Meeting Jesus on the Emmaus road.

Luke 24.13-27.

Jesus’s resurrection happened the day after Passover. The Law required every able-bodied Israeli to go to Jerusalem for Passover and celebrate it there. Dt 16.16 That done, they could all go home, and that seems to be what two of Jesus’s students were doing in the Emmaus Road story: Going home. Passover was over, Jesus was (as far as they knew) dead, and while they heard from the women he was alive, they didn’t know what to do with this information… and it didn’t matter; they had stuff to do at home. So they were going home.

Emmaus is probably Emmaus Nicopolis. A number of Christians insist it can’t be, because Luke says Emmaus was 60 stadia from Jerusalem (i.e. 7 miles, 11km), and Emmaus Nicopolis is 161 stadia (15½ miles, 25km) away. Never mind Luke describes Emmaus as ἀπέχουσαν/apéhusan, “far off,” and 7 miles is not far off; you could run that in an hour.

Me, I think it’s far more likely some overzealous bible copyist incorrectly wrote ἑξήκοντα/exíkonta, “sixty,” instead of ἑκατὸν ἑξήκοντα/ekatón exíkonta, “hundred sixty,” and that error snuck into all our bibles. None of the other archaeological discoveries 60 stadia away from Jerusalem have been satisfactory. Meanwhile Christians for centuries have been claiming Emmaus Nicopolis is the place. Ancient Christians even built a church there over St. Cleopas’s house, which was still standing in Eusebius Pamphili’s time. (He was the bishop of Caesarea, Judea, from 314 to 339. He knew the area.) It’s not unreasonable to figure these guys could cover 161 stadia (i.e. 15½ miles, 25km) in a spring afternoon. That’s a five-hour walk… and, as it’ll come up later, a two-hour run.

I mentioned Cleopas ’cause Luke identifies Cleopas as one of the students in this story. Κλεόπας/Kleópas is a Greek name, the male equivalent of Cleopatra, meaning “glory to the father,” or in a Jew’s case “glory to the Father.” Eusebius identifies him as Jesus’s uncle, the brother of Joseph, and the father of Jesus’s cousin Simon, who later became the head of the Jerusalem church after Jesus’s brother James was killed. Since the Emmaus Road story ends with the statement, “The Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared to Simon,” Lk 24.34 KJV it may very well be that the other student in this story is this Simon—namely Jesus’s cousin Simon. Hey, they both lived in Emmaus.

So it’s kinda cool that Jesus’s uncle and cousin were both following him, and it makes sense that they’d be among the first people he appeared to. Let’s get to the first part of the story.

Luke 24.13-27 KWL

13 Look, two of the students, on the same day,

are going to a far-off village whose name is Emmaús,

60 stadia [7 miles, 11 km] from Jerusalem.

14 The students are talking with one another

about all the things which just happened.

15 It happens, during their animated conversation,

Jesus himself comes near, going with them.

16 The students’ eyesight isn’t strong;

they don’t know it’s Jesus.

17 Jesus tells them, “What are these words

you throw to one another as you’re walking?”

The students stand still, gloomy-looking.

18 In reply, one of the students, named Cleopas,

tells Jesus, “You alone visit Jerusalem,

and don’t know what happens in it these days?”

19 Jesus tells them, “What happened?”

The students tell him the events about Jesus the Nazarene.

How he’s a man—a prophet—

of mighty work and word before God and all the people.

20 How Jesus is betrayed to our head priests and rulers,

is sentenced to death, and they crucify him.

21 “And we were expecting that he’s Israel’s coming redeemer…

but regardless, it’s the third day after these things happened.

22 But certain women among us are confusing us:

Going to the sepulcher in the morning

23 and not finding Jesus’s body,

they come back speaking of seeing an angelic vision;

they say he’s alive.

24 Some who are with us, go to the sepulcher,

and find it’s just as the women say,

but we don’t see him.”

25 Jesus tells them, “Oh, you dummies.

Slow in your heart to trust all the prophets who speak.

26 Don’t these things have to be suffered by Messiah

to enter into his glory?”

27 And beginning with Moses and all the prophets,

Jesus expounds for them everything written about himself.

The first 12 apostles.

The word apostle means “one who’s been sent out.” We Christians use it to refer to anyone whom Jesus has sent to do something.

Really, anything. If Jesus sends you to Peets to go get him a coffee, that is—no foolin’—being his apostle. Now, once you’re done, are you still an apostle? Well, that’s debatable… and usually debated vigorously by all the people whom Jesus sent on one mission or another, who now include “apostle” among their titles, and even make it part of their screen names on social media. (He’s not just “Maximilián Bernardi” on Facebook; he’s “Apostle Maximilián Bernardi.” As far as Facebook knows, his full first name is “Apostle Maximilián.” Imagine if gas station attendants did this. But I digress.)

I know; some churches insist the only apostles are the 12 guys Jesus designated when he walked the earth—with a special exception made for Paul, ’cause Jesus appeared to him special. I’d point out Jesus still appears to people special, and can therefore send any one of us to do anything he chooses. So yeah, he still makes apostles. But the first 12 guys are special, ’cause they’re the guys Jesus used to start his church.

As for why he picked ’em, we have to read this bit first, which makes it kinda obvious:

Mark 3.7-12 NET

7 Then Jesus went away with his disciples to the sea, and a great multitude from Galilee followed him. And from Judea, 8 Jerusalem, Idumea, beyond the Jordan River, and around Tyre and Sidon a great multitude came to him when they heard about the things he had done. 9 Because of the crowd, he told his disciples to have a small boat ready for him so the crowd would not press toward him. 10 For he had healed many, so that all who were afflicted with diseases pressed toward him in order to touch him. 11 And whenever the unclean spirits saw him, they fell down before him and cried out, “You are the Son of God.” 12 But he sternly ordered them not to make him known.

For those who can’t see the obvious: Jesus was busy. This was a massive ministry he had undertaken. And though he’s Jesus, he’s still just one man; he needed help! He needed apprentices. So he picked 12 of his best students.

Mark 3.13-15 NET

13 Now Jesus went up the mountain and called for those he wanted, and they came to him. 14 He appointed twelve so that they would be with him and he could send them to preach 15 and to have authority to cast out demons.

Matthew makes it sound like these were his only students, and maybe they were at the time.

Matthew 10.1 NET

Jesus called his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits so they could cast them out and heal every kind of disease and sickness.

But Luke indicates they were among his students.

Luke 6.12-13 NET

12 Now it was during this time that Jesus went out to the mountain to pray, and he spent all night in prayer to God. 13 When morning came, he called his disciples and chose twelve of them, whom he also named apostles…

 

Luke 9.1-2 NET

1 After Jesus called the twelve together, he gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, 2 and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal the sick.

Jesus chose students to do this, and all his apostles—including present-day apostles—are still his students. Still gotta learn from the Master. But what makes ’em apostles is Jesus designated and sent them to do stuff.

Namely the very same things Jesus did. The same things the crowds were swarming Jesus to get: Cure diseases, drive out their demons, and tell ’em about God’s kingdom. Whenever someone barged into Jesus’s lessons because they had a sick relative, the idea was an apostle could handle it, and our Lord didn’t need to be interrupted unless this problem was simply too great for the apprentice to handle. Where previously Jesus went from town to town with the gospel, he could now send six teams to do the very same thing. (And later, 35 teams.)

It’s all part of Jesus’s ultimate goal: To multiply himself in every Christian. ’Cause we Christians are to do all the stuff he did, and then some.

The social gospel.

SOCIAL GOSPEL 'soʊ.ʃəl 'gɑs.pəl noun. A Protestant movement which tries to apply uniquely (or superficially) Christian perspectives and ethics to civic problems, particularly through charitable programs or government.

If you asked an American Christian the 1800s what the End Times consisted of, you’d quickly discover these folks held the postmillennialist view: They believed the millennium, the time period in which Jesus personally rules the world, takes place before his second coming.

I know; this is a really hard idea for today’s Christians to wrap their brains around. Jesus returns after the millennium? How’s humanity supposed to have a millennium of peace and love before the Prince of Peace takes over and runs things himself? Have you seen humanity? We’re awful.

Yet that’s what Christians believed. It’s what their churches taught, and they swallowed it whole, same as today’s Christians swallow Darbyism without ever asking, “Waitaminnit, why do their End Times charts have this big ol’ period where God turns off the miracles?” People were used to the idea… and they figured it was up to them to create the millennial kingdom; a thousand-year Reich in which everything would be good and perfect. In 1933 Germany even elected a nationalist chancellor who promised them this very thing; ask them how that worked out for them.

After the world wars, very few Christians continued to believe in postmillennialism. There are exceptions… and sometimes we still sing postmillennialist hymns without realizing it. Check out the lyrics to “We’ve a Story to Tell to the Nations”—my churches used to sing that song well into the 1980s.

But back when that worldview was popular, Christians figured it was our duty to tackle civic problems, fix society, and bring about that millennium. Charles M. Sheldon’s novel In His Steps is a good example of their thinking: Apply the question “What would Jesus do?” to all of society. Then reform society wherever you think it appropriate.

• “If Jesus pastored my church he’d lead it like this.”
• “If Jesus owned my business he’d run it like this.”
• “If Jesus ran for office he’d say this.”
• “If Jesus taught my kids he’d teach them this.”

And so on.

Because these reforms tend to be more forgiving, more equitable, more charitable, more gracious—and more expensive, and create way more rules and laws than your average libertarian appreciates, they tend to get painted with the brush of “liberal.” And to be fair, you’re usually gonna find social-gospel reforms and activities among the Christian Left. (Whereas the Christian Right tends to lean nationalist.)

“I don’t need forgiving.”

So yesterday I wrote about those Christians who can’t stop praying the “forgive me” prayer—and if that’s because they’re anxious about their sins, they need to chill out; God’s forgiven them. Long long ago. He’s got you covered.

Then there are those people, often not Christian… but some of ’em are absolutely sure they’re totally Christian. And these folks think it’s ridiculous to worry whatsoever about their own forgiveness. Because they can’t imagine anything they’ve done which needs forgiving. Not from God; not from anyone. In some cases they’re kinda offended we’d even suggest they need forgiving.

I was talking with a Christian pastor about this phenomenon some years ago, and he just shrugged and said, “Typical human depravity.”

But no it’s not typical. It’s an extreme human behavior. What we have here is a narcissist. Here I refer you to what Psychology Today has to say about ’em:

How do I spot a narcissist?

Narcissism is characterized by a grandiose sense of self-importance, a lack of empathy for others, a need for excessive admiration, and the belief that one is unique and deserving of special treatment. If you encounter someone who consistently exhibits these behaviors, you may be dealing with a highly narcissistic individual.

What’s the difference between narcissism and pathological narcissism?

Pathological narcissism, or narcissistic personality disorder, is rare: It affects an estimated 1 percent of the population, a prevalence that hasn’t changed since clinicians started measuring it. The disorder is suspected when narcissistic traits impair a person’s daily functioning. That dysfunction typically causes friction in relationships due to the pathological narcissist’s lack of empathy. It may also manifest as antagonism, fueled by grandiosity and attention-seeking. In seeing themselves as superior, the pathological narcissist naturally views everyone else as inferior and may be intolerant of disagreement or questioning. “Narcissism.”

God has forgiven you.

Frequently I meet Christians who can’t stop praying the “forgive me” prayer.

• Sometimes because it’s already part of their rote prayers. “Forgive us our debts” (or “trespasses”) is already part of the Lord’s Prayer, y’know. And part of many other memorized prayers.
• Sometimes because they sin a lot. All Christians sin, but these folks figure they sin way more than average—and let’s be honest; maybe they do! So they have a lot to apologize to God about.
• Sometimes because they’re under the misbegotten belief that once you become Christian, you spontaneously stop sinning. Well, they’ve not stopped sinning… so they’re kinda worried about their salvation. Did the sinner’s prayer take?—’cause sometimes it doesn’t.
• And sometimes because they’re in one of those dark Christian churches which tell them every time they sin, it’s like they personally have crucified Jesus all over again. Which, if you’re the literal-minded type, is a traumatizing thing to believe. So of course these folks are begging forgiveness all the time.

Lemme address that last idea a bit more. The whole “crucifying Jesus all over again” idea comes from this verse:

Hebrews 6.6 KJV

If they shall fall away, to renew them again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame.

In context it’s not talking about just any sins. The author of Hebrews is writing about apostasy—about quitting Jesus—and how Christians who’ve had the full experience of God’s grace and the Holy Spirit’s supernatural power can’t just casually quit Jesus, then come back. These people didn’t quit Jesus; they sinned, but they didn’t commit that sin.

Problem is, dark Christians are gonna insist they kinda did commit that sin. If every sin alienates God (and it doesn’t), then every sin is functionally the same as quitting Jesus. Every sin is apostasy. Every sin has the power to plunge us into fiery hell: If we die with unrepented, unconfessed sin in our lives, we’re going to the hot place. Yeah God is gracious, but not that gracious.

So you can see why these people are constantly begging God’s forgiveness: They think they’re constantly dangling over hellfire, and their relationship with God is like a thin bungee cord which might not actually be able to hold their weight.

It’s awfully hard to think of God as love when you’re living with this kind of stress. Sure doesn’t feel like love. Feels like God is only moments away from pouring a bowl of heavenly fire upon you. Feels like the sins of the world might trigger the same response upon our country too… which is why so many dark Christians are big fans of Christian nationalism: Screw democracy; we gotta purge evildoers! But I digress; let’s get back to their mental picture of a very unforgiving God.

Okay. In God’s process of salvation, at what point do you believe he forgives you?

Peace be unto you.

God’s into peace. It’s an aspect of his character we really don’t spend enough time on. But it’s one of the Spirit’s fruits, and something he wishes we’d have. Something he wishes upon us, his creations, his children—as articulated by his angels when Jesus was born.

Luke 2.13-14 NRSVue

13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,

14 “Glory to God in the highest heaven,

and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

Problem is, we Christians aren’t known for being peaceful. The far-from-peaceful dark Christians regularly make the news, and give everybody the sense we’re all just as angry and agitated. That might not be a fair assessment… but then again it might be; the rest of us aren’t really doing much to compensate for all the angry ones.

But sometimes, sometimes, when Christians are peaceful, or do good deeds in a peaceful way, it becomes one of those happy-news stories at the end of the program. Or found in the back of the newspaper. Some of them even go viral when they’re heartwarming enough. But there aren’t as many of them as there oughta be. It may very well be we Christians do a good job of demonstrating peace… but the agitated minority gets all the press.

But based on my own personal experience (and yeah, I know, anecdotes aren’t real proof), the Christians I know certainly aren’t all that peaceful. They freak out over every little thing. I remember a few years back, when a whole slew of Christian nationalists got elected, thrilling one of my right-leaning fellow church members. But even as she was rejoicing, she told me she was still convinced it’s only a matter of time before freedom of religion gets banned in the United States, and we won’t even be able to preach Jesus in private. Pretty sure she’s been reading way too much Hal Lindsey. And she’s hardly alone.

It’s not even limited to wild End Times fears. When terrorists attack, Christians want ’em dead just as much as any irreligious, vengeful pagan. Lots of us own guns, and not just hunting rifles: When thieves break into our houses, we expect to shoot ’em dead same as any other enraged homeowner. We claim it’s for self-defense and we’re being realistic and practical, but (unless we’re gun nuts who really just want to commit a justifiable homicide) it’s really because we believe peace will only come once we destroy the things we fear. Or at least build giant walls to keep ’em out.

So I have serious doubts that peaceful Christians are a vast but silent majority. More than likely they’re a tiny minority. (And I say “they’re” because I myself am not as peaceful as I should be.)

The resurrection in 𝘓𝘶𝘬𝘦.

Luke 24.1-12.

As I’ve pointed out more than once, Jesus himself pointed out more than once Mk 8.31, 9.31, 10.33-34 that when he went to Jerusalem this time, he’d get arrested and crucified—but rise again. This wasn’t a secret plan.

Oh, it mighta felt like a secret plan to his dense followers, who promptly forgot all about the “and risen on the third day” part after Jesus got killed. Trauma will do that to you. Fresh trauma—’cause it was early Sunday morning, probably before most of them had even had their morning wine, and Jesus had died only Friday afternoon.

(Yes, morning wine. Tea wasn’t invented till the 200s, and coffee till the 1400s, so people back then typically drank beer in the morning. No, I’m not kidding! But beer wasn’t an option during the Feast of Unleavened Bread—they had to get all the yeast out of the house, which means no beer, even in Passover observances today. So, wine. No, not watered-down wine; that’s a pagan Greek practice, and it’s a myth invented by American teetotalers that Judeans did it too. They drank regular kosher wine. Kids too. But ordinarily, beer… until God blessed the Chinese with tea, and the Yemenis with coffee. Okay, digression over.)

So the Eleven and the other students really weren’t expecting resurrection. They were still mourning Jesus’s death. That’s why they were gathered together: Mourning. Wearing torn clothes, pouring ash from the fireplace onto their heads, weeping, remembering Jesus, wondering what might come next.

Movies tend to depict these followers as in hiding—panicked in case the authorities were coming for them next. Which isn’t at all how the gospels describe things. Yes, they were anxious about the Judeans, Jn 20.19 but in the same gospel of John which says this, you also see the apostle John moving freely about the city, temple, and even into the head priest’s house to witness Jesus’s trial. This is hardly the behavior of someone who fears arrest! Nope; the authorities got the guy they wanted, and didn’t care about the followers until they themselves started doing as Jesus did—namely curing people and proclaiming God’s kingdom. Ac 4.1 Just in case, they kept their heads down—but the men were free to go home, and the women were free to even take spices to Jesus’s sepulcher.

Except when they did, the corpse wasn’t there. Because it was no longer a corpse.

Luke 24.1-12.

1 At early dawn on the first day of the week,

women, bringing prepared spices, come to the sepulcher.

2 These women find the stone

had been rolled away from the sepulcher.

3 On entering, the women do not find

the body of Master Jesus.

4 It happens while the women are dumbfounded about this:

Look, two men in brilliant clothing, sitting by them.

5 As this frightened the women,

who fall over on their faces to the ground,

the men tell them,

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?

6 He’s not here. He’s risen!

Remember what he tells you when you are still in the Galilee,

7 saying this of the Son of Man:

He has to be delivered into the hands of sinful people,

and crucified,

and risen on the third day.”

8 And the women remember Jesus’s words,

9 and, returning from the sepulcher,

the women tell all these things to the Eleven

and all the other students.

10 It was Mary the Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary of James,

and all the other women with them:

They were saying these things to the apostles.

11 The events appeared to the apostles

as if these words were a fairy tale,

and they don’t believe it.

12 Simon Peter rises and runs to the sepulcher,

and leans in to see only the linen strips,

and leaves, wondering to himself what had happened.

Christianity needs to be woke.

WOKE woʊk verb Past tense of wake.

2. [adjective] Alert to the existence or presence of racial prejudice and discrimination.

3. [adjective] Liberal.

[Wokeism 'woʊk.ɪz.əm noun]

I first heard the term “woke” in college in the 1980s. It had been around since the 1930s or so, but it was largely confined to the black community. I heard it ’cause I had black friends and employers. They used it to describe people who had “woken up” to problems in society which they previously didn’t know about. Namely about racism.

See, you can live a really sheltered life before you get to college. Which is somewhat understandable. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area in the 1970s, when there was all sorts of civic unrest going on. Drug addicts in the local parks. Full-on riots, with the National Guard sent in, in the very same county. My parents didn’t want me worrying about this stuff, so they downplayed it, or made sure I saw little to none of it. I get why they did it; I approve.

The only problem I have with this behavior is when it goes on too long. And a lot of parents think it should. They’ll keep sheltering their kids well into their teenage years, arguing, “Why they’re just children.” Legally yeah; and there’s an awful lot of people who retain immature character traits well into old age. But in a very few years, your teenagers are gonna become voters. They can run for office, serve on juries, and join the military. They can become active, participating citizens, who need to know what’s going on in their world. But if they’re sheltered well into their young adult years, they’re going to have a very distorted view of the world. They’ll be horrified when they first encounter the real thing—as I witnessed many times when I went to bible college, and watched my homeschooled classmates struggle mightily when we ministered to the needy, the homeless, and the kids in juvenile hall. They weren’t at all prepared for the world Jesus calls us to minister to.

Y’see, they’d been asleep. And many of them still choose to stay asleep.

Institutional racism continues to be a problem in the United States. It’s a problem I was far too unaware of when I was a kid, ’cause I assumed—’cause I was taught—the racism problem was solved! The Voting Rights Act was passed before I was even born. Racial discrimination was illegal. I lived near military bases, and lookit all our multiethnic soldiers!—they worked together, race notwithstanding, and proved racism was abolished. (Of course I never asked how many officers were nonwhite at that time. Sheltered kids never learn which questions to ask.)

So how’d I become aware of it? I had nonwhite friends. I saw people discriminate against ’em. Sometimes—but seldom; they didn’t always think they could trust me—they told me stories of people discriminating against ’em. Mexican and Filipino and black friends getting the cops called on ’em just because some white neighbor thought, “Oh they must be in a gang.” Or hearing racial slurs from other kids in our school who moved here from predominantly white towns, and brought their racism with them. Or seeing teachers, school administrators, civic authorities, and pastors treat them with low expectations simply because they weren’t white.

I was already kinda “woke” when I got to college, so the teachers didn’t have to convince me. But man alive, were there some white students who were resistant to the idea racism still exists. “Well I never saw any of that happen in my community.” Well you aren’t the baseline for how “normal” is defined, sweetie. (Plus you’re just a bit racist yourself.)

White people largely hadn’t heard the term “woke” until the 2010s, when the Black Lives Matter protests started up, and the term worked its way into the mainstream. And because not everyone bothered to find out what “woke” means—same as pretty much every new word people stumble across—a number of conservatives presume “wokeism” is just another word for the left-wing agenda. It means political correctness, or identity politics, or liberalism in general; it means anything and everything they don’t like.

Thing is, there are plenty of conservatives who are entirely aware what “woke” actually means, and know it doesn’t mean identity politics, or liberalism in general. They’re entirely aware it’s about anti-racism. We know this ’cause they say so… when they’re put under oath.

Not believing the women when Jesus arose.

Mark 16.9-11, Luke 24.8-11.

When Jesus undid his own death before dawn on 5 April 33, and his women followers discovered an empty sepulcher and angels informing them their Lord is alive, the first thing they rightly did was go tell the men. And the men didn’t believe them.

There’s this common modern belief that the people of the past were ignorant, and would therefore believe in any old thing. They’d believe in miracles and magic, because science hadn’t been invented yet, and they grew up hearing tales about gods and sorcerers, and crazy myths which were told to them straight-faced as if they were history. And they believed in all that stuff… so they’d believe any fanciful tale you told ’em. “Oh, a wizard did it!” or “Oh, Zeus did it!” and they’d easily swallow the story, because they lived in a dark age where this sort of thing was commonplace.

Clearly these moderns have never read myths. I did; my parents gave me children’s books which retold those old myths. (Edited for children, of course, ’cause there’s way more sex and violence in those stories than people realize. Some of ’em are worse than Judges.) One of the ancient pagan Greeks’ very favorite themes was ὕβρις/ývris, “hubris,” the kind of excessive narcissistic overconfidence which only the gods figured they were allowed to have, and regularly punished mortals for having it. Hubris shows up in a lot of Greek myths, and the most common way is by some character in a story refusing to believe. Doesn’t believe the god; doesn’t believe the magician; doesn’t believe the prophecy, or thinks he can outwit it; in general just says “no” when the gods really want him to say “yes.” So the gods smite him. Because universally, people recognize a lack of humility is a serious character flaw… that is, unless they themselves are overconfident.

The One True God isn’t a fan of hubris either: “God resists the proud, / But gives grace to the humble.” Jm 4.6, 1Pe 5.5 NKJV He’s not a fan of unteachable know-it-alls, or people who figure they know what they know, and can’t bother to hear out anyone else.

But unfortunately that’s kinda what Jesus’s students were doing when they refused to accept what Jesus’s women followers were telling them about their Lord being alive.

Mark 16.9-11 KWL

9 [Rising early on the first day of the week,

Jesus first appeared to Mary the Magdalene;

he’d previously thrown seven demons out of her.

10 Leaving, this Mary brings the news

to those who’d come to be with Jesus,

who are mourning and crying.

11 And these people, on hearing Jesus is alive,

that he was personally seen by Mary

don’t believe it.]

Luke 24.8-11 KWL

8 And the women remember Jesus’s words,

9 and, returning from the sepulcher,

the women tell all these things to the Eleven

and all the other students.

10 It was Mary the Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary of James,

and all the other women with them:

They were saying these things to the apostles.

11 The events appeared to the apostles

as if these words were a fairy tale,

and they don’t believe it.

Still, it’s kinda understandable. Dead people don’t just return from death! Yeah, Pharisees believed in resurrection, but they claimed the resurrection isn’t supposed to happen till the end of history, when God judges the world. Not now. Not yet. Dead people stay dead. Especially people suffocated by crucifixion and stabbed in the heart. You don’t recover in only three days from that; I don’t care what the conspiracy theorists claim.

True, Jesus’s students were immature teenagers, and pretty dense sometimes. But they weren’t gullible. They knew dead people stay dead. They didn’t yet know Jesus had substantially changed everything. They’d learn. But still, that’s what we have in the resurrection stories: Apostles who totally didn’t believe Jesus is alive. No matter what the women claimed.

Jesus accused with false testimonies.

Mark 14.55-59, Matthew 26.59-61,
Luke 22.66, John 2.18-22.

All my life I’ve heard preachers claim Jesus’s trial wasn’t just irregular, but downright illegal. What basis do they have for saying so? Next to none.

It’s because they interpret history wrong. They point to rulings in the second-century Mishna and the fifth-century Talmud. They assume the first-century Jewish senate actually followed these rulings. They’d be entirely wrong. The Mishna consists of Pharisee rulings and traditions. The Talmud is a Pharisee commentary on the Mishna. Now, who ran the senate in Jesus’s day? The head priests… who were Sadduccees. And the Sadducees believed Pharisee teachings were extrabiblical, which they were; and therefore irrelevant.

So when the Mishna declares trials shouldn’t take place at night (although Luke actually says it took place during daytime Lk 22.66), and declares there shouldn’t be same-day rulings, preachers nowadays declare, “Aha! This proves Jesus’s trial was illegal!” Just the opposite: It proves Sadducees did such things. The Pharisee rulings were created because they objected to the way Sadducees ran things. They were meant to correct what they considered Sadducee injustice. But Sadducee injustice was still legal.

Jesus’s trial convicted an innocent man, so of course we’re gonna agree with Pharisee teachings which claim this was an improper trial. But the teachings are from the wrong time and the wrong people. They don’t apply, much as we’d like ’em to. The Sadducees followed their own procedure properly.

Procedure is still no guarantee there won’t be miscarriages of justice just the same.

Well anyway. On to Jesus’s trial.

Luke 22.66 KWL

Once it becomes day, the people’s elders gathered

with the head priests and scribes,

and they lead Jesus into their senate.

Within the temple structure, on the western side, the Judean συνέδριον/synédrion, “senate” (KJV “council,” CSB “Sanhedrin”) met in a stone hall arranged much like the Roman senate: Stone bleachers were arranged in a half-circle so they could all face a throne. In Rome the emperor sat on it. In Jerusalem, the head priest.

For a trial, the Pharisees dictated two scribes should write everything down, though there’s no evidence the Sadducees did any such thing. Scribes and students sat on the floor. Plaintiffs and defendants stood. The Pharisees declared the defendant oughta go first, but in all the trials in Acts, it looks like the reverse happened. Ac 4.5-12, 5.27-32, etc. Either way Jesus didn’t care to say anything, so his accusers went first. And they committed perjury. Yeah, perjury was banned in the Ten Commandments. Dt 5.20 Well, perjurers still show up in court anyway.