Have they discovered a new “lost Gospel” that says Jesus was married?

lost-gospelIt’s getting near Christmas, and you know what that means. That’s right! It’s time for another book to be released telling us the sensationalistic “truth” about Christianity.

This time we have The Lost Gospel: Decoding the Ancient Text that Reveals Jesus’ Marriage to Mary the Magdalene by Simcha Jacobovici and Barrie Wilson.

You may remember Jacobovici from his involvement in previous biblical-archeological shenanigans like the discredited “Jesus family tomb” claims of a few years ago—in which Jacobovici similarly claimed that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene.

So what do he and sensationalist co-author Barrie Wilson have in store for us this time?

 

Zecharias Who?

The key text used in their new book is preserved in a set of writings attributed to Zecharias Rhetor (i.e., Zecharias the Rhetorician), also known as Zecharias Scholasticus (i.e., Zecharias the Scholar), also known as Zecharias of Mytilene.

He was a native of Gaza who lived in the late A.D. 400s and early 500s and who became the bishop of Mytilene.

He wrote a number of works in Greek, including a work on Church history that was later translated into Syriac (a dialect of Aramaic), with various editorial changes.

It is this Syriac text, brought to the British Museum in 1847, that Jacobovici and Wilson are using in their new book.

 

What They’re Claiming

Among other things, Jacobovici and Wilson claim that they have discovered a lost gospel that is written in code and, when properly decoded, states that Jesus was married, likely to Mary Magdalene, and that they had two sons.

None of this is true.

 

Not Lost.

First, the text in question is not “lost.” It is not some newly discovered work that scholars were previously unaware of.

The particular manuscript that Jacobovici and Wilson rely on was brought to the British Museum for more than a century and a half ago, and the same text has been known through other sources for centuries.

The scholarly community has been well aware of it, and translations of it in English and other languages are common.

To give you an idea of how not-lost this work is, it’s been in print for centuries, I have it in my own library, and here’s a version you can read online from a book printed in 1918.

 

Not a Gospel.

The work is also not a Gospel. Although some scholars use the term “Gospel” in surprising and misleading ways, a Gospel (in the literary sense) is a book about the life and/or teachings of Jesus.

That is not what this text is. This text is not about Jesus. The story it tells is not even set in the first century, when Jesus lived.

It’s set more than a thousand years before the time of Christ.

 

Not a Code About Jesus.

The work is also not a coded version of the story of Jesus. Instead, it’s a work of historical fiction about two figures we already know from the Old Testament: Joseph and Asenath.

 

Who were Joseph and Asenath?

Joseph was one of the sons of Jacob. He angered his brothers, who sold him into slavery.

Eventually, he ended up in Egypt, where he rose to prominence and married an Egyptian woman named Asenath, who was the daughter of an Egyptian priest.

She and Joseph later had two sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, who became the patriarchs of two of the tribes of Israel.

You can read the biblical account of Joseph in Genesis 37-50, and we read about his marriage to Asenath in Genesis 41:45, 50, and 46:20.

 

Why are these two figures discussed in Zecharias’s writings?

If you go into a Christian bookstore today—be it Protestant or Catholic—you are likely to find novelizations of the lives of various biblical and historical figures.

These may be fictionalized lives of Old Testament saints, like Abraham and Moses, New Testament saints, like Peter or Paul, or saints from later Church history, like Augustine or Francis of Assisi.

Out of the same impulse, a desire to know and imagine more about what famous religious figures’ lives were like, Jews and Christians in the ancient world sometimes wrote fictionalized lives of their forebears, and that’s what the ancient work known as Joseph and Asenath is: It’s a fictionalized account of the lives of the Old Testament patriarch Joseph and his wife.

 

What happens in the story?

A bunch of things, but basically it falls into two parts. The first part is devoted to Asenath’s conversion to the Hebrew faith.

As the daughter of an Egyptian priest, she was raised a polytheist and an idolater, and in later ages, Jewish men were forbidden from marrying foreign women because of their idolatry and how they would tempt their husbands to worship other gods.

This raised a question: How could the patriarch Joseph have married a foreign woman—an Egyptian, even!

The first part of the novel answers this by proposing that Asenath repented of her idolatry and embraced the worship of the true God, making her a fitting bride for Joseph.

The second part of the novel deals with an adventure in which the son of Pharoah tries to get Asenath for himself, but Asenath prays to God, who intervenes to save the situation. Pharoah and his wicked son die, and Joseph becomes the regent of Egypt until a different son of Pharoah is old enough to reign.

 

So this isn’t a coded story about Jesus?

No. It’s a straightforward historical novel about two familiar Old Testament figures.

It addresses questions that an ancient Jewish audience would have, like how a pagan priest’s daughter could marry a biblical patriarch.

Its mention of Joseph’s and Asenath’s two sons—Ephraim and Manasseh—is not to tell us about sons of Jesus and Mary Magdalen. They are mentioned because they were the patriarchs of two of the later tribes (or “half-tribes”) that everyone in ancient Israel knew about.

And it contains a thrilling tale of how God answers prayer and will protect those who turn to him from the machinations of others—just like multiple accounts in the Old Testament.

 

Are there unanswered questions about the work?

Sure. Like a lot of ancient literature, we aren’t sure who wrote it or when. There is even debate about whether Joseph and Asenath was a Jewish or a Christian work, or possibly a Jewish work with Christian edits.

There are also some strange things in it—like material involving bees and a honeycomb—that some have suggested is meant to teach some kind of spiritual lesson, though it is hard to figure out.

However, the idea that Joseph and Asenath is a coded life story of Jesus is without foundation.

 

Are there particular reasons to think that Jesus was not married?

Yes. Among other things that could be said, Jesus points to celibacy as a spiritual ideal, saying that this gift is not given to everyone but should be accepted by those to whom it is given (Matt. 19:11-12). Since Jesus was considered himself the paragon of spirituality for Christians, it would be strange for him to propose this spiritual ideal if he himself did not meet it.

Further, Jesus depicts himself as a bridegroom (Matt. 9:15, 25:1-10, cf. John 3:27-30), but the marriage he has is a mystical one, not a literal one, for the New Testament portrays the bride of Christ as his Church, not as an individual woman (2 Cor. 11:2, Eph. 5:22-33, Rev. 19:7, 21:2, 9).

It is difficult to see how this understanding of the Church as the bride of Christ could have arisen if there were a literal “Mrs. Jesus.”

By virtue of her marriage to Jesus, she would have instantly become a prominent figure in early Christianity, and her status as the literal bride of Christ would have prevented the understanding of the Church as the mystical bride of Christ from developing.

 

Where can I read more?

Here’s the Asenath home page, maintained by New Testament scholar Mark Goodacre.

Here are some comments by New Testament scholar Richard Bauckham from when the pair first announced their “lost Gospel” book.

Here are some comments by classicist Bob Cargill that go directly to Jacobovici and Wilson’s claims (brief bad language warning).

The Weekly Francis – 10 November 2014

popefrancisThis version of The Weekly Francis covers material released in the last week from 10 May – 9 November 2014.

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Video Link for Email Subscribers

Yesterday I posted a video in which I discuss the question of whether those who commit suicide are automatically lost.

The answer, of course, is no, but I posted the video so people could see the reasoning behind this.

Unfortunately, I neglected to include a direct link to the video for those who subscribe to the blog by email, and I got several requests for one.

So here it is.

You can watch the video by clicking here.

If (or, more likely, when) I forget to include such a link in the future, be aware that you should be able to go directly to the relevant blog post (and video) by clicking the large headline at the top of the email (not the subject line, but the headline at the top of the body of the email).

You can also go directly to JimmyAkin.com, and should be close to the top of the blog.

I mention these options since it will allow you to have instant info-gratification, rather than having to wait for me to be able to send out the link once I discover the problem. 🙂

 

If a person commits suicide, is he automatically lost?

Suicide is a delicate and disturbing subject.

After the recent suicide of Brittany Maynard, many people are discussing it, and some are asking perennial questions, like whether those who commit suicide are automatically lost.

While suicide can be a mortal sin, it is not always one, and the Church both prays for those who have committed suicide and encourages us not to despair of their salvation.

Here is a video in which I discuss the subject.

Here are is the Catechism’s discussion of the conditions necessary for mortal sin.

1857 For a sin to be mortal, three conditions must together be met: “Mortal sin is sin whose object is grave matter and which is also committed with full knowledge and deliberate consent.”

And here is the passage from the Catechism of the Catholic Church on suicide:

2280 Everyone is responsible for his life before God who has given it to him.

It is God who remains the sovereign Master of life.

We are obliged to accept life gratefully and preserve it for his honor and the salvation of our souls.

We are stewards, not owners, of the life God has entrusted to us.

It is not ours to dispose of.

2281 Suicide contradicts the natural inclination of the human being to preserve and perpetuate his life.

It is gravely contrary to the just love of self.

It likewise offends love of neighbor because it unjustly breaks the ties of solidarity with family, nation, and other human societies to which we continue to have obligations.

Suicide is contrary to love for the living God.

2282 If suicide is committed with the intention of setting an example, especially to the young, it also takes on the gravity of scandal.

Voluntary co-operation in suicide is contrary to the moral law.

Grave psychological disturbances, anguish, or grave fear of hardship, suffering, or torture can diminish the responsibility of the one committing suicide.

2283 We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance. the Church prays for persons who have taken their own lives.

As I said in the video, let’s pray for all those who are tempted to commit suicide, for all those who have committed it, and for all those who have lost someone to suicide.

The Weekly Francis – 3 November 2014

Pope Francis waves to crowds as he arrives to his inauguration mass on 19 March 2013.This version of The Weekly Francis covers material released in the last week from 4 October – 1 November 2014.

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All Souls Day

potpourriThis morning when I got to Mass, I saw that they were having one of those craft fairs that they occasionally have at the parish.

People set up booths and put out their wares—homemade potholders and jewelery and quilts and things like that.

I’ve strolled through these a couple of time and never found anything that interested me, which made the experience a little frustrating—taking the time to look but not finding anything for one’s efforts.

After a while, I started ignoring these events. They seemed to be designed to appeal to a different demographic than I fall into. Specifically, they seem designed to appeal to a feminine demographic.

This morning, I quickly walked past the exhibits and went into the church.

Mass was good, and—it being All Souls Day—I made sure to say extra prayers for my lost loved ones.

Afterward, I exited the church through a different door and realized I would be walking through the craft fair.

I started looking around to see if there might be anything interesting this time, but what struck me was not a sight but a smell.

An aroma.

It smelled really good.

Like cinnamon and apples and I don’t know what.

Was the parish ladies’ guild having another cooking event? What was the delicious smell?

They say that memory and the sense of smell are closely linked, and this smell was brining back memories. I knew I’d smelled things like it before, but the memories of when and where were struggling to break through into consciousness.

What was it I was smelling?

I turned a corner and found my answer.

The aroma was coming from a potpourri stand.

I hadn’t seen anyone selling potpourri in ages, and I stopped to take a look.

The booth was run by a man and a woman of about my age, and as I looked around at their products, the man explained some of the benefits of it.

He said that, unlike some potpourri, theirs would not lose its smell quickly but should last for months.

He named several other benefits.

Suspecting that I might not be in the prime potpourri demographic, he added: “It would make a good gift for a wife.”

“More in memory of my wife,” I said, wistfully. “She really liked this stuff.”

It was true. Back in the late 1980s, when we were first married, there was a potpourri craze, and Renee really liked it.

renee-akinI remember us buying it in Eureka Springs, Arkansas—I think on our honeymoon, or maybe our first anniversary. We spent both there.

Eureka Springs is a tiny, touristy town up in the Ozarks, near where Renee and I grew up.

Actually, Eureka Springs is a lot like a giant version of the very craft fair I was at—lots of shops selling quilts and potholders and jewelry.

And potpourri.

Lots of brightly colored crafts—with bold blues, brilliant yellows, and vibrant reds. Colors that have not yet faded and that form an ironic contrast to the rustic, old-timey themes that many of them embodied.

And there were the smells—the aromas of the Ozark forest that surrounds the town, of the foods being prepared in all the little restaurants, of sweetly scented pipe tobacco from the tobacconist (this was the 1980s).

And the smell of potpourri.

“When did your wife pass?” the man asked compassionately.

“Twenty-two years ago,” I said.

I knew he and the lady who ran the stand were thinking that I must have been very young when she passed, so I added: “It was very unexpected.” Realizing that this would only create more mystery, I said, “She had very aggressive cancer.”

They noted that they were hearing a lot of reports of cancer these days, and they commented on how horrible it is.

“Fortunately, in my wife’s case, it only lasted two months,” I said.

There was a pause in the conversation.

“We’d like to give you a box of potpourri,” the woman said.

“Yes. Let us do that,” the man said.

I thanked them and agreed on the condition that they’d let me buy one of their other products. I ended up getting a couple of different scents of their potpourri-like room sprays.

If you’d like to support this kind couple and learn what their potpourri smells like for yourself, here is their Facebook page.

They told me that they knew a little boy—just five months old—who had been diagnosed with cancer in his spine and brain and who had just lost he use of his legs.

I said I would pray for him.

We wished God’s blessings on each other, and I turned to walk through the rest of the craft fair.

I saw it with new eyes.

The colors. The textures. The smells.

It was like the 1980s again. It was like Eureka Springs. It was like my honeymoon. Or my first anniversary.

And then I realized.

It was All Souls Day.

It was beautiful and painful.

In case you’re wondering, yeah, I misted up. And more. And said another prayer.

After all, it’s All Souls Day.