It would be hard to underestimate the significance of Jesus. No other person has had a greater historical impact. Even those who aren’t Christians acknowledge this: Muslims revere Jesus as a prophet. Hindus consider him a holy teacher. Even many atheists are very willing to say they admire Jesus; for example, Christopher Hitchens once said he respects “the virtue of his teachings.”

 Yet a common skeptical remark you hear is that we can’t really know anything about who Jesus actually was. He was probably a great guy, but the early Christians invented so many stories about him that we have no way of separating what’s true in the Bible from what’s false. Most skeptics don’t realize, however, that academic historians take Jesus very seriously. We’re talking historians, not theologians; not least, because we have so many historical sources for Jesus. Many people don’t realize the New Testament is a collection of books, for example, and represents multiple sources about Jesus. Many are very early—for example, Paul’s letters date to the 40s and 50s AD and some of the material he quotes is dated even earlier, to within months of Jesus’s death.

 Literary studies of the gospels have also shown that their authors were intentionally setting out to write biography—not fiction or hagiography. Where we can test them against archaeology or other historians of the period, they’re shown to be reliable. Thus, historians take Jesus seriously. No credentialed academic historian in a university ancient history department would suggest that Jesus never existed, for instance. Throw out Jesus and you would have to throw out a wealth of other historical figures for whom less evidence exists, such as Julius Caesar.

 In recent decades, there has been a renewed interest in the study of the “historical Jesus,” by which we mean what we can say about Jesus using the methods and tools of the historian. There are a wide number of facts upon which historians agree. To list just a few, it is generally agreed that Jesus was raised in Nazareth. That he was baptized by John. That he had twelve disciples. That he had a reputation as a healer and miracle worker. That he taught in parables and stories. That he clashed with the religious authorities of his day. That he spent time with social outcasts. That he had an extremely high view of his own identity and his relationship to God. That at the end of his ministry he rode into Jerusalem, was hailed by many as the Messiah, performed some kind of prophetic action in the Temple for which he was arrested, tried, and executed. It’s simply not the case, in other words, that Jesus’s life was invented decades after his death by well meaning Christians. And that means we are forced to take the life of Jesus very seriously—at the very least, we need to read the gospels as we would other ancient literature and weigh them accordingly.

 And that brings us face to face with Jesus himself: a Jesus who made astonishing claims about himself. C S Lewis once famously said that Jesus left us only three options. Either he was mad—utterly insane. Or he was bad—a cynical liar. Or else Jesus was who he claimed to be. Whilst this threefold choice may slightly over simplify things, the broad thrust is right. Jesus forces all of us to answer the same question he asked Peter in the Gospels: “Who do you say I am?” One thing is certain: Jesus has left a powerful footprint on history, too great to ignore. “Who do you say that I am?” The answer each of us gives to that question matters profoundly.

 Andy Bannister is a member of the speaking team at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Toronto, Canada.

 Morning “The earnest of our inheritance.” / Ephesians 1:14

 Oh! what enlightenment, what joys, what consolation, what delight of heart is

experienced by that man who has learned to feed on Jesus, and on Jesus alone.

Yet the realization which we have of Christ’s preciousness is, in this life,

imperfect at the best. As an old writer says, “‘Tis but a taste!” We have

tasted “that the Lord is gracious,” but we do not yet know how good and

gracious he is, although what we know of his sweetness makes us long for more.

We have enjoyed the firstfruits of the Spirit, and they have set us hungering

and thirsting for the fulness of the heavenly vintage. We groan within

ourselves, waiting for the adoption. Here we are like Israel in the

wilderness, who had but one cluster from Eshcol, there we shall be in the

vineyard. Here we see the manna falling small, like coriander seed, but there

shall we eat the bread of heaven and the old corn of the kingdom. We are but

beginners now in spiritual education; for although we have learned the first

letters of the alphabet, we cannot read words yet, much less can we put

sentences together; but as one says, “He that has been in heaven but five

minutes, knows more than the general assembly of divines on earth.” We have

many ungratified desires at present, but soon every wish shall be satisfied;

and all our powers shall find the sweetest employment in that eternal world of

joy. O Christian, antedate heaven for a few years. Within a very little time

thou shalt be rid of all thy trials and thy troubles. Thine eyes now suffused

with tears shall weep no longer. Thou shalt gaze in ineffable rapture upon the

splendour of him who sits upon the throne. Nay, more, upon his throne shalt

thou sit. The triumph of his glory shall be shared by thee; his crown, his

joy, his paradise, these shall be thine, and thou shalt be co-heir with him

who is the heir of all things.

 

Evening “And now what hast thou to do in the way of Egypt, to drink the waters of

Sihor?” / Jeremiah 2:18

 By sundry miracles, by divers mercies, by strange deliverances Jehovah had

proved himself to be worthy of Israel’s trust. Yet they broke down the hedges

with which God had enclosed them as a sacred garden; they forsook their own

true and living God, and followed after false gods. Constantly did the Lord

reprove them for this infatuation, and our text contains one instance of God’s

expostulating with them, “What hast thou to do in the way of Egypt, to drink

the waters of the muddy river?”–for so it may be translated. “Why dost thou

wander afar and leave thine own cool stream from Lebanon? Why dost thou

forsake Jerusalem to turn aside to Noph and to Tahapanes? Why art thou so

strangely set on mischief, that thou canst not be content with the good and

healthful, but wouldst follow after that which is evil and deceitful?” Is

there not here a word of expostulation and warning to the Christian? O true

believer, called by grace and washed in the precious blood of Jesus, thou hast

tasted of better drink than the muddy river of this world’s pleasure can give

thee; thou hast had fellowship with Christ; thou hast obtained the joy of

seeing Jesus, and leaning thine head upon his bosom. Do the trifles, the

songs, the honours, the merriment of this earth content thee after that? Hast

thou eaten the bread of angels, and canst thou live on husks? Good Rutherford

once said, “I have tasted of Christ’s own manna, and it hath put my mouth out

of taste for the brown bread of this world’s joys.” Methinks it should be so

with thee. If thou art wandering after the waters of Egypt, O return quickly

to the one living fountain: the waters of Sihor may be sweet to the Egyptians,

but they will prove only bitterness to thee. What hast thou to do with them?

Jesus asks thee this question this evening–what wilt thou answer him?

 A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench. Matthew 12:20 

What is weaker than the bruised reed or the smoldering wick? A reed that grows in the marshland—let a wild duck land on it, and it snaps; let but the foot of man brush against it, and it is bruised and broken; every wind that flits across the river moves it to and fro. You can conceive of nothing more frail or brittle or whose existence is more in jeopardy than a bruised reed. Then look at the smoldering wick—what is it? It has a spark within it, it is true, but it is almost smothered; an infant’s breath might blow it out; nothing has a more precarious existence than its flame.

Weak things are here described; yet Jesus says of them, “The smoldering wick I will not quench; the bruised reed I will not break.” Some of God’s children are made strong to do mighty works for Him; God has His Samsons here and there who can pull up Gaza’s gates and carry them to the top of the hill. He has a few mighties who are lionlike men, but the majority of His people are a timid, trembling race. They are like starlings, frightened at every passerby, a little fearful flock. If temptation comes, they are taken like birds in a snare; if trial threatens, they are ready to faint. Their frail craft is tossed up and down by every wave; they drift along like a seabird on the crest of the billows—weak things, without strength, without wisdom, without foresight. Yet, weak as they are, and because they are so weak, they have this promise made especially to them.

Herein is grace and graciousness! Herein is love and loving-kindness! How it opens to us the compassion of Jesus—so gentle, tender, considerate! We need never shrink back from His touch. We need never fear a harsh word from Him; though He might well chide us for our weakness, He rebukes not. Bruised reeds shall have no blows from Him, and the smoldering wick no damping frowns.

Family Reading Plan  Jeremiah 15   Mark 1