A Historical Theological Understanding of Christ’s Death: From Hegel to Moltmann back to Maximus and Paul

Why did Jesus die? The inevitable theological response, “For our sins,” does not really explain (either sin or how Christ’s death helps) or deal with the historical circumstance of his death. Historically it is quite obvious Jesus died because of the threat he posed to both Israel and Rome, and yet this historical reality is often left out, which also leaves hanging explanation of how his death pertains to the present human predicament. However, Scripture and the early church understood the death of Christ as simultaneously pertaining to the historical outworking of what killed him.[1] Paul explains the universal appeal and answer found in the death of Christ, as the cross exposes and answers the universal predicament of sin (a death-dealing lie). Maximus the Confessor typifies the belief of the early church that Christ wielded death to defeat the enslaving grip of sin and death: “Thus the curse and death of my sin became the curse of my God, which prevented the transgression from progressing and producing the fruits of unrighteousness, but instead, in accordance with the commandment and divine righteousness, became a blessing and life without end.”[2] The death of Christ in this understanding had an immediate historical and personal impact with the historical explaining the theological.

In the modern period it is G. W. F. Hegel who returns to the historical so as to develop a practical theology, focused on the kenotic love of God poured out on the cross, providing the power to empty the self in love. Hegel sounds similar to the early church fathers, though he employs his own terminology in describing the power of Christ’s death: “The death of God is infinite negation, and God maintains himself in death, so that this process is rather a putting to death of death, a resurrection into life.”[3] Christ provides the race escape from enslavement to death. This practical historical development is most effectively taken up in the theology of Jürgen Moltmann, which I focus on below.

So, rather than leap over the historical events in explaining the theological reason for the death of Christ (as in top-down legal theories), the reason posed in history can serve as the foundation of theological explanation (bottom-up theories). In other words, rather than creating a category in the mind of God requiring the death of Christ, the human necessity due to death (religious, political, psychological, and personal) which brought about his death not only explains his death but what it accomplished. There is a theological tradition grounded in the historical necessity (Christus Victor, Recapitulation, Girardian theory, Liberation Theology, etc.), which begins with the incarnation, and there are theories which begin with the necessities of God to explain the incarnation (legal theories of atonement). I argue that theories grounded in history provide the most thorough development for understanding the reason Christ died, but also for understanding God and the world as revealed in Christ. The most obvious development of this historical understanding in the modern period is through Hegel to Moltmann, and even if one disagrees with the application of this development, Moltmann provides one of the most compelling examples giving shape to a historical theological understanding. In his key work, The Crucified God, he plots the history behind the cross to lay the ground for explaining the real-world liberation found in Christ.[4] In following his argument (in the paragraphs below), I demonstrate the return to the early Christian understanding of the cross implied in Moltmann’s practical Hegelian insight.

At a basic human and historical level, beyond theory and theology, there is little question as to why Jesus died. He was killed due to fear on the part of the Romans and Jews that he threatened their religion and their nation. He threatened the temple, the sacrifices (Roman and Jewish), the hierarchy (Roman and Jewish), and ultimately, he posed a threat to their power. From the cleansing of the temple and Jesus’ intimation of its destruction (somehow connected to him), the Jews began to plot his death. They would kill him because he threatened what was taken as essential and absolute in their religious nationalism. At his trial he was condemned as a “blasphemer,” due to his disregard of the sabbath laws and markers of clean and unclean, and it is this disregard that pertains to his understanding of God. As Moltmann argues, “With arrogant authority Jesus proclaimed God as the one who in his eschatological condescension towards lost men is free from the human observance of the prescriptions of the law, and in prevenient love shows gracious mercy towards men. By so doing, Jesus placed his preaching of God, and therefore himself, above the authority of Moses and the Torah.”[5] Jesus demonstrates God is free, through his actions on the sabbath and in his revisions and reinterpretation of the law (as in the Sermon on the Mount). What was objective and legal is made personally binding in its direct application to the human heart.

Jesus disqualified himself as a traditional rabbi, deriving authority from Moses, in that he placed himself above the law and its limits, specifically in extending grace beyond and in contradiction to the law. He forgives transgressors, he abolishes contemporary distinctions between righteous and unrighteous, devout and sinful, and religious and secular. He set himself in the place of God as judge, which did not fit expectations of the Son of Man, who in the last days would judge sinners and redeem the righteous. Jesus turned toward sinners, which was not how God was expected to establish righteousness. The Jews assumed the Messiah would shame sinners and exalt those who keep the law. “Anyone who preaches the imminent kingdom of God not as judgment, but as the gospel of the justification of sinners by grace, and demonstrates it as such through his life with sinners and tax-collectors, contradicts the hope based upon the law, is deceiving the sinners and tax-collectors and is blaspheming the God of hope.”[6]

Both John and Jesus preach “The kingdom of God is at hand,” but Jesus’ depiction of this kingdom is not one of judgment. “Rather, anticipated by the word of the gospel which Jesus preached and his living offering of himself to the poor, the sinners and the tax-collectors, it comes as the unconditional and free grace of God, by which the lost are sought out and those without rights, and the unrighteous, are accepted.”[7] Jesus is not leading a repentance movement but is offering righteousness through grace. His appeal is not to the law but to himself and he is offering forgiveness and healing on the basis of grace; not an appeal to the authority of the law or Moses but a direct appeal to God. Grace for those outside of the law, beyond the authority of Moses, was by definition against the institutions of Israel. The conflict, resulting in Jesus’ murder, was due to Jesus’ incomprehensible claims of authority in discrepancy with the law.

Rather than a kingdom for the righteous and judgment for the unrighteous, Jesus opens the kingdom to unrighteous sinners. He preaches a different image of God; not the God of conquering power but a God defined through grace. Jesus position as a carpenter from Nazareth, his association with sinners and the poor, his healing of the sick, and drawing in of the outcasts, speaks of God in a novel fashion, identified with the weak rather than the strong or those in control. “For Jesus the ‘radicalization of the Torah’ and the ‘transgression of the Torah’ basically both amount to the same thing, the freedom of God to show grace. Thus the right which he claimed to forgive sins goes beyond the Torah and reveals a new righteousness of God in judgment, which could not be expected according to the traditions of the law.”[8]

The means of refuting this poor, weak carpenter was to relegate him to the place of slaves by destroying him on a cross. The cross was to be refutation of all that he represented, and yet through the resurrection this refutation is defeated, making of the cross God’s full identification with the poor, the lowly, and abandoned. His death is the point of conflict between the god of the law and the God of grace. The cultic god, the guarantor of the law, and his representatives, would eliminate Christ’s challenge to the law by eliminating him. Sinners are destroyed outside of the city gates, outside of the kingdom, and this death identified him as a sinner.

This is made obvious in that even his disciples abandon him, as his death signifies his powerlessness before the law and its guardians. He is seemingly rejected by God, thus even his disciples reject him as the cross destroyed his claims on behalf of God. “He did not die through chance or misfortune, but died by the law as one who was ‘reckoned with transgressors’ (Luke 22.37). He was condemned as a ‘blasphemer’ by the guardians of the law and of faith. As they understood it, his death was the carrying out of the curse of the law.”[9] In this they were not entirely wrong, but the curse is demonstrably not simply objective to the law, but the law itself is accursed (deadly), and yet suspended in its being nailed to the cross. The resurrection confirms or makes this interpretation possible, as for the first time it is realized life is beyond the law, and not in and through the law. “For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes” (Ro 10:4).

Recognition that God is on the cross is not simply a message for Jews but is a message for all people; the principalities and powers, forces for death, killing and suffering, are undermined by the power of life beyond death. The kingdoms of Israel and Rome were politically and religiously united in killing Jesus as crucifixion is a Roman execution inflicted upon slaves and insurrectionists. The Pax Romana brings about peace through recognition of Caesar; the sort of peace the Jews submitted themselves to in shouting down Jesus as King. “We have no King but Caesar” was there final pledge of allegiance – politically and religiously. The kingdoms in conflict are not Roman and Jewish, but Jesus Kingdom and the kingdoms of this world.

 It is not a matter of separating out the political and religious but separating out two kinds of kingdom: the violent versus the non-violent, the coercive and militant versus the peaceable, the legal versus the loving, the rich versus the poor, law versus grace, or ultimately, Caesar versus Jesus. Loving enemies and praying for those that persecute you, is a revolution “not of this world.” “God comes not to carry out just revenge upon the evil, but to justify by grace sinners, whether they are Zealots or tax collectors, Pharisees or sinners, Jews or Samaritans, and therefore, also, whether they are Jews or Gentiles.”[10] Jesus opposes both the legalism of Israel and Rome, in promoting the kingdom of righteousness through grace. He set free from the law of vengeance and the power of death, characteristic of this world’s kingdoms. “He denied that human beings, Zealots and Romans, had the right to pass judgment and execute vengeance in their own cause: ‘Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone’ (John 8.7).”[11] Christ reveals God is not a righteous avenger set to judge and destroy. God is a God of mercy and grace, and Jesus’ preaching sets humans free from the legalism of their gods of vengeance so as to establish His different kingdom.

This is why they kill him, as his opponents understood he was attacking their basic religious and political principles. He opposed Israel and Rome alike: “The freedom of Jesus and his proclamation of God’s law of grace affected not only the Pharisees and Zealots, but equally the cultic and political religious foundations of the Pax Romana and the archaic conceptions of righteousness held by all men.”[12]  This is demonstrated in the subsequent persecution of Christians by the Roman Empire. The Christian rejection of emperor worship was simultaneously political and religious: “By their irreligiousness they were introducing revolt into the heavenly world amongst the gods and were therefore bringing revolt into the religious and political world on earth which corresponded to those gods.”[13] Jesus and his followers alienated the anti-Roman Jews and the anti-Jewish Romans, as he challenged their ground rules. A Christianity which begins with some supposed “pure theology,” free of politics and history and aimed at a private sphere between God and self, misses both what Christ opposed and what enslaves nations, empires, and kingdoms and citizens of this world.

This understanding of the death of Christ provides a traceable, universal continuity through history to theology. It also directly connects sin with evil, which strangely tends to be separated in legal theories explaining Christ’s death. Philosophical problems of evil or the notion of radical evil (the lying possibility of evil or its representations having an ontological ground) are often dismissed from theology and thought to pertain only theoretically or philosophically.[14] Yet, it is obvious in the New Testament that the reification of death, hades, and the devil, (the power of nothingness in Hegel’s terminology) as ultimate powers, is the lie exposed by the death and resurrection of Christ. The state exercised power by presuming the absolute nature of death, and Christ overturned this satanic notion.

The presumption of the first Christians is that it is only in the death of Christ that God and world are fully revealed. The hypostatic union of the incarnation reveals God’s relation to the world, but it also reveals the deepest truth about God, that he is a “suffering God” who suffers with and for us. In Paul’s explanation, the sufferings or groanings of the cosmos are taken up into God, through the Son and the Spirit, and the Christian joins in this cosmic, intra-Trinitarian intercession into the world (Rom 8:22-26). The suffering of the Son simultaneously pertains to the identity of God and the world as the uncreated God, who is for us is, revealed in His humanity. “This mystery is for Maximus ‘the ineffable and incomprehensible union according to hypostasis of divinity and humanity’ that brings created and uncreated natures ‘into perfect identity.’ In this very identity—the one wrought in history from conception in Mary’s womb to cross to Resurrection to Ascension—every being (not just the man Jesus) ‘receives its beginning and end.’”[15] The story of God and the world are known only through the particular history revealed in Christ. “This is the mystery that circumscribes all the ages, and which reveals the grand plan of God, a super-infinite plan infinitely pre-existing the ages an infinite number of times. The essential Word of God became a messenger of this plan when He became man, and, if I may rightly say so, revealed Himself as the innermost depth of the Father’s goodness while also displaying in Himself the very goal for which creatures manifestly received the beginning of their existence.”[16]

Maximus describes the defeat of sin and the deliverance of creation as a simultaneous movement: “This mystery brings about the utter destruction of all the properties and movements contrary to nature that were introduced into nature through the primal disobedience. It also produces the perfect restoration of all the properties and movements that were previously in nature, according to which absolutely none of the principles of beings can ever be adulterated.”[17] In Maximus explanation, Christ defeated the Evil One who was holding us captive to death, and he “snatched us away” through the resurrection as he is our rest and healing and grace: “Rest, because through His brief life He abolished the law of our dire slavery to the flesh. Healing, because through His resurrection He healed us from the wound of death and corruption. Grace, because through faith He distributes adoption in the Spirit of God the Father, and the grace of divinization to each who is worthy.”[18] The deliverance from sin is a historical and practical reality, immediately addressing the human predicament, and in and through this rescue, the full reality of God is revealed.


[1] To call this sin becomes confused in modern parlance, as sin is often not connected to either the death dealing predicament that killed Christ or that which infects the human race as a murderous lie.

[2] Maximus the Confessor, On Difficulties in Sacred Scripture: The Responses to Thalassios, trans. Maximos Constas (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press) 62.8

[3] G. W. F. Hegel, Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion: The Consummate Religion, trans. By R. F. Brown, P. C. Hodson and J. M. Stewart (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2007) 370.

[4] Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God: The Cross of Christ as the Foundation and Criticism of Christian Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993)

[5] Moltmann, 128.

[6] Moltmann, 129.

[7] Moltmann, 129-130.

[8] Moltmann, 132.

[9] Moltmann, 133.

[10] Moltmann, 142.

[11] Moltmann, 143.

[12] Moltmann, 143

[13] Moltmann, 144.

[14] As N. T. Wright puts it, “Theologies of the cross, of how God deals with sin through the death of Jesus, have not normally grappled with the larger problem of evil. Conversely, most people who have written about ‘the problem of evil’  within philosophical theology have not grappled sufficiently with the cross as part of both the analysis and the solution of that problem” (N. T. Wright, Evil and the Justice of God (Downers Grove: Inter Varsity Press, 2006), 77). Here is the middle way between radical evil and privation theory in that radical evil is an objective possibility as part of the lie of sin but is exposed in the cross of Christ as having no ontological ground.

[15] Jordan Daniel Wood, The Whole Mystery of Christ: Creation as Incarnation in Maximus Confessor (p. 90). University of Notre Dame Press. Kindle Edition.

[16] Wood, 90.

[17] Maximus, 63.19.

[18] Maximus, 64.7.

Jesus’ Nonviolence as the Final and Full Revelation of God

Jesus is not a partial, false, or misleading revelation of God, but in Christ the reality of God is made known, where previously this reality was obscured. As Paul describes, the reality veiled by the law remains (2 Cor 3:7–18), as something inherent to Judaism obscures the reality of God, or is “a ministry of death” (3:7). However, “death’s ministry by way of scriptures engraved in stones” according to Paul, “is being abolished” (3:7 DBH). The nature of this “abolishment” (καταργουμένην, or being “wiped out” or “set aside,”) includes the deadly part of the ministry of death. The scriptures are not set aside, but death and killing, which scriptures (apart from Christ) fostered, are abolished – “in the Anointed it is abolished” (3:14). Paul describes passage from the ministry of death focused on the scriptures, to the ministry of Christ, who removes the veil and provides a new interpretive principle of life and Spirit. Which raises the question of Christ’s relationship to Judaism.

Jesus is Jewish and thoroughly situated in Judaism, and yet his teaching and life are interpreted by the Jews as an attack on Judaism and particularly an attack on the temple. The accusation against him at his trial involves his action and teaching in regard to the temple and that he claims equality with God in forgiving sins (which is to say the same thing). His association and acceptance of sinners (those beyond the pale of Jewish acceptance), his healing of the same on the sabbath, and his teaching regarding his own kingdom and kingship, struck at both the religious and political power of Judaism summed up in the temple. As E.P. Sanders has written, if Jesus claimed that his followers (the least) would be the greatest in the Kingdom and that he, and not the religious leaders in Israel spoke for God, this was a blow against the religio-political entity constituting Israel.[1] Sanders concludes, “Jesus opposed the scribes and Pharisees during his teaching activity (whether basically or only marginally), but he was killed either because the Romans (perhaps on the advice of the Jerusalem leaders) took him to be a Zealot or because he offended and threatened the Jewish hierarchy by his challenge to the temple.”[2]

His interruption of the temple sacrifices (e.g., Matt. 21:12-13) gets at the heart of both Jesus’ threat and the significance of his death. It is not that Herod’s Temple is an abuse of God’s intended purpose and Jesus hoped to clean up the economy of Herod’s temple, but the fact that the temple was temporary and only symbolic of the reality of God revealed in Christ. Jesus’ interruption of the principal function of the temple, sacrifice, points to the contingent and temporary nature of the institution (evident from the inception of sacrifice). The issue was not primarily money-changers or the selling of animals, as the sacrifices had always included these services.[3] The function of the temple was sacrifice, and Jesus disrupted the purpose of the temple as a sign of his permanent disruption of sacrifice. The temple deals in the death of animals, which did not touch upon the deadly attitude of the human heart, and Jewish response to his interruption of the killing is the motive for killing Jesus.

As Josephus points out, whoever controls the temple controls the Jews: “Whoever was master of these [fortified places] had the whole nation in his power, for sacrifices could not be made without (controlling) these places, and it was impossible for any of the Jews to forgo offering these, for they would rather give up their lives than the worship which they are accustomed to offer God” (47. XV.248).[4] Not only the ruling Jews but the Romans exercised control by maintaining ultimate jurisdiction over the temple and its precincts. As long as the Jews were making sacrifices for the Roman Emperor, goodwill was maintained. But Josephus points to the beginnings of Jewish revolt and ultimate destruction of the temple as arising with a sacrificial crisis. Eleazar persuaded the priests who were then serving “to accept no gift or sacrifice from a foreigner.” Josephus describes the result: “This action laid the foundation of the war with the Romans; for the sacrifices offered on behalf of that nation and the emperor were in consequence rejected. The chief priests and the notables earnestly besought them not to abandon the customary offering for their rulers, but the priests remained obdurate” (BF II.409.f).[5] The discontinuation of sacrifices on behalf of Rome unleashed the violence which would destroy the temple. The sacrificial crisis, in the description of René Girard, was unleashed, fulfilling the threat the Jews felt from Jesus: “If we let Him go on like this, all men will believe in Him, and the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation” (Jn. 11:48).

Jesus’ death would hold off Rome for a period, the point made by the high priest, Caiaphas: “it is expedient for you that one man die for the people, and that the whole nation not perish” (Jn. 11:50), but the deeper meaning was not that Jesus would preserve the temple for another forty years or so, only delaying the inevitable: “Now he did not say this on his own initiative, but being high priest that year, he prophesied that Jesus was going to die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but in order that He might also gather together into one the children of God who are scattered abroad” (Jn. 11:51-52). In their shortsighted understanding, the Jews understood the Romans were appeased, just as they were, through the continued sacrifices. They would begin to plot Jesus’ death from that day forward, thinking they were saving Israel, when, in fact, their action brings the purposes of the temple and Israel to a conclusion. So, the deadly aspect of the temple is exposed and ended by the murderous plots of its defenders.

Everyone understood Jesus’ action in the temple was symbolic, but it was not the symbolism of clearing (cleansing) the temple of trade, but the symbolism of destruction (the destruction of the temple and its sacrificial system). Jesus makes this clear in John, when he says “destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up” (Jn. 2:19). Yes, he is talking about himself (the real significance of the temple) but it was clear that temple destruction (obsolescence of the temple, at a minimum) was involved with his identity and his death and resurrection. They killed him as he threatened their sacrifices, which point to their lack of efficacy (the heart was left untouched). Eventually an army would destroy the temple, and it would take nothing less, but Jesus clearly posed this possibility within himself; not so much the literal destruction of the temple, but the relative unimportance of the temple compared to the reality.

The temple is not really the problem, anymore than the law is a problem. Judaism, the law and the temple are adequate, as long as they are understood as having a limited purpose. The early Christian community continued to meet in the temple precincts (Acts 2:46; 3:1) and Paul would even offer a sacrifice in the temple to demonstrate his good standing in Judaism (Acts 21:26). The early Christians did not consider the temple as somehow impure. Their continued association with the temple demonstrates that its symbolic importance is overridden and rendered relatively insignificant, as it did not touch upon the reality of Christ. They could remain Jewish, with all that entailed, as this did not pertain to the deeper and true significance of Christ. Yet, this relativizing of the temple and Judaism seems to have been the problem for the Jews.

The non-Christian Jews did not consider the Christian attitude toward Christ, in comparison to the law and temple, to be quite so harmless. The accusation against Stephen, which Luke notes is false, is that this “man incessantly speaks against this holy place and the Law” (Acts 6:13). An examination of Stephen’s speech, which occasions his stoning, has him pointing out from Scripture (Is. 66:1) that the temple was never to be taken as anything but symbolic (Acts 7:49). This combined with his focus on their rejection of the “Righteous One” sets them over the edge. They kill Stephen as they did Jesus, which he explains is their ancestral habit: “you are doing just as your fathers did. Which one of the prophets did your fathers not persecute? They killed those who had previously announced the coming of the Righteous One, whose betrayers and murderers you have now become” (Acts 7:51-52). The temple, the law, and Judaism have not resolved the problem of murder, killing, and death, but aggravate and accentuate the problem. It is a ministry of death which shows itself in the murder of the Messiah, which in Paul’s words, brings this ministry to an end.

The manner of Jesus death on the cross subverts violent sacrifice and replaces it with the nonviolent offering of love, forgiveness, and life, which Paul sums up as the ministry of the Spirit (2 Cor. 3:8). Jesus did not absorb the wrath of God but the wrath and violence of men and his defeat of death or his own murder, in the manner of his death and resurrection, makes death as inconsequential as the ministry of death which killed him. It proved death and the covenant with death empty. Death as final, ultimate, eternal, in the world’s sacrificial systems, seemingly provides an “infinite” fulcrum of power to leverage life from others. Jesus explains that prior to him and his kingdom, violence is the primary means of obtaining the kingdom: “From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and violent men take it by force” (Matt. 11:12). The days of John the Baptist include all of those days that precede Jesus, so that kingdom building up to this time, whether that of Jews or Gentiles, is violent. As Anthony Bartlett puts it, the violent “are taking over or hijacking God’s kingdom and its meaning. This is the key. Violence as a theme and activity violates the kingdom.”[6]

It is not that Judaism did not contain its own nonviolent sort of kingdom, but this evolving peaceable kingdom was subverted by murderous impulses. According to Bartlett, Jesus’ comparison of John the Baptist to Elijah, numbers even John among the violent, who like Elijah, imagines fire from heaven (consuming the prophets of Baal) is the divine means of establishing the kingdom. Jesus has those sent from John report back that his kingdom is very different from that of the old ministry of death: “Go and report to John what you hear and see: the blind receive sight and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them. ‘And blessed is he who does not take offense at Me’” (Matt. 11:4-7). Jesus’ peaceable, healing, inclusive ministry to the poor and outcasts may be grounds for even John to take offense. “Thus, the problem about accepting Jesus is the radically changed code he offered – forgiveness and nonviolence, and each entirely coincident with the other.”[7] The transition between John and Jesus must be what Paul identifies as passage from the ministry of death to the ministry of the Spirit.

Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection proves death is not nearly as fatal or powerful or necessary as was thought. Jesus shows death is not efficacious, by pouring out his life, not only in one moment of death, but in a life of sacrificial love which defeats the orientation to death (the ministry of death). Thus his followers are commanded to take up their cross, as his manner of life defeats the reign of death: “but now has been revealed by the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel” (2 Tim. 1:10); “Therefore, since the children share in flesh and blood, He Himself likewise also partook of the same, that through death He might render powerless him who had the power of death, that is, the devil, and might free those who through fear of death were subject to slavery all their lives” (Heb. 2:14-15). Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, inclusive of the temple incident, is not then, a display of violent power but putting into effect the counter-power of non-violent deliverance from death.

The one who enters triumphantly into Jerusalem on the foal of a donkey (Matt. 21:6) is the humble (ani, which translates as “poor,” “oppressed,” or “afflicted”) king (of Zech. 9:9). The term elsewhere describes the victim of murder (Job 24:14) or the poor man who must give up his only cloak to secure a loan (Deut. 24:12-13). According to Bartlett, “In contemporary terms, we could easily say this king is unarmed, powerless, and so must bring deliverance without violence.”[8] This is the point of Zechariah enacted: “I will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the horse from Jerusalem; And the bow of war will be cut off. And He will speak peace to the nations; And His dominion will be from sea to sea, And from the River to the ends of the earth” (Zech. 9”10). The gentle, meek, non-violent, king, riding on the foal of a donkey is victorious over death and violence. His ride into Jerusalem, and entry into the temple, is the sign the ministry of death represented by the temple is ended (Mk. 11:14) and the living spiritual sacrifice of the Peaceable Kingdom is inaugurated.


[1] E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1985) 296.

[2] Sanders, 57.

[3] Sanders, 63.

[4] Cited in Sanders, 64.

[5] Cited in Sanders, 64.

[6] Anthony Bartlett, Signs of Change: The Bible’s Evolution of Divine Nonviolence (Eugene, Oregon: Cascade Books, 2022) 155.

[7] Bartlett, 156.

[8] Barlett, 164.