Jesus’ Baptism: Where Was Jesus Baptized and by Whom? (Verses)

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

There are thousands of Christian denominations in the world today, and each of them has some form of initiating ritual that can be traced back (at least theologically) to Jesus’ baptism. This single event, narrated in the New Testament, has had enormous influence on the development of Christian practice and identity.

But what actually happened at the Jordan River 2,000 years ago? Where was Jesus baptized, and how do the earliest accounts describe it? These questions aren’t merely of devotional concern; they are historical questions, and historians approach them with the same critical tools they use for any ancient tradition.

Throughout this article, we’ll consider the different ways the Gospels narrate the event, compare their distinctive emphases, and ask what we can know about the baptism as a historical occurrence.

Our exploration will move in stages. We’ll begin by surveying the New Testament accounts, then examine each narrative in greater depth: first Mark, then Matthew, then Luke. We’ll also compare their similarities and differences in a side-by-side table.

From there, we’ll turn to what historians say about the baptism itself. Did it really happen, and if so, why would Jesus have submitted to it? Finally, we’ll draw our reflections together in a conclusion that highlights the ongoing significance of this moment, both for scholars and non-scholars, despite their theological views! 

However, before we begin exploring where Jesus was baptized, by whom, and what was the significance of that event, we must set our basic terms and definitions.

In Second-Temple Judaism, ritual washings were a common means of purification, symbolizing cleansing before God and readiness for worship. John the Baptist adopted and radicalized this practice, transforming it into a baptism of repentance in anticipation of God’s coming judgment.

In the decades that followed Jesus’ death and the conviction that he had been raised from the dead, baptism took on new meaning for his followers. It was redefined as the rite of entry into the Christian community, a symbolic participation in Jesus’ own death and resurrection, and a sign of new life.

Now that we’ve set our definitions and terms, we can move forward with our journey into the earliest accounts of Jesus’ baptism: The Synoptic Gospels!

Narratives of Jesus’ Baptism in the New Testament: A Broad Overview

The story of Jesus’ baptism appears directly only in the Synoptic Gospels (Mark, Matthew, and Luke). In contrast, the Gospel of John, composed near the end of the 1st century, doesn’t provide a straightforward account of the event.

Instead, John alludes to it only indirectly, emphasizing John the Baptist’s testimony about seeing the Spirit descend on Jesus. This difference already shows us that the earliest Christian storytellers didn’t all treat baptism in the same way.

In the Synoptic tradition, however, the central features are consistent. Jesus comes to John the Baptist at the Jordan River. There, he undergoes baptism, and, immediately afterward, the heavens open, the Spirit descends upon him, and a divine voice affirms his unique status as God’s Son.

Each Synoptic Gospel, as we’ll soon see, presents these elements in its own way, sometimes with additions or omissions, but the overall shape of the narrative remains recognizable.

Now that we have glimpsed this event from a bird’s-eye perspective, it’s time to move closer to the text itself. In the next section, we’ll examine the earliest written Gospel and consider how it presents the story of Jesus’ baptism in particular detail.

Jesus’ Baptism in the Gospel of Mark

The earliest written account of Jesus’ baptism appears in the Gospel of Mark, composed around 70 C.E. but drawing on traditions that circulated decades earlier. Mark’s version is striking in its brevity and power.

In just a few verses (Mark 1:9-11), the evangelist recounts Jesus’ arrival from Nazareth, his baptism by John in the Jordan, and the dramatic vision of the heavens torn apart, the Spirit descending like a dove, and the voice from heaven declaring Jesus to be God’s beloved Son.

Scholars widely recognize that Mark’s narrative sets the theological agenda for later retellings: its apocalyptic imagery, compressed form, and emphasis on divine revelation shape how Matthew and Luke will reinterpret the scene in their own ways.

The heart of Mark’s account lies not in the baptism itself but in the apocalyptic vision that follows. The heavens aren’t simply “opened” (as in Matthew and Luke) but violently “torn apart,” echoing Isaiah 64:1’s plea for God to rend the heavens and come down.

This image signals an irreversible breach between heaven and earth: God’s Spirit is now permanently unleashed into the world. The Spirit’s descent “like a dove” evokes Genesis 1:2, when God’s Spirit hovered over the primordial waters, suggesting that Jesus’ baptism inaugurated a new creation. 

The heavenly voice combines three scriptural strands — Psalm 2:7 (“You are my Son”), Isaiah 42:1 (“in you I have taken delight”), and perhaps Genesis 22 (the “beloved son” Isaac) — thereby fusing royal, prophetic, and sacrificial motifs into one climactic affirmation of Jesus’ identity.

Yet, as Joel Marcus notes in his Commentary:

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

Mark handles this tension by downplaying the baptismal act itself and focusing instead on the vision granted to Jesus alone. Unlike later accounts, Mark emphasizes the privacy of this moment: only Jesus sees the heavens torn open and hears the divine voice. 

As it turns out, this reticence coheres with the so-called “Messianic secret” in Mark. And if you want to know more about the Messianic Secret and its historical significance, you might be interested in Bart D. Ehrman’s eight-lesson course The Genius of Mark: Jesus the Secret Messiah. In it, he explores this powerful theme at the heart of Mark’s Gospel and shows how it shaped early Christian understandings of Jesus beyond the simplistic answers often given.

In sum, Mark’s narrative of Jesus’ baptism functions less as a biographical detail and more as a revelatory scene of cosmic and theological significance. It marks the tearing open of heaven, the descent of the Spirit, and the divine acclamation of Jesus as Son.

Having explored Mark’s vivid and foundational portrayal, we turn now to Matthew’s account, which reshapes this material in telling ways, introducing particular emphases and, just as importantly, intriguing omissions.

Jesus’ Baptism in the Gospel of Matthew

The baptism of Jesus in Matthew 3:13-17 is both dependent on Mark and yet distinctly Matthean in shape and emphasis. As in Mark, Jesus comes to Jordan and is baptized by John, but Matthew reshapes the scene in several ways.

The most obvious and significant addition is the brief dialogue between John and Jesus (vv. 14-15). John objects, insisting that he needs to be baptized by Jesus, but Jesus replies that “it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.”

This insertion almost certainly reflects the embarrassment of the early Church at the idea of the sinless one undergoing a baptism of repentance. 

Craig A. Keener, in his Commentary, claims it’s “not unreasonable” that John would  “admit Jesus' greater status” because it “fits the narrative's logic.” However, most scholars (as we’ll see later) remain unconvinced. 

In any case, by foregrounding this exchange, Matthew acknowledges the potential problem while turning it into an opportunity to affirm Jesus’ role as the obedient Son who enacts God’s will.

The phrase “to fulfill all righteousness” is dense with Matthean theology. “Fulfill” (plēroō) in this Gospel almost always signals the bringing to completion of the divine plan set forth in Scripture, and “righteousness” consistently refers to right conduct in accordance with God’s will.

Thus, Jesus’ baptism isn’t a concession to sin but an act of obedience that realizes prophetic expectation. The plural “us” in his statement links Jesus and John as collaborators in this fulfillment: John, by baptizing, and Jesus, by submitting, together enact the divine script. 

Notably, these are the very first words Jesus speaks in Matthew’s Gospel, giving them programmatic force. In other words, Jesus’ mission begins with a declaration that his life will be about fulfilling God’s will.

After John consents, Matthew moves quickly to the visionary and revelatory dimensions of the scene. As Jesus comes up from the water, “the heavens were opened” (v. 16). Unlike Mark’s violent imagery of heavens being torn apart, Matthew’s passive verb frames the event as a disclosure of divine reality, an apocalyptic unveiling rather than a rupture.

The Spirit of God, says Matthew, descends upon Jesus “like a dove.” It’s a phrase that likely recalls Genesis 1:2 and the Spirit hovering over the waters at creation. For Matthew’s readers, this evokes new creation: just as God’s Spirit once animated the world, so now the Spirit inaugurates a new age through Jesus. 

The emphasis, however, isn’t adoption but empowerment. By shifting Mark’s wording from “into him” to “upon him,” Matthew underscores the Spirit’s role in equipping Jesus for messianic service, in line with Old Testament patterns where the Spirit “comes upon” chosen figures for a divine mission.

The climax of the narrative comes with the heavenly voice: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I have taken delight” (v. 17). Here, Matthew makes another deliberate redactional change. Whereas Mark has the voice address Jesus directly (“You are my Son”), Matthew broadens the scope so that the declaration is audible to others.

This public dimension fits Matthew’s tendency to highlight the manifestation of Jesus’ identity from the outset, rather than concealing it as Mark does with his “messianic secret.”

Furthermore, the scriptural echoes in Matthew’s account of Jesus’ baptism are rich and multilayered! Psalm 2:7 contributes the royal sonship motif, Isaiah 42:1 evokes the Servant who brings justice and receives God’s Spirit, and the word “beloved” may allude to Genesis 22 and Isaac, the beloved son offered in sacrifice.

In their Commentary, William Davies and Dale Allison Jr. conclude:

Jesus’ Baptism in the Gospel of Luke

Unlike both Mark and Matthew, the Gospel of Luke devotes an extended section to John the Baptist as the forerunner of Jesus (3:1-20). Luke situates John’s appearance with a solemn synchronism of rulers, anchoring him firmly in world history, and then depicts him as a prophet commissioned by God’s word.

His role is interpreted through Isaiah 40:3-5: the voice crying in the wilderness to prepare the way of the Lord. Luke also expands John’s ministry with material found only here: the ethical exhortations to the crowds, tax collectors, and soldiers (3:10-14). 

These instructions aren’t radical demands but common-sense exhortations to honesty, generosity, and integrity. As Michael Wolter notes, John’s activity is functional. 

His task is to form a people “ready for the Lord.” And significantly, Luke ends this section with Herod’s imprisonment of John (3:19-20), thereby moving John offstage before the baptismal scene.

This redactional decision is striking. By narrating John’s imprisonment in advance, Luke carefully separates the forerunner from the Messiah. John prepares the way, but once Jesus appears, he vanishes from the narrative.

The consequence is that Luke’s account of Jesus’ baptism no longer focuses on the act itself or on John’s role in performing it. Instead, the baptism becomes a temporal backdrop to what really matters: the divine revelation that follows.

Wolter observes:

Luke, in short, never explicitly states that John baptized Jesus.

The baptism itself is narrated with extreme brevity: “When all the people had been baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying…” (3:21). The ritual act is almost an aside, subordinated to the description of what happens next.

Unlike Mark’s vivid “coming up from the water,” Luke highlights instead that Jesus was praying. This is the first of many places in Luke’s Gospel where decisive moments in Jesus’ life occur in connection with prayer. 

The emphasis has shifted: the baptismal water isn’t the climax, but rather the setting for God’s initiative. What follows is a threefold theophany narrated as objective events, not private visions. Heaven is opened, the Holy Spirit descends “in bodily form like a dove,” and the heavenly voice proclaims Jesus’ identity.

Luke’s version, then, transforms the baptismal story into a disclosure of Jesus’ identity and mission. The Spirit’s descent in visible, almost tangible form signals empowerment for ministry, echoing creation imagery from Genesis 1:2. 

By making the voice a public pronouncement (“You are my beloved Son, in you I am well pleased”), Luke underscores the universal significance of the moment. The baptismal act fades almost entirely into the background; the focus rests squarely on God’s revelation.

In this way, Luke distances Jesus from John, deals with the potential problem of John being superior to Jesus, stresses Jesus’ filial relationship with God, and presents the event as the true inauguration of Jesus’ mission.

Jesus’ Baptism: Scripture (Comparative Table)

When it comes to describing Jesus’ baptism, the Synoptic authors are like three journalists covering the same headline event: they agree on the essentials but each files a story with its own spin, emphases, and omissions.

To see just how Matthew, Mark, and Luke differ, it helps to line their accounts up side by side. Let’s take a look! 

As much as exegesis and narrative analysis are interesting, as a historian, I’m always brought back to the central question: Did Jesus’ baptism actually happen? Was this event, with all its theological embellishments, rooted in history, or was it a story created to express later Christian convictions?

To explore that, we need to move from the literary comparisons of the Gospels into the domain of historical-critical inquiry.

Was Jesus Really Baptized?

For well over 150 years, historians have sought ways to distinguish the authentic core of Jesus’ life from the later theological embellishments of the Christian tradition. 

This effort, known as the quest for the historical Jesus, has generated a number of methods, but one of the most influential frameworks came through the so-called “criteria of authenticity,” popularized in the mid-20th century by Norman Perrin.

These criteria aren’t infallible, but they offered scholars a set of rules of thumb for evaluating whether particular sayings or deeds attributed to Jesus were likely to be historical or whether they were more plausibly later theological constructions.

Among these criteria, a few stand out as especially important. The criterion of multiple attestation observes whether a tradition appears in more than one independent source. 

The criterion of dissimilarity considers whether a saying or action makes sense against both Jewish and early Christian expectations; if it doesn’t serve either agenda easily, it may be authentic. 

Perhaps most famously, the criterion of embarrassment notes that traditions which were awkward or difficult for the early church are unlikely to have been invented by them. Other criteria exist, but these three have often carried the most weight in historical Jesus research.

So, how does Jesus’ baptism look from the historical perspective if we consider the criteria of authenticity? The gist of this event almost certainly goes back to the historical Jesus.

First and foremost, it’s attested in multiple independent sources: Mark, Q (preserved in Matthew and Luke), John (by implication, even if not narratively described), and Acts.

Furthermore, this event passes the powerful test of embarrassment. E. P. Sanders, in The Historical Figure of Jesus, explains:

Similarly, Helen K. Bond affirms the point:

Such scholarly consensus underscores how difficult it would be to deny the historicity of the event itself, even if the precise details remain elusive.

We can even follow the trajectory of this embarrassment throughout the earliest Christian literature. French scholar Daniel Marguerat, in his book Vie et destin de Jésus de Nazareth (Life and Destiny of Jesus of Nazareth), explains:

Of course, one permanent issue remains: Where exactly does the line fall between authentic historical memory and later theological elaboration? Joel Marcus rightly emphasizes that the accounts as we have them are deeply shaped by Scripture (Isaiah, Genesis, Psalms) and by early Christian convictions about Jesus’ messianic status. 

That is one of the reasons why I find myself increasingly persuaded by the methodological cautions of scholars such as Dale C. Allison Jr., who argues that instead of attempting to separate history and theology verse by verse, we should focus on identifying larger themes, rhetorical patterns, and enduring events.

In the case of Jesus’ baptism, the historical kernel is clear! Jesus submitted to John’s baptism at the outset of his ministry. But the surrounding features are much more problematic.

And while some scholars, like Craig Keener, argue that Matthew’s dialogue between John and Jesus “fits the narrative logic,” narrative fit doesn’t necessarily imply historical authenticity; it can just as easily reflect Matthew’s theological agenda to portray Jesus’ superiority.

Conclusion

In the end, the baptism of Jesus remains one of the few episodes in the Gospels that historians regard as virtually certain. 

It’s a multiple attested event, it provoked theological discomfort among the earliest Christians, and yet it endured at the heart of the tradition. At the same time, the way the event is narrated varies substantially from Gospel to Gospel.

Mark emphasizes private revelation and apocalyptic rupture, Matthew reframes the act as the fulfillment of divine righteousness, and Luke shifts the focus almost entirely away from the ritual to highlight prayer and God’s disclosure.

For historians, then, this event is both a window into Jesus’ life and a case study in how memory is preserved, reshaped, and theologically reimagined. And who baptized Jesus? That Jesus came to John and submitted to baptism seems beyond serious doubt.

While that is the case, theologians will almost certainly continue to debate its spiritual significance which isn’t that bad, I guess!

Who Do You Say That I Am? (Verse, Context, Meaning)

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

One of the most profound questions ever posed in the Gospels is found in a conversation between Jesus and his disciples: “But who do you say that I am?” This moment represents a turning point in the narrative of Jesus’ ministry. More than just a theological statement, Peter’s response reveals the growing realization among Jesus’ closest followers that he is more than a prophet or teacher. But how did this statement of belief shape the early Christian understanding of Jesus’ identity?

In this article, I’ll analyze the biblical passages containing this question, examine the historical and literary context behind it, and unpack its deeper theological significance. From the Gospel writers' portrayal of Peter’s response to the complex question of how Jesus identified himself during his lifetime, I’ll examine what this pivotal moment meant both then and now.

If you’re interested in learning more about answers to the “Who do you say that I am” question in the context of the historical Jesus, Dr. Hugo Méndez covers the topic in a fascinating two-lesson online course.

“Who Do You Say I Am”? Verse and Context

Although the oldest of the Gospel accounts of this incident appears in Mark, it’s important to compare similar descriptions of it in various Gospel accounts. Incidentally, the episode itself has long been called the Confession of Peter. In this case, “confession” doesn’t mean admitting to wrongdoing, but rather indicates a formal statement of belief, much like the Nicene Creed, for example. The Confession of Peter is in all three Synoptic Gospels so, because scholars say that Matthew and Luke used Mark as a primary source for their accounts, let’s look at the version from Mark 8:27-30:

That translation, by the way, is the NRSV. The KJV translates Peter’s response as “Thou art the Christ”, which also makes sense since Christ is the Greek word for Messiah. I want to point out a couple of details in this passage. First, Jesus’ disciples say that some believe Jesus is, not merely a prophet, but one of the former prophets who have since died. Does this mean that 1st-century Jews believed in reincarnation? In a word, no.

Instead, the passage indicates the common belief in Jesus’ time in a general resurrection of the dead. We see this earlier in Mark 6:14-16, when Jesus and his disciples have been out preaching and healing people:

Even though John has already been killed, Herod and others believe it is entirely possible that Jesus is merely the resurrected John. The same can be said of any other prophets with whom Jesus is identified except Elijah. Since Elijah never actually died but was instead taken directly up to heaven (2 Kings 2:11), many believed he would return to earth, prompting some people to speculate that Jesus was the return of Elijah.

Second, the fact that it is Peter who recognizes that Jesus is the Messiah already indicates Peter’s future leadership role in the church in Jerusalem. While we don’t see this as explicitly in Mark or Luke — who copies Mark’s version almost verbatim — Matthew adds something to the story.

In Matthew’s version, Peter includes another title in his declaration, calling Jesus “the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” But Matthew also adds a response from Jesus in 16:17-19:

While the Confession of Peter is monumental in all three Synoptic Gospels, Matthew’s version makes Peter’s leadership explicit, authorized by no less than Jesus himself. First, Jesus changes his name from Simon to Peter, which literally means “rock.” We know that this church leader was actually called “rock” (Aramaic: Cephas) because Paul mentions meeting him and uses this name. Jesus then uses the metaphor of a rock to claim that Peter will be the foundation of the church, and even grants Peter a measure of divine authority. It’s on this basis, by the way, that the Catholic Church calls Peter the first Pope.

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

The Messianic Secret

Another interesting point about the Confession of Peter is that, in Mark 8:30, Jesus orders his disciples not to tell anyone that he is the Messiah. Matthew and Luke agree. But why wouldn’t Jesus want other people to know? In fact, even after healing people in Mark, Jesus usually tells those people not to tell anyone who he is. This is something scholars call the Messianic Secret.

The notion of the Messianic Secret was first pointed out in 1901 by a German scholar named William Wrede. In his book The Messianic Secret, Wrede theorized that Jesus had not really tried to hide his identity but that the author of Mark added that motif to the story to answer an important question: why was Jesus not known as the Messiah while he was alive? Mark’s answer was that Jesus didn’t want people to know while he was alive.

Bart Ehrman notes that this likely indicates the author of Mark believed that Jesus only became the Son of God after his resurrection. Acts 2:36 seems to agree with this view, when Peter says

Ehrman delves into this further in his book How Jesus Became God. In sum, he argues that Mark’s author and his community believed that while Jesus had been the Messiah, he had only become a divine being after the resurrection. This is why, for example, after his Transfiguration, Mark’s Jesus “ordered [his disciples] to tell no one about what they had seen until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead (Mark 9:9).”

Did Jesus Call Himself the Messiah?

Research about the historical Jesus is a constant debate. The scarcity of sources we have about Jesus — none from his actual lifetime, by the way — makes such research largely a product of reasoned speculation. However, if there’s one thing the vast majority of scholars agree on, it’s that his principal message centered on the coming Kingdom of God. This is true in all three Synoptic Gospels (Jesus’ message in John is quite different). If this was indeed the case, we have to ask what Jesus thought his role would be in the Kingdom.

In her book The Historical Jesus: A Guide for the Perplexed, Helen Bond notes that while it’s likely some of Jesus’ followers may have seen him as the Messiah during his lifetime, whether he would have accepted such a title is a difficult question to answer.

Bond points out that Jesus “never refers to himself in this way and appears to distance himself from the term, particularly when its royal, victorious connotations were to the fore.” Bond, therefore, thinks that Jesus probably had a sense that God had chosen him for a mission. Whenever he mentioned this mission, he referred to himself as the Son of Man. Bond notes that

Bart Ehrman points out, by the way, that we don’t have a single Jewish source prior to Jesus’ life which views the Messiah as a figure who would suffer for the sins of the world:

During his lifetime, Jesus appeared to be none of these things. If he indeed believed himself to be the Messiah, he must have had a very different notion of what a Messiah was.

Conclusion

The Confession of Peter in Matthew 16:13-20, Mark 8:27–30 and Luke 9:18-21 is a significant episode in the Gospel narratives of Jesus’ life. It tells of a conversation between Jesus and his disciples in which Jesus asks about what people are saying about his identity. The “Who do you say that I am?” question, then, is not as straightforward as some might think.

The disciples answer that he is sometimes identified with the deceased John the Baptist, not because of the idea of reincarnation but rather because of the widespread belief in the general resurrection of the dead. Some, therefore, including King Herod, apparently thought that Jesus was merely the resurrected John. Some also thought he might be some other resurrected prophet.

Others apparently said that Jesus was Elijah, a prophetic figure who had not died in the biblical texts but had rather been spirited away to heaven. There was much speculation about his return, therefore, and some evidently wondered if Jesus was the returning Elijah.

However, the pivotal moment in this conversation comes when Peter steps up and answers that Jesus is the Messiah. Jesus does not explicitly affirm this in Mark, but certainly seems to accept it. In Matthew’s version, however, this is when Jesus designates Peter as the leader and foundation of the early Church.

While we can’t know for certain whether Jesus himself claimed to be the Messiah, it’s certain that his followers, especially after seeing him resurrected, believed that he was.

What did Jesus Actually Look Like? (Skin, Hair, Clothes, and More!)

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

What did Jesus actually look like? I don’t think there’s a Christian in the world who hasn’t wondered about that at some point. 

But the question goes far beyond the boundaries of Christian belief. Jesus of Nazareth is arguably the most influential figure in the history of Western civilization. For nearly 2,000 years, people from a wide range of religious, cultural, and even secular backgrounds have imagined what he may have truly looked like.

We’re all familiar with the iconic images: the long, flowing hair, the neatly trimmed beard, the serene expression, often with pale skin and robes that look suspiciously European. 

These images have shaped not only Christian art and worship but also the cultural imagination of generations. And yet, none of them come from Jesus’ own time.

So what do we actually know about his appearance? Can the earliest sources, combined with insights from archaeology, ethnology, and anthropology, bring us closer to a historically grounded portrait of the man behind the movement?

In this article, we’ll explore what scholars have uncovered about Jesus’ physical traits, clothing, and cultural context. We’ll also tackle some of the most commonly asked questions along the way.

Before we dive into the next section, take a moment to check out Bart D. Ehrman’s course Jesus: The Secret Messiah. In this 8-part series, Dr. Ehrman takes you on a fascinating journey through the earliest Gospel in the New Testament, offering fresh insights into how Jesus was portrayed, understood, and misunderstood.

What Did Jesus Actually Look Like? Physical Appearance

The New Testament contains no physical description of Jesus. This absence isn’t incidental. Rather, it reflects a broader tendency in ancient biographical literature, where physical traits were typically recorded only if they were exceptional.

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

Joan E. Taylor, in her book What Did Jesus Look Like, has argued that the lack of any description suggests Jesus was physically ordinary. In antiquity, people often noted striking features: unusual height, beauty, deformity, or divine radiance.

The silence of the Gospels likely means that, to contemporaries, there was nothing outwardly remarkable about Jesus’ appearance. He looked like any other rural Galilean Jew of his time.

This historically grounded depiction of Jesus of Nazareth portrays him as a 1st-century Galilean Jew, with olive-toned skin, short curly hair, a cropped beard, and simple clothing—a knee-length tunic, belted waist, woolen outer cloak with tassels, and leather sandals based on archaeological finds. You may use, share, or reproduce this image with attribution and a link to this article.

Still, historical inquiry (drawing on archaeology, textual evidence, and bioanthropology) can give us some broad insights into the issue of what Jesus most likely looked like. These are, of course, only educational guesses or deductions based on what we generally know about the appearance of people living in 1st-century Palestine. 

However, people have uncovered more details during excavations and skeletal analyses in Judea and Galilee. Due to sites such as Qumran and Givat ha-Mivtar, we now know that the average adult male in Jesus’ region stood around 5 feet 5 inches (166 cm), with a lean build due to a modest diet and a physically demanding lifestyle.

Referring to the so-called “French Qumran Collection,” Susan Guise Sheridan and Jaime Ullinger note:

What about Jesus’ skin tone? It would have been in the range of olive to darker brown, consistent with the Semitic populations of first-century Palestine. This is supported by documentary sources from Egypt, such as Ptolemaic-era papyri (2nd century B.C.E.), which describe Judeans as having “honey-colored skin.”

Jesus almost certainly had black hair and brown eyes, in keeping with the dominant genetic traits of the region. His hair would probably have been short and curly or frizzy. Long hair on men was rare and culturally frowned upon outside of special vows, such as the Nazirite vow (which Jesus, as far as we know, didn’t take).

A short, cropped beard was likely. Jewish men of the time were commonly bearded, and facial hair was a sign of adult male identity, though elaborate grooming was not the norm for rural laborers or ascetics.

Given the Gospel references to his homelessness and rejection of wealth and status, it’s plausible that the real depiction of Jesus appeared unkempt or rough to many who encountered him. Some ancient sources hostile to Christianity (such as Celsus) claimed Jesus was dirty, shamefully dressed, or socially marginal.

While these comments are, first and foremost, polemical, they may reflect how a wandering apocalyptic preacher was perceived by those who never followed him. 

So, what did Jesus really look like? He was likely short by modern standards, lean, with sun-baked skin, dark eyes, short dark hair, and a beard. To put it bluntly, he was a typical Semitic man of rural Galilee. As much as many people today would think otherwise, Jesus wouldn’t have stood out in a crowd.

The serene, light-skinned figure in many Western paintings owes more to centuries of artistic imagination than to historical memory. The real Jesus, grounded in time and place, was very much a man of his world.

What Did Jesus Actually Look Like? FAQ – Just for You!

Before we move on to Jesus’ clothing, it’s wise to pause and address some of the most popular (and sometimes peculiar) questions about his physical appearance. Let’s call this the “What Did Jesus Actually Look Like?” FAQ — just for you!

Think of it as clearing the air before we dive into 1st-century Galilean fashion. And yes, scholars are allowed to have a little fun while keeping things accurate.

Did Jesus Have Long Hair?

Probably not. Long hair on men was generally frowned upon in Jewish and Greco-Roman culture unless one had taken a Nazirite vow, which Jesus probably didn’t. Apostle Paul, writing just a couple decades after Jesus’ death, even argues in 1 Corinthians 11:14 that long hair is dishonorable for a man, suggesting that short hair was the norm.

Did Jesus Have Blue Eyes?

No. The idea of a blue-eyed Jesus is a later myth, popularized through Western art, and (unfortunately) taken to extremes in some 20th-century ideologies. Nazi propaganda, for instance, promoted a racially “Aryan” Jesus with fair skin, blond hair, and blue eyes.

However, there is absolutely no historical or archaeological support for this. Jesus was a Middle-Eastern Jew! His eyes would have been brown, like nearly everyone else in the region at that time.

Was Jesus White?

No. The concept of “whiteness” as used in modern racial categories doesn’t apply to the ancient world. As Bart D. Ehrman explains (although in a different context) in his blog post:

Jesus was a Galilean Jew with olive or darker-toned skin, typical of Semitic populations in first-century Palestine. He would not have resembled the pale-skinned figures often seen in European religious art.

Did Jesus Really Look Like the Pictures in Church?

Not at all. The familiar image of Jesus (flowing hair, pale skin, European features) was developed centuries later in Byzantine and Renaissance art. These portrayals were shaped more by the cultures that created them than by historical memory.

How did this particular type of Jesus’ appearance become so popular? Taylor provides an answer: 

Was Jesus Handsome?

We simply don’t know. Some early Christians (e.g., Justin Martyr)  interpreted Isaiah 53 to mean that Jesus was unattractive, even disfigured, but that was a theological reading, not a historical memory. In reality, he was likely average in appearance, neither notably handsome nor particularly ugly. In other words, just another face in the Galilean crowd.

So, while the details of Jesus’ physical features may remain elusive, one thing is clear: He looked like an ordinary man of his time. No halo, no glowing robes, and certainly no polished Renaissance styling. But how did he dress? That’s a question we can answer with far more confidence.

What Did Jesus Actually Look Like? Clothing and Style

In the contemporary world that often revolves around fashion and clothes, digging into the ancient past is like stepping into a foreign country — one with different values, materials, and cultural codes. 

But if we’re seriously asking the question, “What did Jesus really look like?”, we must also examine what he wore.

Remember, clothing is never neutral. It reflects social identity, economic standing, religious observance, and cultural belonging. In Jesus’ case, his garments not only placed him within a specific time and place (1st-century Galilee under Roman rule) but also told others something about how he lived, what he valued, and how he wished for others to perceive him.

The basic male outfit in 1st-century Palestine consisted of two primary garments: An inner tunic (chitōn) and an outer cloak (himation), along with a belt (zōnē), sandals, and occasionally a head covering.

Taylor emphasizes that Jesus’ clothing would have been simple, functional, and modest, just like his teachings. The tunic was a knee-length woolen or linen garment worn directly against the skin, usually undyed or in natural colors such as off-white or light brown.

It would have been cinched with a belt, allowing for movement and modesty. In other words, Jesus’ tunic was probably no different from that of other rural Galilean men: well-worn but not ragged, humble but intact.

Over this tunic, Jesus would have worn a himation, a large rectangular cloak draped over the shoulders and body, especially when outdoors or teaching in public. This cloak served both as protection from the elements and as a visible sign of Jewish identity. 

The Gospels make several references to this outer garment. For instance, the woman who touched the “fringe” (Greek: kraspedon) of Jesus’ cloak in Mark 5:27-30 and Matthew 9:20. This fringe was possibly a set of tzitzit, or ritual tassels, commanded in Numbers 15:37-41 and Deuteronomy 22:12. 

Jewish men were to wear these tassels at the corners of their garments, and the Gospel stories strongly suggest that Jesus followed this practice. In other words, his clothing was not only practical but also visibly Torah-observant.

His footwear would have consisted of leather sandals, similar to those found in archaeological excavations at sites such as Masada and the Cave of Letters. These sandals typically had leather soles fastened by straps, allowing ventilation in the arid climate.

There is no evidence that Jesus wore closed shoes, which were rare and usually associated with wealthier individuals.

As for headwear, there is little solid evidence that Jesus wore anything distinctive. Contrary to popular imagination, the modern kippah (skullcap) was not yet in use in the 1st century. Taylor notes that some men may have worn cloths or veils on their heads for sun protection, but this wasn’t standardized or religiously required.

Nor is there any indication that Jesus wore a tallit in the modern sense. While later Jewish tradition formalized the tallit as a prayer shawl, in Jesus’ time it’s more likely that his outer cloak, with its ritual fringes, fulfilled a similar function.

Importantly, Jesus didn’t dress as a “rabbi” in any formal sense, since rabbinic ordination and distinctive rabbinic garments hadn’t yet developed. After all, the rabbinic Judaism emerged only after the two devastating wars against the Roman state in 66 and 132 C.E.

Furthermore, Jesus’ clothing didn’t set him apart as elite, priestly, or wealthy. On the contrary, it likely helped him blend in with the crowds of laborers, fishermen, and smallholders who made up much of Galilee’s population.

The Appearance of Jesus: FAQs About Cultural and Religious Considerations

Understanding Jesus’ clothing requires not only knowledge of first-century textile practices but also a grasp of the religious and cultural context of Second Temple Judaism. In this period, dress wasn’t just a matter of function or social status. Rather, it was a visible expression of identity, piety, and community norms.

Did Jesus Wear Tefillin?

While tefillin were certainly in use by the 1st century (as attested by finds at Qumran), there is no evidence in the Gospels suggesting that Jesus wore them, nor are there any references to them in stories about his prayer practices.

A tefillin was a small leather box containing passages of Scripture, traditionally bound to the arm and forehead during prayer in observance of Deuteronomy 6:8 and Exodus 13:9.

Given Jesus' public presence in synagogues and his disputes with Pharisees (who did wear tefillin) it’s indicative that such items are never mentioned.

Did Jesus Wear a Prayer Shawl?

In its modern form, the prayer shawl, or tallit developed only centuries after Jesus’ lifetime. However, the fringes themselves were already a Torah requirement, and Jesus almost certainly wore a garment bearing them. As noted earlier, the Gospels mention a woman touching “the fringe of his cloak” (Matt. 9:20), likely a reference to tzitzit.

But this design detail would have been integrated into his everyday outer garment, not a specialized ritual shawl. In Jesus' context, there was no separate liturgical garment. In other words, everyday clothing could carry religious significance.

Was Jesus Dressed Differently Due to His Role as a Teacher or Rabbi?

Many people also wonder whether Jesus dressed differently because he was a “rabbi.” The short answer is no, but the fuller explanation requires a historical distinction.

Rabbinic Judaism, with its codified teachings, titles, and customs (including distinctive dress associated with scholarly or legal authority) didn’t yet exist during Jesus’ lifetime.

As Rivka Ulmer explains:

In Jesus’ day, “rabbi” was an honorific title, not an institutional office, and it didn’t imply special robes, hats, or visual status markers. This means that Jesus’ clothing, while certainly reflective of Jewish religious norms, didn’t set him apart visually from his disciples or other pious laymen.

And so, when we ask what Jesus actually looked like, we are looking not for a figure in ornate prayer garb or Pharisaic vestments, but for a man whose religious identity was expressed through simplicity, not spectacle.

Did Jesus Have Particular Garments for Special Occasions?

There’s no evidence in the Gospels that Jesus owned or wore special garments for holidays or ritual occasions. His teachings consistently emphasized internal piety over external display (e.g., Matthew 6:1-18), and his lifestyle suggests a commitment to simplicity and detachment from status symbols.

That said, like other observant Jews of his time, Jesus would have participated in festivals such as Passover or Sukkot. During these times, people might wear cleaner or better-maintained garments, especially when traveling to Jerusalem for pilgrimage.

What Are the Differences Between Galilean vs. Jerusalemite Dress Codes?

In the 1st century, there were indeed subtle distinctions in clothing between different regions of Judea and Galilee, often related to economic status, cultural influences, and proximity to urban centers.

Galilean dress tended to be simpler and more practical, reflecting the rural, agrarian setting of the region. The fabrics used were often coarser, and dyes or decorations were rare among the lower classes. 

By contrast, in Jerusalem (the political and religious heart of the region) clothing could reflect greater affluence and diversity. Wealthier inhabitants, including priests and members of the elite, might wear more finely woven garments, sometimes dyed or embroidered.

Moreover, we should remember that Jerusalem was a hub for pilgrimage and trade so its population was probably more “exposed” to foreign fashions (e.g., Roman, Nabatean, or Hellenistic styles), which may have influenced how some locals dressed.

Conclusion

In the end, while we may never know every detail of Jesus’ physical features, the historical evidence allows us to make well-informed, responsible deductions. Jesus of Nazareth was not the serene, fair-skinned figure of medieval and modern iconography.

He was a Galilean Jew of modest means: Short by modern standards, dark-haired, sun-weathered, and clothed in the simple garments of his time.

So, what did Jesus actually look like? He likely resembled the everyday people around him: Those he taught, healed, and walked beside.

There was nothing outwardly majestic or ethereal in his appearance, and that may be precisely the point. But to pursue that point would mean entering into the realm of theology and Christian tradition. We’ll leave that for another article! 

Josephus on Jesus: What Did Josephus Say About Jesus?

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

I bet Josephus never imagined he would be this important in the history of Western civilization. A 1st-century Jewish historian writing under Roman patronage, Josephus had no intention of founding a religion or shaping the theological imagination of billions.

And yet, when it comes to the question of whether Jesus of Nazareth really existed, few ancient voices are invoked as often (or as passionately debated) as his. The topic of Josephus on Jesus has become a cornerstone in discussions of the historical reliability of non-Christian sources, and the conversation shows no signs of fading.

For many readers today, the New Testament provides all they need to know about Jesus. But historians are naturally more cautious. They want evidence that goes beyond the confessional. Sources that are external, independent, and, ideally, uninterested in promoting Christian faith.

Josephus is often celebrated for providing just that. The mere fact that a Jewish historian writing near the end of the 1st century mentions Jesus at all has generated both curiosity and intense scrutiny. Is the text authentic? Did later Christians alter it? What did Josephus actually say?

In what follows, I’ll explore these questions in depth. First, I’ll briefly introduce who Josephus was and why he matters. Then I’ll turn to the central focus of this article: the two brief, but historically significant, references to Jesus found in his writings.

Before we dive in, take a moment to check out Bart Ehrman’s outstanding course, “The Genius of Mark: Revealing the Mysteries of the Gospel of Mark.” In this eight-part series, Dr. Ehrman explores the earliest surviving account of Jesus’ life, uncovering surprising insights and overlooked features in the Gospel of Mark. This is a must-watch for anyone interested in the historical Jesus.

Josephus Flavius: Short Biography

Despite his importance for understanding 1st-century Judaism and early Christianity, there are surprisingly few external sources about Josephus’ life. In other words, nearly everything we know about him comes from his writings (more on those later).

According to his autobiographical account, Josephus was born in 36 or 37 C.E., just a few years after the crucifixion of Jesus in Jerusalem and around the same time that Paul experienced his conversion to Christianity.

Josephus claimed descent from an ancient and prestigious priestly lineage. He belonged to the first of the 24 priestly courses established in Jerusalem and, within that elite class, to one of its most distinguished families.

His upbringing and education were steeped in Jewish tradition, and he quickly rose through the ranks of Jewish society. During the Jewish revolt against Rome that erupted in 66 C.E., Josephus was appointed commander of Jewish forces in Galilee.

At first glance, it might seem that such a man (aristocratic, learned, and a military leader against the Roman occupation) would be celebrated within the Jewish tradition. Well, not so much. Why?

Per Bilde explains in his Biography of Josephus:

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

That controversial decision (choosing survival over martyrdom) defined the rest of Josephus’ life. Well, who can blame him?! Anyway, while still in Roman custody, he predicted that his captor, General Vespasian, would become emperor.

Remarkably, the prophecy proved accurate: After Nero’s suicide in 68 C.E. and a year of civil war that saw three emperors rise and fall, Vespasian was declared emperor by his troops. Grateful for the prediction, the new ruler rewarded Josephus handsomely: He received Roman citizenship, a pension, and an apartment in Rome, where he would live out the rest of his life under Flavian patronage.

From that point on, Josephus became a Roman insider. He lived in the imperial capital, enjoying the protection and support of the very regime he had once opposed on the battlefield. While this arrangement secured his safety and enabled his writing career, it also ensured that Jewish tradition would remember him with suspicion, if not outright contempt.

He died sometime around the year 100 C.E., having spent nearly half his life chronicling the events that had shaped his world and his place within the Jewish tradition. 

Of course, there’s much more to the story, including a few colorful details that we didn’t have space for here. For those interested in the full picture of Josephus’ life, we have a whole article dedicated just to him.

For us, though, the more pressing question is this: when it comes to Josephus on Jesus, what did he actually say, and can we trust it?

Writings of Josephus: A Brief Glimpse

However, before we move into the Josephus on Jesus issue, let’s take a brief look at his literary legacy. After settling in Rome under imperial patronage, Josephus devoted the rest of his life to writing historical works that sought to explain Jewish history and culture to a Greco-Roman audience.

His two most significant contributions (The Jewish War and Antiquities of the Jews) are indispensable sources for anyone interested in the world of first-century Judaism and the historical backdrop of early Christianity.

His first major work, The Jewish War, was completed around 75-79 C.E. It offers a dramatic and detailed account of the Jewish revolt against Rome, beginning with the roots of the rebellion and culminating in the catastrophic destruction of Jerusalem and its temple.

Josephus writes as both a participant and a historian, blending his eyewitness testimony with rhetorical flourishes intended to appeal to his Roman patrons. (Here you can read this work in a scholarly English translation.)

Simone Claude Mimouni, in his book Le judaïsme ancien du VIe siècle avant notre ère au IIIe siècle de notre ère (Ancient Judaism from the 6th Century B.C.E. to the 3rd Century C.E.) highlights Josephus’ multifaceted approach:

Josephus’ later and even more ambitious project was Antiquities of the Jews, written around 93 C.E. Spanning 20 volumes, this massive history attempts to recount the story of the Jewish people from the creation of the world down to Josephus’ own time. Think of it as a kind of Jewish version of Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita, aimed at explaining Jewish tradition and scripture to a Roman readership.

It’s in this work, not The Jewish War, that Josephus famously refers to Jesus, and that’s what we’ll explore in the next section. (Here you can read Antiquities in a scholarly English translation.)

What Did Josephus Say About Jesus?

If I had a penny for every time someone asked me whether any non-biblical sources confirm Jesus’ existence, I’d be writing this from my private island. The question is a common (and perfectly reasonable) one. After all, outside the New Testament, what ancient evidence do we actually have?

This is where the Josephus on Jesus issue comes into the picture. In what follows, we’ll take a closer look at the two passages in his writings that mention Jesus.

Josephus on Jesus: The Death of Jesus’ Brother James

The shorter reference to Jesus in Josephus’ writings appears almost incidentally. While discussing events that took place in Jerusalem just before the outbreak of the Jewish War (in particular, the political maneuvering around the high priesthood), Josephus briefly notes that the high priest Ananus took advantage of a leadership vacuum to convene the Sanhedrin and have a man named James put to death.

To identify James more clearly, Josephus adds a phrase that has sparked centuries of scholarly interest:

Most critical scholars regard this passage as authentic, unlike the more complicated reference we’ll examine next.

As John P. Meier argues in his seminal work A Marginal Jew, there are compelling reasons to see this as a genuine statement from Josephus:

In other words, the description is too restrained (and too neutral) to have originated with a Christian scribe. Moreover, the passage is firmly embedded in the Greek manuscript tradition of Jewish Antiquities and already cited by Eusebius at the beginning of the 4th century, providing important external attestation.

While brief, this reference to “Jesus who was called Christ” is taken seriously by historians because it offers a non-Christian confirmation (however passing) that Jesus of Nazareth was known to have had a brother named James, who was publicly executed in Jerusalem.

Josephus on Jesus: Testimonium Flavianum

It’s one of the most read (and most debated) paragraphs from all of ancient literature. Hundreds of studies and posts have been written about it. Countless scholarly debates and polemical battles have been waged across centuries. When it comes to Josephus on Jesus, no passage has drawn more scrutiny, suspicion, and scholarly attention than the famous Testimonium Flavianum.

The paragraph is found in Antiquities of the Jews 18.3.3. It appears in the context of Josephus’ description of unrest under the Roman prefect Pontius Pilate. Seemingly out of nowhere, he inserts a report about a man named Jesus:

Before the rise of historical criticism in the 19th century, this passage was largely accepted at face value. Early Christian authors, such as Eusebius, quoted it approvingly, and few questioned its authenticity.

Today, scholars are, as Robert Louis Wilken explains, divided into three general camps.

#1 – Interpolation All the Way

At one end of the spectrum are those who argue that the entire passage is a later Christian interpolation, inserted wholesale by scribes who wanted to bolster the historical claims about Jesus. This view has been advocated by a minority of scholars, such as Richard Carrier.

In one of his posts, Carrier reiterates what he elaborated in the book On the Historicity of Jesus:

#2 – Authentic All the Way

On the opposite end are those who maintain that the entire paragraph comes from Josephus himself, unaltered. This is also a minority view, but some scholars, as Wolfgang A. Bienert noted, still argue for full authenticity.

#3 – Partial Interpolation Theory

The mainstream scholarly position is a middle ground, sometimes called the “partial interpolation theory.” According to this view, Josephus did originally mention Jesus in Antiquities 18, but later Christian copyists (perhaps as early as the 3rd century) modified the text to make it more theologically affirming.

When one strips away the later interpolation, this is what we get:

Why do most critical scholars accept this middle position? John P. Meier offers several compelling arguments:

#1 – The literary and stylistic flow of the paragraph is disrupted by three phrases that stand out as patently Christian: (1) “if indeed one should call him a man,” (2) “he was the Messiah,” and (3) “he appeared to them on the third day, living again.” 

Meier notes that the paragraph reads smoothly and coherently if these clauses are removed, leaving a neutral, concise report that sounds like something Josephus could have written.

#2 – The language and vocabulary of the “neutral core” differ markedly from the Greek of the New Testament but fit well with Josephus’ own style. By contrast, the three interpolated phrases contain terms closely aligned with early Christian creedal language.

#3 – The “low Christology” of the stripped-down text is entirely incompatible with what we know of early Christian theology. A crucified man remembered as a wise teacher and miracle worker (without resurrection or divine status) wouldn’t satisfy any early Christian interpolator. 

In other words, the result is too neutral, too minimalist, even too dismissive to be a Christian invention.

#4 – Testimonium Flavianum is found in all Greek manuscripts of Antiquities 18, as well as in all Latin translations made by Cassiodorus’ school in the 6th century. That suggests there was some reference to Jesus in Josephus’ original text, even if not all of it is authentic.

Additionally, Robert Louis Wilken, in his book Jesus Outside of the New Testament, provides another important insight:

Finally, it’s worth considering the existence of an alternative version of the Testimonium Flavianum, preserved in Agapius’ Universal History (a 10th-century Christian chronicle written in Arabic). 

This version closely resembles the neutral reconstruction favored by the majority of contemporary scholars, lacking the overtly Christian affirmations found in the standard Greek text.

Taken together, these considerations make the middle-ground theory not only the most academically defensible but also the most historically satisfying. It recognizes the real presence of Josephus on Jesus in this famous passage, while also acknowledging the hands of later Christian scribes who, with a few strokes of their pens, sought to make a neutral report sound like a confession of faith. 

Strip away the confessional layers, and what remains is a rare and valuable glimpse of Jesus from the pen of a Roman-era Jewish historian.

It doesn't come as a surprise that at the end of a meticulous study over the authenticity of the Testimonium Flavianum, French classicist Serge Bardet concluded that a full Christian fabrication is exceedingly unlikely. As he puts it, one would have to suppose “a talent for imitation that would scarcely have any equivalent in antiquity.” (my translation)

Conclusion

When all is said and done, the Josephus on Jesus debate invites both caution and appreciation. The writings of Josephus (especially the Antiquities of the Jews) offer a non-Christian witness that, while brief and contested, remains historically significant.

For historians, Josephus’ references provide important non-Christian evidence. Even though all of us would like more information! Wouldn’t it be great if the Jewish historian wrote more about the nascent Christian movement?! But we have what we have.

Beneath the layers of scribal enthusiasm lies a voice that neither followed Jesus nor denied his historical presence. In a field often clouded by ideological fog, such a voice is more than welcome. It’s, quite simply, invaluable.

Did the Jews Kill (or Hate) Jesus? Learn the Truth!

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

Did the Jews kill Jesus? Few questions in Christian history have been as fraught with misunderstanding — and as devastating in their consequences — as that accusation. For centuries, this claim has fueled antisemitism, violence, and deep divisions between Christianity and Judaism. But does the New Testament discuss a Jewish deicide? If so, was it the murder of God? Who were “the Jews” in the Gospel narratives, and how should we understand that term today? The answer lies not just in theology or tradition, but in language, context, and history.

In this article, I’ll explore what the Gospels really meant when they referred to the Jews, how these texts have been interpreted (and misinterpreted), and, ultimately, who was truly responsible for Jesus’ death.

The deicide definition from Merriam-Webster is an event that kills a divine being or symbolic substitute of that being. However, even that descriptor is complicated since individuals and groups attribute different characteristics to Jesus depending on if they view him as a divine being, merely a historical figure, or neither.

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

Etymology: Who Are “the Jews” in the Gospels?

The Greek word translated into English as “Jews” in the New Testament is Ioudaioi. The problem with translating this word properly is that there are two distinct possibilities. For example, while “Jews” is one overarching option, the word technically meant “a person who resides in or is from the region of Judea,” the region in Palestine where Jerusalem was located. This would mean, of course, that Jesus — who came from the region of Galilee — might not have been classified as one of the Ioudaioi, but rather as a Galilean (Greek: Galilaios).

However, Adele Reinhartz points out that the issue of whether to translate Ioudaioi as “Jews” or “Judeans” is quite complicated. She notes that some scholars prefer “Judeans” because translating the word as “Jews” can fuel anti-Jewish biases. On the other hand, we have ancient references to some people called Ioudaioi who had no direct association with Judea, thus signaling a group identity outside of regionalism. Reinhartz finally concludes that

For this reason, most scholars and Bible translations still translate the word as “Jews.”

While there are certainly some positive references to the Ioudaioi  in the New Testament — see John 4:22, for instance, where Jesus says salvation originates with them — there are an overwhelming number of negative allusions to them as well. Let’s look at some of these examples.

References to the Jews in the New Testament

In the Gospel of Mark, there is really only one explicit reference to “the Jews” (if we leave out the multiple times Jesus is accused of saying he was “King of the Jews”). It appears in Mark 7:3, in which the Pharisees reproach Jesus’ disciples for eating without washing their hands for the purpose of ritual purity. The author then explains that “the Pharisees, and all the Jews, do not eat unless they wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders…”

This is a mildly negative reference, since Jesus’ next words scold the Pharisees for caring more about outward purity than inward purification. Finally in Mark 15, we see that Jesus, having been arrested by the Jewish leaders known as the Sanhedrin, is handed over to Pilate to be killed.

However, it’s in Matthew’s Gospel that we begin to see the most damaging portraits of “the Jews.” This is odd, in a way, since Matthew is generally considered the most Jewish of the four Gospels.

Like Mark, Matthew’s explicit use of the word Ioudaioi is basically limited to the charge “King of the Jews” which accusers say Jesus has claimed for himself. However, in a scene just before his crucifixion, the Roman governor Pontius Pilate, about to hand Jesus over to be crucified, washes his hands, symbolically claiming to be innocent of Jesus’ blood. The crowd, who in Jerusalem must have been mostly Jews, says “His blood be on us and on our children!” This line has been used for centuries to justify all forms of antisemitism. Not only do the Jewish leaders hand Jesus over in Matthew, but even the Jewish laypeople demand his blood.

Even worse are the references to the Jews in the Gospel of John. We see them persecuting Jesus in 5:16 and plotting to kill him in 5:18. In 8:44, Jesus describes them as the children of the devil, while in John 7:12-14, we see that the people (who, again, are predominantly Jewish themselves) are afraid of the Jews:

As in the other Gospels, Pilate is reluctant to kill Jesus in John, but when the Jews insist on his execution, Pilate acquiesces. I’ve written before about how unlikely this scenario is, based on our knowledge of the ruthlessness of Pilate and how little he cared about Jewish opinions, despite what the Gospel of John says.

Since the authors of Matthew and John (and possibly the author of Mark) were Jews themselves, what is going on here?

The Intended Meaning of Ioudaioi

In The Jews and the World in the Fourth Gospel: Parallelism, Function, and Context, Lars Kierspel notes that the scholarly consensus is that all the references to “the Jews” in the Gospels refer only to the Jewish religious leaders. Furthermore, in The Gospel and Letters of John, Alan Culpepper notes that in some cases, translating Ioudaioi merely as “the Jews,” indicating all Jews, doesn’t entirely make sense:

As for the disturbing line in Matthew attributing guilt collectively to the Jews for Jesus’ death, there was something else going on there (this is not to deny the horrible effects of the misinterpretation of that line throughout history). In the Jewish Annotated New Testament, Aaron Gale writes that since the author of Matthew was writing years after the destruction of the Temple and the devastation of Jerusalem by the Romans in 70 CE, he was likely indicating that this destruction was a punishment for the Jewish people’s later refusal to accept that Jesus was the Messiah.

Now that we’ve looked at the literary aspects of whether the Jews killed Jesus, let’s look at the historical aspect. Was Jesus hated by the Jews, and if so, were they responsible for his death?

Did the Jews Hate Jesus?

Having clarified the meanings of Ioudaioi (Jews, residents of Judea, or Jewish religious leaders) in the Gospels, can we answer the question of whether the Jews hated Jesus during his lifetime? If we follow the Gospel narratives here, it seems there was a mixed reaction.

When it comes to the Pharisees and other religious leaders, we definitely see examples of hatred for Jesus in the Gospels, to the point of wanting to kill him (see John 11:53, for example). However, crowds of Jewish people seem to have loved Jesus. When he entered Jerusalem, for instance, Matthew 21:9  says he received a king’s reception:

Moreover, in Mark 2:1-12, it’s clear that huge crowds followed him adoringly, both to be healed and to hear his message. The question of whether ALL Jews hated Jesus is overly broad, and the answer is clearly no. So, did the Jews kill Jesus?

Who Killed Jesus and Why?

Why was Jesus killed? Many people throughout Christian history have tried to answer this question. Was he executed because he committed blasphemy, offending the Jewish leaders? Was he killed because he created a ruckus in the Temple? What was the real reason he was hung on a cross?

First, who, in Jesus’ time, regularly used crucifixion as a method of capital punishment? John Granger Cook notes that while the Persians and Carthaginians did, the people best known for it in the ancient world were the Romans. For this reason, Kaufman Kohler and Emil Hirsch write that  “The mode and manner of Jesus' death undoubtedly point to Roman customs and laws as the directive power.” So did the Romans kill Jesus?

Furthermore, Kohler and Hirsch note that “Among the modes of capital punishment known to the Jewish penal law, crucifixion is not found.” In other words, the only possible answer for who crucified Jesus was the Romans, not the Jews.

However, this leaves us the question of why the Romans would have executed Jesus. Why would they have considered him dangerous enough to kill?

In all four Gospels, the charge put on the cross over Jesus’ head to indicate his crime says one thing: “King of the Jews.” What this likely means is that Jesus had indeed claimed to be the true King of the Jews. As Bart Ehrman writes, “Anyone else who claimed to be king was usurping Roman prerogatives and was seen as a threat, or if not a threat, at least a public nuisance.  Romans had ways of dealing with lower-class peasants who were troublemakers and public nuisances.” This claim was a political crime, a form of sedition against Rome, for which the punishment would always be crucifixion.

Rome didn’t care about Jewish conceptions of blasphemy or conflicts between different Jewish groups. They only cared about threats to Roman rule.

The Jews, however defined, didn’t kill Jesus. The Romans did.

Conclusion

For millennia, Jews have been mistreated by Christians who believed they were justified in their behavior since “the Bible said that the Jews killed Jesus.” Despite the obvious horrors this interpretation caused, accurate readings of biblical texts rule that possibility out.

Ioudaioi, the Greek term usually translated as “Jews,” could also mean residents or natives of the region of Judea in southern Palestine. However, it’s clear that, in the Gospels, there are plenty of negative references to Ioudaioi that need explanation.

The Gospel of Mark characterizes the Jews as those who care more about the outward purity while Jesus and his followers prioritize inward, moral purity. In Matthew, a crowd of Jews scream for Jesus’ death while voluntarily taking responsibility for it. This line has caused more antisemitic reactions than any other in the Bible. In John, meanwhile, the Jews persecute Jesus and plot to kill him. But there is more here than meets the eye.

It's clear to most scholars that most of the references to “the Jews” in these writings refer only to the Jewish religious leaders. Translating every reference as “the Jews” is also nonsensical in some passages, such as when a crowd of Jews is afraid of “the Jews.” This is not to negate the centuries of suffering perpetrated upon Jews by misinterpretations of the texts.

Finally, it’s clear, both from the method of execution and the political charge, that Jesus was killed by the Romans. Although he never says it explicitly in the Gospels, he probably did call himself “King of the Jews,” a title which smacked of sedition to Rome, and likely brought the force of the occupying Roman powers down on his head.

Did the Jews kill Jesus? No. Jesus was definitely killed by the Romans.

How Many Apostles Did Jesus Have? (HINT: More Than 12!)

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

How many apostles did Jesus have? This question reminds me of one of the most important lessons I learned during my graduate studies: Terms and concepts aren’t fixed entities; they are deeply tied to context and can shift in meaning over time and across cultures. 

Consider, for example, the swastika. In the context of Nazi Germany, it has become an enduring symbol of death, evil, and destruction. Yet in Hinduism, where it originated thousands of years earlier, the swastika signifies auspiciousness, good fortune, and the cosmic order.

Similarly, when we explore the names of the apostles, we’ll find that the concept of apostleship in early Christianity is far broader and more complex than many assume today.

Most people, when they hear the term “apostles,” immediately think of the disciples (Peter, James, John, and the others) who famously accompanied Jesus during his ministry. That association is understandable. The group of the Twelve held tremendous importance in the historical memory of Jesus' earliest followers and remains central to Christian tradition today.

However, if we approach the historical evidence carefully, we discover that apostleship in the 1st century wasn’t confined to this familiar group. The names of the apostles extend well beyond the Twelve, encompassing figures who never set foot among Jesus' original group, and whose roles and significance were shaped by evolving needs and perspectives within the early church.

Several excellent articles on this blog have already examined Jesus’ apostles and their crucial place in the development of early Christianity. These studies have offered valuable insights into the names of the apostles, their place within Jesus’ movement, and the stories and legends about their deaths. 

In this article, however, I want to highlight another key dimension: How the historical context of early Christianity allowed a broader application of the “apostle” category to men and women who were neither among the original Twelve nor necessarily part of Jesus’ earthly ministry.

As we’ll see, understanding how early Christians used the term "apostle" sheds light not only on the diversity of the movement but also on the fluid and dynamic ways in which authority and leadership were negotiated in its formative years.

How Many Apostles Did Jesus Have? Starting With the Etymology

The term “apostle” has its roots in the Greek language, where it originally functioned not as a noun but as an adjective. It derives from the verb apostellō (ἀποστέλλω), meaning “to send off” or “to dispatch.” From this verb came the adjective apostolos (ἀπόστολος), signifying someone who was “sent” or “dispatched” for a particular purpose.

Only later did apostolos come to be used as a substantive noun, designating a “messenger,” “emissary,” or “delegate.” In its core meaning, an apostle was someone entrusted with a mission on behalf of another, carrying authority as a representative of the one who had sent them.

Before the emergence of Christianity, the term apostolos was attested only sparingly in Greek literature. According to the Liddell-Scott-Jones Lexicon (LSJ), apostolos appears rarely and is typically used in secular contexts to denote an envoy or a bearer of a message.

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

A notable example occurs in Herodotus (Histories 1.21), where the term describes emissaries dispatched by Cyrus the Great. In such pre-Christian usage, apostolos carried no specific religious connotations. Rather, it simply referred to individuals commissioned for diplomatic or communicative tasks.

However, as Ceslas Spicq has emphasized in Notes de lexicographie néo-testamentaire (Notes on New Testament Lexicography), none of these Greco-Roman meanings (whether casual or juridical) can account for the profound theological depth that apostolos acquires in the New Testament. 

Christian usage, particularly in Paul, presupposes a Semitic background, rooted in the Jewish institution of the shaliaḥ (שליח), an authorized representative whose acts legally bound the sender. It was within this Jewish conceptual framework that the early followers of Jesus reinterpreted and deepened the meaning of apostleship.

So, with the rise of the Jesus movement, apostolos acquired a distinctive theological weight. As New Testament scholar Francis Agnew notes:

In other words, far from being confined to a single generation or group, the notion of apostleship was pervasive across early Christian writings. It was a central term used by authors in diverse settings to describe those who had been commissioned to carry the message of Christ.

Understanding this background helps frame the larger question that drives our investigation: How many apostles did Jesus have?

As we’ll see in the next section, the New Testament’s application of the term extends beyond the familiar circle of the Twelve, reflecting the fluid and expanding nature of early Christian leadership and identity.

Beyond the Twelve: Other Early Apostles

During Jesus' public ministry, the term “apostle” (apostolos) likely didn’t carry the precise, formal meaning it would later acquire. As John P. Meier, in his book A Marginal Jew, has argued, "apostle" wasn’t a fixed title but rather a functional designation for individuals temporarily commissioned for a task.

The Gospels occasionally describe the Twelve being “sent out” (apostellein) by Jesus (e.g., Mark 6:30), but the focus is on their immediate mission: Preaching repentance, healing, and casting out demons, rather than establishing a permanent office.

The Twelve were primarily called “disciples” (mathētai), meaning learners or followers. The use of "apostle" to designate a stable office emerged only after Easter, when the early Jesus followers became convinced of his resurrection and the need to spread the message of the coming of the Kingdom of God.

In the post-resurrection period, the meaning of “apostle” broadened significantly. It no longer referred simply to the original Twelve but extended to a wider circle of individuals who had, in various ways, been entrusted with proclaiming the risen Christ.

Paul of Tarsus, though not one of the Twelve and indeed a former persecutor of the Church, famously insists on his apostolic status: “Paul, an apostle, not from men nor through man, but through Jesus Christ and God the Father” (Galatians 1:1).

Paul's letters contain the highest concentration of the term apostolos in the New Testament, demonstrating his commitment to defending his calling. Likewise, in Romans 16:7, Paul refers to Andronicus and Junia, “who are prominent among the apostles” (more on that in the Appendix).

Barnabas, too, is called an apostle alongside Paul in Acts 14:14, after their missionary efforts in the cities of Lystra and Derbe. Even the group of seventy (or seventy-two) disciples mentioned in Luke 10 and the 120 followers gathered in Acts 1:15 hint at a broader reservoir of commissioned witnesses.

Although not all were explicitly termed “apostles,” they formed part of a dynamic movement that understood mission and testimony as central to Christian identity.

But what precisely qualified someone to be considered an apostle? The early Jesus movement, particularly in its Pauline expressions, seemed to require two key credentials:

#1 – A commissioning by Jesus, often understood to involve some revelatory encounter
#2 – A mandate to proclaim the gospel publicly

Paul appeals to his vision of the risen Lord (Galatians 1:11-12) as the basis of his apostleship, while emphasizing that his mission was divinely authorized rather than institutionally granted.

Similarly, Acts 1:21-22 specifies that Judas’ replacement (Matthias) among the Twelve had to be someone who had accompanied Jesus from the beginning and could bear witness to the resurrection. 

In short, apostleship entailed being sent by Jesus with a public, authoritative mission to proclaim his message.

As Ceslas Spicq explains, reflecting on the famous list in 1 Corinthians 15:5-8:

This observation highlights Paul’s early observation that apostleship extended beyond the rigid circle of the Twelve and included a broader, Spirit-endowed ministry validated by encounter with the risen Lord and missionary service. 

However, the concept of apostleship in the early Church was far from uniform. Different authors and communities held varying understandings of what it meant to be an apostle, leading at times to conflict and sharp polemics. Later Gospel writers provide clear examples of this diversity.

The author of Luke’s Gospel, for instance, closely identified the disciples of Jesus during his earthly ministry with the Twelve, effectively creating the category of the “Twelve Apostles.” In Luke’s conception, apostleship was restricted to those who had accompanied Jesus from the beginning and witnessed his resurrection.

This framework had significant implications: It excluded figures such as Paul from being recognized as apostles in the full sense. 

For Luke, the Twelve Apostles emerged as the foundational leaders of the Jerusalem church, while missionaries and later emissaries, even if crucial to the movement’s expansion, were generally not called apostles.

However, Paul, as already noted, had a different notion in mind. Hans D. Betz explains:

Thus, when asking “How many apostles did Jesus have?” it becomes clear that any simple numerical answer is insufficient. While the number twelve (probably going back to the historical Jesus) was symbolically crucial (representing the twelve tribes of Israel and the renewed people of God), the category of apostle soon expanded beyond this foundational group.

As the early Christian movement spread and adapted to new contexts, the meaning of apostleship evolved to include a wide range of figures: Not only the institutional Twelve but also charismatic leaders, missionaries, church founders, and witnesses to the resurrection.

However, it would be a mistake to imagine that all early Christians agreed on a single definition of what it meant to be an apostle. On the contrary, sharp differences emerged, crafting the future of the nascent movement.

In the end, the question “How many apostles did Jesus have” invites us to look beyond static lists toward the living and often contested tradition of the early Church. Apostleship was not simply a matter of formal membership in an exclusive group; it was a vibrant, evolving response to the experience of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.

Appendix: A Female as an Apostle: Resistance and Rejections in the Early Church

Instead of a formal conclusion you might be expecting, I decided to switch things up a little bit here. In this final section, I want to briefly highlight one of the more intriguing developments in the history of biblical interpretation, what might best be called the Curious Case of Junia.

It offers a striking example of how cultural (patriarchal) assumptions, rather than neutral analysis, sometimes shaped how early Christian figures were remembered, or forgotten.

In Romans 16:7, Paul sends greetings to Andronicus and Junia (probably a married couple), praising them as “prominent among the apostles.” For nearly a thousand years, no one in the Church seems to have doubted that Junia was a woman and an apostle.

Early commentators such as Origen, John Chrysostom, and others all assumed she was female. Chrysostom even marveled at her achievement, writing, “Oh, how great is the devotion of this woman, that she should be counted worthy of the title of apostle!”

However, the story takes a surprising turn much later in history. As Eldon Epp shows in his book Junia: The First Woman Apostle, it was only in the later medieval period, especially with the influence of Martin Luther’s translation and later critical editions, that Junia was transformed into a man.

Motivated by the belief that a woman could not possibly have held the title of apostle, scholars and translators began to subtly alter the tradition. Some introduced the idea of a male “Junias,” even though such a name is unattested in any Greek or Latin texts of the period. 

Critical Greek editions of the New Testament, starting with Eberhard Nestle’s 1927 edition (an influential scholarly reconstruction of the Greek text used for Bible translations), began to favor the masculine reading without substantial manuscript evidence, and some English translations followed suit.

Today, careful examination of the textual and historical evidence has largely reversed this error. As Epp and many others have demonstrated, the objective data (early manuscripts, early Church commentary, and Roman naming practices) consistently point toward Junia being a woman, recognized as an apostle by Paul himself.

In recovering her rightful place, scholars remind us of an important lesson: Our interpretations of the past are often shaped by the assumptions of our own time. But when we return honestly to the sources, voices once muted can speak again.

Was Jesus (Really) a Carpenter? Maybe Not!

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

Was Jesus a carpenter? The image of Jesus as a humble carpenter has become deeply ingrained in Christian tradition, exemplifying his connection to everyday working people and his unassuming origins. But how solid is the biblical foundation for this familiar portrayal? What did the term “carpenter” mean in the ancient world? Could it just as easily refer to another kind of manual labor if we explore Greek translations? And what does Jesus’ possible trade tell us about his social status and the world he inhabited?

In this article I’ll examine the evidence — biblical, linguistic, and archaeological — to explore what it really means to say Jesus was a carpenter, and whether that title is supported by the historical record.

Where in the Bible Does It Say Jesus was a Carpenter?

Unfortunately, our evidence for Jesus being a carpenter is extremely scanty, comprised of only two terse references, in fact. Mark, our earliest written Gospel, gives us the clearest evidence, in 6:2-3. In these verses, Jesus and his disciples visit Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth. On the Sabbath, Jesus goes into the synagogue and teaches, prompting amazement and resentment from the locals among whom he had been raised:

The shock and indignance of Jesus’ hometown crowd seems to indicate two things. First, they did not remember him as being particularly wise or impressive when he lived there as a child and young man. They even name his family members as if to say, “He was just a normal local boy. What happened to him?”

Second, they remember him as having a particular profession, a carpenter in most English translations (more on that later). The fact the locals are surprised that a carpenter can be so extraordinary seems to indicate people in that profession were not expected to be sages or religious teachers. In other words, carpentry was not considered a high-status job.

Scholars know that the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, written at least a decade after Mark, used Mark as a principal source, changing some details and often adding new ones. In this case, Matthew 13:54-56 tells the same story of Jesus being rejected by the people of his hometown, but changes slightly how they remember him:

How do we account for the difference between “carpenter” in Mark and “the carpenter’s son” in Matthew? One possibility is that while Mark felt comfortable saying that Jesus had been a carpenter, traditions about Jesus tended to exalt him more and more over the years. So, by the time Matthew was written, it seemed impossible for Jesus, the Messiah and Son of God, to have such a humble profession himself. Either way, in Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography, John Dominic Crossan notes that, in some ways, the two assertions amount to the same thing, since in the ancient world, sons almost always did the same work as their fathers.

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

These verses in Mark and Matthew are all the biblical evidence there is for Jesus as a carpenter. Luke and John don’t talk about it, nor does Paul or any other NT author. For this reason, in order to determine the likelihood that Jesus really was a carpenter before beginning his ministry, we’ll need to do some historical work, first on the etymology of the original Greek word translated as carpenter and then on the economy of ancient Roman Palestine.

Was Jesus a Carpenter or Something Else?

The biblical Greek word usually translated as carpenter is tektōn. While “carpenter” is certainly one possible translation, there are others, opening up possibilities for what Jesus’ early profession might have been. A look into the Cambridge Greek Lexicon shows us that while tektōn can mean “a builder in wood, or a joiner,” it can also mean “a skilled worker in other materials, a craftsman.” This could include being a stonemason or even a sculptor. While it’s unlikely (as we will see) that someone raised in Nazareth would be a professional sculptor, it is entirely possible he was a stonemason.

However, whether we translate the word as carpenter or stonemason, we should be wary of importing modern ideas about those professions onto their ancient counterparts. In the modern world, a carpenter is a skilled, lucrative, and respected middle-class profession. But Crossan says this wasn’t the case in Jesus’ time and place. He notes that in Roman-controlled Palestine, economic inequality was brutal, and that the social distinction between rich and poor often meant distinguishing between those who had to work with their hands (the poor) and those who didn’t (the elite).

It's not that carpenters and stonemasons were not skilled. It’s just that in the ancient hierarchy of skills, manual labor was always less valued by the elite, those in control, than mental labor. In other words, carpenters and stonemasons generally lived in poverty, a hand-to-mouth existence. To understand this further, let’s look at the economy of ancient Palestine and, specifically, that of a tiny hamlet like Nazareth.

It’s About the Economy!

In The New Testament World, Bruce J. Malina writes that Palestine and other Roman provinces were “a nearly perfect example of what anthropologists call classic peasant society: a set of villages socially bound up with administrative preindustrial cities.” In his book Jesus and the Peasants, Douglas Oakman defines what this meant:

So peasants were those who labored constantly but could never get ahead because so much of the fruits of their labor were given, usually through taxation, to wealthy landowners who typically lived in large cities such as Jerusalem. And as we’ll see, Nazareth was most definitely a small village, not a city.

First-century Palestine was a typical agrarian society. In Christian Origins: A People's History Of Christianity, Steven Friesen explains that this means wealth was almost completely based on land ownership and that most of the land was controlled by a tiny number of elite families. The wealth of these families also meant they had undue influence on the politics of the region, allowing them to profit from taxation of the peasantry as well.

Friesen estimates that 40% of people in the Roman provinces, including Palestine, lived “at subsistence level and often below minimum level to sustain life.” Among those in this situation, Friesen places small families of farmers, laborers (skilled and unskilled), artisans (such as carpenters or stonemasons), and fishermen. If indeed Jesus was a carpenter or stonemason, he and his family were barely able to keep their heads above water.

In a rural village like Nazareth, were carpentry or masonry common professions? In Archaeology, the Rabbis, & Early Christianity, Eric Meyers and James Strange note that Nazareth in Jesus’ time was a village of only 400-500 people. It was so small, in fact, that it’s not even mentioned in Jewish sources until the 3rd century CE, according to an article by James Strange in the Anchor Bible Dictionary.

While many people in small villages worked as fishermen, Nazareth was 23 miles from the Mediterranean Sea and 19 miles from the Sea of Galilee, making it all but impossible to commute daily on foot. Instead, people from Nazareth would probably have been either artisans or workers on surrounding farms.

While people have speculated for years that Jesus did his early carpentry in the nearby city of Sepphoris, a significantly larger and more Roman-influenced town than Nazareth, recent archeology puts that conclusion in doubt. Archeologist Ken Dark writes that the Galilean region which included Nazareth “was unusual for the strength of its anti-Roman sentiment and/or the strength of its Jewish identity.” Furthermore, he notes that the archeological evidence shows that it’s likely that “there was no close connection between Nazareth and Sepphoris in the Early Roman period.”

If Jesus was indeed a carpenter, what kind of work would he have done in and around Nazareth? In her book Papyri and the Social World of the New Testament, Sabine R. Heubner writes that ancient carpenters made many items for local people, including wagons, yokes for oxen, oil mills, and boats. These would have been useful for the Galilean peasantry and did not require any contact with Roman forces or culture.

Heubner also says that while it’s difficult to know how much a carpenter was generally paid, since elite writers paid little attention to the lower classes, an ancient lease agreement for an oil mill shows that the carpenter that worked on it received 50 denarii a month working for an elite owner. When working for poor farmers or tradespeople, though, carpenters might have merely traded their services for goods or services they needed.

In other words, in a village as small as Nazareth, it is plausible that Jesus could have grown up to be a carpenter. In addition, since carpentry was not a high-status profession in the ancient world, it seems difficult to imagine that the author of Mark would invent this detail for Jesus. Instead, it’s likely that memories of Jesus’ humble origins had long circulated and thus, his early life as a tradesman was common knowledge.

Some common misconceptions are that Jesus was a fisherman or shepherd. We already established earlier that it was unlikely he was a fisherman due to  geographic reasons. Although the New Testament calls him “the Good Shepherd (John 10:11),” this is a metaphorical title and there is no evidence that Jesus himself was a shepherd.

Conclusion

Was Jesus a carpenter? Our analysis began with the unfortunate fact that there are only two references in the entire New Testament indicating this possibility. In Mark, he is called “the carpenter” by the people among whom he grew up. In Matthew, this is changed to “the carpenter’s son.” However, that is an almost meaningless distinction since the son of a carpenter would, in normal circumstances, have been a carpenter as well. What other evidence is there, then, that Jesus could have been a carpenter?

Etymologically, the Greek word translated as carpenter — tektōn — denoted a skilled builder who could have worked with wood, but also possibly with stone or other materials. Both carpenters and stonemasons were ubiquitous in the ancient world, so either is possible as a correct translation.

While we may think of carpenters as skilled, highly-respectable professionals, in the ancient world they would have been consigned by the elite to that massive lower echelon of the economy reserved for those who worked with their hands. If Jesus was a carpenter, he was not a member of the elite. Instead, he and his family would have lived at a subsistence level.

Finally, having seen that Nazareth, Jesus’ hometown, was a tiny village located far from large bodies of water, it is likely that a young man would have been involved in a trade such as carpentry or masonry in order to make a living. We can never be entirely certain, but there is no reason not to believe Jesus was a carpenter before his ministry began.

Was Jesus a Rabbi?

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

The question of whether Jesus was a rabbi is more complex than it may first appear. It requires us to explore historical contexts and the evolving definitions of terms over time. While the title "rabbi" is often associated with Jewish teachers and religious leaders, its usage in the time of Jesus differs significantly from how we understand it today.

Was Jesus a rabbi? In this article, I’ll investigate the meaning and historical development of the term "rabbi." By analyzing the Gospels, I’ll explore why Jesus might have been addressed as "Rabbi" and consider whether this title accurately reflects his role in the Jewish society of his time. To do this, I’ll also look into the title's historical significance and how it relates to others ascribed to Jesus (for instance, was Jesus a rabbi or a carpenter?)

The Meaning of the Word Rabbi

The word “rabbi” is derived from the Hebrew word rav. In early uses of the word in the Hebrew Bible, it was simply a term of respect or honor. The HarperCollins Bible Dictionary notes that this sense of the word can be found in 2 Kings 18:17 and 2 Kings 25:8, where it’s used to mean something like “chief” or “officer” rather than its later meaning of “teacher.” In the Hebrew Bible, by the way, the term is not used to mean teacher, which is instead denoted by the Hebrew word mō·w·rāy.

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

However, by the New Testament period, there had clearly been a shift from its original meaning, as it seems to have been used only to mean “teacher” in a religious sense. In the Gospels, Jesus is called “Rabbi” 15 times (for example, Mark 9:5; Mark 11:21; Mark 14:45; John 1:38) and is also addressed twice using the Aramaic equivalent “Rabbouni,” since Aramaic was the language of Jesus and his disciples (Mark 10:51; John 20:16). Interestingly, in Matthew, only Judas calls Jesus “Rabbi,” while the other disciples call him “Lord.” The HarperCollins Bible Dictionary notes that in the New Testament, only Matthew, Mark, and John use the term Rabbi.

It's also significant that in Jesus’ time, and even in contemporary Judaism, a rabbi has never been a priest. In the Second Temple period in which Jesus lived (539 BCE-70 CE), priests were responsible for the administration of the Temple, as well as the performance of sacrificial rites. The term “rabbi” is not found in literature from this period. For example, Hillel and Shammai, two early and foundational Jewish sages who lived in the late 1st century BCE and the 1st century CE, were never called rabbis. So why was Jesus addressed with this term in three of the Gospels?

It's important to remember that although Jesus lived from approximately 6 BCE to 30 CE, Mark, our earliest Gospel, wasn’t written until 70 CE — around the time the Temple was destroyed by the Romans. This destruction of this holy building had a profound effect on Judaism. Without a Temple, there was no sacred space in which priests could perform sacrifices; sacrifices were only allowed to be performed in the Temple.

In the wake of this devastating change, rabbinic Judaism would change the focus of Judaism from the Temple and sacrifice to the study and interpretation of the Jewish Law exclusively. Thus, rabbis became the main spiritual authorities, focusing on the texts of the Hebrew Bible and writing voluminous commentaries on them in texts like the Mishna and the Talmud.

When Jesus is called “Rabbi” in the Gospels, it is a reflection of that post-destruction period in which the Gospel authors all lived and wrote. This is not to say that rabbis didn’t exist before this, but the term took on a new level of authority with the destruction of the Temple.

Was Jesus a Rabbi?

Given the above information, asking if Jesus was a rabbi is a bit more complicated than it seems. In fact, the answer comes down to both history and definitions.

What was a rabbi in Jesus’ time? In one sense, it is an anachronism to think of Jesus as a rabbi in the sense we generally mean today. Rabbis, starting in the post-Temple-destruction period and continuing today, have been highly trained and highly literate specialists in the interpretation of the texts of the Torah and its commentaries. Since only about 10% of all people in Jesus’ time could read, and since Jesus apparently came from a working class background (he is called a tekton — carpenter or craftsman — in Mark 6:3) it seems unlikely he would have been among the literate, despite the synagogue episode in which he reads in Luke 4:16-30.

In fact, as Rabbi Jack Abramowitz writes, “The title ‘rabbi’ really only started in the second generation of Tannaim [rabbinic sages from the late 1st and early 2nd century CE], so nobody in Jesus’ day was a ‘rabbi.’” This is an important point; in Jesus’ time, “rabbi” was not yet an official role within the religious establishment. Additionally, a rabbi, as we use the term today, also means someone on whom authority is bestowed by another rabbi. There is no sign of this process of ordination with Jesus.

Nevertheless, since the term rabbi denotes both “master” and “teacher” and since, as Rabbi Abramowitz notes, the term certainly did exist in Jesus’ time, it is valid to say that he was a rabbi of sorts. What was a rabbi in Jesus’ time? Since Jesus did teach some people in a religious context, he may have been addressed by them as “Rabbi.” By the way, John the Baptist is also called “Rabbi” in John 3:26. Like Jesus, he was a religious teacher and could therefore correctly be called a rabbi, albeit without the authority accorded to rabbis in later decades.

Finally, keep in mind that since the Gospels were written decades after Jesus’ actual lifetime, they reflected a different time in history when rabbis held much more authority than they had when he lived.

How Does the Term Rabbi Compare with Jesus’ Other Titles?

I’ve already acknowledged that the word rabbi in its earliest Hebrew Bible sense was simply a term of respect or honor. This is certainly appropriate as something Jesus’ disciples might have called him, although they definitely thought of him as their teacher as well. But how does the term rabbi accord with other terms ascribed to Jesus in the NT?

One of the words most often used to address Jesus in the Gospels is “Lord” (Greek: kyrios). In his book How Jesus Became God: The Exaltation of a Jewish Preacher from Galilee, Bart Ehrman points out that we have a bit of a translation problem with this term. In Psalm 110:1, for example, most English Bible translations say this:

However, in Hebrew, the two “lords” in this passage are different words. The first is YHWH, the name of God which Jews traditionally do not pronounce because of its holiness. The second lord, however, is the Hebrew word “Adonai,” a word that is often used for God but can also be used, for example, as a term with which a slave addresses his or her master. Since we know that the term “rabbi” originated as a kind of honorific outside of a religious context, “Lord” makes sense as an honorific equivalent, although without the connotation of teacher.

What about the term “messiah,” another title used for Jesus in the NT? The word messiah (Hebrew: mashiach) literally means “anointed one.” In the Hebrew Bible, anointing someone — ritually pouring oil on their heads — signifies that God has given his favor to them in their role as priest or king. For some Jews in Jesus’ time, however, the term came to be used solely to mean someone who would come to save Israel from its oppressors.

So was this term an equivalent of “rabbi”? It was not, because the two terms existed in different domains. The messiah was meant to be a salvific hero, either in the original sense of a warrior king who would defeat Israel’s enemies, or in the later NT sense as a person who saves people from sin. In that second sense, a rabbi could be the messiah, but it certainly wasn’t necessary.

Jesus was also called “Son of Man” in the Gospels. This term, like the term “messiah,” was a reference to a salvific figure. It is found in Daniel 7:13-14, where it means a heavenly being who would be sent by God to lead Israel to victory over its enemies. The Son of Man in this sense was too celestial a being to be a mere teacher, as a rabbi would have been. While Jesus may have been both, there is no linguistic equivalency between the two terms.

Finally, since we’ve already mentioned Jesus being called by the Greek term tekton in Mark 6:3, how does this accord with the term rabbi? While tekton is almost always translated into English as “carpenter,” the Cambridge Greek Lexicon notes that while it could mean a builder with wood, it could also be someone who works with other building materials like stone or brick. So was Jesus a rabbi or a carpenter? In this case, Mark 6:3 is the perfect illustration of the difference between a rabbi and a builder in the eyes of a 1st-century audience.

In Mark 6, Jesus returns to his hometown of Nazareth and teaches in the synagogue, displaying remarkable wisdom and thus surprising the townspeople with whom he grew up. In Mark 6:2-3 we see their reaction:

Why were they so offended at Jesus’ wisdom and power? Because the role of teacher in a synagogue was a role of honor. Jesus was known to them as a builder, a carpenter or mason. This was certainly a respectable way to make a living, but not expected to be equivalent in wisdom or power to one who could teach with authority in the synagogue. In other words, the term “carpenter” would not have been considered the equal of the term rabbi.

Conclusion

Was Jesus a rabbi? As we’ve seen, the term rabbi in the sense we think of it today did not have the same authority in Jesus’ time. A rabbi in his time was a person who was an honored teacher, like a Pharisee. However, the Gospel accounts in which we find Jesus being called this were written in a later time.

For Jews, the term rabbi came to mean something more authoritative and religiously significant, primarily after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE. Religious authority originally rested within the Temple, the place where God was said to dwell and where priests performed sacrifices. However, after the destruction of this Temple, Judaism moved almost exclusively toward a focus on the study and interpretation of the Jewish Law.

Given this, we could say that Jesus was a rabbi in that he taught and was honored by his followers. However, since rabbinic Judaism didn’t really begin until decades after Jesus’ death, the title is somewhat anachronistic. It is, however, equivalent in its honorific sense to other terms of respect common in Jesus’ time, including lord. It is not, however, equivalent to others, such as messiah and son of man, both of which denote a specific role not involved with teaching.

The Crucifixion of Jesus (1,000 Word Summary)

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

“Even if death is set before us,” Cicero wrote, “we may die in freedom. But the executioner, the veiling of heads, and the very word ‘cross,’ let them all be far removed from not only the bodies of Roman citizens but even from their thoughts, their eyes, and their ears.”

In the Roman world, crucifixion wasn’t merely a form of execution; it was a spectacle of shame, a punishment so degrading that even its mention was considered offensive. 

And yet, decades later, the apostle Paul would write about the crucifixion of Jesus, “For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God… we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles”. For Paul, this event wasn’t a mark of failure but of divine power and victory. 

What happened in between? How did an instrument of torture and disgrace become the central symbol of a faith that would spread across the Roman Empire and beyond? The crucifixion of Jesus, one of the most well-documented events in the early Christian tradition, stands at the heart of this paradox.

In this article, we’ll describe the final hours of Jesus’ life, reconstructing a historical narrative of his arrest, trial, and execution based on the Gospel accounts. 

We’ll also consider what historians say about this pivotal event, reflecting on why Jesus’ crucifixion is widely regarded as one of the most historically certain details of his life.

However, before we begin I want to tell you about a great opportunity to learn more about the origins of Christianity!

Join Bart D. Ehrman’s excellent course “The Genius of Mark: Jesus the Secret Messiah”. In it Dr. Ehrman provides a scholarly analysis of our earliest Gospel, shedding light on the way Jesus was envisioned and remembered by a mysterious author who compiled his work a couple of decades after Jesus’ death.

A Summary of Crucifixion Story Details

Jesus’ death by crucifixion is mentioned in all four Gospels. Since the specifics vary between accounts, we’ll sketch the story by drawing from all four, capturing the central narrative without analyzing the historical accuracy of specific scenes — that will come in the next section. 

For now, we’ll simply recount the story of the most famous crucified victim in the history of mankind. To put it bluntly, we’ll present the summary of the crucifixion story! 

It all began with betrayal after Jesus entered Jerusalem to celebrate Passover with his disciples.  After the Last Supper, Judas, one of Jesus’ twelve disciples, conspired with the religious authorities to hand him over. How exactly Judas betrayed Jesus remains an open scholarly question. 

In any case, as Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, Judas arrived with an armed crowd sent by the chief priests. He identified Jesus with a kiss, leading to his immediate arrest. Taken before the Jewish council, Jesus was accused of blasphemy and condemned.

By morning, he was brought to the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, who, despite questioning Jesus and finding no clear charge against him, ultimately handed him over to be crucified.

The Gospels actually depict Pilate’s role in different ways. In the Synoptic Gospels, he is increasingly reluctant but ultimately yields to the demands of the crowd, washing his hands as a symbolic act of distancing himself from the execution. 

In Luke’s Gospel, for instance, Pilate even sends Jesus to Herod Antipas, who mocks him but doesn’t issue a sentence and turns Jesus back to Pilate. In John’s Gospel, Pilate engages in a philosophical exchange with Jesus about the truth and kingship. 

However, all four accounts agree that, in the end, Plate authorized the execution. Consequently, Jesus was beaten, mocked by Roman soldiers, and forced to carry his cross to the execution site.

There, in Golgotha, he was nailed to the cross alongside two criminals. The Gospel accounts, as Bart D. Ehrman notes in his book Jesus Interrupted, describe various figures at the scene — his mother, a group of women followers, and some onlookers who jeered at him.

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

Above his head, a sign read, “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.” As he suffered, he spoke different words (depending on which Gospel you read) that would be remembered for centuries. He pleaded with God to forgive his executioners, cried out in despair, and finally, commend his spirit to God.

After hours of agony, Jesus breathed his last. According to the Synoptic Gospels, the sky darkened, the earth shook, and the temple curtain was torn in two – a symbolic moment that later Christian tradition saw as the end of the old covenant.

As Richard T. France notes in his Commentary on Matthew:

With his death, the crucifixion of Jesus was complete. His body was taken down and placed in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea before the Sabbath began. In the eyes of the Roman and Jewish authorities, his story had come to an end.

Yet for his followers, this was only the beginning of a new faith. We do not know exactly when, but sometime after Jesus’ death — days, weeks, or even months — some of his closest disciples became convinced that God had raised him.

With this belief in Jesus’ resurrection, a small sect within Judaism set out on a path that would eventually lead to the formation of a new religion: Christianity.

Scholarly Insights Into the Crucifixion of Jesus

“Jesus’ death by crucifixion under Pontius Pilate,” John D. Crossan writes, “is as sure as anything historical can ever be. For if no follower of Jesus had written anything for one hundred years after his crucifixion, we would still know about him from two authors, not among his supporters.”

Yet, while the crucifixion of Jesus is one of the most historically certain aspects of his life, that doesn’t mean all the details surrounding his final days, as recorded in the Gospels, are historically reliable.

The Gospels aren’t biographies in the modern sense but theologically driven narratives written between 35 and 65 years after Jesus' death. Their authors didn’t personally know Jesus; they were later Christians who compiled stories about his life and death, relying primarily on oral traditions that had circulated for decades.

As a result, discrepancies and contradictions exist among the accounts, making it impossible for historians to take them at face value. Instead, scholars apply rigorous historical methodologies to discern which aspects of the Gospel narratives may reflect genuine historical events.

One of the key moments leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus was his arrival in Jerusalem. As Bart D. Ehrman argues in Jesus Before the Gospels, the Gospel accounts of his so-called “triumphal entry” are filled with dramatic embellishments.

While it is likely that Jesus did travel to Jerusalem for Passover, as many Jewish pilgrims did, his arrival was almost certainly more modest than the Gospels describe. His actions in the Temple may also have been exaggerated. Scholars (e.g. E.P. Sanders) generally agree that, at most, Jesus may have caused a minor disturbance — often interpreted as “enacted parable.”

However, his proclamation of the imminent arrival of the Kingdom of God likely alarmed Jewish religious authorities (Sadducees), who were intent on preserving stability and avoiding any potential revolt against Roman rule.

The precise reasons for Jesus’ arrest remain uncertain. The Gospel accounts claim that Judas Iscariot betrayed him to the Jewish authorities, but the motives behind this act are debated.

Regardless, Jesus was handed over to the Jewish high priest Caiaphas, though what transpired in that meeting is impossible to verify. The accounts claim that only Jesus and the Jewish leaders were present, making it unclear how any details of their exchange would have been preserved.

What is certain, however, is that the Jewish authorities deemed Jesus a threat and transferred him to Pontius Pilate.

Christopher M. Tuckett’s book Crucified: The Christian Invention of the Jewish Executioners of Jesus demonstrates how Pilate is progressively depicted as more innocent in the Christian tradition. Historically, however, there is little reason to believe Pilate would have struggled with condemning Jesus.

If Jesus had proclaimed the coming of a different “Kingdom,” this would have been perceived by Rome as a form of sedition — an offense punishable by death. As such, after what was likely a brief trial, Pilate sentenced Jesus to death by crucifixion, a punishment typically preceded by severe flogging.

What happened after the crucifixion of Jesus remains a subject of debate among scholars. 

John D. Crossan and Bart Ehrman argue that the traditional burial story is a later invention, suggesting that Jesus’ body was likely left on the cross or thrown into a shallow pit to be scavenged by animals — a fate common for crucified victims in the Roman world.

On the other hand, scholars such as Dale C. Allison and Craig A. Evans contend that the account of Joseph of Arimathea securing Jesus’ body for burial holds credibility under historical scrutiny.

The debate remains unresolved, and rather than drawing definitive conclusions, the best approach is to engage with both perspectives and evaluate the arguments for yourself.

Conclusion

The crucifixion of Jesus is one of the most historically certain events of his life, yet the Gospel accounts tell the story in different ways. They describe his betrayal by Judas, his trial before the Jewish authorities and Pontius Pilate, and his eventual execution at Golgotha.

Historians broadly agree that Jesus was executed under Pilate but view many elements of the Gospel accounts as later theological interpretations rather than strict historical records. 

Scholars debate whether Jesus' entry into Jerusalem and his actions in the Temple were as dramatic as described, and they question how much influence the Jewish authorities actually had in his condemnation.

The fate of his body after death also remains uncertain, with some arguing he was left unburied while others see the burial story as plausible. Finally, as with much of ancient history, the crucifixion of Jesus raises as many questions as it answers, leaving scholars and readers to weigh the evidence for themselves.

What Time Did Jesus Die? (The Answer Might Surprise You)

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily match my own. - Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

The question of the exact time when Jesus died on the cross is actually quite complicated. While many are familiar with the accounts of his crucifixion, the precise time of his death remains unclear to some Bible readers — especially when considering the context of ancient timekeeping methods.

So what time did Jesus die? In this article, I’ll answer that question by exploring ancient time-measurement methods and then examining how these methods influenced the Gospel narratives surrounding Jesus’ death. By understanding this background, we can better interpret the timing of this pivotal event in history.

Time Measurement in the Ancient World

In order to answer the question of precisely what time Jesus died on the cross, we must first understand how time was measured in his historical time and location. There were no watches and no precise mechanical clocks then, so how did people measure the hours of the day?

In the ancient Jewish context in which Jesus lived and died, the time of daylight was divided into 12 units called hours (Greek: hōrai). So far, that sounds like our modern system. However, since there were no precise clocks, the duration of an hour was not entirely fixed. In his book Roman Pompeii: Space and Society, for example, Ray Laurence notes that in the ancient Mediterranean world, an hour in midwinter would only last about 45 minutes since the daylight time is shorter. An hour in midsummer, on the other hand, would last about 75 minutes since there was more daylight time.

(Affiliate Disclaimer: We may earn commissions on products you purchase through this page at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our site!)

So how did ancient people refer to the times of the day? Our modern system of hours begins measuring each new day at midnight. Midnight to 1:00 is the first hour of the day, 1:00 to 2:00 is the second hour of the day, etc. However, while the Roman system of time measurement similarly marked the first hour of a new day at midnight, in Time and Process in Ancient Judaism, Sacha Stern writes that the Jewish system designated the first hour of the day at dawn, usually somewhere around 6:00 AM for us. They would call this the 1st hour, remembering, of course, that the duration of an hour was flexible and depended on the seasons and amount of daylight.

This variability of hours also meant that all specified times of the day were approximate rather than precise. If you were told to arrive somewhere “at the 9th hour,” there was no precise time corresponding to this designation. Instead, people made rough estimates of when that time was according to the position of the sun and arrived about that time. This meant that they couldn’t consider someone late unless they had missed the time by at least a few hours.

To sum all this up, what was called the 1st  hour in ancient Palestine occurred at about 6:00 AM. That meant that the 6th hour was around noon. Sunset was the 12th hour or around 6:00 PM. Therefore, when we read ancient accounts of times of the day, we have to translate those hours into rough estimates of what modern time each hour would correspond to, including the season since that affected the length of each hour.

Having explained the way time was measured and designated in Jesus’ world, I’ll now look at the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ crucifixion and see what time they say he died. Remember, by the way, that we have no eyewitness accounts of the crucifixion. Instead, we have oral traditions passed down through generations and written down decades after Jesus died. However, since  the Gospels are the only ancient sources that talk about what time Jesus died, that’s all we have to go on.

What Time Was Jesus Crucified in the Gospel of Mark?

Since Mark is our earliest written Gospel, it’s a good place to start this investigation. Mark refers to specific times of the day leading up to and including Jesus’ crucifixion. Also, since Jesus’ crucifixion happened in the spring (probably in April), we know that the length of hours roughly corresponded to the length of our standard modern hours:

“As soon as it was morning” most likely indicates the 1st hour, or about 6:00 in the morning. We don’t know how long the council would have met, but since they’d also gathered the night before in Mark’s story, it was probably a brief meeting, and Jesus would have arrived at the court of Pilate between 7:00 and 8:00 AM.

As I said above, the first hour was about 6:00 in the morning. This means that the 3rd hour was about 9:00 in the morning. In fact, the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition actually just says “nine o’ clock in the morning” in its translation just to make things clear to modern readers. Keep in mind, though, that this was when they first put Jesus on the cross, not when he died. Death by crucifixion was as slow as it was tortuous.

So if the 3rd hour was 9:00 AM, the 6th hour was noon. At noon, darkness fell over the land for three hours. At the 9th hour, or 3:00 PM, Jesus cried out his last words and soon died. According to Mark, then, Jesus died at about 3:00 PM.

What Time Did Jesus Die in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke?

If you’ve read many of the previous posts on this website, you probably know that Matthew, Mark, and Luke are called the Synoptic Gospels. The word “synoptic“ is derived from a Greek word meaning “seen together” because the three Gospels share a lot of the same material. Since scholars know that Mark was written before Matthew and Luke, they assume that Matthew and Luke used Mark as a source. This doesn’t mean that Mark was their only source — there is some material in both Gospels that is independent of Mark — but when they used Mark, they most often copied whole sections word for word. This is the case with most of the chronology of Mark, as well as some of the descriptions of the crucifixion.

Although neither Matthew nor Luke say what time Jesus was first placed on the cross, they both agree with the other two times Mark mentions.

True to form, then, Matthew and Luke agree with their source Mark that Jesus died around 3:00 in the afternoon.

What Time Did Jesus Die on the Cross in the Gospel of John?

Since John didn’t use Mark as a source (although there is some debate about this), his timeline of Jesus’ life is often quite different from the Synoptics. In John, for instance, Jesus’ Cleansing of the Temple, in which he drives out the money-changers, happens at the beginning of his ministry. This happens at the end of the Synoptics’ version, on the other hand, and seems to precipitate Jesus’ arrest. In addition, John contains miracle stories — like the turning of water to wine — which the other three do not.

As you might expect, then, John’s chronology of the crucifixion is a bit different, as well:

Unlike in Mark, Jesus is presented to the crowd by Pilate at noon. By noon in Mark (and presumably in Matthew and Luke as well), Jesus had already been on the cross for three hours. We can presume, then, that John’s Jesus died later than Mark’s, although the Gospel of John is not specific about the exact hour Jesus died.

However, in “The History and Pathology of Crucifixion,” F.P. Retief and L. Cilliers write that death by crucifixion could take anywhere from six hours to four days. Although John is generally silent on the matter of the time of death, it was presumably before sundown since it was the day before the Sabbath, which began at sundown, and bodies had to be taken down before the Sabbath. However, Mark says it took six hours, with Jesus dying at about 3:00 in the afternoon. Since that time frame accords with Retief and Cilliers’ assessment of how long crucifixions lasted, it’s safe to say that Jesus probably died around 3:00 PM.

Conclusion

Ancient people didn’t have the luxury of measuring the hours of the day as precisely as we can. Instead, they generally divided up the daylight time into twelve units they called hours, with the hours lasting different lengths depending on how long daylight lasted.

Jews started measuring the hours with the 1st hour at dawn, corresponding roughly to our 6:00 AM. The day then concluded with the 12th hour, about 6:00 PM. This is how times of the day are referred to throughout the New Testament.

What time did Jesus die? Mark says that he was placed on the cross at the 3rd hour, or 9:00 AM. At the 6th hour, or noon, he says that darkness fell over the land, lasting until the 9th hour, or 3:00 PM, when Jesus finally gave up the ghost. Matthew and Luke, following Mark’s timeline, agree that the time of Jesus’ death was 3:00 PM.

John, although he doesn’t actually say what time Jesus was crucified, does say that at noon — the 6th hour — Pilate was still trying him. However, when he died, it must have been before dark since the Sabbath would begin at nightfall and no dead bodies could be left unburied.

Since we have some medical information that crucifixion usually took at least six hours, it is safest to accept Mark’s timeline: Jesus died at about 3:00 in the afternoon.