What you are about to read is a detective story. We have uncovered an ancient writing that is encrypted with a hidden meaning. In the process of decoding it, we’ll take you on a journey into the world of this mysterious text. What the Vatican feared—and Dan Brown only suspected—has come true. There is now written evidence that Jesus was married to Mary the Magdalene1 and that they had children together. More than this, based on the new evidence, we now know what the original Jesus movement looked like and the unexpected role sexuality played in it. We have even unraveled the politics behind the crucifixion, as well as the events and the people that took part in it.
Gathering dust in the British Library is a document that takes us into the missing years of Jesus’ life. Scholars believe that Jesus was born around 5 B.C.E. (B.C.) and that he was crucified around 30 C.E. (A.D.).2 But there is a huge gap in his biography. We know absolutely nothing about Jesus from the time he was eight days old (his circumcision, according to Jewish law), until he was in his early thirties. There is one exception. According to the Gospel of Luke (2:41–2:51), when he was twelve years old, Jesus traveled with his parents to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. That’s it. That’s all we have. Otherwise, thirty years of absolute silence.
Isn’t this incredible? Here is arguably the most influential individual in human history and we know nothing about him until after he starts his “ministry” (i.e., his public activism) at most three years before his crucifixion. But the fact is that we simply have no information about Jesus’ early years—his upbringing, friends, schooling, or his interaction with family members. We have no knowledge of Jesus as a young adult. How did he gain access to the writings of the Hebrew Bible? Did the synagogue in Nazareth, a very small hamlet at the time, have scrolls of the Law and the Prophets? Who were his religious teachers? How well versed was he in Hebrew, in addition to the Aramaic that we know he spoke? Did he speak Greek, the lingua franca of the Roman world?
Jesus appears on the stage of history suddenly in the late 20s C.E. At this point, the mature Jesus announces the “Kingdom of God”—that is, the advent of a qualitative transformation in human history, prophesied by the Hebrew Bible, in which justice will reign upon the earth and the worship of the one true God will be universal.
But what happened to Jesus before this sudden appearance? According to the document that we uncovered, sometime during this period he became engaged, got married, had sexual relations, and produced children. Before anyone gets his/her theological back up, keep in mind that we are not attacking anyone’s theology. We are reporting on a text. Theology must follow historical fact and not the other way around. Having said this, for the moment, we are not asserting that our text is historical fact. So far, we are merely stating that the Christian Bible tells us nothing about Jesus’ early years, and that we have discovered a text that claims that he was married and fathered children.
On a purely historical level, this really shouldn’t surprise us. Marriage and children were expected of a Jewish man, then and now. If he hadn’t been married, that would have caused consternation to his family, possible scandal in the community, and the New Testament certainly would have commented on it—if for no other reason than to explain and defend Jesus’ unusual behavior. But now we have a document that claims that he was indeed married and fathered children. Not only this, our document indicates that for some of his original followers, Jesus’ marriage was the most important aspect of their theology.
A Sudden Insight
Before we proceed, we need to clarify one more thing: we don’t claim to have excavated a long-lost text. What we do claim is to have found a centuries-old manuscript in a long-forgotten corner of a library. Such a discovery is not without precedent. For example, in 1873, in a library in Constantinople, a Greek priest found a text known as the Didache. It dates back to at least the beginning of the 2nd century, maybe even earlier, “making it as old as some of the books included in the New Testament canon.”3 The Didache gives us a glimpse into a pre-Pauline Christianity: that is, Christianity before the Apostle Paul reworked it. In the Didache, the Eucharist is a simple thanksgiving meal. There is no mention of Paul’s idea that the bread represents Jesus’ flesh and the wine his blood.4 In similar fashion, we have also found a text that gives us a glimpse into the earliest writings concerning Jesus and his followers. Later versions of this text have been known to a small coterie of scholars for over a hundred years. They have been baffled, however, by its message and its purpose. As a result, it has occupied esoteric corners of academic research largely unnoticed and certainly unheralded.
What we also claim is to have gone back to the text’s earliest existing version, translated it, and decoded its meaning. As we will demonstrate, the document in question is a very loosely disguised Gospel. It was probably encoded by a persecuted community of Christians so as to spare their group’s literature from the bonfires of their oppressors.
How did we come across the manuscript, and how did we discover its meaning?
Oddly enough, the discovery of the manuscript’s meaning came through an epiphany, a sudden blast of insight. We were both in Turkey en route to Ephesus in July 2008, filming an episode on Paul for the Associated Producers’ History Channel documentary series, Secrets of Christianity. For our research, we had been mulling over puzzling texts from early Christianity—what they might mean and what new insights they could give us about the various groups that followed Jesus in the earliest days of his movement. Our discussion included a little-known text that highlights two figures from the Hebrew Bible.5 The figures in question are Joseph, the Israelite of multi-color-coat fame who in the Book of Genesis is sold by his brothers into slavery and ends up as a ruler in Egypt, and his obscure Egyptian wife, Aseneth.
As Biblical historical researchers, we knew that the few scholars who had examined this text—dubbed Joseph and Aseneth—had expressed bewilderment over its meaning. We initially surmised that it might have something to do with Jesus—after all, the text was preserved in Christian monasteries. Also, the Joseph in the story is depicted—in scholarly language—as a savior-figure. He is an ancient Israelite who saved his people from extinction and the Egyptians from starvation. Following up on this idea, we began to explore the possibility that the Joseph in question might be a stand-in for Jesus. Right away, the parallel was easy to see. After all, Joseph, like Jesus, was assumed dead and turned up alive; he too had humble beginnings and ended up a king of sorts. Despite the parallels, however, we realized that we had no smoking gun to justify equating the Joseph of Joseph and Aseneth with the Jesus of the Gospels.
We now turned our attention to the woman of the story. Could Joseph’s partner, Aseneth, turn out to be a stand-in for Jesus’ partner, likely Mary the Magdalene? We weren’t at all sure about this identification. After all, even if she was a stand-in for his wife, there are other possibilities for Jesus’ partner. For example, another Mary—Mary of Bethany—and her sister Martha were also close to Jesus. According to the Gospels, he often used their home in Bethany—which was within easy walking distance of Jerusalem—as his base of operations.
But the symbolism associated with Aseneth in the text—which we will be decoding throughout this book—couldn’t be ignored: she lives in a tower, she has a heavenly and an earthly wedding, she partakes of a magical honeycomb, and she is especially associated with bees. In the story, they swarm her, try to sting her, die, and are resurrected. What is this all about? If the Joseph in our manuscript is Jesus, what do bees have to do with his wife, whoever she might be?
All this perplexed us as we traveled from Antioch and Tarsus in eastern Turkey toward Ephesus in the west. How could we make sense of the obscure Joseph and Aseneth text? We were sure that on some level it must be comprehensible. But what could we make of those strange symbols it alludes to? Into what surreal space had we landed? Since we couldn’t answer these questions, we decided to shelve the idea of doing further detective work on the manuscript.
But that all changed in Ephesus.
In Ephesus, Turkish authorities allowed us to get within an inch of the imposing statue of the goddess Artemis. This statue, now in a local museum, had originally graced Ephesus’ spectacular Temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. We now found ourselves standing before the great goddess. Millions—literally millions—in the ancient world had adored her and prayed to her for health, healing, and prosperity. Standing in her presence, we were able to notice details that visitors could not see from fifteen or twenty feet away. For example, we observed that her garment was covered with—bees.
More than this, multiple protrusions cling to her chest. These have perplexed scholars for centuries. Some identified them as breasts. They argued that since Artemis was a nourishing goddess, she must have had dozens of breasts. This theory was accepted by academics for many years until someone noted that the protrusions on her body were too low, didn’t look anything like breasts, and don’t have the requisite nipples. Others then conjectured that the protrusions must be bulls’ testicles. After all, bulls were sacrificed to Artemis, and the testicles must have been something like notches in her belt. There’s no need to comment on this theory, although it still has several academic adherents.
Standing before Artemis, it all came together for us. Suddenly, the meaning of the protrusions became apparent—they were bee cocoons or, more accurately, queen bee cells. Just as there were bees clinging to Aseneth, here were bees clinging to Artemis.
Our eyes now tracked to the top of the statue. There, crowning her head, was a tall tower. As in our manuscript, just as Aseneth lived in a tower, here was a tower crowning the goddess Artemis.
We looked at each other at the same time and immediately blurted out with the excitement of children: “Could these be the bees and tower we have been puzzling over in our Joseph and Aseneth text?” Suddenly, our text came into sharp focus. It began to make sense, and the light began to dawn. As we went back and forth between statue and text, text and statue, we gradually came to see how the image of Joseph’s partner, Aseneth, was modeled on the goddess Artemis. So whomever she might represent historically, she was likened to this figure. In time, we came to see what these symbols really meant.
Put simply, in order to convey the stature of Aseneth—perhaps Mary the Magdalene—to his audience, the unknown author of our manuscript selected a dominant image of his culture, one that he could be sure his readers would readily understand. He took the well-known figure of the goddess Artemis and used her symbols to clothe the depiction of Aseneth. While headquartered in Ephesus, the worship of Artemis flourished all over the Greek and Roman world. Unlike most other local deities, the worship of Artemis boasted religious sanctuaries around the entire Mediterranean basin—from modern-day Spain, Greece, and Turkey to Africa, Jordan, and even Israel.
Now our work began in earnest. As we went through the text systematically, we figured out what the symbols meant by doing something that the few scholars who were familiar with this text had not done—we looked back in time to learn how early Christians understood these symbols. We examined ancient writings and sermons to see how the first followers of Jesus understood Biblical figures like Joseph. This was critical: we wanted to see how early Christians understood their own writings.
This detective work took us into the realm of Syriac-speaking Christianity—little understood in today’s world but highly influential in antiquity—as well as into the world of so-called Gnostic Christianity: that is, early Christian mysticism. A door opened to a lost world of early Christian understanding.
We worked jointly over several years, puzzling over the clues given within the document. Without getting ahead of our story, we eventually realized that our overlooked manuscript—ostensibly about Joseph and Aseneth—was really about Jesus and Mary the Magdalene. Not only that, it was also about their marriage and the previously unknown politics that surrounded their activism, including the events that led up to the crucifixion. All the imagery and symbolism dovetailed.
At one point, we realized that our obscure manuscript is really a lost Gospel and that it is less about Jesus and more about Mary. What the manuscript is really about is Mary as “the Bride of God.” On one level, it is a gripping love story: first meeting, first impressions, wedding preparations, the ceremony, and then the offspring. On another level, it is also a tale of politics, intrigue, betrayal, and mysticism.
As we pored through the manuscript, we realized that while knowledge of the marriage had been relegated to historical rumor, it never really went away. In fact, it is actually very impressive how this tradition refused to disappear. Over the centuries, it has been resurrected in different ways and in different places. Nonetheless, the stories are, for the most part, surprisingly consistent. In his chronicle of the Albigensian Crusade, Pierre Vaux de Cernay wrote in 1213 that the townspeople of Béziers were burned alive on the feast day of Mary Magdalene (22 July 1209) in retribution for “their scandalous assertion that Mary Magdalene and Christ were lovers.”6 During the Renaissance, Michelangelo sculpted a Pietà that was meant for his own tomb. Today, it is in the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo in Florence. The composition shows a group of people crowded around Jesus just after the crucifixion. Surprisingly, Jesus’ leg is slung over one of the women. The slung leg is a Renaissance code indicating a sexual relationship.
There is a 16th-century Renaissance painting by Luca Cambiasi that can act as a cipher for Michelangelo’s sculpture. Today, Cambiasi’s painting is in the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. It depicts Venus and Adonis in the same way Michelangelo depicts Jesus and Mary—slung leg and all. In other words, Michelangelo depicted Jesus and Mary the Magdalene in the way Cambiasi depicted a Greek god and his divine consort.
Another example of the enduring nature of the heavenly marriage is associated with Rennes-le-Château in France. In 1885, a parish priest named Bérenger Saunière is said to have found secret coded documents hidden in a hollow pillar in an 11th-century church in the town. This has given rise to endless Da Vinci Code-type speculations. According to the various theories, the secret texts reveal Mary the Magdalene’s marriage to Jesus.
And it’s not just in writings and art that the marriage theme finds expression. More recently, for example, a popular song by U2 (“Until the End of the World,” from their album Achtung Baby, 1991) refers to Jesus and Mary the Magdalene as a bride and groom. In a song called “Jesus Had a Son” (from their Long John Silver album, 1972), Jefferson Airplane belt out “Jesus had a son by Mary Magdalene. . . .” In other words, Jesus’ marriage to Mary the Magdalene is not an unknown idea. It is part of the substrata of our culture—and here we were looking at a document that took us back to the source of this idea.
But why did the marriage have to go underground? If this was historical fact, why did it have to become historical rumor? Why was it relegated to our culture’s fringes? Why was Mary the Magdalene written out, as it were, from the authorized accounts of Jesus’ life? In other words, why has this chapter in Jesus’ life been covered up? When it came to our manuscript, why did the author have to encode the text to preserve it? Now, at last, we had a decoded document that could answer all these questions.
Surprises
Reading the document from our new perspective, readers will be startled to learn about the human side of Jesus . . . and what this aspect of Jesus meant to his early followers. The new information gleaned from our lost Gospel will flesh out an aspect of Jesus only hinted at in the canonical texts. Clearly, in their attempt to assert his divinity, the latter tend to gloss over the details of Jesus’ personal life.
Unexpectedly, through this text, we came across a whole new early Christian movement—one that was vastly different from the Jewish messianic movement led by James, the brother of Jesus, and from the Gentile “Christ Movement” led by Paul which, eventually, became Christianity as we know it today. In fact, the group of Jesus followers that we’ve rediscovered predates Paul and takes us into a now-lost world that has been inaccessible for centuries.
The early centuries of Christianity were exciting, gut-wrenching, noisy times, as factions jostled with one another—even battled vigorously with each other—over how best to understand Jesus—the man, his mission, and his message. According to Marvin Meyer, several of these factions “showed remarkable similarities to the mystery religions” of the Roman Empire.7 The “mystery” religions involved secret teachings and secret rituals of initiation. Often these included the use of drugs, sex, and altered states of mind. Until the interventions of the Roman emperors Constantine and Theodosius in the 4th century, there wasn’t one right, orthodox, or catholic (i.e., universal) expression of the faith. But eventually, one version of Christianity—Paul’s version focusing on the resurrected “Christ” as opposed to the historical Jesus—was endorsed by the power of the Roman Empire. After that, multiple Christianities disappeared. Suddenly, there was only one correct version sanctioned by the Roman state. Those versions that did not make it into the official canon were dubbed heresies and consigned to the flames.
Today, conditioned by thousands of years of Pauline Christianity, it seems outlandish to talk, for example, of a married Jesus. The simple fact is that we live inside the post-Constantine box. In the post-Constantine era, talking about a married Jesus is akin to reporting on alien abductions.8 According to the mainstream—even the secular mainstream—the orthodox narrative is right or, at least, it is the only narrative with a shot at being right. By definition, every other narrative is wrong or at least far-fetched.
However, when we look at the first centuries of Christian development, we shouldn’t make the anachronistic mistake of thinking that everyone agreed with Paul and the version of Christianity that we’ve inherited from him. More than this, his version did not represent the normative expression of the new faith. The original movements in Jerusalem—the Gnostics, the Ebionites, and the Nazarenes—all disagreed with Paul’s version of Jesus’ message.
In many ways, the Christianity of the first few centuries was much more varied than the religion is today. Some might object, saying that that we live in a multi-denominational Christian world. But in some ways, this is an illusion. The fact is that Catholics, Orthodox, Anglicans, Reformation and post-Reformation Protestants (e.g., Presbyterians, Lutherans, etc.), and Evangelicals all trace their spiritual lineage to the theology of Paul. However different they are from each other, and however important they think these theological differences are, all five contemporary Christian groupings represent variations on the same theme: Pauline Christianity.
But our text gives a voice to those who lost out. In the manuscript, for example, we encounter a non-Pauline theology of redemption. Our lost Gospel is essentially a story of salvation—but it represents a perspective that’s not familiar to us today, even though it was believed by many in the early church. It advances a theology of human liberation markedly different from the one we have inherited from Paul and his followers. It is a theology based on Jesus’ marriage, not his death; on his moments of joy, not the “passion” of his suffering.
An Unknown Plot
Besides giving us previously unknown details of Jesus’ private life, our text reveals details of his political life. Specifically, in our manuscript, we uncover the story of a plot against Jesus’ life prior to his arrest and crucifixion in Jerusalem. Jesus was clearly a marked man—and he knew it. Especially after the execution of his cousin, John the Baptizer,9 by none other than Herod Antipas, the ruler of two Roman territories: the Galilee in northern Israel, and Peraea in modern Jordan.
Jesus had many opponents and enemies. The entire Herodian party—i.e., Herod’s extended family and its supporters—was literally out to get him. Jesus’ enemies also included other powerful people such as the High Priest Caiaphas in Jerusalem, as well as the Roman procurator/prefect Pontius Pilate and members of the occupying power, perhaps as far afield as Rome itself. Then, too, there were Jesus’ Jewish debating partners and critics—the Pharisees and the Scribes.
The fact is that Jesus and his followers were well aware that the Roman authorities and their Jewish underlings were carefully watching them. No would-be “King of the Jews” could, of course, escape detection—at least, not for long.
Jesus’ message was radical and seditious: “Coming soon—the ‘Kingdom of God.’” Simply put, declaring that the Kingdom of God was on the cusp of history represented a forceful challenge to the viability and continuity of Roman rule over Jewish Judaea. Jesus went further: he claimed that many in his audience would live to see the redemption—that is, the end of Roman rule and its replacement by God’s Kingdom. That’s a fantastic assertion. It raised huge expectations. Jesus’ powerful message tapped deeply into the messianic dream of ancient Israel. God, it was thought, would intervene in human affairs by sending a Moses-like messenger, or messiah. All evil empires—and peoples—would be swept away, Romans included, into the garbage heap of history. And all this was going to happen not in some distant future but now. Right now.
Given all this, the Romans had an excellent reason to monitor Jesus and his potentially seditious group. Equally, ordinary Jewish folk—Jesus’ countrymen—had especially good reasons to become enthused. This was an explosive situation. That Jesus’ period of activism—his so-called ministry—may have lasted three years is remarkable given the incendiary nature of his preaching. His message wasn’t just religious: it was profoundly political and potentially threatening to established authority. Incredibly, the political side of Jesus has been vastly underrated. By highlighting an unknown plot against his life, prior to the one recounted in the Gospels, our rediscovered text places the Jesus story back in the historical/political context from which it has been extracted.
A Hidden Message
We now embark on our detective work. As we scrutinize each section, the document in question occupies center stage in our investigation. We make no assumptions. We start at the beginning and let the text speak for itself.
Along the way, as the investigation unfolds, we’ll also consider why a group of early Christians would think they had to disguise this history, composing for us a narrative that requires decoding. Indeed, why did they preserve this writing for posterity?
What we will soon discover is that encoded documents were not unusual in the world of early Christianity. It may seem strange to us today, but the early Christians thought the Old Testament—which preceded Jesus—was also a coded text. They believed that its real message became apparent only after Jesus’ ministry. Jesus, too, veiled his central teaching concerning the Kingdom of God in parables. This reinforced the early Christian belief in the need to decipher hidden meanings in sacred scriptures. In other words, encoding and decoding was part and parcel of early Christian theology.10
For our part, we’ll do something that scholars so far have failed to do with respect to early Christianity. When analyzing this particular text, we’re the first to use the actual decoding techniques employed by early Christians themselves. From their writings and sermons that have remarkably survived the centuries, they will tell us—in their own words—what this ancient manuscript really means. What we’re presenting is not some alien, modern-day take on the material. Rather, it is one that arises organically, out of the way in which communities within early Christianity understood Biblical writings.
In this document, against those who would seek to quell its message, we hear a voice that struggles to be heard. The censors include not only Romans but also Christians who did not share the perspective of the author of our Gospel. Certainly Paul and his followers would have rejected these views, as they objected to anything pertaining to Jesus’ family. Paul and his followers were, after all, hostile not only to Mary the Magdalene, but also to James, Jesus’ brother, who took over the leadership of Jesus’ movement after the crucifixion.
Here’s the Clincher
Hidden messages, a secret history, a lost Gospel, encoding and decoding—pretty heady stuff. But, to our absolute amazement, we discovered that we weren’t the first to think that our text contains a hidden meaning. In the course of our investigation, we came across an ancient Syriac letter, never before translated into any modern language, that indicated that the person in antiquity who first discovered our document also suspected that it contained a secret message, an embedded truth.
We don’t know the name of that person. He was likely a monk. But we have the nearly fifteen-hundred-year-old letter he sent to the translator he commissioned. He obviously intuited that it contained something very, very important. Around 550 C.E. he found our manuscript in a Greek version. Not very familiar with that language, he sent it to a scholar named Moses of Ingila11 for translation into Syriac. The translation he requested represents the oldest extant manuscript of our work, a copy of a now-lost, much-older Greek writing. The anonymous man who commissioned the translation also asked Moses of Ingila to tell him its inner meaning. We don’t know if Moses of Ingila ever did oblige, but now, some 1,460 years after his written request, we are pleased that this book provides this ancient truth-seeker with the answer he was looking for: a disclosure of its hidden meaning.
Here’s our approach: first, we will present a synopsis of our manuscript by way of an overview. Without going into all the rich details of the story, we’ll give the reader a précis of what it says. Then, we’ll take the reader through the surface narrative. Here we identify the questions that prompted us to look beyond its superficial story line and issues that point to a deeper underlying meaning. We invite the reader to partner with us in our detective work.
Next, we summarize what we know of this writing—its date and origin and what scholars say about the work.
After all this, we start making sense of our text by stepping into the world of early Christianity, so as to learn the original Christian approach to understanding scripture. Bit by bit, we decode the various elements of the story. In this book, we unravel the complex symbols and retrieve the original narrative.
Finally, we provide another first: an English translation of the oldest surviving manuscript of this ancient writing, the one written in Syriac.12 This translation, along with commentary, is presented as Appendix I of this book so that you—the reader—can judge for yourself what the original narrative says. Two 6th-century covering letters to the manuscript are also translated for the first time from Syriac into English as Appendix II. Most exciting, we realized that a 13th-century censor literally took a knife to the manuscript and also covered certain words with ink. Using multi-spectral imaging, we were able to see these words for the first time in almost a thousand years.