In Search of the Jewish Jesus
We are living through the most remarkable rapprochement of Christianity and Judaism in history.
SOURCE: Daniel Johnson, The Daily Telegraph, 15 April 2000
(Copyright © 2000 Telegraph Group Limited)
The first Easter of the third millennium is almost upon us. As a Christian, and as a Roman Catholic in particular, I have been born into a religion at the heart of which are unfathomable mysteries: annunciation, incarnation, crucifixion, resurrection, redemption. The truth of these and other essential doctrines cannot, even in principle, be demonstrated by reason alone. Like St Augustine, I believe in order that I may understand; unlike him, I do not find it easy. There is, however, nothing mysterious about the existence of Jesus. That fact is the solid ground beneath our feet. Though almost every detail of His life and death is problematic, we know more about Him than we do about many other historical figures. Jesus of Nazareth is the foundation stone of the vast edifice we call the Church.
Or is he? What Schweitzer called the quest for the historical Jesus began with the humanist textual and linguistic researches of the Renaissance, was further stimulated by the biblical fundamentalism of the Reformation, gathered pace in the 19th century with the agnostic biographies of Strauss and Renan, and culminated in the late 20th century with the rediscovery of Jesus by Jewish scholars.
Who was Jesus and who did He believe Himself to be? What did He believe? Which parts of the New Testament tell us what He was really like? Was Jesus a Christian? Answers to these and many other questions will be found in The Changing Faces of Jesus, the new book by Geza Vermes, published this week by Penguin. Few academics are able to distill so much erudition into such a readable form. In his autobiography, Providential Accidents, Professor Vermes recalls the electrifying impact of his first essay in this field, Jesus the Jew, on a Christian intellectual world that still behaved as if it had a monopoly of the subject. The idea of treating Jesus as a charismatic Jewish preacher and exorcist, only one of several Hassidim in first-century Palestine, was strong medicine in 1973. Yet a discussion at the British Academy this week between Prof Vermes and Canon John Fenton, the eminent Anglican divine, soon revealed that there is now a consensus in favour of the Jewish Jesus.
In his new book, Prof Vermes begins with the Christian Jesus, whom he treats as a palimpsest from which the Judaic original has been effaced. In a scholarly dance of the seven veils, he strips away one layer after another of posthumous mythology: St John's Word made flesh, St Paul's cosmic drama of redemption, the risen Christ of the Acts and the synoptic Gospels. The "real" Jesus was none of these. He saw Himself and, in His lifetime at least, was seen by His disciples as a devout Jewish rabbi, firmly in the prophetic tradition, obedient to the Torah though liberal in his interpretation. He was a son of God, not the Son of God, and He wanted His followers to have the same intimate relationship with the Father. He could not even have understood, much less taught or believed in, the Hellenistic mystery religion that had become recognisable as Christianity by the early second century.
One reason why Christians have always assumed that Jesus could not be assimilated to the Judaism of his time is the fact that He was put to death by Pontius Pilate at the instigation of the Jewish authorities. This is one of the few events recorded in the Gospels that can be checked by comparison with the leading contemporary historian, Josephus. Vermes does not believe that Jesus was condemned for ignoring the Sabbath or the dietary or hygienic aspects of the Mosaic law. Nor does he believe that Jesus's disciples saw Him as the Messiah: Jesus preached repentance, not revolution. Vermes explains the crucifixion of Jesus by describing its political context: an occupied country in which Zealot resistance might break out at any moment. The Romans were ruthless in suppressing even potential rebels, and the Jews were quick to take preventive measures for fear of reprisals. Jesus caused an affray by expelling the money-changers from the Temple precincts at a time when Jerusalem was filled with pilgrims for Passover. That, Vermes thinks, was more than enough to seal his fate.
This gospel according to Vermes is a compelling interpretation of the facts, supported by formidable scholarship. No Christian can ignore it; indeed, the Pontifical Biblical Commission has specifically referred to him, along with other Jewish historians, enjoining Christian theologians to accord Jewish views of Jesus "serious attention". Such openness to dialogue is part of the process of Catholic-Jewish reconciliation initiated by the Second Vatican Council, but fully realised only in the pontificate of John Paul II.
"I never thought I'd live to see a pope repent!" Prof Vermes told me. His own life is something of a parable. A Hungarian Catholic of Jewish origin, he escaped the Holocaust thanks to the Church, which protected him as a seminarian. After the war, he moved to Paris and became one of the first experts on the newly discovered Dead Sea Scrolls, but as a young priest he encountered Catholic anti-Semitism first-hand. Then, in 1956, he fell in love with a married Englishwoman, Pamela, and left the priesthood. She divorced, they married and, over the next decade or so, he "grew out of" Christianity and returned to Judaism. The pale, thin, clean-shaven young priest in cassock and bowler hat has become a tanned, jovial old gentleman with a grizzled beard. The changing faces of Geza Vermes are almost as varied as those of his Jesus.
Prof Vermes is harsh in his judgment of the Catholic Church; he blames it for blinding itself until recently to its own Jewish heritage. There is much truth in this, yet there is also a long tradition of Catholic philo-Semites, many of them in conflict with the Church of their day. Today the challenge for Catholics is to come to terms with the Jewish Jesus of Vermes, which demands familiarity with ancient and modern Jewish thought. The late Cardinal von Balthasar, the Pope's favourite theologian, showed the way forty years ago with his study Martin Buber and Christianity: A Dialogue between Israel and the Church.
We are living through the most remarkable rapprochement of Christianity and Judaism in history. What is more, this is happening only half a century after the Holocaust. Where anti-Semitism shows its ugly face, as it did this week in the shape of David Irving, it rarely takes a Christian form. (I speak only of the West.) During the totalitarian ice age, attitudes froze, but a Judaeo-Christian dialogue never ceased; the present thaw opens up previously undreamt-of vistas. The Pope prays for forgiveness at the Wailing Wall. Whatever next? A Jewish Pope? Even that is no longer inconceivable: Cardinal Lustiger of Paris is a candidate.
Christianity can no longer deny its Jewish origins. This Easter, Christians should heed Vermes' reminder that the Lord's Prayer, with its invocation of the Kingdom of God and its practical emphasis on forgiveness, is the authentic voice of Jesus and is thoroughly Jewish. How wonderful it would be if the Archbishops of Canterbury and Westminster, the Chief Rabbi and other Christian and Jewish leaders could hold a joint ceremony at which they could all say together: "Our Father..."
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