THE APOSTLE JOHN IS ONE LETTER AWAY FROM HERESY.
I know it makes me a nerd, but I can’t help loving my Greek class. Beginner Greek? Now that was a slog. But after 7 months, I’ve reached the golden fields of Intermediate Greek. Yes, the grammar has gotten more complicated. But it’s no longer only grammar.
Greek has become early mornings twice a week, 7:30am in the cafeteria of a local Bible college. Me and two other students sit around a table tucked in a corner — as soon as our prof arrives, we begin. He opens his small, red Greek New Testament. We hastily pull out our identical volumes. And we begin translating from the point in the Gospel of John we last left off, each of us taking a verse at a time, round the table. He corrects our mistakes, helps us smooth our translations, and inserts commentary on the Greek text; I sip my coffee, trying to block the familiar ESV text from my mind; the four of us chuckle at simple mistakes and get excited over fine points of grammar. Recently, three times in a row I translated an imperfect tense as an aorist tense — this error is now nicknamed, “The Chase.”
One piece of commentary from my prof has taken up residence in my mind, like the first gold nugget a prospector pans from the river, which drives him to spend hours a day crouched on the bank, sifting for more. Early in our translating endeavours, still getting through the first chapter of John’s Gospel, I discovered the gold flashing in my pan.
The familiar English of the ESV translates John 1:7 like this: “He came as a witness, to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him.”
The witness in question is John the Baptist, and the light is Jesus Christ. All evangelicals know that it’s believing in Jesus that gets you eternal life — a concept unpacked in John 1:10-13. But in verse 7, we’re drawn specifically into John’s witness about Jesus (maybe you’re familiar with how the other Gospels quote Old Testament prophets to show that John is the New Elijah, who prepares the way for the Lord). This verse is so familiar to me that I hardly gave it a second thought in translation. But as my prof pinpointed it, I realised that John (the author of the Gospel, not the Baptist) was close to the heresy of universalism. And not just close — one-different-letter-and-you’re-a-goner type of close.
After I gave my clunky translation, our prof asked, “What’s significant about the verb pisteusōsin?” (This is translated, “might believe.”)
It didn’t seem special. It was spelt as you’d expect — the accent was in the right spot.
His gaze locked onto me, imploring and expectant, the same look he gave after asking a question mid-lecture when he entirely believed in you, certainly you, to discover the answer. “What mood is it?”
He wasn’t asking if the verb was cranky. The Greek verbs of the New Testament have different “moods,” which we can think of as the way they relate to reality. One mood, called the indicative, is used to describe facts: “Sam went to the store.” Another mood, called the subjunctive, is used to describe probabilities rather than facts: “Sam might go to the store.” To use the indicative is to state that an action did take place, is taking place, or will take place. But not so with the subjunctive. In our New Testament, the difference between these two moods is sometimes as small as a single letter.
It struck me. Pisteusōsin was in the subjunctive.
I answer, “The text is saying that John witnessed so that all might believe in Jesus through him — not that all will believe.”
An encouraging light grew in his eyes. “And why does that matter?”
“The indicative would teach universalism — John would be saying that all people will believe in Jesus, so nobody would go to hell. But the subjunctive keeps him from that.”
My prof beamed, leaning back in his chair, satisfaction glowing in his face. “Exactly. A massive doctrine which is still a debate within the church — and in this text, the line is drawn by a small point of grammar. Pisteusōsin is subjunctive; pisteusousin is indicative. Just one letter makes the difference between universalism and particularism.”
“The line is drawn by a small point of grammar.”
Now I understand why we call it the Gold Rush. Like those old prospectors, me and my fellow students were driven crazy by that nugget. The Greek New Testament isn’t scary any more — yes, it’s still dangerous, like the wilderness of bygone days. But it’s an enchanted wilderness, full of possibility and adventure.
So if you’re on the cusp of learning the biblical languages — jump in. Come, get rich with us. And if you’re liable to roll your eyes whenever a pastor references Greek or Hebrew, don’t quickly dismiss true treasure as fool’s gold.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHASE HALL is a student at OBC, doing his Bachelor's in Biblical Studies, and a Ministry Intern at Central Community Church. He is the host of Revolution Podcast, and an avid student of Greek.
