by Paul Foster
Where did such a story of the martyrdom of Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, originate – was this pure authorial creativity? The answer is both ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Confusion rather than fiction appears to be the basis of this tradition. In Luke 11.50–51 (cf. Matt. 23.35), there is a prophetic announcement placed on the lips of Jesus that is addressed to the inhabitants of Jerusalem: ‘the blood of all the prophets, which was shed from the foundation of the world, may be required of this generation from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zacharias, who perished between the altar and the temple: truly I say unto you, it shall be required of this generation.’ The identity of this ‘Zechariah’ remains a mystery to scholars. Most understand this as a reference to the priest Zechariah, son of Jehoiada, whom the people stone in the temple court (2 Chron. 24.20–22). In the Gospel of Matthew, the name Zechariah is qualified with ‘son of Barachiah’, making this a reference to the prophet Zechariah – but there is no tradition of his martyrdom. The author of the Protevangelium appears to have pressed this ambiguous reference into his service, by creating a martyrdom story for the father of John the Baptist and in the process further blackening the reputation of Herod and his minions. It is interesting that this demonizing of Herod does not materialize as an overt anti-Jewish sentiment in the Protevangelium. Instead the temple and its priests are viewed as pious agents of God. The text then concludes with a brief epilogue that describes the death of Herod and identifies the author of the text.
The value of the infancy gospels
Both the Protevangelium of James and the Infancy Gospel of Thomas are highly fictionalized accounts of stories relating to the birth, childhood, or ancestry of Jesus. Yet the value of these texts does not arise from the historicity of the events they purport to describe. Instead, these two writings, which are the earliest examples of this sub-genre of apocryphal writings, are a window onto a vibrant and diverse world of early Christianity. The way these fanciful narratives are told is both ponderous and wondrous.
At times, these stories become grindingly tedious, yet at other times they present flashes of theological insight. The bizarre, the pious, and the profound sit alongside each other in these highly creative texts. The theological purpose of the author of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas in creating such a maverick and fearful representation of the boy Jesus remains a mystery. By contrast, the aims of the author of the Protevangelium of James are generally transparent, especially when read against the backdrop of emergent Marian piety. While the historian who correctly recognizes the fictionalized portrayal of the circumstances of Mary’s birth may remain unpersuaded by claims of her immaculate conception, and baulk at the pious devices to circumvent the clear meaning of references to brothers and sisters of Jesus in the canonical gospels by casting them as step-siblings, and moreover perhaps scoff at the incredulous verification of Mary’s virginal state after the birth of Jesus, this does not make the texts worthless. Despite the dubious value of the historicity of the events these texts claim to record, nonetheless, they can still be appreciated as invaluable witnesses to the social and theological history of pious believers in the centuries following the life of Jesus.
Chapter 4
Gospels set during the earthly life of Jesus
Broken texts and partial lives
None of the texts considered in this chapter is complete. One is quite an extensive portion of what was obviously a larger text, although its exact range cannot be determined. Others are highly fragmentary, at best preserving a story or two that supposedly relates to the life of Jesus. Yet others are no longer existent in their own right – they are preserved through the odd fleeting reference in the writings of unsympathetic authors who do not share the perspectives of the texts they cite except for the purpose of refuting their views. So what unifies this motley collection of texts? Unlike the gospels from Nag Hammadi, they do not originate from the same cache of documents, nor like the infancy gospels do they seek to fill gaps in knowledge about the ‘hidden years’ of Jesus. Instead, the texts brought together here represent an arbitrary, but hopefully sensible, arrangement of material, since they recount variant or additional accounts of incidents from the earthly ministry of Jesus up until the time of his reported ascent into heaven. Hence they provide a greater overlap with the four canonical gospels than occurs with the texts previously considered. Such parallels and fresh traditions have excited some who have commented on these writings with the possibility that they may offer earlier and less theologically overlaid accounts of the life of Jesus.
Categorization choices are to some extent arbitrary and certainly contestable. The decision to include the Gospel of Thomas in the discussion of texts that were discovered at Nag Hammadi is, at one level, natural, but not uncontroversial. Like the vast majority of those writings, Thomas had a ‘life’ before it was collected into that corpus of writings. The existence of the various Greek fragments of Thomas demonstrates that some form of this text was being read in Egypt approximately 150 years prior to its incorporation into the Nag Hammadi collection. A case could undoubtedly be made for including the Gospel of Thomas in this chapter dealing with gospels set during the life of Jesus (although the actual setting of that sayings collection is not certain). However, because the complete form of that text is known only in the Nag Hammadi context, for pragmatic reasons, such as avoiding the complex issue of speculating about the overall shape of the Greek text, it has been decided to discuss Thomas in that chapter.
The Gospel of Peter
Archaeology and discovery of non-canonical gospels have often been closely related. Napoleon Bonaparte’s interests in Egypt were not purely military. They were also aroused by intellectual and ideological motivations. His invasion of Egypt in 1798 involved a force of 35,000 military personnel embarking at Toulon, but it is often overlooked that the contingent also included 175 scholars – including archaeologists. This marked the first serious phase of the modern study of Egyptology. Initially and understandably, it was the awe-striking physical remains of that ancient culture, such as pyramids, sphinxes, and temples, which captivated scholars. The interest in the discovery of ancient texts blossomed about a century later. It was not until 1882 that efforts were formalized, with the establishment of a French Archaeological Mission in Cairo.
It was during the winter season dig of 1886/7 that a monk’s grave was excavated at Akhmîm in Upper Egypt. Apart from the physical remains of the corpse, this tomb contained a small parchment codex with fragments of four texts. Although the chief excavator, Urbain Bouriant, appeared to place most emphasis on the third text (hitherto unevidenced Greek fragments of 1 Enoch), what excited the wider scholarly world was the first text – identified as the partial but fairly extensive fragment of the Gospel of Peter. The contents of the unusual and amateurishly compiled book were as follows:
Not all texts in this book are from the same hand. This leads to the supposition that the codex was not constructed to accommodate these four documents, but that it was put together out of fragments of previously existing documents.
Covering nine continuous pages of Greek text, the first document provided a variant version of events in the life of Jesus from his trial until the time when some of the disciples quit Jerusalem to return to their work as fishermen. At two points, the narrative breaks into a first-person account. The first time this happens, the narrator states that after the crucifixion, ‘I mourned with my companions, and with disturbed senses we concealed ourselves’ (Gos. Pet. 7.26). Here the identity of the first-person commentator is not disclosed. The second time the use of the first-person voice occurs is in the final preserved verse of the manuscript, just before the text breaks off mid-sentence. In the aftermath of post-crucifixion events, the assumed narrator discloses his identity: ‘I, Simon Peter, and my brother Andrew took our nets and went to the sea’ (Gos. Pet. 14.60). Thus, Peter is presented as the implied narrator. Coupled with this, there exists a tradition preserved by the early Church historian Eusebius who twice mentions a
gospel circulating in the name of Peter. Consequently, scholars were quick to identify the newly discovered first-person gospel-type narrative with the notice about a so-called Gospel of Peter contained in the writings of Eusebius. Although this is not an unreasonable assumption, caution should still be exercised, and while the identification is highly appealing, it is ultimately still a hypothesis – after all, various spurious texts survive that are written in the first person in Peter’s name, which may mean that Eusebius’ Gospel of Peter is not the same text as that discovered at Akhmîm.
Although Eusebius does not cite any actual passages from the text he knew as the Gospel of Peter, he does give the following important testimony about its origins, circulation, and rejection. Relating information concerning a certain Serapion, bishop of Antioch (AD 191–211), Eusebius outlines the contents of one of his writings entitled Concerning the So-Called Gospel of Peter. According to the source Eusebius claims to be citing, during a pastoral visit to the church of Rhossus, without examining its contents Serapion initially permitted the reading of the Gospel of Peter. Upon returning to Antioch, after being informed of the contents of this document, he reversed his decision.
But since I have now learnt, from what has been told me, that their mind was lurking in some hole of heresy, I shall give diligence to come again to you; wherefore, brethren, expect me quickly. But we, brethren, gathering to what kind of heresy Marcianus belonged (who used to contradict himself, not knowing what he was saying, as you will learn from what has been written to you), were enabled by others who studied this very Gospel, that is, by the successors of those who began it, whom we call Docetae (for most of the ideas belong to their teaching) – using the materials supplied by them, were enabled to go through it and discover that the most part indeed was in accordance with the true teaching of the Saviour, but that some things were added, which also we place below for your benefit.
(see H.E. 6.12.3–6)
Unfortunately Eusebius does not replicate Serapion’s list of added elements.
The term ‘docetic’ derives from a Greek word meaning appearance or semblance. It came to be used as a technical term to describe an understanding of the person of Christ that was deemed to be inadequate by emergent ‘orthodox’ Christians. As previously mentioned, docetism emphasized that the divine Logos inhabited the body of Jesus of Nazareth in order to veil its presence, but without become truly united with the human form. Prior to the crucifixion, the divine being left the human shell. This was necessary since the Logos was beyond suffering. According to Eusebius’ convoluted sentences, it appears that the Gospel of Peter was not itself considered to be docetic (although some of the ‘added things’ may have been), but rather that it was used by those Serapion labelled as ‘docetae’ to support their own teachings.
Notwithstanding this distinction, part of the early scholarly analysis of this text involved identifying features which were seen as aligning with docetism. For those who wished to unearth docetic elements in the text discovered at Akhmîm, they felt no need to look beyond the only words spoken by Jesus in the entire nine pages of text. Instead of the familiar cry of dereliction found in the gospels of Matthew and Mark, ‘my God, my God why have you forsaken me?’ (Matt. 27.46/Mark 15.34), the Gospel of Peter places the following words on the lips of Jesus: ‘My power, the power, you have forsaken me’ (Gos. Pet. 5.19). For many scholars, this acknowledgement of the power leaving Jesus read like the divine Logos leaving the human shell to suffer. However, this reading simply will not do. First, the ‘power’ leaves after all the suffering has taken place – beatings, whippings, and crucifixion. Second, it occurs at the point of death, when it is natural to speak of one’s life-force or power leaving one. Last, the traditional words – ‘my God, my God why have you forsaken me?’ – are highly problematic. They create a picture of a despairing Jesus, who genuinely feels abandoned by God. The theological disquiet this could cause is already demonstrated by Luke’s not too subtle rewriting of this cry as the irenic ‘Father into your hands I commit my spirit’ (Luke 23.46). Similarly, the Gospel of Peter, by rewording the cry, also avoids a theological problem, and instead has Jesus almost prophetically identify the moment of his death. This may be an expedient authorial strategy, but it does not really look like an attempt to smuggle docetic perspectives into the Jesus story.
So if the purpose is not to give a docetic version of the Passion, what is the purpose of the text? In fact, there are a number of different agendas at work here as the text gently slants the Passion story in various ways. The miracle tradition is radically heightened. Like many Christian texts written in this pre-scientific period, the accounts of miracles are seen as a source of encouragement to believers and a means of commending the faith to outsiders. While the more philosophically minded contemporary critics of early Christianity could characterize such stories as mere superstitions or old wives’ tales, the vast majority of the population was credulous and was swayed by accounts of the miraculous.
The miracles contained in the Gospel of Peter both develop stories known from the canonical accounts to make them even more striking and add miraculous signs unattested in the four canonical gospels. The most famous newly innovated series of miracles in the Gospel of Peter occurs when Jesus is led forth from the tomb. First, two ‘men’ descend from heaven, and automatically the stone at the entrance to the tomb rolls away as the men approach (Gos. Pet. 9.36–37). When they leave the tomb, they are supporting a third man between them. The bodily dimensions of all three have been transformed. The two who descended have heads that ‘reach to the heavens, but that of the one led by them reached beyond the heavens’ (Gos. Pet. 10.40). However, the most outlandish and captivating miracle comes in response to a divine question. When the voice from heaven enquires, ‘Have you preached to those who are asleep?’, contrary to what might be expected it is not Jesus who responds. Instead, the cross which followed the three men out of the tomb answers ‘yes!’ This can be described as an embellishment to the canonical tradition. For those interested in the development of Christian traditions, this is one of the earliest examples of ‘cross-piety’ – a type of devotion that focuses on contemplation of the cross of Jesus. Walking and talking visions of the cross are not frequent, but they do occur in some other later texts. The tradition of the so-called ‘harrowing of hell’, prominent in late antique and early medieval texts, often results in the cross of Christ being left planted in hell as an emblematic sign of victory over death as Christ himself leads forth all the Old Testament figures from the bonds of Hades into heaven. While miracles such as talking and walking crosses are bizarre to the sensibilities of many people living in a modern scientific culture, they are commonplace and evolve in vivid ways in early Christian tradition.
Blame-shifting is also a key feature of the Gospel of Peter. In the canonical gospels, both the Romans (represented in the figure of Pilate) and the Jewish leaders shoulder the blame for the crucifixion of Jesus. By contrast, in the Gospel of Peter Pilate becomes an advocate for Jesus, even if his portrayal as subservient to Herod Antipas ensures that he is not able to prevent the crucifixion. The other side of this re-portrayal results in Herod Antipas, Jewish leaders, and the Jewish mob in Jerusalem being represented as playing a much greater role in the death of Jesus. Such a phenomenon reflects wider Christian practice of heightening the involvement of the Jewish people in perpetrating the death of Jesus, to exonerate the Romans, thereby removing the stigma that Jesus had been executed under the judicial authority of the imperial system, and consequently to create a greater divide between Judaism and Christianity than was actually the reality of the origins of the 1st-century Jesus movement.
10. The opening page of the codex containing the Gospel of Peter. The decorative artwork consists of three Coptic crosses and the religiously symbolic letters alpha and omega
11. The opening two pages of the text of the Gospel of Peter. At the top of the first page there is an embellishment in the form of a Coptic cross. This has
become imprinted on the facing page when at some stage the manuscript became damp
12. The final page of the manuscript of the Gospel of Peter. The text finishes mid-sentence. The scribe, however, had space at the foot of the page to add ornamental decorations’three Coptic crosses and a patterned embellishment. Also the following page is left blank. This suggests that the scribe broke off mid-sentence because he was copying a text which itself was incomplete, since the decision to cease writing was not due to space constraints
A further aim of the text is apologetic. In Matthew’s Gospel, it is reported that ‘the Jews’ had circulated the story that the disciples had stolen the body from the tomb in order to fabricate the resurrection. According to Matthew, the true origin of the rumour is that the Jewish authorities bribed the guard at the tomb to circulate this story in order to cover up the resurrection. Other early Christian writers in the 2nd and 3rd centuries responded to this same accusation. A major portion of the Gospel of Peter retells a highly expanded version of this story in a way that undercuts the charge of the disciples stealing the body themselves. This means the text has a strongly apologetic flavour, defending the Christian faith against perceived points of weakness or susceptibility.
