Transcript
Transcript (from audio):
My topic this morning is miraculous signs and literary structure in John’s Gospel. Yesterday we examined the literary purpose of the last discourse found in John 13–17. We proposed that the discourse should be viewed as an encomium whose aim is evangelistic. The closest analog that I know of in Greek literature is the Platonic dialogue called the *Phaedo*. But we have not yet said enough about the literary milieu into which John sent his Gospel. We want to try to do that today.
In order to do this, we first need to think a little bit about the author. So Part One is: The Son of Zebedee. I accept the ancient tradition that John the son of Zebedee was the author of the Fourth Gospel. The author was also one and the same as the disciple who leaned on Jesus’ breast in the upper room. Let’s think about him for a minute. According to Matthew 4:21–22, Jesus called James and John while they were in the boat with Zebedee their father, and they promptly left the boat and their father to follow Jesus.
Now some might think these two boys ran out on their dear old dad. But here Mark 1:20 informs us that they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired servants. The Greek word is the plural of *misthōtos*, the equivalent of our word “employee.” Zebedee really didn’t need the boys. He had employees of his own. When we come to the Gospel of John, we are told a most interesting fact. When Jesus was arrested, we read this in John 18:15–16:
And Simon Peter followed Jesus, and so did the other disciple. Now that disciple was known to the high priest, and went with Jesus into the courtyard of the high priest. But Peter stood at the door outside. Then the other disciple, who was known to the high priest, went out and spoke to her who kept the door, and brought Peter in.
In all probability, the other disciple is the author. But what is this? The son of an obscure Galilean fisherman is known to the high priest? He is so familiar with the servants that he talks one of them into letting Peter into the courtyard? What’s going on here? Here’s my suggestion. Zebedee was not a backwoods yokel from the sticks up in Galilee. On the contrary, I suggest he was a successful entrepreneur who was in the fish business. He had ships that worked for him on the Sea of Galilee, including Peter and Andrew’s ship, and his fish graced the markets in both Galilee and Judea.
I further suggest that he was a resident of Jerusalem, and that his wealth permitted him to move in the best social circles. In his classic book *Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus*, Joachim Jeremias observes, “From time immemorial Jerusalem had attracted the wealth of the nation: merchants, landowners, tax farmers, bankers, and men of private means. Several members of the Sanhedrin came from these circles. Jerusalem merchants dealing in grain, wine, oil, and wood, who belonged to the council between A.D. 66 and 70, are mentioned in rabbinic literature.”
Of course, the best social circles in Jerusalem included Caiaphas the high priest and his father-in-law Annas. So Jeremias writes as follows: “The house where lived the ex-high priest Annas, father-in-law to the officiating high priest, to whom John says Jesus was first taken after His arrest, had a spacious court. A woman doorkeeper and other servants belong to the household. According to tradition, there was great luxury in the houses of the high-priestly families.” Since Annas is called the high priest in John 18:19, 20, and 22, the reference in 18:15 is probably to Annas rather than to Caiaphas. John’s social connections were with the household of Annas.
The repeated references to Judea in the Fourth Gospel are consistent with the suggestion that Zebedee’s family resided in Jerusalem. Thus John, as he grew up, had more than once been to the residence of the high priest, and as a kid had probably played in the courtyard. The servants knew him, just as did the high priest. I find additional confirmation of my suggestion, after all it is only a suggestion, but additional confirmation of my suggestion in a remarkable incident recorded in the Synoptics but not in John. John’s mother once brought her two sons, James and John, to Jesus, seeking to guarantee their preeminence in the coming kingdom. She even kneeled to Him and asked for a promise that her sons would sit on His right hand and on His left in the kingdom.
Now if you ask me, this sounds a lot like a high-society lady who knew a thing or two about social climbing. She’s aiming for the top. If my hypothesis is correct, it is extremely likely that before Zebedee allowed his sons to get involved in his fishing business, he saw to it that they got an education. To do this, he might well have hired tutors, or he might have sent his sons to join other children from well-to-do families in private schooling sessions. It is not too far-fetched to suggest that John might have attended a small school conducted by a *grammaticus* in the high priest’s own household. A *grammaticus* was a teacher of language and literature. Gaius Octavius had one, long before anyone knew that he was to become the Emperor Augustus.
Or perhaps Zebedee hired tutors for James and John. Philip of Macedon had done that for his son Alexander, and one of the three tutors he employed was a pretty fair tutor. His name was Aristotle. Of course, any tutor worth his salt would have introduced Zebedee’s boys to classical Greek literature. The chances are excellent that they did reading in Homer, in Plato, in Aristotle, maybe also in Xenophon and Aristophanes, and so on. Training in rhetoric and in philosophy would have been part of such an upper-class education.
We have no reason to suppose that when John wrote the Fourth Gospel he was reaching way over his head in trying to reach a literate audience. That doesn’t make sense. When John the son of Zebedee began to follow the Lord, I think he had already received a neat education. Jesus planned to use all of that in the years that lay ahead. I pause to say this, that after I had completed the basic manuscript of this paper, I encountered a book by Richard Bauckham, published last year, 2007, and he holds the view that the John who rested on Jesus’ bosom at the Last Supper was a resident of Jerusalem, that he was in fact the host at the Last Supper, and that that accounts for his position at the table and Jesus next to him as the guest of honor.
And obviously he believes that he came from a well-to-do family. Only problem with Bauckham’s view is that he draws a distinction between the John who lay on Jesus’ bosom and the son of Zebedee. If we drop that distinction, his view is the same as my own. After all, the most reliable tradition is that John lived into the reign of Trajan, from A.D. 98 to 117. His Gospel is a tremendous literary triumph. For centuries readers have loved to read it, and scholars have loved to analyze it. Thousands and thousands of articles and books have been churned out to comment on the Fourth Gospel. If you want to talk about literary success, you can’t do much better than that.
Part Two: The Genre of John’s Gospel. In the course of his education, in all probability John was introduced to a type of literature that was called *bioi*, from the Greek word *bios*, meaning life. We would call this biography. There were many *bioi* in circulation in John’s day, and as it turned out, the first Christian century was a great century for the production of biography. Some years ago Paul Murray Kendall observed that the first Christian century “gave birth to the three first truly professional biographers, Plutarch and Suetonius and the historian Tacitus.”
But biography had a long history dating from the poet Ion of Chios in the fifth century B.C. Kendall also fittingly said this: “The two greatest teachers of the classical Mediterranean world, Socrates and Jesus Christ, both prompted the creation of magnificent biographies written by their followers.” Plato’s *Apology* and his *Phaedo*, as we have seen, are biographical dialogues related to Socrates. In those dialogues Plato brilliantly recreates the response of an extraordinary character to the crisis of existence. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, of course, are biographies focused on Jesus Christ.
We have already noted that Plato’s *Apology* and *Phaedo* concentrate on the last days of Socrates. The *Phaedo* takes place on his very last day, while the *Apology* is his defense before the Athenian jury that condemned him. That defense took place nearly a month before his execution. In the case of Jesus, the historical sequence was different. First there was His last meeting with His closest disciples, John 13–17. But subsequently, that very night, Jesus is arrested, tried, executed the following morning, and buried the same day. In John’s Gospel this is chapters 18 and 19.
You will notice, of course, that John spends a lot of time on these two events. They are, number one, Jesus’ final conversation with His friends, John 13–17, and, number two, Jesus’ final confrontation with His enemies, John 18 to 19. I hope you guys in the audience notice the homiletical tone of that: His final conversation, His final confrontation, free of charge. I want to suggest that the effort John makes to describe these scenes in detail is harmonious with the practice of biographers before and during the first Christian century. Let us consider this for a few minutes.
Part Three: Death Scenes in Ancient Biography. At this point we need to recall the request that Echecrates made to Phaedo, which resulted in the dialogue which followed. I quote again: “Echecrates, I wish you would be kind enough to give us a really detailed account, unless you’re pressed for time.” “Phaedo, no, not at all. I will try to describe it for you. Nothing gives me more pleasure than recalling the memory of Socrates, either by talking myself or by listening to someone else.” “Echecrates, well, Phaedo, you will find that your audience feels just the same about it. Now try to describe every detail as carefully as you can.”
Here, obviously, Echecrates is a stand-in for the upper-class hearer or reader whose social set is gathered to listen, perhaps to a professional lector starting to read Plato’s dialogue. The pleasurable occasion must not be spoiled by some brief and superficial account. Echecrates wants details. Phaedo promises to provide something that can be enjoyed. He loves talking about Socrates. When one considers other instances of ancient biography, it is obvious that the ancient hearer or reader savored details. This is especially clear, I think, when it comes to accounts of a person’s death.
For example, Plutarch was the most prolific biographer from the first century. He was born in A.D. 45, only a few years after the crucifixion of our Lord. His birthplace was in Chaeronea in Boeotia, in central Greece. Plutarch received training in philosophy at Athens and taught that subject later at Rome. The emperor Trajan granted him consular rank, and later Hadrian gave him the position of procurator in Greece. He wrote in Koine Greek.
Plutarch’s monumental accomplishment in the field of biography is the multivolume work that we know as *Parallel Lives*. This series contains forty-six biographies, mostly broken up into pairs, one member of the pair being a Greek person and the other member a similar Latin person. The last four lives, however, are single. The purpose of the *Parallel Lives* was not simply to retail historical facts, but to offer moral examples and/or moral warnings. The list of the subjects of these biographies is quite long, and I won’t bore you with the whole list, but the list includes such pairs as Solon and Publicola, Themistocles and Camillus, Pericles and Fabius Maximus, Lysander and Sulla, Dion and Brutus. You get the idea.
Picking somewhat at random, Plutarch’s narrative of the death of Cicero is illustrative of my point. Plutarch’s account can be said to run from chapters 46–49 of his *Life of Cicero*. Plutarch recounts how Cicero was betrayed by Octavian, whom he had helped to gain political power. Octavian resisted, but eventually gave in to the demands of Antony and Lepidus that Cicero be proscribed, that is, designated for execution. When news of the proscription reached Cicero in his country home in Tusculum, he and his brother Quintus decided to flee to a seacoast residence Cicero had at Astura. They then planned to sail to a place called Brundisium in Macedonia.
But Quintus later got cold feet and left Cicero, only to be killed not long after by his own servants. Cicero sailed from Astura and reached Caieta. But instead of sailing on at once, as his servants urged, he went ashore and walked one hundred furlongs back toward Rome. Listen now to Plutarch’s account of Cicero’s irresolution: “But again losing resolution and changing his mind, he went down to the sea at Astura, and there he spent the night in dreadful and desperate calculations. He actually made up his mind to enter Caesar’s house by stealth, to slay himself upon the hearth, and to fasten upon Caesar an avenging demon. But a fear of tortures drove him from this course also.”
Cicero now sails off to a summer villa he had at Caieta. But as he sailed, “a flock of crows flew with a loud clamor towards the vessel of Cicero as it was rowed toward land, and alighting at either end of the sail yard, some called and others pecked at the end of the ropes, and everybody thought that the omen was bad.” Of course it was bad. At the end of this remarkable story we eventually find the assassin Herennius overtaking Cicero in his litter, and “Cicero perceiving him ordered the servants to set the litter down where they were. Then he himself, clasping his chin in his left hand as was his custom, looked steadfastly at the slayers, his head all squalid and unkempt, and his face wasted with anxiety, so that most of those that stood by covered their faces while Herennius was slaying him. For he stretched his neck forth from the litter and was slain, being in his sixty-fourth year.”
You see what I mean? This is a very detailed account. Plutarch, of course, didn’t see it happen, and doesn’t scruple to pass on whatever details had reached him in one way or another. He himself would probably not have vouched for the absolute truth of every detail in his narrative. But this is what readers wanted. Now observe this important fact. Plutarch paired the Latin orator Cicero and the Greek orator Demosthenes. A brief section of comparison follows these two parallel lives. Whereas he has praise for Demosthenes’ death, he has this to say about Cicero’s death: “And after all, the one,” referring to Cicero, “is to be pitied for the manner of his death, an old man ignobly carried up and down by his servants trying to escape death, hiding himself from those who were coming after him, not much in advance of nature’s summons, and then beheaded.”
In short, in his death this famous personality was anything but a hero. In the manner of his end there is little, if anything, to admire. Part Four: The Death of Jesus the Christ. John the son of Zebedee, of course, was an eyewitness to the events recorded in John 13 to 19. He makes sure his unconverted readers know this by inserting himself from time to time in his account. He need not rely on hearsay, as Plutarch must often have done. He saw all this happen.
John was with Jesus in the garden when He was arrested. Jesus inquired, “Whom are you seeking?” and when told, “Jesus of Nazareth,” He boldly replies, “I am He.” Further, He intercedes for the release of His disciples. “I have told you that I am He. Therefore, if you seek Me, let these go their way.” There is no cowardice here. Not long after that, John is inside the courtyard of the high priest. He is probably not warming himself like Peter before a fire. No doubt he is within earshot when Jesus responds to Annas’s questions about His disciples and His doctrine.
Jesus is not intimidated by the circumstances, and He replies, “I spoke openly to the world. I always taught in synagogue and in the temple, where the Jews always meet, and in secret I have said nothing. Why do you ask Me? Ask those who have heard Me what I said to them. Indeed they know what I said.” Immediately Jesus is slapped by a servant. No doubt Annas was offended. But Jesus is not intimidated by this influential man. Annas does not get deferential treatment. Neither does Pontius Pilate.
In the record of John 18:28 to 19:11, particularly impressive is the exchange in 19:8–11, when Pilate asks, “Where are You from?” Jesus gives him no answer. The following exchange then occurs. Pilate: “Are You not speaking to me? Do You not know that I have power to crucify You and power to release You?” Jesus: “You could have no power at all against Me unless it had been given to you from above. Therefore the one who delivered Me to you has the greater sin.”
Instead of flying into a rage, Pilate, John tells us, sought to release Jesus. Pilate is impressed. So no doubt are John’s readers. After all, this was the prefect of Judea, whom Jesus had just described as powerless. In the account of the actual crucifixion in John’s Gospel, it is noteworthy that John ignores the two thieves who revile Jesus, and there is no cry of desolation, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” Instead, there is a stress, first of all, upon His Messianic claim to kingship. The Fourth Gospel alone records the objection by the Jews to Pilate’s inscription upon the cross. The inscription read, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Pilate refuses to soften this down to accommodate the Jewish objections.
Note, even in His death the claim that Jesus is the Christ was out there for all to see. The readers could not fail to notice. The death scene is then enclosed by two incidents that fulfill Scripture, the gambling over His garments and the offer of sour wine to drink. In between these incidents is a touching manifestation of Jesus’ humanity and compassion. John alone records that Jesus on the cross thinks of the future welfare of His mother and commits her to John’s care. On the view that I have suggested, Mary would have been cared for in the substantial Jerusalem residence of John’s wealthy father Zebedee.
Here, then, is this wonderful person whose very clothes are being dispersed among the soldiers who crucified Him, and although His body was racked with thirst, not to mention pain, He is concerned for the mother He loved. As a result of His concern, she will be comfortable for the rest of her life. John’s original readers will feel the impact of this entire scene. The person on the cross is no mere man. He is the Christ, the King of the Jews.
Part Five: Miraculous Signs and Literary Structure. Many evangelicals read the last discourse, John 13–17, and the trial and crucifixion narrative, 18 to 19, with their eyes closed. It’s hard to read with your eyes closed, but many of us manage it quite well. We are especially guilty of this in John 13–19. The material in these chapters is so familiar to us, and the parallels in the Synoptics are so familiar, that we have stopped listening to John’s text.
I want to repeat that. In John 13–19 we have stopped listening to John’s text. We read into it our previous knowledge and our theology and our own ideas, and we fail to understand what John is really doing. Let me suggest, therefore, that taking together the last discourse and the trial and crucifixion are two parts of a single larger unit. Taken together, they are intended to reinforce the claim of this book that Jesus is the Christ.
The manner in which Jesus handled His approaching betrayal, and then the way He passed through His trial and death, is extremely impressive. All of this is eloquent testimony to the fact that Jesus is everything John claims Him to be. Literate people in John’s day would get the message that John intends them to get from chapters 13 to 19. These chapters reinforce the claim John is making for Jesus. Like all the rest of the Fourth Gospel, these chapters invite the reader or hearer to believe.
But note well, note well, this large unit from 13 to 19 is also a prelude to the final climactic miraculous sign in this book. That sign, as indicated already by 2:18–19, was the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. In John, of course, Jesus raises Himself from the dead. Jesus prophesied that in John 10:17–18:
Therefore My Father loves Me, because I lay down My life that I may take it again. No one takes it from Me, but I lay it down of Myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. This command I have received from My Father.
If time permitted, and unfortunately it does not, but if time permitted I could carry you through the entire Fourth Gospel and try to show you a simple fact about the literary structure. Starting in 2:1 with the first sign and extending through 20:29, all the non-miraculous narrative and discourse material serves the purpose of either preparing for or illuminating the meaning of the eight signs around which the book is structured.
I want to repeat that. All the non-miraculous narrative and discourse material serves the purpose of either preparing for or illuminating the meaning of the eight signs around which the book is structured. That is emphatically true of the material we have looked at in my talks yesterday and today. From the earliest part of the upper room, or the last discourse, Jesus is talking about not only His death, but His resurrection and ascension, preparing for this climactic miracle.
The superlative self-assurance that Jesus manifests in chapters 13 to 19, His selfless love for His own, His courage while on trial, His compassion on the cross, and everything else, is preparatory. These chapters prepare the reader for the astounding fact that Jesus raised Himself from the dead. Though many might doubt this fact, as Thomas did, Thomas is at last convinced. His confession, “My Lord and my God,” 20:28, is followed by the last words of the main body of this book. Jesus says in 20:29:
Thomas, because you have seen Me, you have believed. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.
To His unconverted readers in Ephesus, therefore, John is saying this: You didn’t see any of this, but I did. You are blessed if you believe. And what is that blessing? John 20:30–31 expresses it. The blessing is eternal life. Thank you.
Okay, Brian, I’ll take that. The question is, “Would you comment on the use of *logos* in John 1:1 in light of the readers to whom John wrote?” And they go on, “Was John intentionally referencing a philosophical thought in order to gain a better hearing from his readers?” That is a very perceptive question indeed. And John, it seems to me, in chapter 1 is doing exactly what we as evangelists often do. We find a point of contact with the people we are trying to evangelize, do we not?
And if we’re talking to a literate audience in Ephesus, then of course it is well known that the word *logos* is a key word in Platonic philosophy. It is also a key word in Stoic philosophy. And it’s very striking that the word *logos* is used in an absolute sense of Jesus only in John 1:1–14, and nowhere else in the New Testament, nowhere else even in the Gospel. So this is an effort by John to make contact with his unconverted readers, and to say to them, the *logos* that you’ve all heard about in these philosophical discussions, the true *logos* is the person I’m talking to you about.
Okay, the next question says, “In Acts 4:5 and 6 and 13, they say that Caiaphas, John, and—” and I’m turning to the exact passage, so let me see if I’ve got it. It says they were calling the disciples uneducated men and untrained men. “How does that relate to John?” In one of two ways, of course. Peter was the major spokesman. We’re not postulating any kind of extensive education for him, and it might be that he did not have a Th.D. from Dallas, right? And it might be that if Peter carried the thrust of the presentation before the Sanhedrin, that they just simply took it for granted that his level of education was also the level of that other guy standing there. They might have been wrong there.
On the other hand, the term *agrammatoi* might refer to formal religious training rather than to general education, and in that case neither of them had formal religious training, even though John, as we’ve suggested, may have had a very fine classical education. Okay, this next one says, “When talking to unbelievers, what word should we use to talk about having eternal life?” And they suggest saved, justified, born again. What’s wrong with telling them they can have eternal life?
Since the Gospel of John, of course, does use the word “saved” a few times and does that, but actually the Gospel of John majors in eternal life. I’m surprised that we don’t major in it. Why shouldn’t we major in what the Apostle John majored in? People can understand. And if people say, “What do you mean by eternal life?” that’s a golden opportunity to explain to them, right? I say go with eternal life.
I was just reading the question. I didn’t—shame on him for reading a question like that. Okay, “How does John 21 relate to John’s purpose, since it follows the purpose statement?” Obviously, it is not part of the total package of eight signs that John is using to bring men to faith. But it’s an epilogue, and it suggests, I think, to the unconverted reader, that the risen Jesus is still active in the lives and experiences of His followers. That’s a neat epilogue to an evangelistic document, it seems to me.
Okay, it says, “Eternal life is also used as a reward in the Scriptures, 1 Timothy 6:12, ‘Lay hold on eternal life,’ Matthew 19:29,” and it says, “Would it be better to use another term such as justification?” I guess they mean because eternal life is sometimes used as a reward people might get confused. Well, the first thing I would say, obviously, is that although there are a few instances like that, none of them are in the Gospel of John. None of them are in the Gospel of John.
So if we’re looking for a way of presenting the gospel, we may as well still go with the Gospel of John. If those passages come up, we can explain the sense in which they are to be understood very simply. The principle is, you cannot earn eternal life as a reward until you first receive it as a gift. Nobody will ever get rewarded with eternal life who hasn’t received it by faith as a free gift from God. So we ought to start with the fact, you need eternal life as a gift. Then we can go on from that to discipleship truth, which is what those passages refer to.
Justification is a relatively rare term in the New Testament, and while it certainly has a value, why are we trying to escape the Gospel of John? I don’t understand it. When I grew up, folks, people could quote John 3:16, and that was considered a very adequate presentation of the gospel. I still think it’s adequate. What was good enough for Nicodemus is good enough for us. Okay, “Could you discuss the relationship between justification and eternal life, and relate that to the Trinity possibly?”
Shall I write five volumes on theology? I need to hear that question again. I think the question is, can you relate justification and eternal life? How are they related or distinct? Justification, it seems to me, is God’s judicial decision about the person who already has eternal life. In other words, when God gives us eternal life, He says, this person is justified because this person has now the life of My Son, and there’s nothing wrong with the life he has, something like that. So justification is logically subsidiary to, but it is temporally at the same time with, the experience of new birth.
But the fact that we all know, do we not, for example the word “saved”—is there any word in the current religious vocabulary more confusing than the word “saved”? I mean, people use it in all sorts of senses, with all sorts of definitions. And we as individual believers would be very much helped to get back to the Gospel of John and to start talking about eternal life, and then correlate this basic truth with the other truths. And I think there is, for example, some indication in the teaching of Jesus that He anticipates the Pauline doctrine of justification. But I think anyone who reads the words of Jesus in the New Testament will admit that justification is not a prominent part of His teaching, as far as that’s recorded in the New Testament.
Okay, here’s a question that I think you might like. It’s a kind of a change-up. It’s right over the plate, and it’s to a Cincinnati Reds hitter. How should our reading of the Gospel of John inform us in our evangelism? Is it a prescription for our evangelism? Well, some Reds hitters cannot even hit a change-up, so this floating question is—I want to decide how I want to answer that. I take it the word “prescription,” if the word “prescription” in the question means something that is prescribed and mandatory, then I don’t think I would take it in quite that sense.
There are other ways of presenting the gospel that are not in Johannine terminology. But if we present the gospel and the meaning of our presentation is different from the Gospel of John, then that is a wrong way of presenting the gospel. And frankly, I don’t know of any book that serves better as a handbook or guidebook to this than the Gospel of John. Let us remember that Romans, First Corinthians, all of the New Testament epistles, were written to Christian audiences who already understood many of the things that we’re talking about here. But in the Gospel of John we are writing to people who don’t necessarily have any understanding of this. So the Gospel of John is a very clear path in the direction of simple and clear evangelism. We ignore it at our peril.
What about the view that some would say the Gospel of John is partly evangelistic, and that John 20—but however it’s also partly a discipleship tract, and they would point to the upper room discourse and other things? I’m tempted to say they would not yet have heard my paper. And I would also say that they are misconstruing the purpose of the Gospel of John. Whatever advantage—you can’t write twenty-one chapters about the Lord Jesus Christ without including material that is advantageous for disciples. I think we all admit that we can learn a lot and grow a lot from the material in John.
On the other hand, the fact that there are benefits for discipleship in the Gospel of John does not determine the purpose of the Gospel of John. The purpose of the Gospel of John is what was stated in John 20:30 and 31. When we leave that, we have left correct exegesis of the Gospel of John. Okay, there’s two final questions. One of them I can answer: “Is your lecture published?” The answer is no. “If so, where?” But we’re planning on publishing it in our journal, both parts, so sign up for the journal if you’re not getting it.
But here’s a final question which I think even a Cincinnati Reds hitter could hit out of the park. We hope so. Here it comes. “Of course Matthew, Mark, and Luke are God’s Word, but do you personally enjoy or love John’s Gospel more?” Okay, maybe it’s not—I don’t know. That’s like asking, you know, do you prefer rib-eye steak or fried chicken? It depends on what they serve me. I prefer what’s in front of me and enjoy it completely, you know. It’s not really fair to say do I enjoy one brand of inspired literature over another. All of them are profitable.
I think, however, I would admit that the Gospel of John speaks to me very deeply, and part of that is that it was a part of my spiritual exercise even before I was saved. In other words, people presented me with the gospel of Jesus Christ in terms of the Gospel of John. Okay, well we might have one more. Let’s see. Yeah, the final question is—would you, I thought the last one was the final. This is the preacher’s final final point. When the pitch is thrown and you hit a foul ball, you get another pitch. Okay, well, no, that was—you hit that one out of the park, but you just get—this is like the home run derby. Okay, and you just get to keep hitting them out of the fence.
This is the last one. “Would you comment? Some people have commented on the fact that there’s a purpose statement in John’s Gospel, and there’s a purpose statement in First John, and some people have made much of that. Would you just comment on the two purpose statements?” The purpose statement in First John is found in the prologue, and the verses that are usually assigned to a purpose statement in chapter 5 are not a purpose statement. They are reference to preceding material. For further information on that, I recommend my commentary on First John.