The Cross Should Be a Torture Stake

The case does not begin with a late legend but with a creed older than the documents that contain it. In 1 Corinthians 15 Paul says he “passed on” what he had “received,” the technical language of handing on fixed tradition, and then names what he received: Christ died for our sins, was buried, was raised, and appeared. Scholars across the spectrum date this formula to within a few years of the events, traced back to the Jerusalem apostles. Jesus’ death is not an optional later layer painted over a peaceful teacher; it stands at the very head of the oldest summary of the faith we possess.

That centrality runs through the earliest material. The hymn Paul quotes in Philippians presses all the way down to “death on a cross.” Far from concealing the execution, the first Christians made it the heart of the message, which is precisely what a fabricator would not do.

Crucifixion was a Roman spectacle, carried out in the open as a deterrent. The earliest preaching treats it exactly that way. In Acts, Peter stands up in Jerusalem, the very city where it happened, mere weeks after it happened, and tells the crowd that this same Jesus, attested by God among them “as you yourselves know,” was handed over and put to death by being nailed to the cross. He appeals to what his hearers already witnessed.

You cannot preach a fictional public execution to the population that supposedly saw it and expect to be believed. The setting itself functions as a kind of evidence: the claim was made early, locally, and to people in a position to falsify it.

Non-Christian witnesses cannot prove the resurrection, but they can show the execution was no in-house Christian invention.

• The Roman historian Tacitus, writing around 116 AD with open contempt for the Christian “superstition,” records that its founder was put to death under Pontius Pilate during the reign of Tiberius.
• The Jewish historian Josephus refers to Pilate condemning Jesus to the cross. His passage shows signs of later Christian editing, so it must be handled with care, but most scholars accept that the bare report of Pilate’s sentence belongs to the original.
• Later Jewish tradition in the Talmud preserves a hostile memory that a figure it calls Jesus the Nazarene was executed “on Passover eve,” charged with sorcery and leading Israel astray. No friend of the church wrote that; yet it still attests both the execution and its Passover setting.

None of these writers wished the Christian message well. That is exactly why their agreement on the fact of the execution carries weight.

Even thoroughly skeptical historians regard the crucifixion as among the most secure facts about Jesus. John Dominic Crossan, no defender of orthodoxy, has called it about as certain as anything in ancient history; Bart Ehrman, an agnostic, treats it as effectively beyond dispute. The reason is the criterion of embarrassment. A crucified messiah was a contradiction in terms to a first-century Jew. The law pronounced anyone hung on a tree to be under God’s curse, and “Christ crucified” struck the wider world as foolishness. No one courting converts invents a savior who dies the single most shameful death the empire could devise. The church proclaimed it because it happened.

Two denials run against this.

• Jesus never existed at all. A handful of writers argue the whole figure is myth. But this is rejected by the very non-Christian scholars best placed to judge, for the reasons above. The fuller reply is at Jesus never existed.
• Jesus was not the one crucified. A much later tradition held that it only appeared so, and that another was substituted on the cross. This claim arrives some six centuries after the event, with no historical witness behind it, and against the unanimous testimony of friend and foe from the first century. The respectful, detailed response is at Jesus was not crucified.

The crucifixion is the firm ground on which the next question stands: why the tomb was empty and what the witnesses claimed to see.

The Gospel writers go out of their way to rule out a phantom. When the disciples think they are seeing a spirit, Luke records Jesus answering the fear head-on: “a spirit does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have.” He shows them his hands and feet, invites them to touch him, and eats a piece of broiled fish in front of them. The scene is not decorative; it is deliberately anti-ghost.

The point throughout is continuity. The body that is raised carries the marks of the body that was crucified: the same hands, the same feet, the same wounds. This is why the resurrection is the natural sequel to the crucifixion: not a different being who replaces Jesus, but the very Jesus who died, now alive.

John tells the story of Thomas, who refuses to believe on report and demands to see the wounds for himself. A week later Jesus offers him exactly that, and Thomas answers with the highest confession in the Gospel: “My Lord and my God!” A bodily encounter produces worship of the risen Christ as God.

These were not fleeting private impressions. The appearances are repeated, physical, and communal: meals shared, conversations held, wounds inspected, a commission given. Whatever else the first witnesses were doing, they were not describing a comforting inner feeling. They claimed to have met a person.

The earliest written testimony, Paul’s creed in 1 Corinthians 15, says Christ “was buried” and “was raised.” The body that went into the tomb is the body that came out, now the “firstfruits” of a coming harvest. Paul stakes the entire Christian hope on it: because Jesus was raised bodily, those who belong to him will be too.

The usual objection cites Paul’s own words: he speaks of a “spiritual body,” and says “flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God.” But this misreads the grammar. Paul contrasts a “natural body” with a “spiritual body,” and as many New Testament scholars note, those adjectives name the animating power, not the material. A “natural body” is not made of soul; just so, a “spiritual body” is not made of spirit; it is a body fully animated and empowered by the Holy Spirit, imperishable and glorious. As for “flesh and blood,” the phrase is a Jewish idiom for frail, mortal humanity. Paul’s very next lines call for “the perishable” to be “clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality.” That is transformation of the body, not escape from it.

Two careful versions of this objection deserve a careful answer.

Some groups teach that Jesus was raised as a spirit creature, his fleshly body disposed of, and that the appearances were materializations. This reads the texts against their grain: the wounds, the eating, the “flesh and bones,” and the empty tomb. The full response is at Jesus rose as a spirit creature.

Other readers, more sympathetic, propose that the first Christians had visionary experiences later dressed up in physical detail. But a vision does not empty a tomb, and Paul, who lists his own encounter alongside the rest, grounds the believer’s future bodily resurrection in the pattern of Jesus’ own. Strip the body out and the physical scenes, the empty grave, and the entire logic of 1 Corinthians 15 become inexplicable.

Concede what is true: Paul does not teach a mere resuscitation of a corpse that will die again, but a transformed, glorified body. Transformed, however, is not the same as immaterial. The risen Jesus is continuous with the crucified Jesus: changed, deathless, but unmistakably him. This is what makes the public apostolic witness a claim about history rather than private comfort.