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The opening of John’s Gospel may surprise first-time readers familiar with the opening chapters of Matthew and Luke. Absent are the virgin Mary, the manger, the magi, and all other elements of the “Christmas story.” Instead, the prologue situates Jesus within the relationship between God and humankind that begins with Genesis, and proclaims the universal scope and significance of the Gospel’s salvation story. The prologue’s opening words, “In the beginning,” quote the opening of the biblical book of Genesis (Gen. 1:1). The quotation signals that what follows is not just another biography but a story of life-giving significance for all creation.

Poetic Style

The prologue makes use of “staircase parallelism,” in which an important word at the end of one line is taken up at the beginning of the next: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God” (1:1); “in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness” (1:4–5). Some view this poetic style as evidence that the prologue was a pre-Johannine, independent hymn that was incorporated into the Gospel and adapted to serve as its introduction.

Wisdom Imagery

The prologue’s “Word,” though masculine in both grammatical and human form, is remarkably similar to “Lady Wisdom” of biblical and postbiblical Wisdom literature. In Prov. 8:22–31, Wisdom describes her role in the creation of the world, and the intimate delight of her relationship with God (8:30–31). Wisdom and Logos are closely linked in the writings of the Alexandrian Jewish philosopher Philo (20 BCE–50 CE) and the Aramaic targumim, in which God’s assistant is the memra, a masculine term meaning “word.” This prior linking suggests that the fluidity between feminine Wisdom and masculine Logos is not the Gospel’s innovation.

The phrase “lived among us” (NRSV) is more literally, and vividly, translated as “tabernacled among us,” thereby preserving the allusion to the Shekinah, the divine presence (cf. Tg. Onq. at Deut. 12:5), and the tabernacle that the Israelites constructed in the wilderness (e.g., Exod. 25:9), in which God’s presence was uniquely palpable.

The prologue also introduces key metaphors, figures, and themes that will be developed in the Gospel’s stories and discourses. The metaphors include “light” and “life” to describe Jesus and the opportunity he will provide to humankind, and “world,” a multilayered term—cosmos, in Greek—that can refer to the physical world, to humankind, but also more narrowly to those who refuse to believe. John 1:6–8 refers to John the Baptist as the one who testifies to the “light” but is not himself the light. John 1:17 contrasts the law that was given through Moses with the grace and truth now given through Jesus Christ.

Finally, the prologue draws its imagined or ideal audience into the Gospel’s narrative and theological world. The first person plural in 1:14—“we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth”—situates the reader alongside the narrator as a member of the group that, in contrast to Jesus’ own people, “received him, … believed in his name,” and therefore became “children of God” (1:12–13).

The church fathers viewed the Johannine account of the Word as complementary to the infancy narratives of Matthew and Luke. Augustine (354–430 CE) commented that Christ’s dual nature required two births, one divine—described in John—and one human—described in Matthew and Luke (Serm. 196.1; Elowsky 2006, 3). His contemporary Jerome (347–420) stressed his inability to comprehend how the Word was made flesh, admitting, “The doctrine from God, I have; the science of it, I do not have” (Homily 87, On John 1:1–14; Elowsky 2006, 41).

The opening lines of the prologue have fired the imagination since ancient times. Their “celestial flights” led to the use of the eagle to represent the Fourth Gospel (R. E. Brown 1966, 18). The words were thought to have healing power, and for that reason were used in long-standing custom of the Western church as a benediction over the sick and over newly baptized children and as amulets to protect against illness (R. E. Brown 1966, 18).

The poetic beauty of the prologue can make the human spirit soar and provide a glimpse of the cosmic context of our mundane existence. But its binary contrasts—between light and darkness, Moses and Jesus, law and truth, acceptance and rejection—also construct a polarized worldview that is both supersessionist and hierarchical. The claim that Jesus—the Word—provides the only path to knowledge of God explicitly invalidates any belief system, including Judaism, that does not include faith in Jesus as the Christ and Savior. By occupying the compliant reading position that the prologue, through its use of the first person plural and other techniques, prescribes, we become complicit in this invalidation.

But we are not required to be compliant readers in order to understand the prologue, or the Gospel as a whole, and appreciate its beauty. Although the Gospel narrator steers us relentlessly toward compliance, we as readers are autonomous and therefore free to choose our own subject positions, to resist the prescribed response, accept it, or modify it, to investigate what may lie behind the polarizing rhetoric, and to raise our own questions, at the same time that we appreciate the Gospel’s language and ideas.

The Book of Signs (1:19–12:50)

1:19–34: The Testimony of John the Baptist

The Book of Signs (1:19–12:50) opens with priests and Levites from Jerusalem interrogating John the Baptist. To their open-ended question, “Who are you?” John responds more specifically that he is neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet. He is merely the forerunner of a far worthier man, “the voice in the wilderness” who cries, “Make straight the way of the Lord.” The quotation of Isa. 40:3 is taken from the Greek version (Septuagint) in which the voice is “in the wilderness,” rather than the Hebrew (Masoretic text) version, in which not the voice but the way of the Lord is in the wilderness.

Jesus makes his announced appearance the next day. John continues his testimony by describing a past occurrence: the descent of the Spirit on Jesus, and Jesus’ identification as the one who “baptizes with the Holy Spirit” (1:33). The Fourth Gospel does not recount Jesus’ own baptism, which in the Synoptics is the occasion on which the dove, or the Holy Spirit, descends on Jesus.

The Gospel’s omission of the baptism account may reflect some discomfort with the notion that the one who removes the world’s sin (1:29) would have been baptized by John. The church fathers read the baptism back into the Johannine narrative. John Chrysostom (347–407) explained that baptism allowed John to testify publicly, and provided Jesus with his first disciples (Homilies on the Gospel of John 17.1–2; Elowsky 2006, 68).

Implicit in John’s account is the story of a master—the Baptist—who gradually lost his following to a former disciple. The Baptist is remarkably gracious about Jesus’ ascendancy, and anxious that both the authorities and his own followers know the truth. The historicity of this subtext is anyone’s guess, but the scenario itself is not uncommon in religious and many other contexts. The passage provides an opening for thinking about how power, authority, and leadership can shift within and between communities, and how such changes are best handled.

1:35–51: Call of the Disciples

John the Baptist testifies to two disciples who then follow Jesus, converse with him, and believe. One of those two disciples, Andrew, testifies to his brother Simon. Simon comes to Jesus, who renames him Cephas (Peter; 1:42). Jesus then travels to the Galilee and finds Philip (1:43), who then testifies to Nathanael. Nathanael is initially skeptical but then comes to Jesus and, astounded by Jesus’ prophetic abilities, exclaims: “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” (1:49). With the exception of Philip, Jesus does not actively recruit the disciples. Rather, one disciple testifies to another, who then comes to Jesus for a personal encounter.

The sequence concludes with a prophecy by Jesus to Nathanael that he “will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man” (1:51), an allusion to Jacob’s ladder (Genesis 28). The son of man title is a direct translation from the Aramaic bar nasha, which literally means a human being. But in this Gospel, the title refers to Jesus’ role in the cosmos and his relationship to God.

For Chrysostom, Simon’s name change (1:42) demonstrates Jesus’ divine identity: “He does this to show that it was he who gave the old covenant, that it was he who altered names, who called Abram ‘Abraham,’ and Sarai ‘Sarah’ and Jacob ‘Israel.’ ” The difference is that in these cases, each person received a different name, whereas “now we all have one name, that which is greater than any. We are called ‘Christians,’ and ‘sons of God’ and ‘friends’ and [his] ‘body’ ” (Homilies on the Gospel of John 19.2–3; Elowsky 2006, 82). Chrysostom’s comment alludes to (among other passages) John 5; 10, and 11, in which Jesus calls the dead, his sheep, and Lazarus by name, and in doing so, renews their lives. The same may also be true for Simon, whose life is renewed when he meets Jesus.

The paradigm of the call, whereby discipleship is initiated through personal testimony, ascribes equal importance to the human witness and to the divine, and it has served as the model for Christian evangelizing activity for almost two millennia. But those on the receiving end today, whether from door-to-door missionaries or from well-meaning acquaintances, can experience evangelizing activities—and the assumption of some that the only route to a good life is faith in Christ—as at best an intrusion and at worst as offensive. Indeed, toward the end of the twentieth century, a number of Christian communions officially renounced the cause of “evangelizing” Jews, thus opening the door to more mutual conversation.

2:1–12: Jesus’ First Sign: Wedding at Cana

Jesus’ public ministry begins when he turns water into wine at a wedding in the Galilean town of Cana, approximately nine miles (fifteen kilometers) north of Nazareth. In referring to this act as the “first of his signs,” the narrator creates an expectation that there will be more signs, perhaps indeed an entire series of them, and also signals that these acts are not mere miracles, designed to demonstrate Jesus’ ability to overturn the natural order of things, but signs that point the way to something important: the cosmological tale.

Jesus’ mother spurs Jesus into action by mentioning that the wine has run out. She remains unnamed here (as throughout this Gospel), but has confidence in his ability to rectify the problem. Jesus responds: “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come” (2:4). But she is not put off by Jesus’ apparent refusal (2:4) and instructs the servants to do whatever Jesus says. Modern readers may bristle at the idea of a young man calling his mother “woman,” but as the young man is Jesus, commentators have alternative explanations.

In this case, however, we may safely acquit Jesus of the charge of disrespect. Jesus consistently prefaces his revelations to women—the Samaritan woman (4:21), Jesus’ mother again (19:26), and Mary Magdalene (20:13, 15)—in this way. Rather than a marker of social distance, the term “woman” functions like “behold” or “truly, truly I say to you” and parallels the form Jesus uses to address God as Father. Indeed, Jesus makes revelatory statements to individual women perhaps even more frequently, and with less ambivalence, than he does to men. In addition to the three women just mentioned, he reveals his truths to Mary and Martha of Bethany (11:25; 12:7). This motif renders the Gospel of John amenable to feministic historical, literary, and theological interpretation (see the collected essays in Levine 2003).

The passage also introduces the term “hour,” which appears in several different formulations throughout the Gospel. The reference is to the time of Jesus’ death and glorification. The messianic and salvific echoes in this passage may also be conveyed by the comment that it happened on the third day. While this may simply be a chronological marker indicating that it was the third day after the preceding event—Jesus’ comments to Nathanael—it may equally foreshadow the resurrection, just as the wedding may allude to the messianic banquet, the feast that will celebrate the inauguration of God’s rule (Kobel, 85–86). The passage shows that first-century Jews practiced ritual hand-washing prior to eating a meal; the practice is otherwise known from later rabbinic sources (b. Ber. 53b, b. Shab. 62b). The “bridegroom” is a double entendre that refers literally to the Cana bridegroom but, in the cosmological setting of the Gospel, also alludes to Jesus as the eschatological bridegroom (cf. 4:29).

Like modern commentators, the church fathers attempted to explain Jesus’ apparent rudeness. Bede (672/673–735) stated categorically that “he would not dishonor his mother, since he orders us to honor our father and mother” (Homilies on the Gospels 1.14; Elowsky 2006, 95). Chrysostom too insists that Jesus honors his mother, on the basis of Luke 2:51, and provides a helpful general principle governing filial obligation: we must be subject to our parents but only as long as they “throw no obstacle in the way of God’s commands.” But “when they demand anything at an unseasonable time or cut us off from spiritual things,” we are not to comply (Homilies on the Gospel of John 21.2; Elowsky 2006, 91).

The fact that this Gospel can proclaim an exalted view of Christ without an annunciation scene raises the question of whether the belief in Mary’s virginity is indeed essential to Christian faith.

Also striking in this passage is the notion of abundance. While many are accustomed to bounty in the material aspects of daily life, this passage can serve as a reminder that for some, abundance is an experience as rare as a wedding celebration.

2:13–25: Jesus’ Sign of Authority over the Temple

In the Synoptics, the cleansing of the temple occurs at the end of Jesus’ ministry and spurs the Jewish authorities’ decision to press for Jesus’ death (Matt. 21:17; Mark 11:15–19; Luke 9:45–48). In John, however, this episode is Jesus’ first public appearance. The presence of merchants and money-changers in the temple precinct may seem an affront to the dignity and holy nature of the temple. Prior to the temple’s destruction (70 CE), however, Jewish worship was carried out primarily through regular sacrifices. During the three pilgrimage festivals (Tabernacles, Passover, Weeks), pilgrims needed sacrificial animals and birds, and had to change their local currency into the Tyrian half-shekel for the temple tax (Exod. 30:11–16). Merchants and money-changers were needed. Why, then, did Jesus create a scene?

For this Gospel, one answer lies in Ps. 69:9: “Zeal for your house will consume me.” The episode asserts Jesus’ entitlement to his father’s house, by virtue of his role as the Son of God. At the same time, when Jesus challenges the Jews to “destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (2:19), the narrator explains, he did not intend the physical temple but rather the temple of his body.

To smooth over the contradiction between John and the Synoptics, the church fathers posit two “cleansing” events (Elowsky 2006, 101). Augustine uses the occasion to chastise “those who seek their own interests in the church rather than those of Jesus Christ” and warns: “Let them beware of the scourge of ropes. The dove is not for sale; it is given gratis, for it is called grace” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 10.6.1–3; Elowsky 2006, 101).

The temple scene is shocking due to the uncharacteristic violence and hot emotion that it attributes to this otherwise cool, calm, and collected Savior. One cannot but wonder if a less violent act might have served to state Jesus’ claim to his Father’s house. It may be that the Gospel reflects the post-70 era, when the temple no longer stood, the sacrifices no longer took place, and the evangelist or community had only vague knowledge of the pilgrimage festivals. But the passage raises the more fundamental question of when, if ever, and under what circumstances, if at all, it is appropriate to use a violent act to demonstrate sovereignty, ownership, or entitlement.

3:1–21: Nicodemus

Jesus’ first extended discourse is a dialogue with a Pharisaic leader named Nicodemus, who comes under the cover of darkness. To him, Jesus utters the now famous words: “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above” (3:3), or born again (the source for the term “born-again Christianity”). Interpreting this saying literally, Nicodemus wonders how one can reenter the womb and be reborn. But Jesus was referring to spiritual, not physical, rebirth.

It is difficult to discern where Jesus’ discourse ends and the narrator’s commentary begins. Greek manuscripts do not include punctuation, but many commentators argue that verses 16–21 belong to the narrator because they refer to “the Son” in the third person. But perhaps this problem does not demand resolution. In this Gospel, Jesus’ discourses and the narrator’s commentaries are similar in theology and in phraseology, thereby suggesting a complete congruency between Jesus’ words and the narrator’s comments.

For most church fathers, rebirth was associated with baptism, which, accompanied by repentance, resulted in the remission of former sins (Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 61; Gregory of Nazianzus, On Holy Baptism, Oration 40.8; Elowsky 2006, 109, 111). Hilary of Poitiers (300–368) attempts to explain how God’s sacrifice of his only Son can express divine love for the world: “Gifts of price are the evidence of affection: the greatness of the surrender is evidence of the greatness of the love. God, who loved the world, gave no adopted son but his own, his only begotten [Son]” (On the Trinity 6.40; Elowsky 2006, 126).

The idea of human sacrifice—especially of one’s own child—as an expression of love seems counterintuitive. Its roots are buried in the sacrificial systems that were the dominant form of worship in many ancient cultures. Yet even in the Hebrew Bible, the idea of sacrificing a beloved child is shocking, as in Judges 11, in which the warrior Jephthah vows to sacrifice the first thing—person—that comes out of his house to greet him if he wins a battle (Judg. 11:31). A closer parallel is the “binding” of Isaac. In Genesis 22, God orders Abraham to sacrifice his only son, the one whom he loves, Isaac, but Abraham receives a last-minute reprieve. By contrast, the Fourth Gospel insists, God went all the way. If Abraham was motivated by love of God to obey such a difficult order, how much more meaningful is God’s sacrifice, which was motivated by love of the world? Nevertheless, God’s loss is not absolute, because his Son is resurrected, and returns to live with him.

3:22–36: Jesus the Baptizer

In John’s Gospel, the ministries of Jesus and John the Baptist overlap and, indeed, are competitors. The Fourth Gospel has the Baptist reassure his disciples that it is not only inevitable but actually essential that Jesus’ followers outnumber the Baptist’s disciples (3:30). From this point onward, the Baptist is absent from the Gospel narrative.

Bede used this text as an opportunity to speak about the church “gathered from among all nations,” which he calls “a virgin pure of heart, perfect in love, bound to him in the bond of peace, in chastity of body and soul and in the unity of the Catholic faith.… Our Lord therefore committed his bride to his friends who are the preachers of the true gospel” (Exposition on the Gospel of John 3; Elowsky 2006, 135).

We may speculate that it may not have been easy to differentiate the followers of Jesus from the followers of other figures such as the Baptist. Non-Christians often have the same difficulty when surveying the Christian landscape today. The Baptist’s deferential behavior raises the question of how competing groups are to relate to one another.

4:1–42: The Samaritan Woman

Chapter 4 opens on a troubling note: Jesus must leave the vicinity because the Pharisees have heard about his baptizing activity. The narrator clarifies that it was the disciples, and not Jesus himself, who baptized, but the significance of this distinction is unclear given that they were acting on Jesus’ behalf. The focus of this chapter, however, is on the rest stop that Jesus takes in the Samaritan town of Sychar en route to the Galilee. Sitting by a well, he asks a Samaritan woman for water, and at the end of their conversation, the woman returns to her city without her water jar, as an apostle of the Messiah (4:29).

Jesus and the woman are alone, as Jesus’ disciples had gone into the city to buy food (4:8). The Samaritan woman is surprised by Jesus’ request for water, for, as the narrator comments, Jews do not share with Samaritans. Jesus offers her living water—far superior to the well water that she can give him—and then inquires about her husband. He reveals his detailed knowledge of her unusual situation: she has already had five husbands “and the one you have now is not your husband” (4:18). Rather than take offense, the woman proclaims him to be a prophet. She asks about a difference between Jews and Samaritans, concerning the location for worship: Gerizim or Jerusalem? Jesus initially affirms the contrast between Jews and Samaritans: “You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews.” He then prophesies a time when worship will concentrate in neither location but in Jesus himself. The woman discerns that he may be the Messiah. The disciples return, and, while surprised that he is speaking with a woman, they do not confront him. Their surprise is in itself surprising, for the Gospel gives no indication that Jesus refrained from speaking to women.

The episode is reminiscent of the biblical stories in which boy meets girl at well (4:12; see Gen. 24:15–31; 29:9–13; Exod. 2:16–21). The present encounter does not end in betrothal but in something much greater: the promise, or assurance, of eternal life (Eslinger). In speaking with the Samaritan woman, Jesus transgresses boundaries of both gender and ethnicity. The scene also implies that there may have been Samaritans among the Gospel’s intended readership.

The disciples bring food. Just as he redefined water from the mundane to the eternal, so does Jesus elevate the notion of food from physical to spiritual nourishment: doing his Father’s will. He continues enigmatically: “Four months more, then comes the harvest,” which the disciples will reap though they did not plant the field. The episode draws to a close when the Samaritans to whom the woman has testified invite Jesus to stay with them. Afterward, they declare that their faith is no longer because of her words but because of their encounter. This episode echoes the pattern of the call of the disciples: the Samaritan woman meets Jesus, testifies to others, who encounter Jesus in person and declare their faith. The passage presumes the readers’ knowledge that the Samaritans, like the Jews, believed in the eventual coming of a savior figure, whom the Samaritans called Taheb (Crown, Pummer, and Tal, 224–26).

In leaving Judea, Chrysostom explains, Christ aimed “to take away their malice and soften their envy.” Although in a confrontation Jesus could have prevented the Jews from hurting him, he preferred to do things “in a human way” so that people would “believe his incarnation” (Homilies on the Gospel of John 31.3; Elowsky 2006, 141). Augustine adds that Jesus “wanted to provide himself as an example for believers in time to come, that it was no sin for a servant of God to seek refuge from the fury of persecutors” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 15.2; Elowsky 2006, 142).

Scholars who attempt to soften the Gospel’s harsh verdict on the Jews point to Jesus’ statement in 4:22 that “salvation is from the Jews.” The church fathers were not similarly motivated but nevertheless came up with the most logical interpretation of this verse: that it refers to Jesus’ own Jewish origins. As Augustine notes, “Of what lineage was Christ born? Of the Jews.… He did not say, after all, ‘salvation is for the Jews’ but ‘salvation is from the Jews’ ” (Serm. 375.1; Elowsky 2006, 159).

For Origen, the woman is an apostle and a role model, “for by recording the woman’s commendation for those capable of reading with understanding, the Evangelist challenges us to this goal” (Comm. Jo. 13.169; Elowsky 2006, 166). Chrysostom admires her for exhibiting “the actions of an apostle, preaching the gospel to everyone she could and calling them to Jesus. She even drew out a whole city to hear him” (Homilies on the Gospel of John 32.1; Elowsky 2006, 154).

The Gospel implies that the message of Jesus as Son of God and Savior is open to all regardless of gender and ethnicity, and overcomes both sets of socially constructed boundaries. Jesus’ discourse also decouples true worship from any specific location. In doing so, he establishes a framework for a universal mode of covenantal relationship with God where women and men, Jews, Samaritans and gentiles, can worship where they are, united in a community whose salvific agent came “from the Jews.” Christian “universalism” has often been contrasted favorably with Jewish “particularism,” suggesting that Christianity is broad and accepting while Judaism is narrow and exclusivistic. Open and welcoming as this message sounds, the insistence on one single path or “way” (cf. 14:6) to covenantal relationship with God in itself is an exclusive message that invalidates other choices.

4:43–54: Second Sign: Healing of the Official’s Son

After his stay with the Samaritans, Jesus continues his journey to the Galilee, as the narrator maintains a quiet sense of danger with the proverb—“a prophet has no honor in the prophet’s own country” (see Matt. 13:53–58; Mark 6:1–6; Luke 4:22–24; Gos. Thom. 31).

An official asks Jesus to come down to Capernaum to heal his son. Jesus refuses but assures the man that his son will live. As the man departs, his slaves (or servants) meet him with the good news of his son’s recovery, and they all become believers. Jesus has healed the son by words and from a distance. The narrative describes this act as Jesus’ second Cana sign—an enumeration important for the hypothesis that the Gospel made use of a preexisting “signs source”—but Jesus criticizes the nobleman for requiring a sign in order to believe: “Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe” (4:48). Although addressed to an individual, the verb “you see” is not singular but plural. This warning is intended for all readers, not only this distraught father.

Chrysostom comments on the weakness of the official’s faith, who needed confirmation before believing fully. Chrysostom dismisses the official’s approach to Jesus as “nothing special, for parents often are so carried away by their affection that they consult not only those physicians they depend on, but even people they do not depend on at all.” The lesson? Do not wait for miracles or lose faith when prayers are not answered, for those whom God loves he also chastens (Homilies on the Gospel of John 35.2–3; Elowsky 2006, 174).

Chrysostom accurately describes the frame of mind of someone whose loved one is ill. But Jesus’ rebuke also fits into a major Johannine theme: the tension between hearing and seeing. A second tension, between presence and absence, is also not fully resolved. Despite Jesus’ words in 4:48, the Gospel continues to present signs and wonders that, if properly—cosmologically—understood, can be a basis for faith. The tension is by no means limited to this Gospel, or to issues of faith, but permeates our own lives due to the rapid growth of digital communication. Do email and Skype overcome absence or contribute to alienation? Are Facebook friendships real or illusory? Do virtual experiences interfere with or enhance our “real” relationships? Although our digital dilemmas were not even remotely anticipated in the first century, the followers of Jesus who lived after his death had to grapple with presence and absence as well. How is a would-be believer to have a personal encounter with Christ in the years after the crucifixion? And how are leaders such as Paul supposed to interact with the communities they founded throughout the region? For Paul, and many others, it was the written word that would serve as their mode of virtual presence, substituting for the real presence of Jesus, and themselves, in a post-Easter world.

5:1–47: Healing on the Sabbath

Although the term sēmeion is not used, the healing of the lame man, like the two Cana miracles, is a sign that reveals Jesus’ identity and relationship to the Father to those who can understand the cosmological story beneath the narrative’s surface. The sign takes place on an unnamed Jewish pilgrimage festival and displays a detailed knowledge of the temple area, corroborated by the modern discovery of a second-century healing sanctuary and pool with five porticoes in this approximate location (Freund, Arav, and Bethsaida Excavations Project). The explanation of how healing took place at the pool—an angel of the Lord used to come down in the pool, the water was stirred up, and the first to enter would be healed (5:3)—was known to Tertullian (160–225) and to Chrysostom, but because it is absent from the earliest manuscripts, it is not considered original to the Gospel.

This sign marks an escalation in the conflict with the Jewish authorities. Jewish law permitted violation of the Sabbath to save a life, but in healing a chronically disabled man, the Johannine Jesus was deliberately provoking the authorities. Indeed, the narrator insists that it was because of such Sabbath activities that the Jews began to persecute Jesus (5:16).

The primary conflict, however, is christological. Jesus’ response to the Jews’ concerns about Sabbath violation is provocative: “My Father is still working, and I also am working.” Because birth, growth, death, and other natural processes did not cease on the Sabbath, Philo of Alexandria commented that though God rested on the seventh day of creation, God works on the weekly Sabbath while Jews do not (Philo, Cher. 86–90; Leg. 1.5–6). In the context of this ancient debate, Jesus’ act of healing shows not that the Sabbath is invalid but that, like his Father, he does not stop his divine work.

For the Jews as presented in John’s Gospel, this claim is blasphemy and they sought “all the more to kill him, because he was not only breaking the sabbath, but was also calling God his own Father, thereby making himself equal to God” (5:18). The sign is followed by a discourse devoted to two main topics: the Son’s divine work of judgment and raising the dead; and the various witnesses to Jesus’ identity as God’s Son, such as John the Baptist, God, and the Scriptures. The entire discourse has a forensic, judicial tone to it, and concludes with Jesus’ judgment on the Jews who have confronted him: by persecuting Jesus, they show their alienation from God.

Although the Johannine Jesus was not inciting Jews to violate the Sabbath, Cyril of Alexandria (376–444) suggests that with faith and new life in Christ, “it was necessary that the old letter of the law should become of no effect and that the typical worship in shadows and empty Jewish customs should be rejected” (Commentary on the Gospel of John 2.5; Elowsky 2006, 183).

As Cyril’s comments show, John 5 is often (incorrectly) taken as evidence that Jesus abrogated Sabbath observance. Christians and others often view the Jewish Sabbath regulations as restrictive, overly ritualistic, and outmoded. Far from disrupting modern life, however, the Sabbath provides the rest, respite, and temporary retreat from the noise, rush, and anxiety of daily life. Jews who observe the Sabbath experience it as the sanctification of time, as a foretaste of the world to come, a day of spiritual and physical renewal (Heschel). The restrictions on work, travel, and other activities are what make that experience possible.

6:1–21: A Fifth Sign: Feeding of the Multitudes and Walking on Water

John 6 begins with a sign (although, again, the term sēmeion is not used) familiar from the Synoptic Gospels: the feeding of the multitudes, also known as the feeding of the five thousand (see Matt. 14:13–21; Mark 16:12–14; Luke 9:10–17) or the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. The note that “after this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee,” also called the “Sea of Tiberias,” is puzzling, as in the immediately preceding passage Jesus is in Jerusalem, far from the Galilee. The transition to this passage has often been seen as evidence of a redactional process of composition. By remaining in Galilee for the Passover, Jesus fulfills the prophecy to the Samaritan woman, that soon people would worship God neither on Gerizim nor in Jerusalem, but through Jesus (Reinhartz 1989). As in the Synoptics, the feeding miracle is followed by Jesus’ walking on water, suggesting that these two events were linked from a very early point in the tradition.

As Chrysostom notes, this sign differs from the others thus far recounted in that Jesus gives thanks before performing the miracle. Chrysostom derives from this the principle that it is proper to give thanks to God before eating, perhaps without realizing that Jesus was following the Jewish practice of blessing the bread before a meal. Chrysostom also criticizes the eagerness of the crowd to eat, when earlier they were ready to kill Jesus for his behavior during the feast (Homilies on the Gospel of John 42.3; Elowsky 2006, 214).

As at the wedding at Cana, the theme in the feeding story is abundance, stunning in its quality, quantity, and its very existence. Jesus’ concern for feeding the crowd comes as a surprise, for there is no sign that they expect him to provide lunch. The story would seem to demonstrate responsibility toward the hungry. The crowd does not ask to be fed; rather, it is Jesus who takes this daunting task upon himself. The story emphasizes the wonder inherent in Jesus’ ability to feed such a big crowd with a mere five loaves and two fish, but perhaps the larger miracle is the concern to provide for others in the first place. Many ordinary individuals are capable of doing the same. And yet, the discourse that follows does not address this theme but, on the contrary, directs attention away from human needs and responsibilities and focuses instead on forms of “spiritual nourishment” that many in that same crowd refuse or are unable to digest.

6:22–71: The Bread of Life Discourse

Those who had eaten their fill finally catch up with Jesus in Capernaum. Playing on the contrast between material food and spiritual food, Jesus criticizes them for eating their fill without understanding the deeper meaning of the experience. The people cannot accept that the true and divine bread is Jesus himself. Even more shocking, however, is the next revelation: Just as people eat bread to sustain their bodies, so must they eat the bread of life in order to sustain their spirits and gain eternal life. Jesus shocks them by warning: “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you” (6:51–54).

On the surface, and no doubt also to the incredulous crowds, this assertion sounds uncomfortably cannibalistic. But in Christian theology, the passage has often been interpreted in eucharistic terms. It is difficult, however, to pin this discourse down to a single meaning, for its language is reminiscent also of the Passover as the season of salvation, and of pagan rituals of theophagy—eating of God—associated with the Greco-Roman mystery cults of Demeter and Dionysus (Kobel, 234–36, 247), and because the Eucharist plays no part in the Johannine account of the Last Supper (John 13).

Many followers leave, but the Twelve remain, for they “have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God” (6:69). Jesus seems reassured, and in turn reassures them that he has chosen them, but introduces a sinister note: “Yet one of you is a devil” (6:70). The narrator reveals information not yet known to the disciples: the betrayer is one of them, Judas Iscariot (6:71).

The eucharistic interpretation of the discourse was widespread among the church fathers. Cyril of Jerusalem compares the bread of life to the showbread that was part of temple worship. The showbread, however, belonged to the “old covenant” that has now been replaced by the “new covenant” in which “the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation … sanctify body and soul” (Mystagogical Lectures 4.4–6; Elowsky 2006, 239). He notes that “the person who receives the flesh of our Savior Christ and drinks his precious blood … shall be one with him” (Commentary on the Gospel of John 4.2; Elowsky 2006, 241).

Eating the body and drinking the blood can also refer to consuming Jesus’ words and teachings, which provide the nourishment needed to grow and thrive spiritually (Phillips). Just as the food and drink we ingest have a profound effect on health, state of mind, mood, and ability to function in the world, so can the books we read, the conversations we have, and all our worldly encounters change us, nourish us, and help us make our way in the world. But not all words will be beneficial, or equally beneficial, to all.

7:1–52: Festival of Tabernacles

John 7 takes place during yet another pilgrimage festival, Tabernacles. During this harvest festival, families and communities are required to live in booths reminiscent of the temporary dwellings in which the Israelites lived during their forty-year wandering in the desert.

When Jesus’ brothers urge him to go, he refuses, “for my time has not yet fully come” (7:8). Yet once his brothers leave, Jesus secretly goes as well. In any other story, this about-face would be seen as deception. Commentators are reluctant, however, to view Jesus in this light, and suggest that his earlier refusal was misunderstood by his brothers: Jesus was not refusing to go to Jerusalem, but asserting that it was not his time to “go up” to his Father (R. E. Brown 1966, 308). This is far from convincing, as it does not account for why he went up to Jerusalem “in secret.”

The scene then shifts to Jerusalem, and introduces a refrain that extends throughout this and the following chapters: a division among the Jewish crowds as to Jesus’ identity. Some defend him as a good man, others condemn him as a deceiver. When Jesus finally arrives, in the middle of the festival, his teachings astonish the people, but the narrator does not reveal those teachings to the reader. The crowds propose a criterion for discerning whether Jesus is the Messiah: “We know where this man is from; but when the Messiah comes, no one will know where he is from” (7:27). This may be an allusion to the tradition of the “hidden messiah,” one of several different strands of messianic expectation in the first century (see 1 Enoch 46:1–3). Yet, from the point of view of the Gospel and the Johannine Jesus, their knowledge is inadequate and misguided. For Jesus does not fundamentally come from Nazareth but from God. For this reason, he fulfills “hidden messiah” criteria, as the readers, but not the crowds, are aware.

The split in the crowd alarms the Pharisees, and they and the chief priests send the temple police to arrest him (7:32). At the same time, Jesus predicts his imminent departure, and prophesies that “you will search for me, but you will not find me; and where I am, you cannot come” (7:34). In a typically Johannine move, the crowds understand, or rather, misunderstand him to be speaking literally, and wonder whether he intends to “go to the Dispersion among the Greeks and teach the Greeks?” (7:35). The reader knows that Jesus is referring to his return to the Father, but the statement may also be an ironic hint that the Word has spread from Judea and Galilee to the gentile communities of the Diaspora.

Each day of the Tabernacles festival is marked by a procession including prayers for deliverance, called Hosannas. The last day was (and still is) called the “great” Hosanna. On this day, Jesus offers “living water” to all. This may be an allusion to the custom during Tabernacles of carrying a golden pitcher of water from the pool of Siloam to the temple as a reminder of the water drawn from the rock in the desert (Num. 20:2–13) and as a symbol of hope for messianic deliverance (Isa. 12:3).

The temple police, sent by the Jewish authorities to arrest Jesus, return empty-handed but astonished: “Never has anyone spoken like this!” (7:46). Nicodemus urges that Jesus be heard out before judgment is passed. The others mock Nicodemus: “Surely you are not also from Galilee, are you? Search and you will see that no prophet is to arise from Galilee” (7:52). The authorities will not be deterred from seeking his death.

The church fathers were unsure what to make of Nicodemus’s behavior. Theodore of Mopsuestia (350–428) believes that Nicodemus did not defend Jesus vociferously enough (Commentary on John 3.7.52; Elowsky 2006, 271), but Cyril of Alexandria counts Nicodemus among Jesus’ secret believers (Commentary on the Gospel of John 5.2; Elowsky 2006, 271).

7:53–8:11: The Adulterous Woman

Jesus’ duplicity in relation to his brothers adds unexpected depth to this two-dimensional figure. His duplicity was less of a problem for the Gospel writer than for modern commentators. While the desire for an unsullied Jesus is understandable, it is at odds with a Christology that views him as both human and divine. It is unfortunate that so few commentators allow him any of the foibles that help make human beings interesting, if also at times irritating or exasperating. How refreshing it would be to imagine Jesus deliberately deceiving his brothers because he does not want to go to Jerusalem with them! Would this behavior make Jesus any less Christlike? The point is raised most sharply in comparison with the great figures of the Hebrew Bible—Abraham, Moses, David—all mentioned in the Fourth Gospel, and all of whom are portrayed in the Bible as using guile to achieve their purposes.

The story of the adulterous woman is a non-Johannine interpolation, appearing in some ancient manuscripts after Luke 21:38, where it fits the narrative context quite well, and in others at its present spot, where it interrupts the Johannine narrative. In this story, Jesus exposes the hypocrisy of the scribes and Pharisees who intend to stone the woman for adultery yet are themselves sinful. Before confronting the leaders, Jesus bends down and writes something with his finger (8:6). What he actually wrote is unknown, but the mention of writing may allude to Jer. 17:13, which declares that those who depart from God shall be written in the earth. Jesus sends the woman on her way without condemnation but adjures her to refrain from sin.

Augustine, like Jerome, knows that the story is absent from some manuscripts of John but believes that it was excised by weak men who fear that their wives would interpret Jesus’ injunction to the woman as “liberty to sin with impunity.” He also strongly criticizes men who refuse to accept that the prohibition of adultery extends to them as well (On Adulterous Marriages 2.7.6, 2.8.7; Elowsky 2006, 276).

This non-Johannine story provides occasion for further reflection on the imperfections of human nature. There is an irony in the passage that often escapes notice. Jesus challenges the scribes: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her” (8:7). By challenging anyone “among you,” Jesus excludes himself as a potential stone-thrower. Implicit but not stated is that, for the New Testament authors, Jesus himself would have been the only person present who was without sin, and yet he does not lift a finger against her. Rather than judging and sentencing the woman, he judges those who would punish her. Missing from the passage, however, is any attribution of responsibility to the man with whom she committed this transgression. This is striking in light of Deuteronomy’s explicit statement that both the man and the woman shall be punished (Deut. 22:22).

8:12–59: Confrontation with the Jews

This lengthy polemical discourse revolves around two major issues: Jesus’ identity and Jewish identity markers. At stake is the fundamental notion of covenant: on what basis does one enter into and maintain a covenantal relationship with God?

In John, Jesus’ Jewish identity is not signaled explicitly—he is called a Ioudaios only once (4:9)—but it is implied by his participation in the Jewish festivals, his use of biblical quotations, and the locations of his activity. In 8:17, however, the Johannine Jesus distances himself from Judaism, when he declares to the Pharisees, “In your law it is written that the testimony of two witnesses is valid” (emphasis added). Perhaps Jesus is simply declaring that as the preexistent son of God, the Torah does not apply to him.

At the outset, Jesus’ interlocutors are described as Pharisees, but soon his partners in dialogue are referred to simply as “the Jews” (8:22). Much of the discourse alludes to the Abraham story and to God’s covenantal promises to the patriarch (Genesis 12; 15). In 8:33, the Jews claim that they are children of Abraham (see Gen. 12:2; Deut. 14:1), and that they have never been enslaved. Although commentators contend that the Jews were lying by deliberately ignoring their enslavement in Egypt prior to the exodus, it is likely that their claim refers not to slavery but to idolatry, which involves “serving” gods other than the one God of Israel (see Jer. 2:10–14; Reinhartz 2001b).

The second element concerns Ishmael, the slave Hagar’s son, and Isaac, the son who inherits the covenant promises. In Genesis, it is the Israelites who descend from Isaac; postbiblical Jews claimed this lineage as well. Paul, however, argued that it was believers in Christ who descend from Sarah, and nonbelievers who are the slaves (Galatians 4). John does not develop the “allegory,” but in 8:35 he describes sonship as a consequence of faith in Christ, not as a birthright. Jesus himself is the true “son” who belongs in the temple, in contrast to the Jews, who serve in the temple but do not inherit it.

Evidence that the Jews have lost their Abrahamic lineage lies in their rejection of Christ, in contrast to Abraham, who welcomed the three divinely sent guests to his tent in Genesis 18. Finally, Jesus claims that because they murder and lie, the Jews are not children of God, but “from your father the devil” (8:44). The argument regarding Abrahamic and divine/demonic sonship rests on the idea that children will behave like their parents, an assumption that is not borne out by experience.

The Jews respond with their own accusations: Jesus is a Samaritan and has a demon (8:48). Jesus does not respond to the Samaritan charge and simply denies that he has a demon. But he makes a shocking statement that persuades them that he is indeed possessed: “whoever keeps my word will never see death” (8:51). This claim turns the conversation back to Abraham, as the Jews ask: “Are you greater than our father Abraham, who died?” (8:52). Jesus declares that Abraham rejoiced at “his day,” and that he existed before Abraham. These statements may allude to Jesus’ preexistence, as well as to the traditions described in the pseudepigraphical Testament of Abraham, in which God gives Abraham a tour of the heavens and provides him with knowledge of the final judgment. Predictably, the chapter ends with the Jews’ attempt to stone Jesus.

The church fathers hope for the conversion of some Jews. Cyril states that “we must not think that all the Jews were utterly immersed in ill-tempered foolishness”; some came to faith while others were dissuaded by the “unholy scribes and Pharisees whose boundless unbelief stirred the others to wrath and intemperately kindled them to bloodthirstiness” (Commentary on the Gospel of John 6.1; Elowsky 2006, 309).

In claiming never to have been enslaved, Augustine insists, the Jews were lying ingrates. “Wasn’t Joseph sold? Weren’t the holy prophets led into captivity? And again, didn’t that very nation, when making bricks in Egypt, also serve hard rulers, not only in gold and silver but also in clay? If you were never in bondage to anyone, ungrateful people, why is it that God is continually reminding you that he delivered you from the house of bondage?… [and how] were you now paying tribute to the Romans, out of which also you formed a trap for the truth himself, as if to ensnare him?” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 41.2; Elowsky 2006, 296).

The unfortunate link between the Jews and the devil in 8:44 has spawned a potent antisemitic symbol. As a Jew, I would urge Christians to acknowledge and wrestle with this aspect of the text. What does it mean that texts like this are present in canonized literature? Does it make it better to understand these discourses, not as belonging to the historical Jesus, but as reflecting a flawed and ideologically motivated author and community? As some Christian churches have begun to ask, should such texts continue to be read in Christian worship?

9:1–41: A Sixth Sign: Healing of the Blind Man

On seeing a man born blind, the disciples ask Jesus about whose sin caused his blindness: the man or his parents? Neither, says Jesus. The man was born blind so that Jesus might heal him and thereby perform a sign (though, again, the term sēmeion is not used) that testifies to the divine glory and his identity as God’s Son. The man’s journey from blindness to sight symbolizes the journey from unbelief to belief. Like the healing of the lame man, the sign, also done on the Sabbath, causes a division among the people. The formerly blind man is taken to the Pharisees for investigation. As in John 8, the term “Pharisees” for Jesus’ interrogators drops out in favor of “the Jews,” a change that blurs the distinctions between the general term and the subset of Jewish leaders. The Jews now call the man’s parents as witnesses, but they prove reluctant to respond directly to questions, because “they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue” (9:22).

Using a two-level reading method, many scholars argue that John 9, and the Gospel as a whole, tell not only a story of Jesus but also the story of the Johannine community, specifically the expulsion of Johannine believers from the synagogue for confessing Jesus to be the Messiah. This expulsion is seen as the rationale for the Gospel’s often harsh words about the Jews, as well as an important milestone in the “parting of the ways” between Judaism and Christianity. External corroboration has often been sought in the liturgical “blessing” (curse) on the heretics, Birkat ha-Minim, that was added to the daily liturgy. The theory is that in the late first century, Jewish authorities added this curse as a way of flushing undesirables such as Jewish Christ-confessors out of the worship service and thereby from the community as a whole (Martyn).

Recent research, however, has revealed no first-century manuscript evidence for Birkat ha-Minim. Nor is there evidence that belief in an individual’s messianic identity would have been a basis for exclusion. Indeed, in 132–135 CE, Rabbi Akiva is said to have made similar claims for Simeon Bar Kosiba, yet Akiva’s high status did not suffer as a result. Rather than a coded reference to the expulsion of the Johannine community from the synagogue, 9:22 may well be a strategy for forging a community identity outside of and separate from Judaism.

Jesus provides the symbolic, cosmological meaning of this sign: “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind” (9:39). The Pharisees—here again, the more specific term is used—object to being called blind, but Jesus insists: “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains” (9:41).

Augustine makes much less of the expulsion in 9:22 than do modern scholars. Reading the complete separation of Judaism and Christianity back into the Gospel, he explains that “it was no disadvantage to be put out of the synagogue since the one they cast out, Christ received” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 44.10; Elowsky 2006, 331).

Augustine and Cyril of Alexandria use this Sabbath healing as an opportunity to distinguish between the “carnal” Sabbath observed by Jews and the spiritual Sabbath observed by Christ. Augustine explains that the Pharisees were wrong to accuse Jesus of profaning the Sabbath. “On the contrary, he kept it because he was without sin; to observe the sabbath spiritually is to have no sin … But these men, who neither could see nor were anointed, observed the sabbath carnally but profaned it spiritually” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 44.9; Elowsky 2006, 330).

The reference to expulsion, however it is interpreted, provides an opportunity to think about the frequent experience of schism within faith-based or other communities. The separation of a subgroup from the main community may be perceived as a departure by those who remain within and as an expulsion from those who leave. Drawing on our own experiences allows us to consider a range of possibilities that acknowledge the efforts of early groups of Christ-followers to create new communities within which they could give full expression to their convictions.

10:1–42: The Good Shepherd

The Johannine Jesus, unlike his Synoptic counterpart, does not speak in parables. In John 10, however, he employs the “figure” (Gk. paroimia) of the shepherd who calls his sheep by name and leads them out of the sheepfold. This is a pastoral, everyday scenario that lends itself readily to a cosmological interpretation.

The shepherd is a well-known biblical metaphor for leaders, divine and human, such as Moses (Exod. 3:1), David (2 Sam. 5:2), and God (Psalm 23). The language (hearing the voice, calling the sheep by name, leading them out) recalls John 5:28, in which Jesus promises that “all who are in their graves will hear his voice and will come out” and anticipates 11:43, in which Jesus calls Lazarus by name out of his grave. These references to death raise the intriguing possibility that the passage alludes to the “harrowing of hell,” the belief that Jesus spent the days between his crucifixion and resurrection in Hades bringing the dead to faith (Reinhartz 1992).

Jesus also refers to “other sheep that do not belong to this fold” (10:16), perhaps an allusion to members of the Johannine community—believers—who are not of Jewish origin. This discourse, too, took place during the early winter festival, Hanukkah (Dedication). This festival commemorates the rededication of the temple (164 BCE), after it had been desecrated by the Seleucid king Antiochus IV (1 Macc. 4:52–59). Again the Jews attempt to stone him, this time for blasphemy, “because you, though only a human being, are making yourself God” (10:33). Jesus responds as a true rabbi, with a biblical verse: “Is it not written in your law, ‘I said, you are gods’?” (10:35). Here, too, Jesus distances himself from the Torah, even as he brings it as a witness to the truth of his own words and identity.

The church fathers interpreted the prophecy that in the future “there will be one flock and one shepherd” (10:16) as a reference to gentile Christians. As Theodore of Mopsuestia points out, “many among the Gentiles as well as many among the Jews are destined to gather together into a single church and to acknowledge one shepherd and one lord, who is Christ” (Commentary on John 4.10.216; Elowsky 2007, 35).

The inclusion of other sheep projects the ideal of a single, universal community united by faith in Christ. Yet a similarly universal and totalizing image in the Hebrew Bible, the Tower of Babel, is broken up by God, who is critical of the endeavor. In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, many Western countries have become ever more diverse, ethnically, religiously, culturally, and linguistically. Some see this development as disturbing. Others, however, view the diversity as enriching and exciting. The principles of acceptance and mutual respect are often lacking in universalizing ideologies or homogeneous communities, but are necessary for living in communities characterized by diversity.

11:1–54: A Seventh Sign: Raising of Lazarus

When Jesus learns of Lazarus’s serious illness, he makes the surprising decision to remain where he is instead of rushing to his friend’s bedside. As the story proceeds, the reason for the delay becomes clear: Jesus is waiting for Lazarus to die so that he can raise him up and thereby glorify God.

By the time Jesus arrives, Lazarus has been dead and buried for four days. Mary and Martha are mourning in the company of “many of the Jews” (11:19). Each sister reproaches Jesus for not coming sooner. Jesus promises Martha that Lazarus will rise again, and declares famously, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die” (11:25–26). Martha responds with a full confession of faith: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world” (11:27).

Upon seeing Mary, Jesus “was greatly disturbed in spirit, and deeply moved” (11:33). When he sees the tomb, he weeps (11:35). In the first century, Jews were buried in linen shrouds and their bodies laid in a sealed tomb so that the flesh would decompose. After a period of eleven months, the tomb would be unsealed, and the bones would be placed in an ossuary (bone box) and stored on a shelf in the tomb (Hachlili). In the days after burial, however, removing the stone would release the stench of decomposition. Jesus gives thanks to God and clarifies that his prayer is “for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me” (11:41). In doing so, he attributes the miracle not to his own innate power but to God. He then calls out—like the shepherd would to the sheep in John 10—“Lazarus, come out!” thereby fulfilling the prophecy in 5:28–29, that the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God and come out of their tombs (11:43). Lazarus’s revival foreshadows Jesus’ own.

Some Jews believe, but others go to the Pharisees, who call a meeting of the council (11:47) out of concern that “Romans will come and destroy both our holy place [the temple] and our nation” (11:48). The Gospel may be suggesting that the Jewish authorities viewed faith in Jesus as a loss of attachment to God, which God would punish by allowing Rome to destroy the temple, just as the Hebrew Bible believed that God had sent the Assyrians and Babylonians to punish the Jews for turning away from the covenant (2 Kgs. 21:14–15). In the Maccabean era, a similar explanation was used to explain how Antiochus IV succeeded in desecrating God’s temple (2 Macc. 5:15–20). A second possibility is that widespread belief of Jews in Jesus might make Rome fear rebellion or civil war, and therefore prompt Rome to move quickly by moving against the temple.

In response, Caiaphas (high priest 18–36 CE; Josephus, Ant. 18.90–95) reminds the council that “it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (11:50). The narrator interprets this comment as an unwitting prophecy that Jesus would die for the nation (11:51) and “to gather into one the dispersed children of God” (11:52). While Caiaphas is often depicted as the mastermind behind Jesus’ death, his comment is a general principle and does not convey animosity toward Jesus. Jesus again withdraws, this time to the town of Ephraim, where he remains with the disciples (11:54).

Chrysostom saw a contradiction between the expulsion mentioned in 9:22 and the presence of Jews in the home of Mary and Martha. He asks: “How could the Jews console the loved ones of Christ, when they had resolved that whoever confessed Christ should be put out of the synagogue?” He suggests that “perhaps the extreme affliction of the sisters excited their sympathy, or they wished to show respect for their rank. Or perhaps those who came were of the better sort, as we find that many of them believed” (Hom. Jo. 62.2; Elowsky 2007, 12).

Origen asks a more theological question: If Caiaphas was wicked, and therefore, by definition, did not possess the Holy Spirit, how could he utter a true prophecy? Perhaps Caiaphas was simply speaking unintentionally, as everyone does at times. In the end, however, he cannot deny that the prophecy was from the Holy Spirit, even as he refuses to commit himself fully to this idea: “I do not in the least maintain that this was the case, but leave it to readers to decide what one must recognize as correct concerning Caiaphas, and the fact that he has been moved by the Spirit” (Comm. Jo. 28.191; Origen, 332).

11:55–12:11: The Anointing of Jesus at Bethany

As with the Gospel as a whole, it is important to remember that the passage is little concerned with accurate reportage but obsessed with Christology. The speech placed in Caiaphas’s mouth describes Jesus as the scapegoat. On the annual Day of Atonement, the high priest symbolically cleansed the nation of sin by loading the people’s sins onto the goat and sending it into the desert. Caiaphas’s words also recall the Christian interpretation of the temple’s destruction as a consequence of the Jews’ role in the passion and prophesy the messianic ingathering of all peoples joined by faith in Christ.

The congruence of the high priest’s words with the Gospel’s own theological interests does not of course say anything one way or another about the historicity of the events or words. But they should caution us on the need to read critically, and to remember that even the texts we consider sacred or that mean much to us cannot be disentangled from their historical contexts or the interests of their authors.

Prior to the third and final Passover of Jesus’ public ministry, Jesus eats dinner with the Bethany siblings. At this dinner, Mary anoints Jesus’ feet with expensive perfume and wipes his feet with her hair. (This story parallels but does not duplicate the Synoptic story of an unnamed woman who anoints Jesus at the home of Simon the Pharisee; see Matt. 26:6; Mark 14:3; Luke 7:36.) Judas protests that it would have been better to sell the perfume and give the proceeds to the poor. Jesus responds that the anointing foreshadows his impending death; the poor remain, but Jesus will soon depart.

The church fathers struggled with the question of Judas’s moral status. If he was always evil, how could he have been chosen as a disciple? If he became evil only at the end, why would not his association with Jesus have saved him from himself? Augustine’s view is that “Judas did not become perverted only at the time when he yielded to the bribery of the Jews and betrayed his Lord.… But he was already a thief, already lost, and he followed our Lord in body but not with his heart” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 50.10–11; Elowsky 2007, 46).

Although Jesus rebukes Judas for commenting on the expense of the ointment, the narrator indirectly acknowledges the validity of the concern, but dismisses it due to the source, for Judas “said this not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief” (12:6). Yet Jesus’ rebuke, “you always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me” (12:8), is problematic, as it places a higher priority on the symbolic preparations for his death (12:7) than on the needs of others. In contemporary society, it can also be difficult to balance the desire to honor individuals or occasions with the responsibility to help the less fortunate.

12:12–50: The Triumphal Entry and End of Jesus’ Public Ministry

Jesus’ entry (cf. Matt. 21:1; Mark 11:1; Luke 19:28) is the high point of his ministry, as he is greeted by jubilant crowds waving palm branches and proclaiming him the king of Israel (12:13). This demonstration would have given the Romans ample reason to be concerned about the royal claims made for, if not quite by, Jesus, and to justify a verdict of treason punishable by crucifixion. The Gospel puts this act in a cosmological context, which the disciples do not understand until after his death and glorification (12:16), while the alarm of the Pharisees increases (12:19).

Jesus’ triumphal entry is witnessed not only by Jewish crowds and authorities but also by “Greeks” who have gone up to Jerusalem to worship at the festival (12:20). Although it is possible that these were Greek-speaking Jews, Jesus’ reaction suggests that they were non-Jews. It was not uncommon for gentiles to attend the temple; indeed, Herod’s temple included a Court of the Gentiles (Schmidt 2001, 79). These Greeks approach Philip, who in turn tells Andrew, and they both tell Jesus (12:21). In contrast to the call of the disciples and the Samaritan woman, Jesus refuses to encounter them directly but instead announces that “the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified” (12:24). The question of whether gentiles can be part of this new movement is therefore postponed until after Jesus’ death. In contrast to the Synoptics, in which Jesus prays that the Father remove this cup from him during the dark night at Gethsemane (Matt. 26:39; Mark 14:36; Luke 22:42), John’s Jesus braces for his death: “it is for this reason that I have come to this hour” (12:27). He accepts that he must die in order to fulfill his divine mission and return to the Father.

Nevertheless, he does request something from God: “Father, glorify your name” (12:28). God responds immediately: “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again” (12:28). Jesus gives the people one last chance to understand his cosmological significance (12:32–36), but they refuse. He hides and departs from them. Even so, the narrator states, many authorities did believe in him but were afraid to confess openly for fear of expulsion from the synagogue (12:42).

Augustine contrasts the Jewish and gentile response to Jesus: “Look how the Jews want to kill him, the Gentiles to see him. But they also were there with the Jews who cried, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, the king of Israel.’ Here then are both those of the circumcision and those of the uncircumcision, once so wide apart, coming together like two walls and meeting in the one faith of Christ by the kiss of peace” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 51.8; Elowsky 2007, 58). Augustine’s interpretation reflects a perspective grounded in the letters of Paul, who provided a theological rationale for the inclusion of the gentiles among God’s covenant people (Gal. 4:5; Romans 9–11).

The Book of Glory (13:1–20:31)

Some scholars suggest that the gentiles who want to see Jesus represent the gentile members of the Johannine community (R. E. Brown 1979, 55), and can encourage reflection about the challenges involved in heterogeneous communities when it comes to self-definition. The gentiles who became part of the Jesus community encountered a worldview different from their culture of origin, but they also brought new ideas and customs. The challenge is to allow the group identity to expand and change in response. It is likely that the Gospel exposes some of the negotiations that had to take place in order to forge an identity for its ethnically mixed audience, and the same is true of communities today.

13:1–38: Final Dinner

Whereas in the Synoptics (Matt. 26:26–29; Mark 14:22–25; Luke 22:13–20) Jesus’ final meal with the disciples is a Passover seder—the ritual Passover meal that, in the period when the temple was standing, was convened for the eating of the Passover sacrifice—and is marked by the institution of the Eucharist, the Last Supper in John is not a Passover seder but takes place the day before the Passover begins, and it features not the Eucharist but a ritual foot washing.

The pre-Passover timing of this meal, and of the passion narrative as a whole, transforms Jesus’ own death into the Passover sacrifice, as it takes place several hours before the festival begins, at the time when the Passover lamb would be slaughtered (R. E. Brown 1970, 556; m. Pesach 5.1). The chronology may therefore be theologically motivated, but at the same time, it is also more plausible historically than the Synoptic timing. The Synoptic narrative indicates that the Jewish council put Jesus on trial during the night of the Passover festival itself, a highly unlikely circumstance given that this would have constituted a violation of Jewish law (Sanders, 298).

The passage raises the interesting but ultimately unanswerable question of whether there were ancient communities of Christ-confessors who rejected or perhaps were not aware of the eucharistic practices of other churches. The eucharistic allusions in the Bread of Life discourse (John 6) would suggest knowledge of this practice, but its absence from the Last Supper story casts doubt on this group’s practices.

The narrator provides three crucial pieces of information in the first two verses: Jesus’ hour “to depart from this world and go to the Father” has finally come; Jesus would love “his own” to the end (13:1); and “the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him” (13:2).

At the table, Jesus explains that just as he had washed the disciples’ feet, so also should they wash each other’s feet (13:12–13). This was to be an egalitarian act, for “servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them” (13:16). Jesus surprises his disciples when he prepares them for the betrayal. Though readers have known the betrayer’s identity since John 6 (and, likely, before they read or heard this Gospel at all), not so the disciples.

The narrator now introduces a new character: the disciple whom Jesus loved (13:23). If he is new to the readers, he is not new to Jesus. Indeed, he is an intimate friend, not only because he is loved by Jesus—as all the disciples are—but because he reclines next to Jesus, in his bosom, just as Jesus does with God the Father (1:18). This intimacy is acknowledged by Peter, who asks the disciple to address Jesus on his behalf. Jesus hands bread to Judas, who departs, thereby sealing Jesus’ fate.

The Gospel returns to the outline of the story shared by all four Gospels, in which Jesus prophesies that Peter will deny him three times (13:38). Before that point, however, he introduces the commandment to “love one another” (13:34). The love commandment sounds expansive, uplifting, and generous, and in this regard it echoes a saying that the rabbinic tractate The Sayings of the Fathers attributes to the Pharisaic teacher Hillel: “Be of the followers of Aaron, loving peace, pursuing peace, loving your fellow human beings and bringing them to Torah” (Abot 1.12). Nevertheless, the fact that the commandment is given only to the disciples implies that the love is meant only for those who are within the community (Meier, 559).

The more important issue concerns Judas’s moral culpability. If the devil had put the idea of betrayal into Judas’s heart, to what extent is Judas to blame? Does Jesus bear some responsibility as the one who chose his disciples, including the betrayer? Cyril of Alexandria appeals to the principle of freedom of choice in addressing these questions: “Christ chose Judas and associated him with the holy disciples, since at first he certainly possessed the capacity for discipleship. But when, after the temptations of Satan succeeded in making him captive to base greediness for gain, when he was conquered by passion and had become by this means a traitor, then he was rejected by God. This, therefore, was in no way the fault of him who called this man to be an apostle. For it lay in the power of Judas to have saved himself from falling” (Commentary on the Gospel of John 9; Elowsky 2007, 99).

The church fathers accepted the identification of the Beloved Disciple as John son of Zebedee and proposed various solutions to the problem of his anonymity in the Gospel. Augustine explains that “it was a custom of the sacred writer, when he came to anything relating to himself, to speak of himself as if he were speaking of another. He would give himself a place in the flow of the narrative so that he became one who was the recorder of public events rather than making himself the subject of his preaching” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 61.4; Elowsky 2007, 103).

Perhaps the most famous interpretation of John’s Last Supper is Leonardo da Vinci’s mural painting in the refectory in the convent of Santa Maria Della Grazie, Milan (1495–1498). Leonardo catches the dinner party just at the moment that Jesus declares: “One of you will betray me” (13:21). He captures the astonishment and fear on the disciples’ faces and their attempts to excuse themselves. Judas is posed to accept the bread, and the Beloved Disciple, portrayed as a young, beardless man, reclines on Jesus, in a pose that prompted the novelist Dan Brown to speculate that this was really Mary Magdalene (D. Brown; Ehrman).

14:1–16:33: Farewell Discourses

Jesus’ explanation of the foot washing implies a radical egalitarianism that erases the hierarchies of master-servant and teacher-disciple. This egalitarianism was not incorporated into the institutional structures of the church, but the Johannine passage may open up such possibilities for contemporary communities. Appealing as it might be, however, this model is not without its issues. How does the humility inherent in the act of foot washing mesh with the insistence on Jesus’ divine identity? Another issue concerns the question of gender. The text does not specify whether the dinner party also included women, and it therefore lends itself to either interpretation. If the Gospels are to be taken as a source for Christian community—an assumption that is often made but that could be queried nonetheless—John 13 provides some opening for a less hierarchical institution.

After dinner, Jesus speaks for three full chapters. These Farewell Discourses prepare his disciples for his death and for moving forward without him.

Images. The discourses contain several images that make his message more vivid. The first describes “his father’s house” as a mansion with many rooms. Jesus promises that he will return and take them to this house (14:2). There may be an allusion here to the Jewish hekhalot (“palaces”) tradition, involving stories in which a seer visits the heavenly realm and explores its different rooms (see the chariot vision in Ezekiel 1 and 1 Enoch 17–18). More immediately, the verse also alludes to the temple, which Jesus called his Father’s house in 2:16, and to the son/slave contrast in 8:35. Jesus insists that this house can be reached in only one way: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (14:6).

A second vivid image is found in 15:1–6, in which Jesus declares himself to be the true vine, and God the vine grower. This vividly illustrates the central tenets of Johannine Christology: that God has planted his creation, the vine, in the world and continues to tend it so that it will bear fruit. The branches—the disciples—must not only gather followers but also ensure the quality of the wine, that is, of the faith in Jesus. Those that cannot bear fruit are pruned. This may be a veiled reference to Judas, the disciple who has been removed from the Twelve. Essential to the production is mutual indwelling; the branch cannot bear fruit except as part of the vine. Jesus exhorts: “Abide in me as I abide in you” (15:4).

Finally, Jesus reassures the disciples using a common apocalyptic motif: the woman in labor, e.g., Rev. 12:2; cf. Isa. 13:8). In the short term, they will “weep and mourn” while the hate-filled world rejoices. But in the larger, cosmic context, it is the disciples who will rejoice, like a woman is in pain during labor but rejoices when the child is born (16:21).

The Love commandment. In chapter 13, Jesus adjures the disciples to love one another. This commandment is repeated and amplified in John 15. The greatest love is “to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (15:13). Now that he has revealed all to them, his disciples are his friends. Yet he remains their leader, whose commandments—to go and bear fruit that will last (15:15)—must be obeyed. The idea of dying for one’s friends is also expressed in Aristotle’s extensive comments on friendship in the Nicomachean Ethics 9.1169a. The question, however, is, What constitutes love, and who are the friends (cf. Luke 10:29)?

The Paraclete. Those who are addressed by the love commandment, in turn, will receive another “Advocate” (or Paraclete: Gk. paraklētos), who will remain with the disciples forever. The Advocate is the Holy Spirit; he will be sent by the Father, and he will teach the disciples, and remind them of what Jesus said to them in his life. He will testify on Jesus’ behalf, and prove the world wrong about sin and righteousness and judgment (16:8). For this reason, Jesus’ departure is not only necessary but also beneficial; otherwise, the Advocate will not come (16:7). It is unclear whether the Paraclete will work through the community’s leadership, through prophecy, or through other “spiritual gifts” as discussed by Paul in 1 Corinthians 12–14. Nevertheless, the promise of the Paraclete implies the existence of a community that already believes it possesses additional knowledge and authority that has come to them through and after Jesus’ death and ascension to God.

Persecution. Alongside these benefits, however, the disciples are warned to expect persecution (15:21) and even death (16:2). The context implies Jewish responsibility for this suffering, but this is not supported by the historical record. This section contributes to the arguments some have made that the Gospel is a martyr’s text, intended to give comfort and strength to those who face persecution (Moss).

With regard to 14:2, Augustine suggests that Jesus is “preparing the dwellings by preparing for them the dwellers. As, for instance, when he said, ‘In my Father’s house are many dwellings.’ What else can we suppose the house of God to mean but the temple of God? And what that is, ask the apostle, and he will reply, ‘For the temple of God is holy, which temple you are.’ This is also the kingdom of God that the Son is yet to deliver up to the Father” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 68.2; Elowsky 2007, 121).

The love commandment is often quoted to assure non-Christians that love is the essence of the Christian message. Yet within its context, in which Jesus, for the first time, is speaking to the disciples alone and not to a crowd, and warning them of persecution, it seems that this love is turning inward, and characterizing friendship within the community rather than humankind more generally.

17:1–26: Jesus’ Prayer

After these final words to the disciples, Jesus prays to God, not for his own benefit, or for God’s, but for those who are listening in, whether directly, as the disciples, or through the written word, as the book’s readers or listeners. In contrast to the Synoptic Savior, the Johannine Jesus anticipates his fate with satisfaction and joy, as it marks his return to the glory that he enjoyed with God before the world existed (17:5). In alluding to the prologue, this prayer provides a brief reprieve from the gritty account of the passion, which they are about to read, and recalls the cosmic significance of the narrative as a whole.

The prayer advocates for the disciples, seeks God’s protection for them, and thereby reassures them of the joyous end that will await them after their pain and persecution will end. He gives their credentials—they were given to them by God, they kept God’s word (quite literally, perhaps: they have kept Jesus, the Logos, safe, 17:6), and they know that Jesus came from God (17:8). Jesus differentiates sharply between those who are “his own” and those who are not. Though his disciples live in the world, they do not belong to the world.

Jesus concludes with a statement of the unity among Father, Son, and believers, and the prayer that the disciples shall indeed enter into the glory “which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world” (17:24). This concludes the revelatory part of the Gospel, and it ends as it begins, with a statement about Jesus’ preexistence and the cosmic context for his earthly mission.

How does one live in the world but not be of the world? The Letter to Diognetus (late second century) explains by analogy: “What the soul is to the body, Christians are to the world. The soul is dispersed through all the members of the body, and Christians throughout the cities of the world. The soul dwells in the body but is not of the body. Likewise, Christians dwell in the world but are not of the world. The soul, which is invisible, is confined in the body, which is visible. In the same way, Christians are recognized as being in the world, and yet their religion remains invisible” (Letter to Diognetus 6; Elowsky 2007, 244).

Cyril of Alexandria has a more pragmatic explanation: “Christ does not wish for the apostles to be set free of human affairs or to be rid of life in the body when they have not yet finished the course of their apostleship or distinguished themselves by the virtues of a godly life. Rather, his desire is to see them live their lives in the company of people in the world and guide the footsteps of those who are his to a state of life well pleasing to God. After they have done this, then at last, with the glory they have achieved, they will be carried into the heavenly city and dwell with the company of the holy angels” (Commentary on the Gospel of John 11.9; Elowsky 2007, 250).

18:1–19:16a: Betrayal, Trials, and Denial

Jesus prays that the disciples will transmit Jesus’ message to the world after he is gone, perhaps aided by the Paraclete. Yet it is rare, or perhaps impossible, for the message to remain the same over time. The churches that developed after Jesus’ death, including the Johannine community itself, may have perceived themselves in continuity with Jesus (even when in conflict with each other), but they departed from his teachings in significant ways, including the egalitarianism implied in chapter 13.

John’s account of the events that led directly to Jesus’ death are similar in outline, though not always in detail, with the Synoptic versions, suggesting to many scholars that the passion narrative was the first lengthy narrative unit in the Gospel tradition.

Immediately after the prayer, Jesus steps into the garden across the Kidron Valley (18:1), where he is immediately met by Judas, along with a detachment of soldiers and police of the Jewish authorities (18:2–3). There is no “Judas’ kiss” (cf. Matt. 26:48; Mark 14:44; Luke 22:47–48). Rather than wait for Judas to identify him, Jesus steps forward and asks, “Whom are you looking for?” (18:4). This echoes the question he first asked of the Baptist’s disciples (1:38). Jesus identifies himself simply with “I am he,” recalling yet again God’s self-identification in Exod. 3:14. Once in custody, he endures an interrogation before a high-priestly authority. In contrast to Mark and Matthew, however, this authority is not the high priest himself—whom Matthew names but Mark leaves anonymous—but Caiaphas’s father-in-law, Annas. The episode has led to considerable speculation concerning Annas’s ongoing role in and influence over high-priestly matters.

The “high priest” is most interested in Jesus’ disciples and teachings. As usual, Jesus responds indirectly: “I have spoken openly to the world; I have always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where all the Jews come together. I have said nothing in secret” (18:20). Jesus’ assertion is borne out by his earlier activity. In fact, until the Farewell Discourses, Jesus has taught only crowds, and often in the synagogue or the temple.

Intercut with this interrogation is the story of Peter’s denial. By its end, Jesus is presumably in Caiaphas’s custody, but what, if anything, occurred between them is not divulged.

The decisive event in the passion sequence, however, is the trial before Pilate. John’s Pilate is extremely reluctant to condemn Jesus. He asks Jesus’ Jewish captors: “What accusation do you bring against this man?” (18:29). Like Jesus, they do not answer directly, but simply say that had he not been a criminal they would not have handed him over. Pilate suggests that he give Jesus over to them for judgment, but they remind him that it is only Rome that can hand down the death penalty. The narrator points out the necessity of crucifixion to fulfill Jesus’ prophecy about his mode of death (18:32).

Because the Jews must remain outside to avoid pre-Passover ritual defilement (18:28), Pilate goes back and forth between them and Jesus. He confronts Jesus with the claim that he is king of the Jews. Jesus poses a question of his own: “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” (18:34). Pilate reminds him that it is his own people who have handed him over, and now asks more generally, “What have you done?” (18:35). Jesus then responds, enigmatically, to the previous question: “My kingdom is not from this world,” for his disciples are not fighting on his behalf (18:36). Pilate struggles to comprehend: “So you are a king?” (18:37). But Jesus, as always, avoids a direct answer: “You say that I am a king.” As for what he says, “For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth” (18:37), setting the stage for Pilate’s famous but cryptic question: “What is truth?” (18:38). Without awaiting a response, Pilate goes back out to the Jews and declares that he finds no reason to prosecute Jesus.

Instead of releasing Jesus, however, he offers the crowds a choice between Jesus and Barabbas. Although the Gospel describes this as a Passover custom (18:39), there is no evidence for it outside the Gospels’ passion accounts (cf. Matt. 27:15; Mark 15:6; Luke 23:17). The Jews insist on Barabbas. Barabbas is described as a lēstēs (18:40), which can mean “robber” or “bandit.” In the writings of Josephus, the term is used to describe guerrilla fighters who both stole and incited violence against Rome (War 2.253–54). The fact that Barabbas was sentenced to crucifixion, a punishment normally reserved for those convicted of treason, may imply that he was such a fighter, rather than a mere thief.

And still the death sentence is not passed. Pilate has Jesus flogged and then finally brings him out to face his accusers: “Behold the man” (19:5 KJV). The chief priests and police cry out for his crucifixion, as Pilate insists a third time: “I find no case against him” (19:6). The Jews again insist that he has broken their law by claiming to be Son of God, a claim that leads Pilate to approach Jesus again: “Where are you from?” (19:9). In this way, the Gospel reminds the reader of the messianic criterion of unknown origins that has been woven through the narrative.

Jesus does not respond until Pilate threatens him: “Do you not know that I have power to release you, and power to crucify you?” (19:10). But Jesus denies that Pilate has any independent power; rather, “the one who handed me over to you is guilty of a greater sin.” (19:11). If Jesus’ death by crucifixion is essential to the fulfillment of his mission and his return to God, why is Pilate blameless but the Jewish authorities guilty? Finally, Pilate relents and hands Jesus over to be crucified (18:16a).

As in the Synoptics, Pilate is extremely reluctant to condemn Jesus, and uses several tactics—deflection, negation—to extricate himself from the situation. In contrast to the Synoptics, however, John’s Gospel suggests that Pilate was more interested in and engaged with Jesus beyond his potential to stir up a crowd. This interest is conveyed, first, by his question: “What is truth?” to which Jesus, continuing his near silence, does not respond (18:38). A second hint is found in the formality with which he presents Jesus, now wearing the crown of thorns and “royal” robe, to the crowd. The King James Version captures the nuance of the Greek, with its translation: “Behold the man” (19:5); even more striking is the famous Latin phrase of the Vulgate: “Ecce homo.” The third, occurring in the next section, is the titulus that proclaims Jesus the king of the Jews, and his insistence on this wording in the face of the chief priests’ protests (19:21–22).

Pilate’s interest can be read in two different ways: as a tacit but sincere acknowledgment of Jesus’ royal status (with acceptance of Jesus’ declaration that he is the head of a kingdom that is not from this world, 18:36), and as irony intended to humiliate Jesus (as the soldiers did when robing and crowning him; 19:2–3) and to mock the royal claims made on his behalf.

Augustine opted for the former view. He not only exonerated the Roman governor but also drew him in as a witness to the “truth,” suggesting that the “truth” that Jesus was the king of the Jews was inscribed in Pilate’s heart, as it was on the titulus (Tract. Ev. Jo. 115.5; Elowsky 2007, 294).

Cyril of Alexandria has a less elevated view of the governor: “When he called Jesus king of the Jews, he spoke in jest and tried to abate by ridicule the anger of the furious mob. He also clearly showed that this particular accusation was brought in vain. A Roman officer would never have thought a man condemned of plotting for a kingdom and revolution against Rome worthy to be released. He bore witness, then, to Jesus’ utter innocence by the very reasons he gave for Jesus’ release” (Commentary on the Gospel of John 12; Elowsky 2007, 294).

The trial narrative is a case study on the use of intimidation in legal and political processes. This theme operates not only on the story level—the Jews intimidating Pilate into sentencing Jesus to death—but also in the potential impact of the Gospel on its ideal readers: to leave them with no alternative but to blame the Jews for Jesus’ death.

19:16b–42 Crucifixion and Burial

The events wind to their inevitable conclusion. The crucifixion field is here called Golgotha, an Aramaic term meaning “The Place of the Skull” (19:17). A trilingual titulus—in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek—is placed on the cross, reading “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” The chief priests object to the wording, arguing that it should read, “This man said, I am King of the Jews” (19:21), but Pilate refuses to change it, thereby indirectly acknowledging Jesus’ sovereignty (19:22). The trilingual nature of the titulus testifies to the diversity that the Gospel writer presumed was the case in Jerusalem.

Even on the cross, Jesus maintains his presence of mind. The narrator notes that three women are standing near the cross: his mother, his aunt, and Mary Magdalene (19:25). From the cross, Jesus tells his mother, “Woman, here is your son,” and says to the disciple, “Here is your mother” (19:26–27). On the face of it, Jesus is here showing his filial solicitude by ensuring that his mother will be cared for after his death. But interpreters have more often sought symbolic interpretations. It seems clear that the Beloved Disciple represents the ideal believer, but who or what would the mother represent? R. H. Strachan (319) suggests that she symbolizes the Jewish heritage that is now being entrusted to Christians; for Bultmann (673), she represents Jewish Christianity, now entrusted to gentile Christianity. Raymond Brown (1970, 925–26), drawing on the imagery of John 16:21, suggests that she evokes “Lady Zion,” who brings forth a new people in the messianic age that Jesus’ death ushers in. This interpretation ties in well with the promise that believers will be reborn (3:3) as children of God (1:12–13); nevertheless, the absence of any references to a maternal figure in these other contexts makes it difficult to conclude that this is meaning the evangelist or his first readers would have read into or out of this scene.

At the point of his death, the narrator says, Jesus declares his thirst, to fulfill Scripture (Ps. 69:21). He sips wine from a sponge on a hyssop branch, declares, “It is finished,” bows his head, and gives up his spirit (19:30). In this moment, as throughout the Gospel, Jesus fully and calmly accepts the necessity of his death to the fulfillment of God’s will and his own return to the Father. Interestingly, despite the numerous scenes involving food and drink, it is only at the moment before his death that Jesus himself explicitly consumes food or drink (Kobel, 301–6). The reference to hyssop recalls the Passover sacrifice, as it was used to mark the doorposts before the exodus (Exod. 12:22). Its mention here recalls the theme, distinct to this Gospel, of Jesus as the Passover sacrifice. This identification of Jesus as the Passover lamb is further strengthened by the fact that, unlike the other men crucified alongside him, Jesus did not have his legs broken (19:31–32). The narrator explains that this was because he was already dead (19:33). But in keeping his legs intact, the Roman soldiers also (inadvertently) ensure his acceptability as a Passover sacrifice, which had to be “without blemish” (Exod. 12:5).

After his death, Jesus’ side is pierced, and “at once blood and water came out” (19:34). What this means from a physiological point of view has been much discussed but remains unclear (Wilkinson). Like many other elements of this Gospel, however, the scene has a symbolic meaning, perhaps alluding to the spiritually cleansing role of water in baptism and foot washing. The passage may also link back to 7:38, in which Jesus quotes a Scripture (the source is unclear, but Prov. 18:4; Isa. 58:11; and Sir. 24:30–33 have been suggested)—“Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water”—that the narrator interprets as a reference to the Spirit. If so, the scene may be christological, proclaiming Jesus as both human (blood) and divine (water). The blood may also suggest a eucharistic interpretation, whereby believers are able to imbibe Christ by virtue of his death on the cross. To emphasize the importance of this event, the narrator stresses the reliability of the witness, referring to the Beloved Disciple (19:35). A secret disciple, Joseph of Arimathea, along with Nicodemus, anoints and wraps Jesus’ body and buries it in the garden near Golgotha. This passage lends credence to the view that Nicodemus, too, was a secret disciple. The preparation for Passover, the season of salvation, has been completed; the lamb has been sacrificed, his mission in the world accomplished, and his return to the Father assured.

Augustine indicates that a trilingual titulus was needed: “the Hebrew because of the Jews who gloried in the law of God; the Greek, because of the wise people among the gentiles; and the Latin, because of the Romans who at that very time were exercising sovereign power over many, in fact, over almost all countries” (Tract. Ev. Jo. 117.4; Elowsky 2007, 311). He also expands on the motif of Pilate as a convert. The governor was “the wild olive [see Rom. 11:17] to be grafted on, while the leaders of the Jews represented the broken-off branches” (Serm. 218.7; Elowsky 2007, 312). In this passage, Augustine is expanding on the Gospel’s clues that Pilate was attracted to Jesus’ message.

The crucifixion scene is perhaps the most poignant in the entire Gospel tradition. For John, it is in Jesus’ death that he is most completely and profoundly both human and divine. His calm acceptance has served as a model for martyrs—those who must, or choose to die for their beliefs—from the early Christian period to the present day (Chilton), even as the Gospel’s eschatology, which assures believers that they will follow Jesus to the rooms he has prepared for them in his Father’s house, made it possible for Christians to face death calmly in times of persecution.

20:1–18: Mary Magdalene and the Gardener

The Gospels are silent on the period of time between Jesus’ burial and the discovery of the empty tomb, but all depict women as the ones who discover the empty tomb on Sunday morning. In John, Mary Magdalene comes alone, sees that the stone is rolled away, and runs to tell Peter and the “other” disciple that “they” have removed the body (20:2). The two men run to the tomb. The other disciple reaches the tomb first, but it is Peter who enters first. When the other disciple goes in, he believes. What he believes, however, is not specified. The narrator does not help clarify matters when he states that “as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead” (20:9), for there is no specific biblical quotation to this effect. The two men return to their homes, but Mary remains weeping at the tomb. She then looks in and sees two angels (20:11–12), who ask, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She turns and sees Jesus but does not recognize him. He asks, “Whom are you looking for?” the same question he asked the Baptist’s followers (1:38) and the forces who had come to arrest him (19:7). Mary mistakes him for the gardener and politely asks him to tell her where he put the body, so that she can take it away. He then calls her by name, as he had called Lazarus, and reveals his identity to her. She responds “Rabbouni!” which the narrator explains as meaning Teacher in Hebrew, though in fact it is Aramaic (20:16). He then tells her not to hold on to him; whether Mary had already touched him, or was merely reaching out to do so, is not stated, but the reason is “because I have not yet ascended to the Father” (20:17). Jesus’ reason suggests that he is undergoing a process of change with regard to his corporeality that physical contact might interrupt. At the same time, one cannot ignore the hint of sexual tension in the scene. Mary’s search for Jesus’ body echoes the language of the Song of Solomon (Song of Songs), in which the female lover searches for her groom (see esp. Song of Sol. 3:1–4). Other parallels include the reference to “peering in” (John 20:5; Song of Sol. 2:9) and the use of spices (John 19:39; Song of Sol. 1:12; 3:6) (Reinhartz 1999). This is not to say that John portrayed Mary and Jesus as physical lovers. Even in the first century, the Song of Songs had acquired a spiritual interpretation as an allegory of the love between God and the covenant people, and it is likely that this allegory lies in the foreground of the Gospel’s allusions to the Song of Songs. At the same time, this section has been one source of the speculation found in second-century and later sources of a special relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene that is expressed explicitly in the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Philip, and the Gospel of Mary (Schaberg; King).

More important, he gives her a special mission: to go to “my brothers”—the male disciples—and tell them that he is ascending to the Father (20:17). She does so, saying, “I have seen the Lord” (20:18). Their response, if any, is not recorded.