“JOHN DOESN’T COUNT.”
“I figured you’d say that.”
We were back in Webb Center, the same table where David had given me More Than a Carpenter. I had spent the weekend studying John’s gospel on the internet and praying avidly.
It was not that I was worried. Simply taking sides on these issues meant repeatedly reasserting my commitment to Islam, and I was becoming more devout because of it. Plus, I was convinced that Allah was rewarding my faith with answered prayers and arming me to fight against David’s position. I discovered mounds of arguments against the accuracy of John’s gospel. Having spent the past few days regrouping, I was prepared to redraw battle lines. Now I was bringing out the big guns.
“So why doesn’t it count?” David asked.
“It was the last gospel, written seventy years after Jesus. It looks nothing like the other gospels, which appeared much earlier.”
“But we went over this, Nabeel. John’s gospel was written by a disciple, or at least in the lifetime of disciples. What it says is trustworthy.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, David. Seventy years after Jesus is a decent amount of time. We can’t be sure that the disciples were still around that late. But there’s a bigger issue here: why does it look so different from the other gospels? Jesus doesn’t use a single parable in John, and he talks about himself a lot more frequently than in the Synoptics. Plus, there’s only one miracle that’s actually common to all four gospels.63 John seems to be telling us about his Jesus. A later Jesus. A different Jesus.”
Synoptics: A collective term for the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke
“Where did you get this?” David’s tone betrayed a hint of fluster. That was truly rare, and I relished the vindication. I wasn’t just fighting for my pride, after all. I was fighting for my family and my faith.
“A new search engine I found, ‘Google.’ ”
“No, I meant who are you quoting?” David pressed, his curiosity piqued. “Doesn’t sound like a Muslim.”
“It was a Christian scholar Shabir quoted in a debate. Bart Ehrman.”64
A look of understanding crossed David’s face. “Bart Ehrman is not a Christian.”
“Oh? I thought he was.” I smiled, savoring the moment. “He went to seminary.”
“Yeah, but later he left the faith.”
“I can see why!” I responded, half-jokingly. But only half.
“Okay, back to the deity of Jesus. Did you find nothing in McDowell’s book that was convincing?”
“Not outside John’s gospel.” I was not about to let John off the hook that quickly.
“Alright, how about this. I’ll look into John and get back to you. In the meantime, I’ll give you another book, and you let me know what you think.”
“Sounds good, but you’ve got to do better than More Than a Carpenter, David. Maybe pick something bigger next time?”
David laughed, “You asked for it!”
A couple days later, I was back on the floor of Abba’s study, staring at a golden tome. It was called The New Evidence that Demands a Verdict, and though this book was also written by McDowell, it was in an entirely different class. It was eight hundred pages of lecture notes that McDowell had collected over his years researching Christian origins.
I was undaunted. My recent victory over David’s argument from the gospel of John had given me a newfound confidence. I was more certain than ever that Allah was on my side, that no arguments against Him would prevail, and that the deity of Jesus was an innovation relegated to later Christianity.
If Jesus truly claimed to be God, we could expect his claim to be found in the earliest gospel, not just the last one. I needed to see Jesus’ claim to deity found in the gospel of Mark. Without hesitation, I opened straight to the chapter on Jesus’ deity and got started.
As if McDowell had presciently read my mind, the very first piece of evidence that he offered was “Jesus’ own legal testimony concerning himself” in Mark’s gospel. When the high priest asked if he was the Christ, the Son of God, Jesus testified to the Sanhedrin: “I am; and you shall see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of power, and coming with the clouds of heaven.”65
Apart from the “I am,” I did not find this statement very clear, and I could not immediately see why McDowell would have chosen it as his primary argument. What did Jesus mean by this?
Whatever he meant, one thing was clear. The priests of the Sanhedrin thought he made a statement about his identity that they considered blasphemous, warranting execution. There was only one identity claim that deserved such a harsh penalty: claiming to be God. Claiming to be the Messiah was not enough.66 But what exactly did Jesus say in his reply to the Sanhedrin that made them think he was claiming to be God?
If Jesus truly claimed to be God, we could expect his claim to be found in the earliest gospel, not just the last one.
McDowell quoted a New Testament scholar, Craig Blomberg, who explained, “This reply combines allusions to Daniel 7:13 and Psalm 110:1. In this context, ‘Son of man’ means far more than a simple human being. Jesus is describing himself as the ‘one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven’ who ‘approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence’ and given authority and power over all humanity, leading to universal worship and everlasting dominion. This claim to be far more than a mere mortal is probably what elicited the verdict of blasphemy from the Jewish high court.”67
I was perplexed. Was Blomberg saying that the title “Son of Man” was a claim to be God? That was impossible.
I thought back to a khutba I heard at a mosque in Washington, D.C., where the imam stood at the head of the prayer hall, proclaiming, “Jesus repeatedly denied being God. He always called himself the Son of Man to drive the point home! He is a human. He never calls himself ‘the Son of God.’ That is why we know the few times he is called a ‘Son of God’ by others, it does not mean he is a literal son of God. Jesus is the Son of Man. He is human.”
Khutba: A sermon, usually the Muslim Sabbath sermons on Friday
Could it be that the term “Son of Man” actually meant something more?
I had to read Daniel 7 for myself. I grabbed Abba’s Bible off the shelf, looked up “Daniel” in the table of contents, and flipped to Daniel 7. There indeed, just as Blomberg had said, was a prophetic vision of one like a Son of Man who was worshiped for all eternity by men of every language. This Son of Man was given authority and sovereign power over an everlasting kingdom.
My mind raced. What could this mean? I recalled that Blomberg said Jesus’ response also referred to Psalm 110. Perhaps that could clarify things for me? I looked up Psalm 110 and read the first verse: “The LORD says to my lord, ‘Sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.’ ”
But what did that mean? How does the LORD say something to the lord? Who is God inviting to sit at His right hand?
I took my search online and began looking up as much information as I could about Daniel 7 and Psalm 110. After a few hours, it was clear. Daniel 7 spoke of a Son of Man that shared sovereignty in heaven with God, being worshiped by all men with a reverence due only to God. Psalm 110 spoke of another lord, someone who would sit on God’s throne alongside God and serve as His heir.
In Mark 14:62, Jesus claimed to be the divine Son of Man and the sovereign heir of the Father’s throne. He was boldly claiming to be God.68
But how could this be? Perhaps this portion of Mark, like the gospel of John, did not accurately reflect what Jesus claimed? I fervently searched the internet for a way out, but there was none. Jesus called himself the Son of Man more than eighty times in the four gospels; that he really used the term was undeniable. His position as the one “sitting at the right hand of the power” was deeply embedded in church doctrine, even at the earliest layer.69 If these were divine claims, Jesus’ deity was laced throughout the gospels and earliest church history.
In Mark 14:62, Jesus claimed to be the divine Son of Man and the Sovereign Heir of the Father’s throne.
At nightfall, I reluctantly turned off the computer, put McDowell’s book away, and just let this new information simmer. I was at an impasse. I could not get myself to admit that the earliest gospel, and in fact every gospel thereafter, was built around the framework of Jesus’ deity, but neither could I deny it. On the one hand, the cost was too high, and on the other, the evidence was too strong.
Mercifully, and despite the title of the book, the evidence did not demand a verdict. At least not right away. I did not need to consciously address the incongruity between the evidence and my beliefs. Subconsciously, though, the tension and pressure found an outlet in my life by way of a renewed fervor for Islam. I gained a new zeal for salaat, spent more time studying hadith, and employed Islamic terms more frequently in daily speech.
Jesus’ deity was laced throughout the gospels and earliest church history.
I did whatever it took to avoid the evidence, but I could not escape it forever. And months later, when the tension finally resurfaced, it put my relationship with David to the test.