is “barely intelligible” outside of the context of pre–70 Judaism.
To sum up, the traditions about Jesus that John preserves most likely stem from the earliest apostolic period—perhaps A.D. 60–65. But the final edition of the Gospel may have been published later. John and/or his disciples may have edited the work, making additions and sharpening its message for later Christianity (see more on this below). Tradition tells us that the place of writing was Ephesus, and no decisive reasons have been raised against it. There may even be biblical support for it. The Fourth Gospel entertains a polemic aimed at followers of John the Baptist (see 1:19–28, 35–42; 3:22–36; 10:40–42). Elsewhere in the book of Acts we learn about Paul’s encountering followers of John the Baptist with deficient beliefs. Surprisingly, they too are located in Ephesus.
John’s Theological Interests
THE INTERPRETATION OF any Biblical book is strengthened when we understand the deeper motives and concerns that have led the author to write. John’s vigor and concentration reveal a remarkable intensity of purpose. It is as if a powerful truth had broken upon him and he was compelled to express it. To a greater extent than the Synoptics, each section of the Fourth Gospel contributes to a central theme: the appearance of the Son of God in human history. John explores two facets of this appearing: its revelation and its redemption.
Revelation and Redemption
“THE LIGHT SHINES in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it” (1:5). Dualistic language describes this remarkable invasion of the world by God. Offending every modern sensibility, John writes that in Christ we behold the glory of God—even though he appeared in flesh. But this offense is an ancient one, too. The darkness assails the light but cannot vanquish it. The world is in permanent enmity with the Son. But even though Jesus is persecuted, tried, and crucified, John still affirms that the light is not extinguished.
But the gift of Christ is not simply his revelation of the Father (14:9). John’s second message concerns redemption. “In him was life, and that life was the light of all people” (1:4). There is hope for us in the world. The message of history’s invasion is also a message of sacrifice and redemption. Those who embrace this revelation, who identify with the light and have faith, will gain eternal life. The life of the Son is poured out in sacrifice, thereby creating the community of the redeemed (17:6ff., 20–26). They bear Christ’s Spirit, which sustains them because the hatred once extended toward the Son is now extended to them (15:12ff.).
Thus John’s purpose in writing is to explain this revelation and redemption and to explicate its possibilities. In 20:31 the author makes clear this aim: “But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” Here all of our major themes converge: belief, acknowledgment of Jesus’ sonship, and the promise of life.
But even here the mystery of John confronts us. A textual variant (see comments on 20:30–31) in the word “believe” (pisteuēte [pres. subjunctive] vs. pisteusēte [aorist subjunctive]) places the meaning of the verse in doubt. One reading implies that John is evangelistic (the aorist: “that you may come to believe”); the other implies encouragement (the present: “that you may continue believing”). This latter reading has the best manuscript support and more helpfully explains the character of John. It is written for Christians who, already knowing the rudiments of Christ’s life and Christian truth, now wish to go further. Not only is there an uncompromising maturity of thought in this Gospel, but also its narratives imply that it was written to address certain practical circumstances in the church. Some would say that John is engaged in a polemic: asserting Christian truth amidst unsympathetic forces. Yet John’s purpose also includes the clarification of Christian doctrines at an early stage of church development.
Jewish Concerns
THE CONFLICT BETWEEN Jesus and the Pharisees that we meet in the Synoptics is given marked attention in John. A brief reading of 8:31–59 or 10:19–39 makes it clear. There is a sustained attack on the religious position of Judaism. For instance, “the Jews” virtually becomes a technical term in John (used seventy times) for those who reject Jesus. In 9:22, for example, the parents of the blind man (who are Jewish) fear “the Jews.” But this is not all. The messiahship of Jesus and his relationship to the festivals and institutions of Judaism are both emphasized.
What does this mean? Each Gospel was written not only to record the history of Jesus, but also to address particular circumstances in the life of its first readers. This saying or story was recorded and not that one for a reason. Here the Christians of John’s church may have needed encouragement because of persecution and hostilities. John buttresses Christian claims against Jewish unbelief. The historic fact of Jewish unbelief in Jesus’ day is joined with Jewish opposition in John’s day.
Christian Concerns
AT THE TIME the Gospel was published, the early Christian church had grown and diversified considerably. Therefore it comes as no surprise to find that John has included historic materials relevant to Christian needs in his generation. It would be a mistake, however, to think that any of these needs became the controlling force in John’s literary design. On the contrary, they serve as subthemes that run through the Gospel and clarify John’s situation. Scholars have identified an incredible list of topics, but we will note in passing only five prominent motifs:
The significance of John the Baptist. Did the Baptist have followers (perhaps even a sect) who failed or refused to follow Jesus? Luke 3:15 and Acts 19:1–7 imply this while later writings confirm it.11 The Fourth Gospel takes pains to affirm that the Baptist was not the Messiah (1:20; 3:28), that he was not the light (1:8–9), and that Jesus is superior (1:30; 3:29–30; 10:41). We even witness disciples of John the Baptist becoming Jesus’ first converts (1:35–42). Matthew, Mark, and Luke have no parallel motif.
The place of sacramentalism. John has a “sacramental” view of history inasmuch as the incarnation of Christ for him means the genuine appearance of God in history. Worship can affirm such genuine appearances when worship symbols (baptism, the Lord’s Supper) take on the real properties of that which they depict. Hence they are called “sacraments.” Scholars have identified a unique Johannine interest in the sacraments of Christian worship, but there is little agreement over John’s intention. Some note an absence of interest (e.g., the Lord’s Supper is omitted) while others see allusions everywhere (baptism: chs. 3, 5, 9: Eucharist: chs. 2, 6; both: 19:34). It seems best to conclude that John’s principal message about each (found in 3:1–21 and 6:52–65) is corrective: Without the Spirit these expressions of worship become powerless rituals void of their original purpose.
Christology. The second-century church father, Irenaeus, wrote that the Gospel of John was penned to refute the gnostic heretic Cerinthus. While this is not likely, nevertheless, Irenaeus correctly observed that John’s presentation of Christ was carefully considered. Questions about Jesus’ nature, origin, and relation to the Father are examined in a fashion unparalleled by the Synoptics. For instance, John affirms the oneness of Jesus and the Father (10:30; 14:9–10), their distinction from each other (14:28; 17:1–5), and their unity of purpose (5:17–18; 8:42). It comes as no surprise that in the formation of Trinitarian doctrine, John played a notable role (cf. Tertullian, Against Praxeas). This was particularly true at the council of Nicea (325), when Arius denied the eternal nature of the Son. In later Arian debates, Athanasius was heavily dependent on the Fourth Gospel and found in the Johannine prologue’s title “Logos” a most serviceable tool depicting the person of Christ.12
John asserts the divinity for Christ. If anyone were inclined toward adoptionism (i.e., that Jesus was a divinely inspired man), this Gospel gives an unrelenting argument to the contrary. On the other hand, the Greek world was comfortable with divinities and, if anything, hesitated to affirm Jesus’ full humanity (Docetism). John contends that Jesus is truly human, truly of “flesh” (1:14; cf. 20:27). The brilliance and abiding value of this Gospel is that it embraces both positions. Jesus was eternally divine and fully incarnate—fully God and fully man.
But scholars have been quick to point out that this “balanced Christology” seems artificial. If one removes the prologue (1:1–18), the balance is tipped and, in the words of some, John becomes a “naive docetist.”13 But this seems unfairly harsh.14 One solution has been to view John having stages of development. That is, the prologue may have been added to the Gospel at a later stage, when the letters of John were published. The battle cry of 1 John is certainly against Docetism (1 John 4:1–3), and if the high Christology of the Fourth Gospel had been fueling heretical docetic beliefs, then the addition of the hymn would give the needed balance.
Nevertheless, it is vital to say that the humanity of Christ is intrinsic to the whole of the gospel of John. “John portrays Jesus in a two-fold light without reflection or speculation. He is equal to God; he is indeed God in the flesh; yet he is fully human.”15 This affirmation alone has given John an inestimable value to the church and its creeds.
The Holy Spirit. John provides us with a wealth of information concerning the Spirit and in many cases places unique emphases on theological features of the Spirit that are not found in the Synoptic Gospels. His treatment moves in two directions. (1) Christologically, John underscores how the Spirit is an integral feature of Jesus’ experience of God. During Jesus’ baptism, for instance, John narrates the story but adds that the Spirit remained on Jesus (1:32–33), underscoring the permanence of God’s indwelling in him. Jesus stands out from John the Baptist because God has given him the Spirit without measure (3:34). The Spirit is described metaphorically as a source of living water (4:10), which later we learn is a source flowing from within Jesus himself (7:37–39). In fact, the release of the Spirit is dependent on Jesus’ death (7:39), and he remarks in the Upper Room, “It is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Counselor will not come to you” (16:7). As we will see in the commentary, this imagery that joins Spirit and Christ may be at work in the cross when Jesus is wounded and water (along with blood) flows from him (19:34).
(2) John also talks about the promise of the Spirit for believers. He alone provides us with the Nicodemus dialogue, in which Jesus challenges the rabbi to be born again (3:1–10). This is a work not of intellectual or moral conversion, but of supernatural activity. The same is true for the Samaritan woman, a character who stands theologically and socially opposite Nicodemus. The living water she seeks (4:15) is later defined as the Spirit (7:37–38), and Jesus takes advantage of Samaria’s cultural rift with Judaism to talk about true worship that engages the Spirit (4:24). More hints of the Spirit abound in the Gospel (see 6:63); they culminate in Jesus’ lengthy farewell discourse (chs. 14–16), where the Spirit is described and promised for all believers. Unlike the Synoptics, John even records Jesus’ giving the Spirit to his disciples on Easter Sunday as a final gift that hallmarks his departure (20:22).
All of this is to say that for John’s outlook, the Holy Spirit is no incidental feature of Jesus’ life and identity, nor is the Spirit an optional dimension to Christian discipleship. To be united with Jesus is to experience his Spirit, which is set free for the world at the cross.16
Our future hope: eschatology. Many of the early Christians longed for the second coming of Christ and anticipated an imminent end to history. This explains the cherished sayings of Jesus about his second coming in the Synoptics (see Matt. 24; Mark 13; Luke 21). How did they cope when this hope was frustrated (cf. 2 Peter 3:1–12)? John does not record anything like Jesus’ Synoptic eschatological discourses. He still maintains the future hope (John 5:25ff.; 1 John 2:28) but introduces a fresh emphasis: The longed-for presence of Jesus is mediated to us now in the Spirit. In the Upper Room Jesus’ announcement of the Spirit takes on eschatological tones (see John 14:18–23). That is, in one vital way that we often overlook, Jesus has come back and is with us already in the Spirit. In technical terms, John emphasizes a realized eschatology in contrast to the apocalyptic hope of the Synoptics.
How John’s Gospel Was Built
EXEGESIS MUST BEGIN with a thorough knowledge of the text as we have it. It will not do to study a passage in isolation from its context. Nor will it do to neglect the wider theological framework of John and think that we can accurately discern the meaning of a particular narrative. This is an ancient text, a story that is almost two thousand years removed from us. It bears no copyright, no editorial history; we don’t even possess an original first edition. Scribes hand-copied this Gospel for centuries—some of whom were scrupulous and scholarly; others were, frankly, sloppy. Therefore, what is the shape or condition of this story as it now sits in our hands? What is the literary phenomenon of the Fourth Gospel?
The literary phenomenon of the text of John is nothing less than a daunting mystery. In fact, there is a voluminous scholarly literature that has tried just to solve this Johannine mystery.17 This is perhaps why Raymond Brown once remarked that Johannine scholars often enjoy detective stories in their leisure time.
We have a couple of assignments as we open up this task. First, can we learn something about how this Gospel was built? Does it betray any sources? What if the Fourth Gospel is really made up of a variety of editorial layers; perhaps collections of stories about Jesus and his miracles were combined with lengthy accounts of his teachings. If this is true and based on good evidence, then we will learn a great deal more about our text. Second, we need to stand back and look at the Gospel as a whole. In its present canonical form,18 can we discern a logic and symmetry that is useful? Does the Fourth Gospel possess an organizational structure that explains its unity and theological message?
Literary Layers in John
THE PUZZLE OF John’s literary history was the first critical issue recognized in the Gospel. As early as the second century, Tatian’s Diatessaron rearranged major portions of John to fit the synoptics. But the process of textual dislocation must have been widespread. The Sinaitic Syriac version found in 1892 at St. Catherine’s monastery in the Sinai desert of Egypt rearranged John 18 (the order of the Caiaphas/Annas interrogation) in order to “improve” the narrative.
What we seem to have are internal clues—perhaps we might label them literary seams—that betray a history of composition in this Gospel. Unfortunately the solution to this problem is unlike that in the Synoptics, where multiple traditions can be compared. For instance, if Matthew and Luke used Mark, their patterns of dependence and divergence can be analyzed. Some of course have argued that John may have known the outline of Mark or a few of Luke’s sections, but few would dare suggest direct literary dependence on the order of, say, Matthew’s use of Mark. On the contrary, John’s sources have left only subtle traces of their history.
Since John’s sources are not “given away,” scholars have developed techniques to unravel the Gospel’s mysteries.19 (1) We might look for stylistic evidences, where additional editorial hands are suspected. We could note, for instance, how logos (“word”) is employed in chapter 1 and then drops away. The same is true of crucial words like pleroma (“fullness”) and charis (“grace”). But the best studies have rejected this tool. Careful linguistic work has fatally weakened source theories based on style and convinced us that the same hand was at work from chapters 1–21.20 For instance, note how an important word like dynamis (“power”) is consistently omitted in John and replaced with a so-called “Johannine vocabulary” for miracles: ergon (“work”) and semeion (“sign”).
(2) We might look for ideological tendencies, in which rival points of view are in the text. John has witnessed a good deal of attention here as well. When any author adopts a source, he or she may exhibit disagreements with it even if on an unconscious level. Where these disagreements are discernable, the source and the editor may be distinguished. Rudolf Bultmann was the expert at this sort of detective work. He catalogued numerous tendencies, such as interest in the Beloved Disciple, works versus signs, and eschatology. Note how in 3:26 and in 4:1 traditional narratives tell us that Jesus was providing water baptism. And then much to our surprise in 4:2 the story is corrected to say that Jesus really did not baptize—only his followers did. Bultmann urges that this is evidence of disagreement between an author and his source.
But scholars have been equally critical of this approach too. D. Moody Smith and Robert Fortna question our ability to discern ideological strata.21 The themes in John are too subtle, too nuanced—and besides, any author may write employing a number of inner tensions. To assign one view to a more primitive level and another view to a redactor or editor simply lacks an objective basis.
(3) A third tool is more promising: contextual evidence. Contextual evidence is that which shows some irregularity in the text, some narrative rift. It comes in a variety of forms. (a) There is textual evidence, where ancient manuscripts show discrepancies in the tradition. One Greek manuscript may record a paragraph or sentence one way while another offers a different version. This is so, for example, in Mark’s longer ending (see Mark 16:9–20). But it is sadly infrequent in John. The story of the adulteress (7:53–8:11) comes quickly to mind, but seldom do textual discrepancies bear a major significance for the interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (cf. 1:13, 18, 41; 3:34; 6:69; 14:3).22
(b) A second contextual tool is to locate and study the parenthetical remarks of the narrator/editor. These are comments that interrupt the story in order to assist the reader, which imply that the author is using materials, sources, or traditions his readers may not understand. These are frequent in John. For instance, in John 1:41 we are taught that the Aramaic name “Cephas” means Peter (Gk. petros). In 19:31 we are told that the Jewish Sabbath is a (lit.) “high day.” In 4:9 Jewish/Samaritan tensions are footnoted (“Jews do not associate with Samaritans”).
Occasionally John explains some awkwardness in the logic of the text. For example, in 2:9 the steward of the wedding party may not have known the origin of the wine, but the narrator reminds us that the servants were genuine witnesses to the miracle. The same “reader helps” can be found in 4:2, where we are reminded that Jesus did not baptize anyone. But usually the narrator just assists the story as in 6:1, when he says that the Sea of Galilee and the Sea of Tiberius are one and the same. This is where the source critic sits up. If John’s reader understood “Sea of Tiberius” and if John wrote the entire narrative without sources, why did he not use this phrase in the first place?
(c) The third contextual tool is where we identify what I label literary seams in the text. These are instances where the chronological, topical, or dramatic flow of the narrative appears disjointed. John’s Gospel abounds with these in a way that is completely different from the Synoptics.
These phenomena are so common that they have even received a technical name. In 1907 Edward Schwartz coined the term aporia for these “difficulties.”23 Today this term has been taken up by Robert Fortna and Howard Teeple.24 In English the earliest work on this problem followed Schwartz by three years and can be found in Warburton Lewis, Disarrangements in the Fourth Gospel.25 A quick look at just a few of these will make the point:
• First take note of John’s prologue (1:1–18) with its distinctive idiom and poetic style. Without it the Gospel would begin at 1:19 with John the Baptist and parallel the traditional Synoptic starting point. What is the origin of this poem? Who wrote it? What is its relation to the body of the Gospel?
• Note how John uses the term sign (Gk. semeion) for Jesus’ miracles. In 2:11 and 4:54 these are numbered (the first and second “signs”), but the numbering system is not maintained. Besides, many have asked how 4:54 can be the second sign when 2:23 says that Jesus had done multiple signs earlier in Jerusalem.
• In 3:22 the text says that Jesus “went out into the Judean countryside.” The problem is that he had been in Judea all along since he had attended a Passover Feast in Jerusalem (2:23–3:21).
• One of the most fascinating puzzles is the sequence of John 5 and 6. The present order makes Jesus move abruptly from Samaria to Galilee to Jerusalem back to Galilee again and back once more to Jerusalem—all without transitions. In chapter 5, for example, Jesus has been engaged in a debate in Jerusalem. Now look at 6:1 (lit.): “After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee.” Many scholars would like to reverse the order of chapters 5 and 6.26
• Consider the pericope of the adulteress (7:53–8:11), which, although it interrupts the Tabernacles discourse, still has theological links with it. Here is the one case where manuscript evidence is significant. This is probably a floating Gospel episode that entered John (and Luke) late.27
• Another aporia could be noted at 11:2. Here Mary of Bethany is introduced as the woman who “anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair.” The only problem is that this anointing does not take place until the next chapter (ch. 12).
• In 14:31 it appears that Jesus has completed his Upper Room discourse and implies that his arrest is at hand: “I will not speak with you much longer, for the prince of this world is coming” (14:30). Then he says, “Come, now; let us leave” (14:31). The striking thing is that Jesus does have much to say—eighty-six verses or so!—before the coming of Judas. Should 14:31 be followed by 18:1? If you read the story in this sequence, you will be surprised by the ease with which the narrative flows.
• Another aporia is found at 16:5: “Yet none of you asks me, ‘Where are you going.’ ” On the contrary, just the opposite is the case, since in 13:36 Peter has asked the identical question and in 14:5 Thomas has done the same. This has inspired a host of rearrangement theories that try to place 16:5 before 13:36.
• A final aporia is linked to the foregoing: What do we make of John 21? The closing verses of chapter 20 seem to end the Gospel. A whole host of technical questions follow. Did the same author who wrote chapters 1–20 write this one? Stylistically it is the same—even 21:14 employs a numbering system for the resurrection episodes that presupposes all of those in chapter 20. Equally important, the rivalry between Peter and John found in John 13 and 20 is replayed again in chapter 21, when Jesus is sighted on the shore. Nevertheless, a careful editor could have shaped the chapter to the style and format of chapters 1–20. The most fascinating section is in the final two verses (21:24–25). Amazingly, here editors or writers different from the Beloved Disciple betray their identity, “This is the disciple . . . who wrote [these things] down. We know that his testimony is true.” Who is the “we” in this verse? Is this firsthand evidence of John’s disciples who assisted him in editing the Gospel?
To sum up, this literary evidence simply means that when John was writing his Gospel, he used sources. For me, sources point to the antiquity of the Johannine tradition. Some scholars take the unnecessary step of weighing these sources to locate those that are more historically reliable. But most see this as evidence that deliberate editorial selecting of stories and arranging went on in the earliest period. Few believe that the Beloved Disciple wrote his Gospel at one sitting from front to back. Instead it developed over a period of time. It is likely that the Fourth Gospel underwent a series of stages of composition, and the literary seams are examples of where the stages came together. Much like a house that has undergone numerous expansions and additions, identifying the seams helps to reconstruct the intentions of the original builders.
A Proposed Reconstruction
MANY SCHOLARS HAVE tried to outline the stages of building that make up the Gospel, but there is little agreement. A conservative reconstruction of this process might look like this:
• Stage one. A basic collection of teachings from Jesus circulated among the earliest Christians. Many of these were collected by John, memorized or written down, and used in his personal ministry.
• Stage two. An early community formed (possibly from the followers of John the Baptist, see chs. 1–4), living in strong tension with its neighboring Jewish community.28 This explains the frequent argument in the Gospel against “the Jews” and the Gospel’s use of Jewish cultural and theological materials. It also explains the Gospel’s dualism and its repeated warnings about “the world.” The Gospel’s stories were shaped by the church’s life and needs as it struggled for existence in its community.
• Stage three. As the community grew and consolidated its identity, an early draft of the Gospel was penned, based on John’s memoirs of Jesus’ life. This “pre-gospel” possibly began with the story of John the Baptist (1:19) and ended with chapter 20:31.
• Stage four. Suddenly the community found itself struggling internally, wrestling with early gnostic heresies and inner divisions. John wrote his three letters (1, 2, 3 John) and at the same time the prologue to his Gospel (John 1:1–18), which was attached to the Gospel as an explicit affirmation of John’s incarnational Christology. It is an eloquent and powerful overture to more subtle affirmations elsewhere in the Gospel.
• Stage five. Following John’s death, his disciples reverently gathered up his final stories of the resurrection (ch. 21) and paid tribute to the lasting importance of John’s eyewitness testimony (19:35; 21:24). As they edited the Gospel story itself, they generously gave John the title “Beloved Disciple,” recognizing his intimacy with Jesus and the depth of his teaching. They also gave the Gospel its final arrangement, splicing in stories where appropriate and putting the finishing touches on John’s treasured memoirs.29
Literary Structure
AN EXCELLENT EXERCISE is to photocopy the Fourth Gospel and make a paste-up of the text.30 This enables us to see the Gospel in its entirety and note connections between units of text. John 11 (the raising of Lazarus) can now easily be compared with John 20 (the raising of Jesus). Thematic shifts can also be marked with ease.31 For example, the abrupt shifts between John 5 and 6 are now evident.
If we scan the entire Gospel, we at once can see some natural divisions. All along, however, keep in mind that the chapter divisions in the Gospel are artificial. We want to locate any natural literary divisions. It seems that Jesus is at work in public from chapters 1–12, showing signs and teaching to diverse public audiences. Then from chapters 13–17 he is in private speaking to his followers, almost saying “Farewell” to them. Finally, the story ends with a detailed Passion/resurrection account.
Let’s look at the transitions between these units carefully. Chapter 12 seems to be a clear climax to the public ministry: It ends with a “summing up” of Jesus’ efforts, a cry of despair concerning disbelief, and a final reaffirmation of the divine origins of Jesus’ words. John 13:1 switches the scene to Passover, remarks that Jesus is now departing from the world, and narrows the stage to those who have followed him. Chapter 17 ends a lengthy prayer, and another geographical shift (the Kidron Valley) moves us to yet another scene: Jesus’ arrest, trial, and death. Lengthy discourses give way to dramatic narrative.
Scholars have been quick to note these divisions and label them. Chapters 1–12 are called the “Book of Signs” since they record Jesus’ numerous revelatory miracles. Chapters 13–21 (uniting the Upper Room and Passion sections) are called the “Book of Glory,” since on the cross Jesus is glorified (13:31).
The Book of Signs (John 1–12). Now look closer at the first section, the Book of Signs. Note how the hymn at the beginning is almost an overture, a curtain-raiser to the drama that really begins at 1:19. This is followed by a unit centered on John the Baptist and his disciples (and their earliest contacts with Jesus). Then the story moves quickly from scene to scene: a miracle at Cana, cleansing the temple, Nicodemus, and so on.
Try sorting these units by theme, noting major narrative shifts. At once it becomes clear that these sections are topically arranged. From chapters 2–4 Jesus is working miracles on institutions in Judaism; from chapters 5–10 he is making appearances at a series of Jewish festivals (note how each festival is actually named in each section). In each of these—institutions and festivals—he is replacing some Jewish symbol with abundance, messianic abundance (water → living water; manna → living bread, etc.). We might venture an outline such as this:
A. The Prologue (1:1–18)
B. Jesus and the Baptist (1:19–51)
C. Jesus and the Jewish Institutions (2:1–4:54)32
1. At Cana: Purification Vessels (2:1–12)
2. In Jerusalem: The Temple (2:13–25)
3. In Jerusalem: A Rabbi (3:1–21){An additional excursus on the Baptist (3:22–35)}33
4. In Samaria: a Sacred Well (4:1–42)
5. Return to Cana (4:43–54)
D. Jesus and Jewish Festivals (5:1–10:42)34
1. Sabbath (5:1–47)
2. Passover (6:1–71)
3. Tabernacles (A Festival of Water and Light) (7:1–52){An additional excursus on an adulterous woman (7:53–8:11)}35
a. A Discourse on Light (8:12–30)
b. A Conflict Narrative on Light and Blindness (9:1–41)
4. Rededication (or the Festival of Hanukkah) (10:1–39)
5. Return to John the Baptist (10:40–42)
E. Foreshadowing Jesus’ Death and Resurrection (11:1–12:50)
1. Lazarus: A Paradigm of Death and Life (11:1–57)36
2. Jesus, Anointed for Death, Enters Jerusalem to Die (12:1–50)
Note how many of the literary units are shown by internal indicators of each division. Episodes in Cana (miracles, each of which are numbered) frame the section on Jewish institutions. The festival section clearly refers to each respective festival, exploits a major symbol in the festival (Sabbath/work, Passover/bread, Tabernacles/water and light, Rededication/Jesus’ consecration), and generally offers a discourse expanding the meaning of the symbols (see 6:15–35 as a comment on Passover). The final reference to John the Baptist (10:40–42) refers back to the beginning of the entire sequence of signs (1:19ff.), making another closing frame and reiterating the value of Jesus’ signs. Finally, the closing two chapters serve as a sobering warning of what is to come.
What conclusions can we draw from this? Suddenly it appears that the Fourth Gospel may be topically arranged (at least in chs. 1–12), even though the units or stories themselves have a clear historical and chronological character. John is telling us more about Jesus’ messianic impact on Judaism than he is about the sequence of events in Jesus’ ministry. The episodes are not arranged by any accident. The final edition of John that we possess has a careful, intentional organization.
The Book of Glory (John 13–21). Much the same can be argued for the Book of Glory (chs. 13–21). In this major section Jesus turns in private to his disciples during his final Passover. Remarkably, all nine chapters center on just a few days of Jesus’ life. He teaches them privately about servanthood, washes their feet, explains the coming Holy Spirit in terms of personal revelation and persecution, and prays at length for his followers and their disciples. Chapter 18 opens the story of the trial and death of Jesus. As an extended narrative, it reads much like the Synoptics, moving quickly from scene to scene without the characteristic Johannine discourses. The cross is followed by a detailed resurrection account, in which Jesus anoints his followers with the Spirit. Finally, chapter 21 is likely an addition that adds resurrection stories in Galilee and Jesus’ lengthy discussion with Peter.
A. The Passover Meal (13:1–30)
1. The Footwashing (13:1–20)
2. The Betrayal of Judas (13:21–30)
B. The Farewell Discourse (13:31–17:26)
1. Jesus’ Departure and Provision (13:31–14:31)
2. The True Vine (15:1–17)
3. The Disciples and the World (15:18–16:33)
a. The Enmity of the World (15:18–16:4a)
b. Further Work of the Spirit (16:4b–33)
4. The Priestly Prayer of Jesus (17:1–26)
C. The Suffering and Death of Jesus (18:1–19:42)
1. Arrest and Interrogation (18:1–19:16)
a. Arrest (18:1–11)
b. The Jewish Trial (18:12–27)
c. The Roman Trial (18:28–19:16)
2. Crucifixion and Burial (19:17–42)
D. The Resurrection (20:1–29)
E. Epilogue (21:1–25)
1. The Miracle of 153 Fish (21:1–14)
2. Jesus and Peter (21:15–23)
3. Editorial Appendix (21:24–25)
The Book of Glory is dominated by the events of the Upper Room and the Passion account. From chapters 13–17 Jesus is center stage, preparing his disciples for his death. Chapter 18, on the other hand, is a different sort of story. It seems that the account of Jesus’ trial and death was firmly established in early Christianity, perhaps by oral tradition. John 18–19 has more parallels with the Synoptic Gospels than any other section. This is why C. H. Dodd began with the Passion narrative of John when he probed the Fourth Gospel’s historical worth.37 He concluded, however, that while the Gospel echoes the Synoptics, its divergences were such that it probably recorded an ancient and authentic strain of the oral tradition about Jesus’ death.
But what at first sight appears to be a smooth narrative shows up on closer inspection to be a story assembled in much the same way as the Book of Signs. Jesus’ farewell (13:31–17:26), for instance, reads like a patchwork of teachings. We have already noted how 16:5 and the question of “going” follows 13:36 with difficulty. Commentators often point out the many parallels between chapters 14 and 16, suggesting that we may have two renditions of similar materials. Nevertheless the final editing of this Gospel combined these sources of tradition, organized them here, and worked to give a coherent presentation of Jesus’ final days.