Introducing Nicodemus.

John 3.1-4.

Because Cardinal Stephen Langton divided the gospel of John into chapters in the late 1100s, people tend to read John 3 without bothering to read the verses which come right before it. So they kinda miss the context where Jesus knows he can’t fully trust anyone. It’s kinda important to be aware of, because the very next thing in the gospel is when Nicodemus comes to visit him.

And the message Nicodemus brings him? “Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God.” Jn 3.2 KJV Who’s the “we”? The Judean senate. Nicodemus is an ἄρχων/árhon, “first-rank person,” a word often translated as “prince,” but this does not mean the son of a king or another prince; it means the number-one guy in the country. Or a member of the top caste, or someone from one of the most prominent families in Judea. Nicodemus’s family was important enough, rich enough, politically powerful enough, for him to buy a seat and a vote in their συνέδριον/synédrion (NIV “Sanhedrin,” KJV “council”), the assembly led by the head priest which ran everything in Judea which the Romans didn’t.

So the Judean senate knew Jesus is a teacher who came from God.

And… so what?

Did it mean they respected him as someone sent from God? Listened to him? Carefully considered whatever he taught, and once they determined it jibes with the scriptures and God’s character, followed him? Invited him to speak before the senate, and kept records of his wisdom? Invited him to lunch, at least?

Nope. They ignored him. Except for one senator, who went to visit Jesus at night so he’d be less likely to be seen publicly talking with our Lord in temple or synagogue or the streets.

Like John said, Jesus didn’t trust ’em with himself, because he’s fully aware of what’s in people. Jn 2.24-25 He knew exactly why the senate realized he came from God, but wouldn’t acknowledge him: It’d mean they’d have to repent. They’d have to stop compromising the worship of God and the following of his Law because of their pursuit of political power. They’d have to stop being hypocrites.

But they weren’t gonna make any such changes. Because they didn’t fear God—same as the unjust judge in Jesus’s Persistent Widow Story. (No doubt Jesus based that judge on actual judges in the senate, and his hearers knew exactly the kind of unjust judge he was talking about.) Didn’t follow God at all… yet arrogantly figured he was guaranteed a spot in God’s kingdom because he was a descendant of Abraham. Same as the self-described Christians in our country who assume they’re guaranteed a spot too, because they once said the sinner’s prayer.

Anyway. Nicodemus came with what he thought was good news for Jesus: Hey, in case you were wondering (’cause none of us ever said anything about it), we actually think you’re legitimately from God! You unofficially have our thumbs-up. Great news, huh?

But no, that’s not gonna cut it with Jesus. It’s not enough for them to recognize Jesus comes from God. You wanna see God’s kingdom—the one Messiah’s gonna personally inaugurate into the world—you have to be born again.

John 3.1-4 KWL

1 There’s a person from the Pharisees, Nicodemus by name,

a leader of the Judeans.

2 At night, this Nicodemus comes to Jesus

and tells him, “Rabbi, we knew you, a teacher, came from God:

No one can do these milestones which you do

unless God is with them.”

3 In reply Jesus tells him, “Amen amen! I promise you:

Unless one is born all over again,

one cannot see God’s kingdom.”

4 Nicodemus tells Jesus, “How can a person, being old, be born?

One can’t enter one’s mother’s womb a second time and be born.”

Being born again is a big concept, and I’ll get to it in another article. Today I’m just gonna focus on Nicodemus: Who this guy is, why it’s a big deal for him to come to Jesus, why what Jesus taught him blindsided him, but why it was a big deal for both him and us Christians. After all, part of Jesus’s lesson to Nicodemus has John 3.16 in it y’know.

Jesus knows you’re gonna fail him.

John 2.23-25.

At the end of John 2 there’s this odd statement, which ties right together with chapter 3, which I’ll talk about at that time. It’s where John discusses Jesus’s new fans.

John 2.23-25 KWL

23 While Jesus is in Jerusalem,

at Passover, at the feast,

many trust in his name,

seeing his milestones which he did.

24 Jesus himself isn’t trusting them with himself,

because of the knowledge he has of everyone,

25 for he has no need of anyone testifying about people:

He’s aware of what is in people.

Some Christians read this passage and immediately think, “Ah, it’s the divinity. Jesus doesn’t trust people because he’s God, and still has God’s infinite knowledge of who people are, what they’re like, and what everyone’s secret, selfish motives are.”

Others read it and figure, “Ah, Jesus understands basic human depravity. He knows all humans are inherently selfish, and without the Holy Spirit that’s all we’ll ever be. So he knows better than to trust any of ’em.”

So which of the two does Jesus have?—full divine knowledge of the cosmos, or a generic understanding of a typical human trait? Well, I believe when God became human, he had to surrender his divine power, which includes his full divine knowledge of the cosmos, because all that data cannot physically fit into 2 pounds of brain matter. Your brain holds 2½ petabytes max. That’s a lot of data (it’s 20 quadrillion bits), but it’s nowhere near enough to know everything about ancient Jerusalem, much less the whole ancient world, and even less the 8 billion humans on today’s world.

Yeah, some Christians balk at that idea, because to their minds, God is power. Jesus without power wouldn’t be God. Problem is, Jesus with all that divine power wouldn’t authentically be human. He’d only be pretending to be human, and that’d make him a hypocrite, and hypocrisy is the one thing which annoys Jesus most.

So Jesus surrendered his power. But he can still tap God’s power same as we can: He has the Holy Spirit without limit, Jn 3.34 and the Spirit is just as infinitely powerful and knowledgeable as ever. If Jesus wants to know anything about anyone, the Spirit knows and will tell him. If Jesus wants to know just what kind of darkness lies in the heart of every other human being, the Spirit can give him a quick summary: Human depravity. We’re all messed up because we prioritize ourselves over other people and God.

And whether Jesus gained his knowledge through divine omniscience, or simply knowing about basic human depravity, it really doesn’t matter: He knows. He can’t trust other people. Not fully. They will fail. Even the best of them will fail him. Even his best student, Simon Peter; even the students who were family members, like James and John; they mean well, but they’re only human.

Even us. Even me. Even you. You will fail him. Sorry, but don’t kid yourself.

And don’t beat yourself up about it either. He already knows you’re gonna fail him. He loves you anyway. Wants you to follow him anyway. Wants you, once you fail, to repent, come back to him, and keep taking care of his sheep, same as Peter. Jn 21.17 Try not to fail, but if you do fail, you still have Jesus. 1Jn 2.1 Who won’t fail.

But other than Jesus, people fail. So don’t be so gobsmacked when they do!

Knock the temple down?

John 2.18-22.

During the first Passover we read of in the gospel of John, our Lord goes into temple, sees people selling animals in the Gentile Court, makes a whip, and drives the merchants out.

In the synoptic gospels, Jesus got critiqued for it either the next morning, Mk 11.27-33, Mt 21.23-27 or days later. Lk 20.1-8 But in John it seems he got pushback immediately. Now it could’ve happened much later; John wasn’t always too worried about chronology. (As you’ll see when he briefly talks about Jesus rising from the dead.) John preferred to stick to themes, not timeline.

Nevertheless here’s the story.

John 2.18-22 KWL

18 So in reply, the Judeans tell Jesus,

“What milestone do you show us that you can do this?”

19 In reply Jesus tells them, “Break down this shrine.

In three days I’ll raise it.”

20 So the Judeans say, “This shrine took 46 years to build.

And you, in three days, will raise it?”

21 This Jesus is speaking of the shrine of his body,

22 so when he’s raised from the dead,

his students will remember he says this,

and believe the scripture, and the word Jesus says.

Okay. So Jesus shows up in temple, starts knocking stuff over, starts bossing people around. And in the context of the Judean culture and Hebrew religion, this means one of three things:

• This guy legitimately hears the LORD and was ordered to speak for him, and is telling them to do this stuff because the LORD said so.
• This guy works for the Romans, or the Judean senate, or some other civic authority with the power to actually decree these things.
• This guy’s a nut.

Same as if he showed up in one of our churches and ordered the pastors to shut down the bookstore. Either the LORD decreed it, or he’s from the city or county and thinks they’re breaking the law, or he’s a nut.

Now if Jesus worked for the Romans, they’d probably do everything he told them. And protest a lot, because the priests had Roman citizenship and would demand their rights, and a fair trial, and maybe get the governor fired if they could.

But if Jesus works for the LORD… well, they figured they likewise worked for the LORD, and surely they could figure out whether the LORD had decided to upset their comfortable status quo by sending ’em a prophet or judge. So they wanted proof Jesus was a prophet of the LORD: Give us something which might confirm you’re legitimate.

And that… is actually a valid request. We’re supposed to test prophets. Not just accept they’re prophets because they have a website, and business cards printed up, and introduce themselves as “Prophet Whatshisname” whenever they say hello to people. All sorts of people claim that title, and way too many of them are talking to mental sock puppets instead of God. We need evidence. ’Cause if it’s really God, he can stand up to scrutiny. And fakes can’t.

Now no, they weren’t asking for a trick. Like Moses turning his staff into a snake, or spontaneously sprouting leprosy, or turning water to blood. Ex 4.1-9 Any illusionist can create one of those; the Egyptian illusionists certainly did. They were looking for a σημεῖον/simeíon, “milestone,” an event which couldn’t be self-fulfilling or coincidental. Typically this’d be an event which would happen in the near future.

And… well, Jesus gave ’em one. His own resurrection. Break him down, and in three days he’ll rise again. Which they did; which he did.

When Jesus got out the whip.

John 2.12-17.

Since we’re here, let’s just start with the story.

John 2.12-17 KWL

12 After the wedding, Jesus goes down to Capharnaum

with his mother, his siblings, and his students.

Not many days do they stay there;

13 it’s nearly the Judeans’ Passover,

and Jesus goes up to Jerusalem.

14 In temple Jesus finds cattle, sheep, and pigeon sellers,

and cashiers taking up residence.

15 Making a whip out of ropes,

Jesus throws everyone, plus sheep and cattle, out of temple.

He pours out the cashiers’ coins.

He flips over the tables.

16 He tells the pigeon sellers, “Get these things out of here!

Don’t make my Father’s house a market-house!”

17 Jesus’s students recalled it’s written,

“The zeal of your house will eat me up.” Ps 69.9

In the other gospels, Jesus kicked the merchants out of temple during Holy Week, Mk 11.15-17, Mt 21.12-13, Lk 19.45-46 meaning the week before Passover in the year 33. In John it takes place at Passover in the year 27, as deduced by how long the temple’d been under renovation. Jn 2.20 Hence the debate among scholars is whether Jesus kicked the merchants out of temple

1. once in the year 33, but the gospels don’t have their facts straight, or
2. twice—once in 27 at beginning of his mission, and once again in 33 before he was killed.

And let’s not rule out the possibility Jesus did this every single time he went to temple—in John’s gospel we read of the first time, and in the synoptic gospels we read of the last. Because why would Jesus drive the merchants out once, then put up with them for years thereafter, then right before he died finally drive them out again? I mean, it wasn’t okay for them to go back to business for all the years inbetween; wouldn’t Jesus have kept at them?

Funny thing is, the most common theory is it happened once, on Holy Week. Even the inerrantists in the churches where I was raised, teach it happened once. They wouldn’t overtly say only once, but that’s how they’d teach it: They’d say today’s passage came from Mark or Matthew or Luke… and they’d fill in some of the blanks in the story with John, implying this is all the same event.

One of the most obvious blanks they’d fill in from John: The whip. Because Jesus didn’t have a whip in the synoptic gospels. Really! Read ’em for yourself.

Mark 11.15-17 KJV

15 And they come to Jerusalem: and Jesus went into the temple, and began to cast out them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of them that sold doves; 16 and would not suffer that any man should carry any vessel through the temple. 17 And he taught, saying unto them, Is it not written, My house shall be called of all nations the house of prayer? but ye have made it a den of thieves.

 

Matthew 21.12-13 KJV

12 And Jesus went into the temple of God, and cast out all them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of them that sold doves, 13 and said unto them, It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves.

 

Luke 19.45-46 KJV

45 And he went into the temple, and began to cast out them that sold therein, and them that bought; 46 saying unto them, It is written, My house is the house of prayer: but ye have made it a den of thieves.

Yep, no whip! But man do Christians love that image of Jesus with a whip. So they deliberately swipe it from John. Didn’t matter if they believed the story in John happened at another time; they just couldn’t pass up the idea of Jesus giving the merchants a good whipping. I leave it to you as to whether prioritizing the whip over the textual integrity suggests something sorta demented about them.

The less-common but popular variant of this theory is it still happened only once—but at the beginning of Jesus’s mission, following John’s timetable. Not during Holy Week. So why do the synoptic gospels put it there? ’Cause it’s more dramatic.

My view is Jesus kicked the merchants out of temple more than once. Maybe every time he went to temple. Maybe that’s why he had a whip in John, but not the other gospels: They learned their lesson by the time Holy Week came around.

Jesus provides six kegs for a drunken party.

John 2.6-11.

Continuing the story from yesterday. Yes, I’m aware this article has a provocative title. But read verse 10: The wedding planner pointed out you don’t serve wine like this when the guests are good and drunk, because they wouldn’t appreciate it. Indicating they were good and drunk.

Every time I’ve written about or taught on this passage, I run into someone who insists Jesus did not make wine. There’s a popular claim among Christian churches which don’t drink alcohol (and I’m part of the Assemblies of God, which is a whole denomination which doesn’t approve of alcohol) that Jesus actually made “new wine.” Because it’s new, they say, it hasn’t had the chance to be fermented. Ergo it’s actually grape juice.

If you’ve never heard that interpretation before, great! Me, I didn’t hear it till adulthood, and I’ve found it’s all over the place. It’s even wormed its way into children’s books.

From a children’s book in which Jesus turns water into “juice.”

This spin on the story makes no logical sense—for two reasons.

First, if the guests had only been drinking grape juice this whole time, how would they be insensible to how good Jesus’s “juice” is? Wouldn’t they easily be able to tell? I mean, if I’ve been drinking one of those 10-percent-juice drinks which are mostly pear juice with grape flavor added, and you swap it with 100-percent-grape-juice Welch’s, I’m gonna know. Even though I’m no grape-juice connoisseur.

Second, the bible brings up “new wine” multiple times, and in no way is it a reference to grape juice.

Hosea 4.11 KJV

Whoredom and wine and new wine take away the heart.

By “heart,” Hosea meant the part of us we think with; really the mind. Now, in what way does grape juice dull the mind? True, it’s full of sugar, and it’s a little hard to focus when you’re full of sugar… but one’s mind isn’t gone in the same way as when horniness or alcohol seize a person.

Matthew 9.17 KJV

Neither do men put new wine into old bottles: else the bottles break, and the wine runneth out, and the bottles perish: but they put new wine into new bottles, and both are preserved.

If you’ve ever made wine, you probably know wine bottles don’t break in the fermentation process, which is precisely why winemakers use ’em. The translators of the KJV apparently didn’t know squat about winemaking, and ἀσκοὺς/askús actually means “wineskins,” not “bottles.” And old wineskins could burst when wine fermented further. But they’d need to be somewhat fermented in the first place… i.e. they’d need to be wine, not grape juice. Jesus also points out the old wine is better than the new stuff, Lk 5.39 indicating he and the people of his culture preferred the fermented stuff. Which ain’t grape juice.

Acts 2.13 KJV

Others mocking said, These men are full of new wine.

In context this verse is about the apostles speaking in tongues on the first Pentecost. Some recognized the tongues as their own foreign languages, and some mocked and said the apostles must’ve been drinking. Drinkng grape juice? Clearly not, and Simon Peter points out it’s too early in the morning for anyone to be drunk Ac 2.15 —and how can you be drunk on grape juice?

Nah. As the children’s book makes clear, some Christians have been indoctrinated with this “Jesus made juice” idea for as long as they can remember, and think it’s true because of course they would. How often do people seriously question something they’ve heard all their lives? (Not enough, obviously!)

Likewise there’s a popular interpretation that first-century Jews watered down their wine: They didn’t drink pure wine, but a mixture of 50 percent water and 50 percent wine. Or 90 percent water and 10 percent wine; just enough wine to kill bacteria, because you couldn’t trust water back then. Watering down wine in order to party longer was a pagan Greek practice, and these folks assume Jews did it too. But nope; it’s also rubbish. Partly because these wedding guests in this story got drunk; plus there are all those admonitions in the bible to watch out for wine because it’ll get you drunk, so there was clearly something which required people to watch out!

Jesus made actual wine. Stuff just as fermented, just as strong, as the stuff Jews regularly drank at parties. Better quality of course; betcha it didn’t taste like feet at all. (Hey, no feet had ever touched it!) When God provides, he doesn’t provide inferior stuff or pathetic substitutes. We do that; we get stingy, and figure people don’t deserve the best… and should be happy to get anything, including inferior substitutes. God doesn’t think that way at all, and neither should his kids.

Jesus’s mom asks his help.

John 2.1-5.

The next town over from Jesus’s hometown of Nazareth, about 4 kilometers away, was Cana. (Today Kfar Kanna is a suburb of Nazareth.) It’s not close enough for the two towns to share a synagogue, ’cause the rabbis declared you could only travel 2,000 cubits (i.e. 1km) from and to your home on Sabbath. But it’s still walking distance; it’s still close enough for the towns to share resources, get to know one another, and even intermarry.

Intermarriage is probably why Jesus and his mom were invited to the wedding in this story: I suspect they were related to the bride. It’s the only way Mary’s take-charge behavior in this story really makes sense; she’d have to be family.

I don’t know how they were related to the bride. She could be Jesus’s sister or aunt or cousin or even grandmother. Some folks even think Mary herself was getting remarried… but then it’d make no sense for Jesus to later put her in the care of one of his students. Jn 19.26-27 Jesus was in his 30s, Lk 3.23 which means it’s entirely possible for him to have a sibling with a 13-year-old daughter, and you might actually get married at that age back then, so the bride could even have been Jesus’s niece.

If it weirds you out to think of Jesus having such family members—as if he only ever had a mom and dad and that’s all, ’cause of the nativity crêches—the bible mentions his family multiple times. They were good people. His brothers James and Jude even wrote books of the New Testament.

Conspiracy theorists (and some Latter-day Saints) even speculate this was Jesus’s wedding; that he was the groom, and all the bridegroom metaphors throughout the New Testament are kinda pointing back to Jesus’s literal wedding to some Galilean girl. Thing is, the text clearly says Jesus ἐκλήθη/eklíthi, “is called,” to the wedding—and the groom back then wasn’t summoned to the wedding; he hosted the wedding. The groom’s not a passive participant, like western weddings nowadays.

Plus the groom obviously lived in Cana. First-century Israeli wedding celebrations took place at the groom’s house. The families would agree long in advance for their kids to get hitched. (Some Christians claim they’d sign a marriage contract, but that’s a medieval tradition, not a first-century one.) The groom would either own, buy, or build a house, and prepare it for his bride to live there; then he’d gather his friends and family, and they’d march to the bride’s house to get her. The bride’s family and friends would then go with her to the groom’s house, and they’d party.

No, not have a wedding ceremony. The Jews didn’t do ’em till the 19th century—and at the time it was wealthy Jews who wanted to have a ceremony like Christians did, so they swiped our tradition and added Jewish elements. Good, meaningful elements; but they’re 19th-century traditions, not first-century. But various naïve Christians and Messianic Jews don’t know this, and try to claim, “Wow, look how much Jewish wedding customs parallel the marriage supper of the Lamb!” Rv 21 Well of course they do; they got ’em from us! We Christians borrowed heavily from the marriage supper of the Lamb idea to create our traditions. But the Christian traditions come first, not the Jewish ones.

Jesus meets Nathanael.

John 1.43-51.

You recall after Jesus met Andrew and Philip, Andrew was so impressed by Jesus he went and brought Jesus his brother Simon, whom Jesus named Peter. But Andrew wasn’t the only eager evangelist in the pair; Philip went and brought his friend Nathanael to Jesus.

Nathanael appears twice in John, and therefore twice in the bible. He’s from Cana, Galilee; Jn 21.2 a village a few clicks away from Nazareth, so he knows Nazareth, and certainly isn’t impressed by it. Likewise isn’t impressed when Philip suggests he’s found Messiah… and Messiah’s from Nazareth of all places.

Because Nathanael is obviously a regular Jesus-follower, and because Christians are under some weird misconception that Jesus had only 12 regular followers (when he so obviously had more, including two guys who were just as qualified to become apostles as the Twelve Ac 1.21-23), they’ve tried to meld Nathanael together with one of the Twelve. Historically that’s been Bartholemew, because in the lists of the Twelve, Bartholemew and Philip get lumped together, and historians think they ministered together, both before and after Jesus’s rapture. Bartholemew is our translation of ܒܪ ܬܘܠܡܝ/bar Tulmay, “son of Talmai,” and since that’s not Bartholemew’s proper name, the argument is Nathanael was his proper name; he’d be Nathanael bar Talmai, or “Nathanael-Bartholemew,” as some Christians call him. But there’s no actual evidence Nathanael and Bartholemew are the same guy. Just some ninth-century Christian who had a theory, and it got popular.

All we know about Nathanael is what Jesus testified about him: He’s Israeli, and he’s really honest.

John 1.43-51 KWL

43 The next day Jesus wants to go to the Galilee,

and finds Philip and tells him, “Follow me.”

44 Philip is from Bethsaida,

from the city of Andrew and Peter.

45 Philip finds Nathanael and tells him,

“I found the man

of whom Moses writes about in the Law,

and the Prophets write about:

Jesus bar Joseph,

the man from Nazareth.”

46 Nathanael tells him, “Out of Nazareth?

Can anything good be from there?”

Philip tells him, “Come and see.”

 

47 Jesus sees Nathanael coming to him,

and says about him, “Look!

Truly an Israeli in whom there’s no deceit.”

48 Nathanael tells him, “From where do you know me?”

In reply Jesus tells him, “Before Philip called you,

when you were being under the fig tree,

I saw you.”

49 Nathanael replies, “Rabbi, you’re God’s son.

You’re king of Israel.”

50 In reply Jesus tells him,

“Because I tell you I saw you under the fig tree,

you trust me?

You’ll see bigger things than this.”

51 Jesus told him, “Amen amen, I promise you all:

You’ll see the sky has opened up,

and God’s angels are going up and coming down

upon the Son of Man.”

The devil used to lead heavenly worship?

Every time I’ve heard this myth, it’s come from either a music pastor, a worship leader, or a musician. You can probably guess why. If not, I’ll spell it out for you later.

It’s part of the myth that Satan used to be someone important in heaven; in fact it was previously named Lucifer, the greatest of all angels, if not the head angel. Lucifer was the prettiest and most sparkly of all angels. Better and smarter and mightier than every angel there was, and God bestowed upon it power and authority and responsibilities and blessings… but it got full of itself, rebelled, and fell.

I should point out only the rebelled-and-fell part of the story comes from bible, Rv 12.7-9 and the reason the devil did so is rather simple: Jesus came to earth to save and rule it, and the devil doesn’t like this plan at all. Rv 12.1-6 But it was defeated by the actual mightiest angel, Michael.

If the story sounds like Satan’s fudging its résumé, of course it is. Satan’s a dirty liar, remember? Jn 8.44 Problem is, Christians have fallen for it, and still share it with one another. Still teach it to newbies. We think it’s true. We forget we’re not to trust the devil; even when it tells the truth, there’s deception involved, ’cause it’s trying to lead us to destruction. That’s what it does.

Anyway. Part of this greatest-of-all-angels idea leads Christian musicians to this particular myth: What’s the very most important job in heaven? Why, worshiping God of course. So Satan did that for a living. It led worship. It led the heavenly choir.

Jesus meets Simon Peter.

John 1.40-42.

After John the baptist had pointed Jesus out to two of his students, Andrew and Philip, the kids followed Jesus, who turned round, recognized their zeal, and decided right there to have them on his team. When they asked Jesus where he was staying, middle eastern hospitality kicked in, and Jesus invited them to stay with him the rest of the day. Jn 1.39

It being the 10th hour of the day (around 4:30pm), and Jewish days ending at sundown, there was only an hour or two left of the day. It may mean Jesus invited them for an overnight stay—it was too late for them to go home without getting mugged—which meant hours of talking about God with the Son of God himself. Or he shooed them out of the place right after sundown so they could get home, but the hour or two they spent with him was just enough for them to realize Jesus is the real deal.

Either way, it got one of the students, Andrew, to go get his brother Simon and bring him to Jesus. Both these young men were looking for Messiah, and Andrew was entirely sure that’s exactly who Jesus is, so of course he brought Simon to him to see for himself. That’s what you’d do, isn’t it?

John 1.40-42 KWL

40 Andrew, brother of Simon Peter,

is one of the two students heeding John the baptist

and following Jesus.

41 This student first finds his own brother Simon,

and tells him, “We found Messiah!” (i.e. Christ).

42 Andrew brings Simon to Jesus.

Looking him over, Jesus says, “You’re Simon bar John.

You’ll be called Kifa” (i.e. Peter).

So here’s where the author of John introduces us to Peter—and tells us Jesus is the one who named him that. Well, named him ܟܐܦܐ/kifá, Aramaic for “a stone, a rock; a stone vessel, stone column, stone idol, or precious stone.” John transliterates that into Κηφᾶς/Kifás (adding the -s ending you’d find in Greek names), and apparently plenty of Greek-speakers knew him by that name; Paul included, who calls him Kifás more than once. 1Co 1.12, 3.22, 9.5, 15.5, Ga 2.9 But John likewise identifies him by the Greek translation of his name, Πέτρος/Pétros, which also means “a stone, a rock.”

I have heard various Christians claim the female variant of pétros, πέτρα/pétra, means a big rock… and pétros meant a small rock, like a pebble. Unfortunately, I believed this garbage and taught it myself. It’s bunk. Besides, Jesus didn’t name him Pétros; he named him Kifá. The Aramaic/Syriac word usually means one of those big giant rocks you take refuge under, Jb 30.6 or build great things on top of.

This, folks, is why it’s important to know historical context as well as grammatical: Even though John was written in Greek, understand Jesus wasn’t speaking and teaching in Greek. It’s why John includes Aramaic words (like “Messiah”) and their translations. Assume everything happened in the Greek language, and you’ll assume Jesus did give Simon a nickname meaning “pebble.” Understand the background, and you’ll realize Jesus intentionally meant “a stone, a rock.”

Jesus wasn’t giving Simon an ironic or humiliating nickname. We do that. Preachers who think it’s funny and harmless to mock their friends, and not at all a character deficiency, do that. Jesus doesn’t trash-talk his followers. He saves the mockery for evil, and proud, unrepentant evildoers.

St. Valentine’s Day.

As you should know, saints days are usually the day a saint died.

In Roman Catholic thinking, this’d be the day the Christian actually became a saint, ’cause now there’s no chance whatsoever of them ever quitting Jesus—why would you, now that you’ve been with him in heaven?—so their sainthood is absolutely a done deal. Whereas those of us on earth: Meh. You’re Christian now; we don’t yet know how well you’ll hold up when the poo-poo really hits the fan. ’Cause some of those people back in Roman Empire times who could’ve been martyred saints, as soon as the Romans even threatened to smack ’em around a little, they quickly denounced Jesus and promised to worship the Emperor. So much for their sainthood.

So… how well might you hold up under persecution? Heck, in a country where Christians don’t even get persecuted (except in their own minds), how well might you hold up even when you’re simply suffering? ’Cause plenty of people seem to have a rather low breaking point. Parents die?—even though everybody’s parents die?—quit Jesus. Not cured of whatever ailment you really wanna be cured of?—quit Jesus. Don’t get that job you were convinced God was gonna grant you?—quit Jesus. One of the pastors quietly suggested next Sunday you might experiment with underarm deodorant?—quit Jesus. If these triggers are starting to sound stupid… well, some people get triggered by the pettiest things. “Deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me” Mt 16.24 doesn’t appeal to a culture which denies itself nothing.

But I digress, ’cause today I’m gonna write about the martyr St. Valentine.

Of course the tricky part is which one. There have been many Christians named Valentinus, and some of them lived and died for Jesus, and back in antiquity some bishop decided to give one of them his very own feast day. In the west, bishop Gelasius 1 of Rome fixed it on 14 February. But which Valentinus is this day about? Well, we don’t know.

Well we don’t. This is one of those facts that’s been lost in antiquity. We don’t know anything about St. Valentine. Jesus does, ’cause Valentinus is one of his. That, I suppose, is what counts most.

We know of five ancient Christian martyrs with the name Valentinus. Three in particular, but really any of the five—or in fact none of them—could be the guy with the feast day. There’s no saying for certain. I don’t care which historian you’ve read who claims, “Oh it’s definitely this Valentinus”—it’s not definite at all. We don’t know. Unless some archaeologist finally gets hold of a document in which some bishop first proclaims a St. Valentine’s Day, we’re not gonna know. Some things in the universe are just gonna remain unknowns. Deal with it.

The five Valentinuses are:

1. A presbyter who served in Rome, buried on the Flaminian Way in the late 200s. Orthodox Christians observe his feast day on 6 July.
2. A bishop of Interamna (now Terni, in central Italy), killed during a trip to Rome in the year 269. The church of Terni claims this Valentinus died on 14 February, and he’s the St. Valentine… but of course they would. Orthodox Christians observe his feast day on 30 July.
3. A member of a missionary team to north Africa (today’s Tunisia, Algeria, and Libya), who were all killed at once, and that’s everything we know about him.
4. A bishop of Passau, who later became a hermit in northern Italy, and died in 475.
5. A bishop of Genoa, who died in 295.

St. Valentine’s Day was part of the official Roman calendar till 1955, when Pope Pius 12 decided to consolidate a bunch of saints. Of course by then it was already part of popular culture. Medieval Christians had decided St. Valentine, whoever he was, was the patron saint of romantic love, and invented a few legends about how he secretly performed Christian weddings for couples, enraging the emperor, who had him killed for that, not for Jesus. Greeting card manufacturers of course spread the story he used to cut heart-shaped pieces of parchment and give them to other persecuted Christians to remind them of God’s love; which is also likely bogus, but it gives schoolchildren something nice to write about in their St. Valentine’s Day essays.