The Gospel of John is often lauded for its theological depth and poetic resonance. Yet, beneath its surface lies a revolutionary text steeped in political subversion, counter-cultural rhetoric, and a mystical invitation to transcend human assumptions. To understand the Gospel of John we must explore its historical context, original audience, and its author’s intent.

By analyzing key phrases and terms, such as “Gospel” (euangellion), “Lord” (kurios), and “kingdom” in their first-century socio-political frameworks, we uncover the inherently political nature of the Gospel’s message. Through tracing his literary threads and devices, we are able to see the big ideas John plots his narrative around. Moreover, by situating John’s narrative within the cultural milieu of Greco-Roman mystery cults and ancient spiritual practices, we see how Christianity distinguished itself as a movement that discarded class, ethnicity, and political allegiance.

The Gospel of John was not born in a vacuum. Behind it was a person, and that person was one key figure of the earliest Christians. John wrote his Gospel to people with an understanding of how his message would be received by them. “Salvation” and “peace” were not foreign topics to the everyday Gentile. Their daily existence depended on how these terms were defined. Far from a simple recounting of a story, John’s Gospel is a polemic to Greco-Roman propaganda—an anti-ego antidote cloaked in the sacred tragedy of the Cross.

Context: The First-Century World of John’s Gospel

The first-century Mediterranean world was a melting pot of cultural, political, and religious influences. The Roman Empire, with its claim of eternal dominion and divinely ordained leadership, dominated the socio-political landscape. Caesar’s titles included “Son of God,” “Savior,” “High Preist,” and “Lord” (kurios), terms that were more than mere honorifics—they were theological and political assertions. It was political campaigning. Roman imperial propaganda, encapsulated in inscriptions, coins, and public decrees, presented Caesar’s reign as the euangellion, or “good news,” for humanity.

The Pax Romana (Roman Peace) was held up as the ultimate expression of divine favor. Starting from Augustus, reigning from 27 BC until his death in AD 14, Caesar and Roman power were central to its messaging and dominion. Caesar was the divinely appointed ruler of the great kingdom of Rome. It was he who upheld order and prosperity for the nation. This mindset was not unique to Rome and has carried into our modern days.

In the area of Asia Minor, Emporer worship was fervent. John’s Gospel, written in the late first century in Asia Minor, addresses a diverse Anatolia audience—Jewish Christians, Gentile converts, and seekers from Jewish and Greco-Roman religious traditions. Against this backdrop, the Gospel of John emerges as a profoundly subversive text. It’s a peaceful rebellion and a silent protest. John’s nuanced language, emphasis on light and darkness, and mystical undertones resonate with the spiritual vocabulary of the time, leveraging from both Jewish thought and Hellenistic philosophy. On this level, John is writing to the common individual, not to Caesar.

Yet, the relationship between the subjective individual and the assumed world order was in the crosshairs. John wrote to those under the thumb of Caesar. Declaring Jesus as the “Son of God” and “Lord” directly challenged Caesar’s theological and political claims.

Authorial Intent: A Political and Mystical Gospel

Traditionally attributed to the Apostle John, the Gospel’s authorship remains a matter of some scholarly debate. Generally speaking, we know a “John” from the first-century Christian community wrote it and the Gospel of John was popular, very quickly spreading all over the Roman world. The evidence suggests that, out of the New Testament writings, the Gospel of John is among the most trustworthy and earliest Christian scriptures. It seems more likely than not that Apostle John was the author of this Gospel.

By the 2nd century, the Gospel of John was widely referenced in early Christian writings, especially in theological discussions. Its influence clearly grew into early Christian liturgies, like in Easter Vigil and Vespers, where John’s emphasis on the Resurrection and the identity of Christ as the “Light of the World” became prominent.

Irenaeus of Lyons (c. 130–202 AD): Irenaeus, in his work Against Heresies (c. 180 AD), quotes extensively from the Gospel of John. He affirms that John wrote the Gospel to combat Gnostic ideas, supporting the early influence and popularity of John’s writings.

Clement of Alexandria (c. 150–215 AD): Clement also frequently references the Gospel of John in his writings. In his Stromata (c. 200 AD), he mentions the Johannine Gospel as a central part of the Christian tradition.

Origen (c. 185–253 AD): Origen, one of the most significant early Christian scholars, references John extensively in his theological works. His writings, such as Commentary on the Gospel of John (c. 230 AD), show the widespread use and theological centrality of the Gospel by the early 3rd century.

John’s intent seems clear: to present Jesus not only as the fulfillment of Jewish messianic hope but also as the ultimate Kurios (“Lord”), whose kingdom supersedes the temporal and geographic control of Rome. More effectually, John’s purpose is to invite others to experience this Gospel personally and receive the blessings of the Holy Spirit. The narrative’s structure—from the Logos hymn in the prologue to the climactic declaration of Jesus as “My Lord and my God” (John 20:28)—is carefully crafted to invite readers into a transformative encounter with the divine.

If you’re not familiar with mysticism, get ready to be because John was a mystic.

John’s use of terms such as “eternal life” and “born again” signals a break with the Jewish nationalistic and Roman imperial ideology. While Caesar promised peace through conquest, John’s Jesus offered peace through sacrificial love. Where the Pharisees demanded strict religious adherence, Jesus dismantled religious assumptions and pointed out their abuse. This message was inherently counter-cultural, undermining the foundations of Roman control and offering an alternative vision of community and freedom.

The Role of Mystery Cults and Psychedelic Practices

To fully grasp the counter-cultural nature of John’s Gospel, we must situate it within the religious and political landscape of the first century, where mystery cults and spiritual practices flourished. The Eleusinian Mysteries, devoted to Demeter and Persephone, were among the most famous of these cults. Initiates underwent secretive rites involving symbolic death and rebirth, facilitated by psychoactive substances in a ceremonial drink called a kykeon, a barley-based drink containing ergot (i.e. LSD). These rituals promised participants a glimpse of the divine and an assurance of immortality.

Similar practices were found in the mystery cults of Pythagoras, Cybele and Attis, Adonis, Magna Mater, Mithras, and Isis. Many, perhaps most, used whatever selection of substances and psychedelics to interact with the metaphysical, from psilocybin to white lilies and lizards. These psychedelic practices predate the Jew’s return from Babylon. Archaeological evidence, including frescoes, inscriptions, and sacred vessels, attests to the widespread prevalence of these traditions. As Brian Muraresku argues in The Immortality Key (click for a review of the book), such psychedelic rituals were not fringe phenomena but central to ancient community and spirituality. Psychedelic substances facilitated altered states of consciousness, enabling participants to experience spiritual communion with the divine.

The term “mystery” (musterion) refers to revealed truths that are beyond the scope of natural reason. The word “mystery,” interestingly enough, does not show up in the Gospel of John but does in each of the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew 13:11; Mark 4:11; Luke 8:10). Revelation 1:20 talks about the mystery of the Seven Stars. Musterion appears 27 times in the New Testament, primarily in the letters of Paul. The “mystery of God” is God’s plan of salvation through Jesus.

John’s Gospel, while distinct in its theology, echoes the structure and intent of other mystery traditions. Its emphasis on intimate union with Christ (“Abide in me, and I in you,” John 15:4) and its sacramental language (“Eat my flesh and drink my blood,” John 6:56) suggest a mystical framework. Yet, unlike the exclusivity of mystery cults, Christianity offered this encounter to all—Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female (Galatians 3:28). The Gospel’s radical inclusivity marked a departure from the man-ruled elitism of Greco-Roman spirituality.

Isreal, Rome, & Mystical Wine: Rethinking First-Century Practices

The world of first-century Judaism was far more complex, mystical, and interconnected than many modern readers of the Bible might imagine. The Gospels present a world where shepherds, fishermen, women, tax collectors, children, and Roman soldiers intermingle with Pharisees, Essenes, Sadducees, and Zealots around the central figure of Jesus. Beneath the surface of the familiar Sunday School narrative lies a vibrant tapestry of divisive views, social debates, religious rituals, cultural traditions, and esoteric practices. We haven’t even gotten to John’s literary devices (next post).

On top of Israel being a fractured religious state under oppressive Roman rule, it was also surrounded by and infiltrated with Greco-Roman rulers, cities, buildings, temples, games, festivals, and events. It can be easy to view Israel through a simple and isolated lens. We may not be aware that directly next door to Galilee was the Decapolis, a hub of 10 cities built by Alexander the Great. There was a massive Pan following in the area of Isreal and Caesarea Philippi. A Roman fort overshadowed the Temple court and there were pagan temples in Jerusalem.

This all matters in the Gospel of John.

Jesus as “Magician” in the Talmud

Related to mysticism is the topic of magic. While modern Christians assume a lot about the topic, we need to dive a bit deeper to see that magic was a part of life for Jews and Gentiles. One of the ancient criticisms of Christianity is that Jesus was a magician. The Babylonian Talmud contains intriguing references to Jesus (Yeshu HaNotzri), painting him not as the Messiah, but as a magician or sorcerer who led Israel astray:

“He practiced sorcery and enticed Israel to apostasy.” (Sanhedrin 43a)

In Sanh 107b and Sot 47a, Jesus is portrayed as a frivolous disciple who practiced magic and turned to idolatry. This is not to say He was in fact idolatrous, but rather this is what was reported by His critics..

This portrayal aligns with accusations in the Gospels themselves, where Jesus is charged with casting out demons “by the power of Beelzebul” (Matthew 12:24). These accusations reflect a cultural context in which miraculous results were often viewed with suspicion. To the religious elite, Jesus’ miracles were not signs of divine authority but evidence of pagan magical practices, a realm associated with Israel’s neighbors, Egyptian traditions, and Hellenistic mystery cults. There are accusations that Jesus learned His magic from the Egyptian mysteries.

The Magi and Their Gifts

The Magi who visited Jesus at his birth (Matthew 2:1-12) offer another suggestion of mysticism but from a different Gospel. Traditionally understood as “wise men” or “astrologers” from the East, these translations don’t come close to what the word could be translated as: “magicians.” They would not have been far off from the magicians in Pharaoh’s courts.

These figures would have represented a class of scholars and practitioners whose sole focus was the divine mysteries and deep knowledge. Frankincense and myrrh were not only valuable commodities but highly symbolic and used in religious rituals. Their presence at Jesus’ nativity hints at an acknowledgment of His spiritual (and political) significance within a broader mystical and global worldview.

Wine as a Portal to the Divine

The Middle East, including ancient Israel, was renowned for its wine production. However, the wine of antiquity was unlike the wine we know today. It was often infused with herbs, resins, and psychoactive substances to enhance its effects. As The Immortality Key by Brian Muraresku explores, ancient cultures used such “spiked” wines in religious ceremonies to induce altered states of consciousness. These were often lumped into one word, pharmakeia. These substances were central to the rites of mystery cults across the Mediterranean, from the Eleusinian Mysteries in Greece to Egyptian initiation ceremonies. Spiked wine use also pre-dates the Greco-Romans and Israelites, maybe having historical relationships with the divine beverage of Soma in Hinduism.

In this context, the use of wine at the Last Supper takes on new dimensions. Jesus declares, “This is my blood of the covenant” (Mark 14:24), imbuing the ritual with profound spiritual significance. Again, in John 6:53, Jesus said, “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life in yourselves,” which was pulled directory out of the Baccanelia mysteries of Dionysus. While the New Testament does not state that the wine and bread used by Jesus were psychoactive, the cultural backdrop of such practices may assume they were.

Let’s keep beating a drum here on Drunk Pastor: this is not about psychedelics. It’s about the worldview of early Christianity. Psychedelics were a part of the historical landscape and pretending they weren’t is unscholarly. People do not have to take them nor should get into them without careful research and seeking professional guidance. As with everything, they are not a magic pill and can have devastating consequences if used wrong.

First-Century Judaism in a Philosophical World

First-century Judaism did not exist in isolation. Israel is roughly the size of New Jersey. It was at the intersection of the Mediterranean world; steeped in wars, political campaigns, spiritual teachers, esoteric practices, and human living. From the Essenes with their apocalyptic visions to the Pharisees’ focus on legal purity, Jewish sects of the time were deeply engaged in questions of spirituality, national powers, and divine atonement. These are but a few of the prime examples.

Surrounding this tiny, rebellious nation-state was a behemoth of a diverse world that was currently under the control of the Roman Empire. Exponadiated by Alexander the Great’s spread of Hellenism, the first century witnessed a flourishing of philosophical thought, with ideas from Greek to Egyptian philosophy and spirituality spreading through the Roman world. This environment was part of what the Gospel of John is designed to influence. It emerged not merely as a historical text but also as a profound engagement with the prevailing intellectual currents. 

Thinkers like Philo of Alexandria exemplify how Greek philosophy and Jewish theology intersected. Philo employed the concept of the Logos, a divine intermediary that bridged the gap between God and the created world. This notion, rooted in both Greek philosophy and Jewish wisdom literature, resonates significantly with John’s prologue, where the Logos is identified with Jesus Christ.   

While the “direct” influence of figures like Aristotle on the specific themes of John’s Gospel might be less pronounced, the broader intellectual climate of the time, characterized by a search for truth, meaning, and the divine, undoubtedly shaped the Gospel’s message. In other words, John knew his philosophy.

John’s Gospel addresses fundamental questions about human existence, the nature of reality, and the relationship between the divine and the human, mirroring the concerns of later philosophers like Marcus Aurelius who grappled with Logos and issues of human freedom, duty, and the pursuit of virtue. By presenting Jesus as the incarnate Logos, the source of Truth and key to eternal life, John offered a transformative worldview that resonated with the deepest longings and intellectual aspirations of his time.

Christianity as a Counter-Cultural Movement

The Gospel of John functioned as a sacred text for a burgeoning counter-cultural movement. Early Christian gatherings, often in homes or hidden in catacombs, were communities of radical equality and honest personal transformation. We read of songs, mediatations, and social ceremonies where such a text would have been a central feature and asset. Together, they would have learned and created a culture around such texts, including incorporating it into practices like charms, rituals, and ceremonies.

These assemblies undermined the hierarchical structures of Roman society, where one’s status was determined by birth, wealth, and allegiance to Caesar. Salvation and peace were freely available from a crucified Jewish rabbi instead of the tyrant at the top of a pyramid. No longer did you have to gain access as an initiate into one of the temples to meet with a god. The Eucharistic meal, central to Christian worship, symbolized this egalitarian ethos. Archaeological finds, such as the Domus Ecclesiae in Dura-Europos, reveal the communal focus of later Christian spaces, along with plant symbolism.

Unlike the mystery cults, which were shrouded in secrecy, Christianity’s message was public and missionary. The proclamation of the euangellion of Jesus was not confined to sacred precincts but spread through the streets, marketplaces, families, and forums. This openness made Christianity both accessible and threatening. To declare allegiance to Jesus as Kurios was to reject the divine lordship of Caesar—a stance that led to persecution.

Early Criticisms and Misunderstandings of Christianity

The early centuries of Christianity were fraught with internal debates and criticism from external observers. Roman thinkers and philosophers often wrote about Christians in ways that highlighted their confusion or disdain for this burgeoning religious movement. Among the most notable critiques is that of Celsus, a 2nd-century philosopher who penned “The True Word,” an extensive critique of Christian beliefs and practices.

Celsus’s writings, preserved by Origen in his rebuttal “Contra Celsum,” provide a window into how early Christianity was perceived by outsiders. Origen spent extensive ink and paper tearing Celsus’ writings apart. We’re going to focus on what he does say, though:

Christians and Their “Mysteries”

Celsus compared Christian doctrines to the mysteries of the priests of Cybele, suggesting their teachings were cobbled together from ancient myths and mystery practices. He said:

“Christians weave together erroneous opinions drawn from ancient sources and sound them before men as the priests of Cybele clash their cymbals in the ears of those who are being initiated in their mysteries.”

This criticism reflects a broader Roman skepticism about Christianity’s claim to divine truth as well as Christians’ use of “mysteries.” By likening Christian rituals to pagan mystery cults, Celsus sought to undermine the uniqueness of their message. He may have made them more popular. Celsus criticized Jesus’ choice of disciples, describing them as uneducated and of low social standing:

“Jesus gathered around him 10 or 11 persons of notorious character—the very wickedest of tax gatherers and fishermen.”

This reflects a recurring theme in Roman critiques: the notion that Christianity appealed primarily to the poor and uneducated, and thus lacked credibility among the elite. Celsus dismissed Jesus’ miracles as mere parlor tricks, attributing them to skills learned in Egypt:

“These are nothing more than the tricks of jugglers who profess to do more wonderful things.”

For the Romans, miraculous claims were often met with skepticism, especially when they seemed to echo the practices of other mystery cults or magic traditions. These critiques reveal some about the cultural and philosophical divide between early Christians and their contemporaries. They also highlight the threat of Christians to Rome’s control of religious propaganda keeping the Pax Romana.

Wrestling with Reality: The Mystical & Political Impulse

At its core, the Gospel of John invites readers to wrestle with reality—to confront the tension between the temporal and the eternal, the seen and the unseen. This wrestling is not unlike the experiences sought in mystery cults and modern Christian practices, where initiates grappled with questions of life, death, and the divine. John’s narrative, however, situates this struggle within a historical and communal framework. Jesus’ crucifixion, presented as both tragedy and triumph, becomes the ultimate act of defiance against the powers of this world.

Historical records and archaeological evidence underscore the transformative impact of this message. The catacombs of Rome, adorned with Christian symbols such as the Chi-Rho and the Good Shepherd, bear witness to a faith that offered hope amidst persecution. The writings of early church fathers, including Tertullian and Justin Martyr, articulate the subversive nature of the Christian Gospel. As St. Augustine declared, “[The Eucharist] is the medicine of immortality, the antidote to death, the remedy for sin.”

“As, therefore, the blood of the vine and the bread of the earth are, by the art of God, transformed into the Eucharist, so the bread and wine, when received with the proper disposition, convey spiritual life.”

Irenaeus of Lyons (Against Heresies, 5.2.2)

Rethinking the Roots of Christianity

These elements challenge us to reconsider the origins of Christianity and lay aside the flannel graph of Sunday School lessons. This challenges us to suddenly reconsider our origins and the narratives we were told these texts were about.

If you have some questions, good.

The Gospel of John is more than a theological treatise; it is a manifesto for a counter-cultural movement rooted in love, justice, and divine union. Its mystical overtones and political undertones make it a text that speaks to every demographic, transcending the boundaries of time, ethnicity, class, and political allegiance. In a world dominated by imperial power and religious elitism, John’s Gospel offered an alternative vision—a kingdom not of this world but for this world.

By understanding John’s Gospel within its Greco-Roman context, we see how it functioned as both sacred scripture and revolutionary text. Its message, though rooted in the first century, continues to resonate, inviting readers today to wrestle with reality and encounter the divine. In the words of Jesus, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32).

“Granted, it’s a tough assignment, the original assignment. I get that. Love — Lord help us, could we not have been assigned something easier, like astrophysics or quantum mechanics? But no — love those you cannot love. Love those who are poor and broken and fouled and dirty and sick with sores. Love those who wish to strike you on both cheeks. Love the blowhard, the pompous ass, the arrogant liar. Find the Christ in each heart, even those. Preach the Gospel and only if necessary talk about it. Be the Word. It is easy to advise and pronounce and counsel and suggest and lecture; it is not so easy to do what must be done without sometimes shrieking. Bring love like a bright weapon against the dark… And so: amen.”

Brian Doyle

In the next post on the Gospel of John, we’ll explore some of John’s literary devices and explore how his prologue sets up the rest of his Gospel.