It is easy, even understandable, for the modern reader of the Gospels to conclude the ministry of Jesus occurred in “normal,” even peaceful times. Nothing could be further from the truth. In the first century of the Christian era, during the so-called Pax Romana, there were constant violent struggles. One need only think of such figures as Caligula or Nero and the bloody brawls to be emperor. Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of Judaea (26 to 36), was removed and exiled for “excessive” violence.
What could constitute excessive violence for the Roman occupiers?
Herod the Great was infamous for his cruelty. Among his many victims was his second wife, Mariamne, and her two sons.
The Jewish historian Flavius Josephus (circa 37 to 100) in his two massive works, “The Jewish War” and “Antiquities of the Jews,” recounts the violence, instability and incredible cruelty of his era. Yet, the only echoes of this in the Gospels are, not surprisingly, primarily those immediately connected with the life of Jesus.
The Gospel according to Mark opens with: “The beginning of the Good News [euaggelion in Greek] of Jesus Christ.”
This first line of perhaps the first written Gospel sets its tone and purpose: To tell the story of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, to proclaim Jesus was truly divine and truly human and that he rose from the dead. As truly human, he lived in a specific place and time, but unlike a modern biographer, Mark and the other Evangelists are not concerned with the details of Jesus’ biography, only making passing reference for example to his age: “about [ὡσεὶ] thirty” (Lk 3:23).
Curious readers of the Gospel, modern and ancient, have sought more information about Jesus, however, wanting a biography, not a gospel. None of the four Gospels, however, provide such information. Pious Christian imagination has — sometimes wildly — “filled in the blanks” with various legends.
The historical Jesus lived in the Roman province of Judaea during an era described as Late Second Temple Judaism, during the imperial reigns of Caesars Augustus and Tiberius and their governors, Pontius Pilate being the best known, with several Jewish high priests and different Jewish rulers of the Herodian dynasty, who served as vassals of the Romans. It was a most tempestuous time with some of history’s most violent people in power. Yet except for Matthew’s story of the Magi and the death of John the Baptist, the Herodian dynasty plays a very small role in the Gospels. Even Pontius Pilate, a central figure in the death of Jesus, appears only twice outside the accounts of the trial of Jesus.
Each of the four Gospels has an Easter or empty tomb narrative, recounting the events of that first Easter Sunday. The accounts differ in many ways and in Mark’s Gospel there are even problems with ancient manuscript evidence resulting in two possible endings to the Gospel. While there are noticeable differences among the four Gospel accounts of the events of that first Easter Sunday, there is agreement on several crucial points:
- On Sunday morning one or more women went to the tomb.
- They found it empty.
- Someone (Mark, “a young man;” Matthew, “an angel;” Luke, “two men in brilliant clothes;”) explains that Jesus, the Crucified, is alive.
Each Gospel then lists different appearances of the Risen Christ (Paul, who never knew the historical Jesus, mentions that the Risen Christ appeared to “more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time” (1 Cor 15:6).
In the more modest and detailed accounts of the appearances in Luke and John, the Risen Christ greets his followers with, “Peace” and “Do not be afraid.”
If we — mistakenly — assume Jesus and the disciples lived in peaceful, prosperous times, then “Peace” sounds very much like, “Hello.” And “Do not be afraid,” sounds a lot like the colloquial, “Don’t freak out!”
If on the other hand we study Josephus, we realize the world in which Jesus and the disciples lived was one of incredible violence, oppression, insecurity and fear; if we recall the Roman emperors Nero and Caligula killing their enemies and carrying out mass crucifixions and massacres of the Jews they despised and oppressed; if we see the violence of the Herodians against their own people; and how even the office of high priest was up for the highest bidder, the call of Jesus, “Do not be afraid,” takes on a far deeper meaning.
The fear that overwhelmed the early followers of Christ was not that he was a ghost. The deep, terrifying fear was being left alone in a world where Jesus was gone, and what remained were figures like Pilate, Nero, Caiaphas and their oppressive and murderous entourages. Thus, when Jesus tells his followers not to be afraid, he is telling them first and foremost that he is not leaving them alone. He promises in the last verse of Matthew’s Gospel, “See, I am with you always till the end of time.”
As we enter the second quarter of the 21st century, few, if any of us, are afraid that Jesus is a ghost. We do, however, easily understand the fears involved with being surrounded by war, violence, oppression, greed, hatred and injustice. We hear increasingly in the media of people being afraid. Palestinians and Ukrainians afraid for their lives. The rise of antisemitism at elevated levels. We hear of and see among some of the powerful an almost sadistic disdain for the weak, the poor and the different. And the more observant among us wonder when the fear will stop or if it will ever end.
It is easy to feel abandoned and overwhelmed. Fear in the second quarter of the 21st century is not always an irrational emotion. Yet, as we heard the Gospel on Easter Sunday with its call, “Do not be afraid,” it might help to ponder that the call not to be afraid was not merely addressed to followers and contemporaries of Jesus but is being addressed to us here and now.