Part 5 (2/2)

Interpretation of John's Gospel in the second half of the twentieth century was largely shaped by Rudolf Bultmann's commentary on John, the first edition of which appeared in 1941. Bultmann is convinced that the main influences on the Gospel of John are to be sought not in the Old Testament and the Judaism of the time, but in Gnosticism. This sentence typifies Bultmann's approach: ”That is not to say that the idea of the incarnation of the redeemer has in some way penetrated Gnosticism from Christianity; it is itself originally Gnostic, and was taken over at a very early stage by Christianity, and made fruitful for Christology” (The Gospel of John, p. 26). Here is another in the same vein: ”Gnosticism is the only possible source of the idea of absolute Logos” ( p. 26). Here is another in the same vein: ”Gnosticism is the only possible source of the idea of absolute Logos” (RGG, 3rd ed., III, p. 846).

The reader asks: How does Bultmann know that? Bultmann's answer is breathtaking: ”Even if the reconstruction of this kind of thinking has to be carried out in the main from sources which are later than John, nevertheless its greater age greater age remains firmly established” ( remains firmly established” (The Gospel of John, p. 27). On this decisive point Bultmann is wrong. In his inaugural lecture as professor at Tubingen, published in expanded form as p. 27). On this decisive point Bultmann is wrong. In his inaugural lecture as professor at Tubingen, published in expanded form as The Son of G.o.d The Son of G.o.d in 1975 (English translation 1976), Martin Hengel characterized ”the hypothetical Gnostic myth of the sending of the Son of G.o.d into the world” as a ”pseudo-scientific development of a myth.” He then went on to remark: ”In reality there is no Gnostic redeemer myth in the sources which can be demonstrated chronologically to be pre-Christian” (p. 33). ”Gnosticism itself is first visible as a spiritual movement at the end of the first century in 1975 (English translation 1976), Martin Hengel characterized ”the hypothetical Gnostic myth of the sending of the Son of G.o.d into the world” as a ”pseudo-scientific development of a myth.” He then went on to remark: ”In reality there is no Gnostic redeemer myth in the sources which can be demonstrated chronologically to be pre-Christian” (p. 33). ”Gnosticism itself is first visible as a spiritual movement at the end of the first century A.D A.D. at the earliest, and only develops fully in the second century” (p. 34).

Johannine scholars.h.i.+p in the generation after Bultmann took a radically different direction; the results have been thoroughly explored and discussed in Martin Hengel's book The Johannine Question The Johannine Question (1989). If we look back from the vantage point of current scholars.h.i.+p to Bultmann's interpretation of John, we see how little protection the highly scientific approach can offer against fundamental mistakes. But what does today's scholars.h.i.+p tell us? (1989). If we look back from the vantage point of current scholars.h.i.+p to Bultmann's interpretation of John, we see how little protection the highly scientific approach can offer against fundamental mistakes. But what does today's scholars.h.i.+p tell us?

It has definitively confirmed and elaborated something that even Bultmann basically already knew: The Fourth Gospel rests on extraordinarily precise knowledge of times and places, and so can only have been produced by someone who had an excellent firsthand knowledge of Palestine at the time of Jesus. A further point that has become clear is that the Gospel thinks and argues entirely in terms of the Old Testament-of the Torah (Rudolf Pesch)-and that its whole way of arguing is deeply rooted in the Judaism of Jesus' time. The language of the Gospel, which Bultmann regarded as ”Gnostic,” actually bears unmistakable signs of the book's intimate a.s.sociation with this milieu. ”The work was written in simple unliterary koine koine Greek, steeped in the language of Jewish piety. This Greek was also spoken by the upper cla.s.ses in Jerusalem...[where] Scripture was read in Hebrew and Greek, and prayer and discussion went on in both languages” (Hengel, Greek, steeped in the language of Jewish piety. This Greek was also spoken by the upper cla.s.ses in Jerusalem...[where] Scripture was read in Hebrew and Greek, and prayer and discussion went on in both languages” (Hengel, The Johannine Question, The Johannine Question, p. 113). p. 113).

Hengel also points out that ”in Herodian times a special h.e.l.lenized Jewish upper cla.s.s with its own culture developed in Jerusalem” (ibid., p. 114) and he accordingly locates the origin of the Gospel in the priestly aristocracy of Jerusalem (ibid., pp. 12435). We can perhaps regard a brief reference in John 18:15f as corroboration for this thesis. There it is recounted that after his arrest Jesus is brought to the high priests for interrogation and that in the meantime Simon Peter and ”another disciple” follow Jesus in order to find out what is going to happen next. Regarding this ”other disciple,” it is then said that ”as this disciple was known to the high priest, he entered the court of the high priest along with Jesus.” His connections with the household of the high priest were such that he was able to secure Peter's entry, thereby engineering the situation that led to Peter's denial. The circle of the disciples, then, extended as far as the high-priestly aristocracy, in whose language the Gospel is largely written.

This brings, us, however, to two decisive questions that are ultimately at stake in the ”Johannine” question: Who is the author of this Gospel? How reliable is it historically? Let us try to approach the first question. The Gospel itself makes a clear statement about it in the context of the Pa.s.sion story. It is reported that one of the soldiers pierced Jesus' side with a lance ”and at once there came out blood and water” (Jn 19:34). These weighty words immediately follow: ”He who saw it has borne witness-his testimony is true, and he knows that he tells the truth-that you also may believe” (Jn 19:35). The Gospel traces its origins to an eyewitness, and it is clear that this eyewitness is none other than the disciple who, as we have just been told, was standing under the Cross and was the disciple whom Jesus loved (cf. Jn 19:26). This disciple is once again named as the author of the Gospel in John 21:24. In addition, we meet this figure in John 13:23, 20:210, and 21:7 and probably in Jn 1:35, 40 and 18:1516 as well.

These statements concerning the external origin of the Gospel take on a deeper dimension in the story of the was.h.i.+ng of the feet, which points to its inward source. Here it is said that this disciple reclined at Jesus' side during the meal and that, when he asked who the betrayer was, he ”leaned back on Jesus' breast” (Jn 13:25). These words are intended to parallel the end of the prologue of John's Gospel, where it is said apropos of Jesus: ”No one has ever seen G.o.d; it is the only Son, who is nearest to the Father's heart, who has made him known” (Jn 1:18). Just as Jesus, the Son, knows about the mystery of the Father from resting in his heart, so too the Evangelist has gained his intimate knowledge from his inward repose in Jesus' heart.

But who is this disciple? The Gospel never directly identifies him by name. In connection with the calling of Peter, as well as of other disciples, it points toward John, the son of Zebedee, but it never explicitly identifies the two figures. The intention is evidently to leave the matter shrouded in mystery. The Book of Revelation does, admittedly, specify John as its author (cf. Rev 1:1, 4), but despite the close connection between this book and the Gospel and Letters of John, it remains an open question whether the author is one and the same person.

The Lutheran exegete Ulrich Wilckens, in his extensive Theologie des Neuen Testaments, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, has recently presented new arguments for the thesis that the ”beloved disciple” should be thought of not as a historical figure, but as a symbol for a basic structure of the faith: ” has recently presented new arguments for the thesis that the ”beloved disciple” should be thought of not as a historical figure, but as a symbol for a basic structure of the faith: ”Scriptura sola is impossible without the 'living voice' of the Gospel and that is impossible without the personal witness of a Christian in the function and authority of the 'beloved disciple,' in whom office and spirit unite and support each other” ( is impossible without the 'living voice' of the Gospel and that is impossible without the personal witness of a Christian in the function and authority of the 'beloved disciple,' in whom office and spirit unite and support each other” (Theologie, I, 4, p. 158). However correct this may be as a structural claim, it remains insufficient. If the favorite disciple in the Gospel expressly a.s.sumes the function of a witness to the truth of the events he recounts, he is presenting himself as a living person. He intends to vouch for historical events as a witness and he thus claims for himself the status of a historical figure. Otherwise the statements we have examined, which are decisive for the intention and the quality of the entire Gospel, would be emptied of meaning. I, 4, p. 158). However correct this may be as a structural claim, it remains insufficient. If the favorite disciple in the Gospel expressly a.s.sumes the function of a witness to the truth of the events he recounts, he is presenting himself as a living person. He intends to vouch for historical events as a witness and he thus claims for himself the status of a historical figure. Otherwise the statements we have examined, which are decisive for the intention and the quality of the entire Gospel, would be emptied of meaning.

Since the time of Irenaeus of Lyon (d. ca. 202), Church tradition has unanimously regarded John, the son of Zebedee, as the beloved disciple and the author of the Gospel. This fits with the identification markers provided by the Gospel, which in any case point toward the hand of an Apostle and companion of Jesus from the time of the Baptism in the Jordan to the Last Supper, Cross, and Resurrection.

In modern times, it is true, increasingly strong doubts have been voiced concerning this identification. Can the fisherman from the Lake of Genesareth have written this sublime Gospel full of visions that peer into the deepest depths of G.o.d's mystery? Can he, the Galilean fisherman, have been as closely connected with the priestly aristocracy of Jerusalem, its language, and its mentality as the Evangelist evidently is? Can he have been related to the family of the high priest, as the text hints (cf. Jn 18:15)?

Now, the French exegete Henri Cazelles, drawing on studies by J. Colson, J. Winandy, and M.-E. Boismard, has shown in a sociological study of the Temple priesthood before its destruction (”Johannes”) that such an identification is actually quite possible. The priests discharged their ministry on a rotating basis twice a year. The ministry itself lasted a week each time. After the completion of the ministry, the priest returned to his home, and it was not at all unusual for him also to exercise a profession to earn his livelihood. Furthermore, the Gospel makes clear that Zebedee was no simple fisherman, but employed several day laborers, which also explains why it was possible for his sons to leave him. ”It is thus quite possible that Zebedee is a priest, but that at the same time he has his property in Galilee, while the fis.h.i.+ng business on the lake helps him makes ends meet. He probably has a kind of pied-a-terre in or near the Jerusalem neighborhood where the Essenes lived” (”Johannes,” p. 481). ”The very meal during which this disciple rested on Jesus' breast took place in a room that in all probability was located in the Essene neighborhood of the city”-in the ”pied-a-terre” of the priest Zebedee, who ”lent the upper room to Jesus and the Twelve” (ibid., pp. 480, 481). Another observation Cazelles makes in his article is interesting in this connection: According to the Jewish custom, the host or, in his absence, as would have been the case here, ”his firstborn son sat to the right of the guest, his head leaning on the latter's chest” (ibid., p. 480).

If in light of current scholars.h.i.+p, then, it is quite possible to see Zebedee's son John as the bystander who solemnly a.s.serts his claim to be an eyewitness (cf. Jn 19:35) and thereby identifies himself as the true author of the Gospel, nevertheless, the complexity of the Gospel's redaction raises further questions.

The Church historian Eusebius of Caesarea (d. ca. 338) gives us a piece of information that is important in this context. Eusebius tells us about a five-volume work of the bishop of Hierapolis, Papias, who died around 220. Papias mentions there that he had not known or seen the holy Apostles himself, but that he had received the teaching of the faith from people who had been close to the Apostles. He also speaks of others who were likewise disciples of the Lord, and he mentions the names Aristion and ”Presbyter John.” Now, the important point is that he distinguishes between the Apostle and Evangelist John, on one hand, and ”Presbyter John,” on the other. Although he had not personally known the former, he had met the latter (Eusebius, Historia Ecclesiastica, Historia Ecclesiastica, III, 39). III, 39).

This information is very remarkable indeed: When combined with related pieces of evidence, it suggests that in Ephesus there was something like a Johannine school, which traced its origins to Jesus' favorite disciple himself, but in which a certain ”Presbyter John” presided as the ultimate authority. This ”presbyter” John appears as the sender and author of the Second and Third Letters of John (in each case in the first verse of the first chapter) simply under the t.i.tle ”the presbyter” (without reference to the name John). He is evidently not the same as the Apostle, which means that here in the canonical text we encounter expressly the mysterious figure of the presbyter. He must have been closely connected with the Apostle; perhaps he had even been acquainted with Jesus himself. After the death of the Apostle, he was identified wholly as the bearer of the latter's heritage, and in the collective memory, the two figures were increasingly fused. At any rate, there seem to be grounds for ascribing to ”Presbyter John” an essential role in the definitive shaping of the Gospel, though he must always have regarded himself as the trustee of the tradition he had received from the son of Zebedee.

I entirely concur with the conclusion that Peter Stuhlmacher has drawn from the above data. He holds ”that the contents of the Gospel go back to the disciple whom Jesus (especially) loved. The presbyter understood himself as his transmitter and mouthpiece” (Biblische Theologie, II, p. 206). In a similar vein Stuhlmacher cites E. Ruckstuhl and P. Dschullnigg to the effect that ”the author of the Gospel of John is, as it were, the literary executor of the favorite disciple” (ibid., p. 207). II, p. 206). In a similar vein Stuhlmacher cites E. Ruckstuhl and P. Dschullnigg to the effect that ”the author of the Gospel of John is, as it were, the literary executor of the favorite disciple” (ibid., p. 207).

With these observations, we have already taken a decisive step toward answering the question of the historical credibility of the Fourth Gospel. This Gospel ultimately goes back to an eyewitness, and even the actual redaction of the text was substantially the work of one of his closest followers within the living circle of his disciples.

Thinking along similar lines, Peter Stuhlmacher writes that there are grounds for the conjecture ”that the Johannine school carried on the style of thinking and teaching that before Easter set the tone of Jesus' internal didactic discourses with Peter, James, and John (as well as with the whole group of the Twelve)...While the Synoptic tradition reflects the way in which the apostles and their disciples spoke about Jesus as they were teaching on Church missions or in Church communities, the Johannine circle took this instruction as the basis and premise for further thinking about, and discussion of, the mystery of revelation, of G.o.d's self-disclosure in 'the Son'” (Biblische Theologie, II, p. 207). Against this, though, it could be argued that according to the text of the Gospel itself, what we find are not so much internal didactic discourses but rather Jesus' dispute with the Temple aristocracy, in which we are given a kind of preview of his trial. In this context, the question ”Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?” (Mk 14:61), in its different forms, increasingly adopts center stage in the whole dispute, so that Jesus' claim to Sons.h.i.+p inevitably takes on more and more dramatic forms. II, p. 207). Against this, though, it could be argued that according to the text of the Gospel itself, what we find are not so much internal didactic discourses but rather Jesus' dispute with the Temple aristocracy, in which we are given a kind of preview of his trial. In this context, the question ”Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?” (Mk 14:61), in its different forms, increasingly adopts center stage in the whole dispute, so that Jesus' claim to Sons.h.i.+p inevitably takes on more and more dramatic forms.

It is surprising that Martin Hengel, from whom we have learned so much about the historical rooting of the Gospel in the priestly aristocracy of Jerusalem-and so in the real context of Jesus' life-nonetheless offers an astonis.h.i.+ngly negative, or (to put it more gently) extremely cautious, judgment of the historical character of the text. He says: ”The Fourth Gospel is not a completely free 'Jesus poem'...Here we must distinguish between those traits which are historically plausible and others which remain chiefly suppositions. An inability to prove the historicity of something does not mean that it is pure unhistorical fiction. Certainly the evangelist is not narrating historical, ba.n.a.l recollections of the past but the rigorously interpretative spirit-paraclete leading into truth, which has the last word throughout the work” (p. 132). This raises an objection: What does this contrast mean? What makes historical recollection ba.n.a.l? Is the truth of what is recollected important or not? And what sort of truth can the Paraclete guide into if he leaves behind the historical because it is too ba.n.a.l?

The diagnosis of the exegete Ingo Broer reveals even more sharply the problem with these sorts of contrasts: ”The Gospel of John thus stands before us as a literary literary work that bears witness to faith and is intended to strengthen faith, and not as a historical account” ( work that bears witness to faith and is intended to strengthen faith, and not as a historical account” (Einleitung, p. 197). What faith does it ”testify” to if, so to speak, it has left history behind? How does it strengthen faith if it presents itself as a historical testimony-and does so quite emphatically-but then does not report history? I think that we are dealing here with a false concept of the historical, as well as with a false concept of faith and of the Paraclete. A faith that discards history in this manner really turns into ”Gnosticism.” It leaves flesh, incarnation-just what true history is-behind.

If ”historical” is understood to mean that the discourses of Jesus transmitted to us have to be something like a recorded transcript in order to be acknowledged as ”historically” authentic, then the discourses of John's Gospel are not ”historical.” But the fact that they make no claim to literal accuracy of this sort by no means implies that they are merely ”Jesus poems” that the members of the Johannine school gradually put together, claiming to be acting under the guidance of the Paraclete. What the Gospel is really claiming is that it has correctly rendered the substance of the discourses, of Jesus' self-attestation in the great Jerusalem disputes, so that the readers really do encounter the decisive content of this message and, therein, the authentic figure of Jesus.

We can take a further step toward defining more precisely the particular sort of historicity that is present in the Fourth Gospel if we attend to the mutual ordering of the various elements that Hengel regards as decisive for the composition of the text. Hengel begins by naming four of the essential elements of this Gospel: ”the theological concern of the author...his personal recollections...church tradition and with them historical reality.” Astonis.h.i.+ngly, Hengel says that the Evangelist ”altered, indeed we might even say violated” this history. Finally, as we have just seen, it is not ”the recollections of the past but the rigorously interpretative spirit-paraclete leading into truth which has the last word” (The Johannine Question, p. 132). p. 132).

Given the way that Hengel juxtaposes, and in a certain respect contraposes, these five elements, they cannot be brought into any meaningful synthesis. For how is the Paraclete supposed to have the last word if the Evangelist has already violated the actual history? What sort of relation is there between the redactional concern of the Evangelist, his personal message, and Church tradition? Is redactional concern more decisive than recollection, so that in its name reality may be violated? What, then, establishes the legitimacy of this redactional concern? How does it interact with the Paraclete?

I think that the five elements listed by Hengel are indeed the essential forces that shaped the composition of the Gospel, but they have to be seen in a different mutual relation, and the individual elements have to be differently understood.

First of all, the second and fourth elements-personal recollection and historical reality-form a pair. Together they const.i.tute what the Fathers of the Church call the factum historic.u.m factum historic.u.m that determines the literal sense of the text: the exterior side of the event, which the Evangelist knows partly from personal recollection and partly from Church tradition (no doubt he was familiar with the Synoptic Gospels in one or another version). His intention is to act as a ”witness” reporting the things that happened. No one has emphasized this particular dimension of what actually happened-the ”flesh” of history-to such an extent as John. ”That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life-the life was made manifest, and we saw it, and testify to it, and proclaim to you the eternal life which was with the Father and was made manifest to us” (1 Jn 1:1f.). that determines the literal sense of the text: the exterior side of the event, which the Evangelist knows partly from personal recollection and partly from Church tradition (no doubt he was familiar with the Synoptic Gospels in one or another version). His intention is to act as a ”witness” reporting the things that happened. No one has emphasized this particular dimension of what actually happened-the ”flesh” of history-to such an extent as John. ”That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life-the life was made manifest, and we saw it, and testify to it, and proclaim to you the eternal life which was with the Father and was made manifest to us” (1 Jn 1:1f.).

These two factors-historical reality and recollection-lead by their inner dynamic, however, to the third and fifth elements that Hengel lists: Church tradition and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. For, on one hand, the author of the Fourth Gospel gives a very personal accent to his own remembrance, as we see from his observation at the end of the Crucifixion scene (cf. Jn 19:35); on the other hand, it is never a merely private remembering, but a remembering in and with the ”we” of the Church: ”that which...we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon and touched with our hands.” With John, the subject who remembers is always the ”we”-he remembers in and with the community of the disciples, in and with the Church. However much the author stands out as an individual witness, the remembering subject that speaks here is always the ”we” of the community of disciples, the ”we” of the Church. Because the personal recollection that provides the foundation of the Gospel is purified and deepened by being inserted into the memory of the Church, it does indeed transcend the ba.n.a.l recollection of facts. have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon and touched with our hands.” With John, the subject who remembers is always the ”we”-he remembers in and with the community of the disciples, in and with the Church. However much the author stands out as an individual witness, the remembering subject that speaks here is always the ”we” of the community of disciples, the ”we” of the Church. Because the personal recollection that provides the foundation of the Gospel is purified and deepened by being inserted into the memory of the Church, it does indeed transcend the ba.n.a.l recollection of facts.

There are three important pa.s.sages in his Gospel where John uses the word remember remember and so gives us the key to understanding what he means by ”memory.” In John's account of the cleansing of the Temple, we read: ”His disciples remembered that it was written, 'Zeal for thy house will consume me' [Ps 69:10]” (Jn 2:17). The event that is taking place calls to mind a pa.s.sage of Scripture and so the event becomes intelligible at a level beyond the merely factual. Memory sheds light on the sense of the act, which then acquires a deeper meaning. It appears as an act in which Logos is present, an act that comes from the Logos and leads into it. The link connecting Jesus' acting and suffering with G.o.d's word comes into view, and so the mystery of Jesus himself becomes intelligible. and so gives us the key to understanding what he means by ”memory.” In John's account of the cleansing of the Temple, we read: ”His disciples remembered that it was written, 'Zeal for thy house will consume me' [Ps 69:10]” (Jn 2:17). The event that is taking place calls to mind a pa.s.sage of Scripture and so the event becomes intelligible at a level beyond the merely factual. Memory sheds light on the sense of the act, which then acquires a deeper meaning. It appears as an act in which Logos is present, an act that comes from the Logos and leads into it. The link connecting Jesus' acting and suffering with G.o.d's word comes into view, and so the mystery of Jesus himself becomes intelligible.

In the account of the cleansing of the Temple there then follows Jesus' prophecy that he will raise up the destroyed Temple again in three days. The Evangelist then comments: ”When therefore he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word which Jesus had spoken” (Jn 2:22). The Resurrection evokes remembrance, and remembrance in light of the Resurrection brings out the sense of this. .h.i.therto puzzling saying and reconnects it to the overall context of Scripture. The unity of Logos and act is the goal at which the Gospel is aiming.

The word remember remember occurs once again, this time in the description of the events of Palm Sunday. John recounts that Jesus found a young a.s.s and sat down on it: ”As it is written, 'Fear not, daughter of Zion; behold, your king is coming, sitting on an a.s.s's colt!'” (Jn 12:1415; cf. Zach 9:9). The Evangelist then observes: ”His disciples did not understand this at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that this had been written of him and had been done to him” (Jn 12:16). Once again an event is reported that at first seems simply factual. And once again the Evangelist tells us that after the Resurrection the disciples' eyes were opened and they were able to understand what had happened. Now they ”remember.” A scriptural text that had previously meant nothing to them now becomes intelligible, in the sense foreseen by G.o.d, which gives the external action its meaning. occurs once again, this time in the description of the events of Palm Sunday. John recounts that Jesus found a young a.s.s and sat down on it: ”As it is written, 'Fear not, daughter of Zion; behold, your king is coming, sitting on an a.s.s's colt!'” (Jn 12:1415; cf. Zach 9:9). The Evangelist then observes: ”His disciples did not understand this at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that this had been written of him and had been done to him” (Jn 12:16). Once again an event is reported that at first seems simply factual. And once again the Evangelist tells us that after the Resurrection the disciples' eyes were opened and they were able to understand what had happened. Now they ”remember.” A scriptural text that had previously meant nothing to them now becomes intelligible, in the sense foreseen by G.o.d, which gives the external action its meaning.

The Resurrection teaches us a new way of seeing; it uncovers the connection between the words of the Prophets and the destiny of Jesus. It evokes ”remembrance,” that is, it makes it possible to enter into the interiority of the events, into the intrinsic coherence of G.o.d's speaking and acting.

By means of these texts the Evangelist himself gives us the decisive indications as to how his Gospel is composed and what sort of vision lies behind it. It rests upon the remembering of the disciple, which, however, is a co-remembering in the ”we” of the Church. This remembering is an understanding under the guidance of the Holy Spirit; by remembering, the believer enters into the depth of the event and sees what could not be seen on an immediate and merely superficial level. But in so doing he does not move away from the reality; rather, he comes to know it more deeply and thus sees the truth concealed in the outward act. The remembering of the Church is the context where what the Lord prophesied to his followers at the Last Supper actually happens: ”When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own authority, but whatever he hears he will speak, and he will declare to you the things that are to come” (Jn 16:13).

What John says in his Gospel about how remembering becomes understanding and the path ”into all the truth” comes very close to what Luke recounts about remembering on the part of Jesus' mother. In three pa.s.sages of the infancy narrative Luke depicts this process of ”remembering” for us. The first pa.s.sage occurs in the account of the annunciation of Jesus' conception by the Archangel Gabriel. There Luke tells us that Mary took fright at the angel's greeting and entered into an interior ”dialogue” about what the greeting might mean. The most important pa.s.sages figure in the account of the adoration of the shepherds. The Evangelist comments: ”Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart” (Lk 2:19). At the conclusion of the narrative of the twelve-year-old Jesus we read once again: ”His mother kept all these things in her heart” (Lk 2:51). Mary's memory is first of all a retention of the events in remembrance, but it is more than that: It is an interior conversation with all that has happened. Thanks to this conversation, she penetrates into the interior dimension, she sees the events in their interconnectedness, and she learns to understand them.

It is on just this sort of ”recollection” that the Gospel of John is based, even as the Gospel takes the concept of memory to a new depth by conceiving it as the memory of the ”we” of the disciples, of the Church. This remembering is no mere psychological or intellectual process; it is a pneumatic event[i.e., an event imbued with the Pneuma, or the Holy Spirit]. The Church's remembering is not merely a private affair; it transcends the sphere of our own human understanding and knowing. It is a being-led by the Holy Spirit, who shows us the connectedness of Scripture, the connection between word and reality, and, in doing that, leads us ”into all the truth.”

This also has some fundamental implications for the concept of inspiration. The Gospel emerges from human remembering and presupposes the communion of those who remember, in this case very concretely the school of John and, before that, the community of disciples. But because the author thinks and writes with the memory of the Church, the ”we” to which he belongs opens beyond the personal and is guided in its depths by the Spirit of G.o.d, who is the Spirit of truth. In this sense, the Gospel itself opens up a path of understanding, which always remains bound to the scriptural word, and yet from generation to generation can lead, and is meant to lead, ever anew into the depth of all the truth.

This means that the Gospel of John, because it is a ”pneumatic Gospel,” does not simply transmit a stenographic transcript of Jesus' words and ways; it escorts us, in virtue of understanding-through-remembering, beyond the external into the depth of words and events that come from G.o.d and lead back to him. As such, the Gospel is ”remembering,” which means that it remains faithful to what really happened and is not a ”Jesus poem,” not a violation of the historical events. Rather, it truly shows us who Jesus was, and thereby it shows us someone who not only was, but is; who can always say ”I am” in the present tense. ”Before Abraham was, I am I am” (Jn 8:58). It shows us the real Jesus, and we can confidently make use of it as a source of information about him.

Before we turn to the great Johannine figurative discourses, two further general observations about the distinctive character of John's Gospel may be helpful. Whereas Bultmann thought the Fourth Gospel was rooted in Gnosticism and was therefore alien to the soil of the Old Testament and of Judaism, recent scholars.h.i.+p has

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