One man outlived them all. When he died, the last person alive who had heard Jesus teach and had leaned back against Him at supper was gone — and from then on the church had what had been written and handed on, and no living memory to check it against. 1, 2 & 3 John

Ephesus

Early tradition places John at Ephesus in his old age, after Jerusalem fell — teaching, and known simply as the elder. He was young when the story began; he is very old now, and everyone else from that morning is dead.

1, 2 and 3 John

About A.D. 85–95. Two things are being fought over, and John will not separate them.

The first is whether Jesus really came in a body. Teachers had begun saying that a holy God could not truly have taken on flesh — that the humanity was appearance only. John’s answer is not an argument but a memory: what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what our hands have touched. He was there. He is not going to be told it did not happen.

The second is love, and he is relentless about it. Anyone who says he loves God and hates his brother is a liar, because the one he has not seen cannot be loved by a man who will not love the one in front of him. The two tests — is your doctrine of Christ true, and do you actually love people — are never allowed apart.

The two short letters are personal notes: one warning against giving a platform to travelling teachers who deny the incarnation, one commending a man named Gaius for his hospitality and taking a swipe at a Diotrephes who likes to be first.

Patmos, and the seven churches

Tradition puts John on Patmos, a small island off the coast, exiled under Domitian around A.D. 95 — and it is there that he received the vision he wrote to seven churches of Asia. That book is a study of its own, and I am not going to compress it into a paragraph here.

The end of the eyewitnesses

The tradition remembers John dying at Ephesus around A.D. 100, an old man, of old age — the only one of the Twelve it does not remember as a martyr. Like the rest of these accounts it comes from the church’s memory rather than from Scripture, though it is early and consistent.

With him the first generation closes. In seventy years the thing had gone from a hundred and twenty frightened people in an upstairs room to congregations in every major city of the empire, without an army, a budget, or a single friend in government — and at considerable cost to almost everyone who carried it.

What they left behind is the twenty-seven documents you now hold as the New Testament: Luke’s history, and the letters written into real arguments in real towns by men who expected to be read once and answered. Read in the order the events happened, they stop being religious literature and start being mail.

If you want to see the whole span at once — every letter in its place on the timeline — that is the companion page, Where the Letters Fall.