by Giuseppe Guarino

CHRONOLOGY and BIBLE

Inconsistencies or literary style?

 

CONTENTS

 Introduction

The Book of  Daniel

The Gospels of Matthew and Mark

Which Calendar?

The Gospel of John

Conclusions

Introduction

We Westerners remain, to a large extent, subservient to chronology. Consequently, we seek it everywhere: in facts, in history, and inevitably in the Bible itself. There is nothing inherently wrong with this—provided we recognize that the biblical authors were not obsessed with chronology in the way we are.

Chronology (from late Greek χρονολογία, composed of χρόνος, “time,” and -λογία, “study”):

1. The discipline that establishes temporal relationships among historical events by situating them in time.

2. The sequence in which events occur.

3. A work that presents historical facts in chronological order.

For the Greeks, Chronos—time conceived as the relentless passage of years, days, hours, minutes, and seconds—eventually became a deity, following various mythological developments. It is no coincidence that we still say “time is a tyrant,” or that we measure its value with the expression “time is money.”

Whether we realize it or not, the Greek mindset continues to exert a profound influence on our daily lives, rendering us, in a certain sense, slaves to time. This instinctive tendency to arrange everything sequentially, when applied to historical study, is what we call chronology. We analyze events by placing them in temporal order, and when that order is disrupted, we perceive the narrative as confused or defective. If a story fails to honor the god Chronos, we are quick to call it a scandal.

Yet it has not always been so.

It should not scandalize us, therefore, if—faithful to its cultural and historical context—the Bible does not submit to rigid chronological constraints in narrating events. More precisely, in Sacred Scripture narrative and theological intent take absolute precedence over chronology.

When alleged chronological errors are identified in the Gospels, the problem lies not with the Bible, but with ignorance of well-established historical and literary realities. In Scripture, what matters is not when events occur, but what they mean. The Bible deliberately sets aside our obsession with temporal order in order to direct the reader toward something deeper: meaning—and ultimately, Truth.

This is not a matter of error, but of intent.
Not of inaccuracy, but of a powerful confirmation of the antiquity, Jewish origin—and therefore, indirectly, the authenticity—of the biblical writings, especially the Gospels.

Let us now consider this concretely.

 The Book of Daniel

Daniel is a peculiar book and has been the object of attack from the first century AD to the present, due to the extraordinary prophecies it contains. These attacks came from outside Christianity—most notably from the philosopher Porphyry in the early centuries—and from within, through modern liberal criticism.

Picture below my commentary on Daniel. Click on it to buy the book on Amazon.

In Christian Bibles, Daniel is placed among the Prophets—between the so-called Major and Minor Prophets—whereas in the Hebrew canon it appears among the Ketuvim (the Writings), and rightly so. Some scholars argue that this placement implies a late date of composition and a delayed canonical reception. This conclusion, however, is not demonstrable. The book’s placement depends not on chronology, but on literary style, which clearly distinguishes it from classical prophetic literature.

Let us examine the chronological structure of Daniel in the simplest terms.

• Neo-Babylonian period (c. 607–536 BC): chapters 1–5

• Medo-Persian period: chapter 6

• Return to Babylonian period: chapters 7–8

• Persian period: chapters 9–12

Chapters 1–5 unfold during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar and his successors. Chapter 5, with striking historical accuracy, recounts the fall of Babylon and the rise of Persian rule under Cyrus. Chapter 6 belongs to the Medo-Persian era.

Some critics—often well-credentialed but poorly informed—see a historical inconsistency here, confusing Darius the Mede with later Persian kings bearing the same name. In reality, Darius the Mede was appointed by Cyrus to govern Babylon (Dan 5:31). The choice was politically sound: Medes and Babylonians had once been allies against Assyria. A Mede was therefore the most suitable administrator.

So, the first six chapters of Daniel follow a clear chronological order.

Chapters 7 and 8, however, deliberately return to the Babylonian period. From chapter 9 onward, chronological progression resumes. In my book on Daniel, I described this structure as a form of “chronological disorder”—though it is intentional, not accidental.

Narrative intent once again overrides strict temporal sequencing. Meaning, not timing, governs the text.

This does not undermine the unity of the book. On the contrary, Daniel’s bilingual structure reinforces it. Chapters 1, 2:1–3, and 8–12 are written in Hebrew; the remainder in Aramaic. Hebrew sections focus on Israel; Aramaic sections address the nations, using the international language of the time. Chapter 7, though written in Aramaic, belongs thematically to the second half of the book. Unity is unmistakable.

The Gospels of Matthew and Mark

Among the Synoptic Gospels, Mark preserves a more consistent chronological framework, particularly during Jesus’ final week in Jerusalem—a subject I have examined extensively elsewhere.

I discussed this extensively in a book.

Matthew, however, operates according to a different principle. For him, theological intent outweighs chronological precision. What matters is what happens, not when it happens.

A comparison of Matthew 21 and Mark 11 illustrates this clearly. Mark distinguishes successive days: entry into Jerusalem, return to Bethany, cursing of the fig tree, cleansing of the temple, and the fig tree’s withering observed later. Matthew compresses these events into a tighter narrative sequence, omitting temporal markers.

This is no oversight. Matthew’s purpose is theological. The fig tree represents Israel; the cleansing of the temple signals a decisive break with Second Temple Judaism. Mark, by contrast, emphasizes divine patience through temporal spacing.

What appears to be inconsistency is, in fact, precision of intent.

I present the two gospels in two columns to demonstrate this.

Matthew 21	Mark 11
Verses from 1:11. Jesus enters Jerusalem	Verses 1 to 10. Jesus enters Jerusalem
	v. 11 Jesus returns to Bethany  And Jesus, when he was come into Jerusalem, came into the temple: and when he had looked round about on all things, because the hour was now late, he went out to Bethany, he and the twelve.
	v. 12 to 14 The next morning Jesus curses the fig tree The next day , when they had come out of Bethany, he was hungry. Now when he saw a fig tree in the distance having leaves, he came to see if he could find anything on it; but when he came to it, he found nothing on it except leaves, for it was not the season for figs. Jesus turned to the fig tree and said, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again!” And his disciples heard it.
v. 12-16 Jesus cleanses the temple 12 Jesus entered the temple and drove out all those who were buying and selling, and overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves.	15-18. Jesus cleanses the temple 15 They came to Jerusalem, and Jesus entered the temple and began to drive out those who were buying and selling in the temple…
v. 17 Jesus returns to Bethany And he left them, and went out of the city to Bethany, where he spent the night.	v. 19 Jesus leaves the city that evening When evening came , they went out of the city.
v.18-20 In the morning , as he was returning to the city, he was hungry. And seeing a fig tree by the road, he came to it and found nothing on it except leaves. And he said to it, “May no fruit grow on you again forever.” And immediately the fig tree withered away. When his disciples saw it, they marveled, saying, “How did the fig tree wither away so quickly?”	20-22 The next day he returns to Jerusalem In the morning , as they passed by, they saw the fig tree dried up from the roots. Peter remembered and said to him, “Master, look, the fig tree you cursed has withered.”

As we can see, Matthew does not bother to specify that Jesus returned to Bethany after his entry into Jerusalem. Mark, however, tells us that the cleansing of the temple occurred on the following day. In Matthew, by contrast, that event immediately follows the entry into Jerusalem. Narrative intent therefore overrides concern for chronology.

Matthew must emphasize the definitive break with Second Temple Judaism—with Israel itself. Israel is the fig tree on which Jesus finds no fruit and which, for this reason, is cursed.

Mark, on the other hand, spreads both the cursing of the fig tree and the cleansing of the temple—events that occur after the entry into Jerusalem—over two separate days. It is clear that Mark is more attentive to chronology and, through this temporal spacing, highlights God’s patience. In Matthew, however, the narrative of the chapters preceding chapter 21 has already brought the situation to a crisis.

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you! How often I longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing! Behold, your house is left to you desolate. For I tell you, you will not see me from now on until you say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’”
(Matthew 23:37–39)

What might appear to us as an inconsistency—or perhaps an omission—is in fact the result of deliberate intent. Even the manner in which the event is narrated accords with the truth revealed through it.

What might seem to be a contradiction or an inaccuracy thus becomes a genuine strength of Matthew’s work. The evangelist shows us how, with masterful care and under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, he reported events so that the truths his Gospel was meant to reveal would emerge—a perspective entrusted to him by the Spirit, distinct from that of the other evangelists and certainly not subordinate to chronology or to a rigid temporal sequencing of events, but oriented instead toward their profound meaning.

Facts exist. Reality exists. Truth, however, lies in the interpretation of those facts in light of God’s perfect plan and will. This does not entail altering reality, but rather conferring eternal meaning upon what occurs.

Which Calendar?

he Gospels are marvelous literary works. They are the Word of God, but they are also literature. In fact, I am surprised—or perhaps I should say I would be surprised, were it not that there is ultimately nothing to be surprised about—that they are not studied in schools from a purely literary perspective.

I bought a very good book when I was in Malta, Europe, called ” The New Testament as Literature ,” written by Kyle Keefer and published by Oxford University—sorry if that’s not enough. I’ve included some quotes relevant to the topic of this article from pages 18 and 19.

“These narratives, called Gospels, do not worry much about chronology. Not a single physical aspect about Jesus is mentioned.” (I quote this last detail to strengthen my point on how today’s priorities were not considered important by the authors of the Gospels). 

“Many scholars assert that the Gospels fit the genre of ancient biographies, a genre encompassing expectations much different from ours.”

“Chronological accuracy, in this mode of writing, becomes subservient to the overarching thesis of the author.”

The authors “…are gathering material that they have received…placing and organizing” it “to suit their finished product.”

Thus, by relegating certain factors—such as chronology—to the background, the Gospels not only accommodate the Jewish mentality inherited from the Tanakh, but also remain in perfect harmony with the biographical literary genre of their time.

Furthermore, it is important to understand something that may seem trivial, yet is in fact decisive: in the ancient world there was no uniform calendar. Such standardization is a very recent achievement, and historians still struggle to reconcile the dates of various local calendars both with one another and with our Gregorian system.

Some commentaries on the book of Daniel, following shockingly careless authors, speak of discrepancies in Daniel’s dating when compared with that proposed in the book of Jeremiah. In particular, Daniel 1:1 is often presented as contradictory to Jeremiah 25:1. This, however, is simply a matter of differing calendar systems. Daniel employs the Babylonian calendar, while Jeremiah uses the Judean one. There are no inconsistencies—only different calendars.

Put simply, had the Bible provided more precise dates, given their inherent relativity, it might well have generated greater confusion rather than greater clarity.

The Gospel of John

One detail in the Gospel of John particularly strikes me: the cleansing of the temple is placed in chapter 2, verses 13–25.

This positioning has left many scholars perplexed. However, if we keep in mind the principle we have been observing—disregard for timing and attention to the meaning of events—it becomes easier to understand why John places the cleansing of the temple at the very beginning of his Gospel. Some commentators, such as Arno C. Gaebelein, whom I greatly respect, have hypothesized two distinct cleansings of the temple: one at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry and another after his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, at the end of his ministry. This hypothesis, however, is untenable. Moreover, a careful reading shows that chapters 2, 3, and 4 of John’s Gospel do not depict Jesus at the beginning of his ministry at all.

In Matthew, Jesus begins by proclaiming the gospel of the Kingdom. For several chapters, he instructs his disciples to address themselves exclusively to Israel, announcing salvation to God’s people. Rejection is gradual, and conflict with the Jewish authorities intensifies progressively, culminating in the purification of the temple. In John, however, the picture is radically different. Already in chapter 1 it is openly stated: “He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him.” Immediately thereafter, salvation is presented in universal terms: “But to all who received him, to them he gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:11–12).

The crescendo that characterizes Matthew is absent in John. From the outset, it is made clear that salvation is open to all humanity. While in Matthew we read, “From that time Jesus began to preach and to say, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’” (Matthew 4:17), in John Jesus is immediately proclaimed in the first person as “the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29).

It is within this theological framework that the purification of the temple follows directly upon the calling of the disciples and the first miracle.

It is also evident that John 2, beginning with verse 13, does not describe an event that can reasonably be placed at the start of Jesus’ ministry. This is demonstrated both by Jesus’ evident familiarity with the Jewish authorities and by what emerges clearly at the beginning of chapter 3:

“Now there was a man of the Pharisees named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews. This man came to Jesus by night and said to him, ‘Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with him.’”
(John 3:1–2)

To which signs is Nicodemus referring? Up to that point, John has narrated only the wedding at Cana—an event not public in nature. It is therefore evident that the encounter with Nicodemus takes place later in Jesus’ ministry, when a prominent member of the Jewish leadership feels compelled to meet him in order to discern whether he truly is the promised Messiah.

John’s discourse continues to develop the theme of the universal call throughout chapter 3, up to verse 21. The figure of John the Baptist then reappears, and his testimony assumes an explicitly universal dimension. He declares: “He bears witness to what he has seen and heard, yet no one receives his testimony” (John 3:32). Here the rejection by Israel becomes apparent. Immediately afterward, the appeal is extended to all humanity: “Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life; whoever rejects the Son will not see life, but the wrath of God remains on him” (John 3:36).

It is therefore no coincidence that in chapter 4 it is a Samaritan woman—and a woman, no less—who recognizes Jesus as the Messiah. On the one hand stand hesitant religious leaders, represented by an authoritative yet uncertain man who approaches Jesus secretly at night. On the other stands a Samaritan woman who not only recognizes him as the Messiah but publicly proclaims him to the inhabitants of her city, many of whom come to faith. To assist readers unfamiliar with the historical and religious tensions involved, and to underline how revolutionary Jesus’ behavior is, the evangelist explains: “Jews have no dealings with Samaritans” (John 4:9).

Jesus breaks every mold: he dismantles religious and national barriers. God reaches anyone willing to open the door of the heart. Yet the Lord does not deny either his Jewish identity or the election of his people: “You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews.” He immediately adds, in full harmony with the universal scope of the gospel message: “The hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth; for the Father seeks such to worship him” (John 4:22–23).

Chapter 4 concludes in a highly significant manner with the healing of an official’s son. Jesus heals him from a distance, without physically visiting him. This episode prefigures the salvation that would later reach the Gentiles—peoples whom Jesus never visited personally, entrusting this mission instead to his disciples.

The first four chapters of John’s Gospel thus narratively anticipate what Jesus will declare to his disciples after the resurrection: “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8). Is this not precisely the progression of Christ’s proclamation in the opening chapters of the fourth Gospel? First to the Jews, who largely do not believe; then to the Samaritans; and finally to the Gentiles.

Conclusions

I have been reading and studying the Gospels—and the Bible as a whole—for over forty years. Even today, they remain a source of continual wonder, an ever-renewed discovery of treasures that are not only spiritual but also literary.

Anyone who opens the Bible in search of errors is wasting time. Anyone who closes it quickly, convinced they have found inconsistencies and contradictions, content to congratulate themselves and thus avoid having to confront the Christian God, truly does not know what they are missing.

Some time ago, when I began researching the chronology of the four Gospel accounts of Jesus’ final week—with the aim of reconstructing the sequence of events in those last days of his ministry—I was struck by two apparently opposing yet deeply complementary realities: on the one hand, the evangelists’ clear lack of interest in a rigid chronological framework; on the other, the extraordinary unfolding of truths and messages of eternal love. This journey compelled me to reexamine many of my assumptions, and after years of historical and philological research, I reached the conclusion that our fixation on chronology is not intrinsic to the biblical writings.

Within the expressive freedom of the powerful message of salvation, the remarkable distinctiveness of a unique and majestic literary style prevails. This is how the Gospels came into being: born of Jewish culture, rooted in Second Temple Judaism, and shaped by the testimony of the risen Christ—too powerful to remain confined within the narrow boundaries of Israel, and too profound to be subordinated to the mere succession of days, months, and years on our calendar.

No error, then; no inconsistency. Rather, a literary intent masterfully entrusted to words and to material supports—papyrus, parchment, and paper—so that the Truth and the power of the Gospel might travel through time to reach us: mastering Chronos, without ever becoming its slave.

“ Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away .”

(Matthew 24:35, Mark 13:31, Luke 21:33).