The Gospel, Part 1

[Note: this is the first article of a five-part series about the historical context of the Gospel]

The word we translate to “gospel” (Greek euangelion) wasn’t unique when it first showed up in the Bible. Proclaiming good news, on a national level, has been around since kingdoms first appeared on earth. Although the Gospel (capital “G”) nowadays primarily refers to the story of Jesus and his role as Savior within God’s Kingdom, there’s a rich history behind this term that predates Christianity. Coincidentally, understanding the original context of the gospel (lowercase “g”) is essential to grasping its full meaning today.

Throughout this five-part series, we’ll journey back through ancient history to explore the culture, language, and communication systems of some of the most prominent empires on earth in order to learn more about what it means to proclaim the ultimate Gospel. 

First stop, ancient Greece.

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The hot summer sun was shining on a runner named Pheidippides as he surveyed the soon-to-be battlefield. It was August of 490 BC and the Athenian army was lined up against a massive force of Persians, each side nervously anticipating the clash to come. Pheidippides was still out of breath from having delivered a message from the Athenian general Miltiades to one of his lieutenants in the middle of the front line. “Stretch it further. Only three deep.” The messenger then sprinted back to the low hill that served as the command post of the Greek forces. Wiping the sweat from his face, he watched as the Greek troops slowly shuffled laterally, extending their battle line, as the much larger Persian force across the plain similarly shuffled their troops around. The massive Persian fleet, which had borne the invaders in ships beyond number, were beached beyond the marsh to the east, while the town of Marathon could be seen between the hills to the north. Neither army would be comfortable fighting in the growing heat, but then again, was war ever pleasant? 

This clash had been brewing for years. King Darius of Persia had amassed a massive army from his vast empire, all conscripted from the various nations he ruled. Based in modern-day Iran, the Achaemenid Empire (also called the Persian Empire) was enormous, stretching from the Indus Valley (India) in the east, spanning the Middle East, and having its westernmost frontiers on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. Years earlier, Greek states on the coast of Asia Minor (Turkey) had assisted in the Ionian Revolt, which helped expel its Persian rulers. Darius swiftly crushed the rebellion and thereafter swore revenge on the Greeks, particularly on the city of Athens, whose military was pivotal in the revolt. Within three years, the Persian army had crossed the Aegean Sea, landing near the Greek town of Marathon. In response, the Athenian army marched out to meet them, blocking the exits from the marshy valley. Thus, on this hot summer day in eastern Greece, there was a lot on the line: the sovereignty and dominion of Darius’ all-powerful empire vs the freedom of the democratic city-states of Greece. Slaves vs free men. An ideological battle for the ages. And Pheidippides, sweating under the bright sun as he waited for another dispatch from Miltiades, had a front row seat to it all.

The appearance of the aged Greek general and the young runner couldn’t have been more different. Miltiades was decked out, like all the other Athenian soldiers (hoplites) in heavy armor. His head was covered in the customary bronze helmet of the infantry, crested with a thick strip of black horse hair. His torso was protected by a thick leather tunic (linothorax), while bronze greaves covered his shins. A shield (aspis) emblazoned with the crest of his home city of Athens was propped up to his left on a thin wooden tripod, and a long spear (doru) was stuck into the dirt at his right - both were ready to be lifted into place at a moment’s notice. A short sword (xiphos), his secondary weapon, was sheathed on his hip. Miltiades squinted out from behind the slits in his helmet as he anxiously watched the Greek center thin out, stretching the line wider. Would it be enough to prevent the Persians from out-flanking them?

In contrast to the heavy armor of the general Miltiades, Pheidippides the runner wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. He was completely stripped naked for speed, as was the custom of all messengers in Greece. As the swiftest runner in all Greece, Pheidippides had been dispatched 120 km (75 miles) to Sparta three days prior, requesting assistance to battle the invading Persians. Upon arrival, he delivered Miltiades’ message:

Men of Sparta, the Athenians ask you to help them, and not to stand by while the most ancient city of Greece is crushed and subdued by a foreign invader; for even now Eretria has been enslaved, and Greece is the weaker by the loss of one fine city.

The Spartans were willing to assist, but not during the festival of Carneia, which prohibited any military action until the next full moon, ten days away. Soon Pheidippides was back on the road to the swampy plains south of Marathon. His round trip took nearly four days of non-stop running. His legs were still sore.

Unsurprisingly, Miltiades wasn’t pleased with Sparta’s response. But what could he do? Each Greek city-state operated under a primitive democracy. As free men, no one was under obligation to fight for another. In fact, only full citizens were considered worthy of taking up the crest of their city. Unfortunately, without a conscripted military of slaves (like the Persians), this dramatically reduced the number of available Greek soldiers. Apart from a contingent of 1000 soldiers from the nearby city of Plataea, the 10,000-strong army of Athens was on their own to defend their city and the rest of Greece from the invading Persians. 

In contrast to the heavily-armored Greek hoplites, the lightly-armored Persians were swift and agile, accustomed to the wide-open battlefields of the Middle East. Their powerful cavalry was capable of quickly overrunning opposing foot-soldiers. Infantry carried tall wicker shields and long scimitars. Persian archers were renowned for unleashing such a number of arrows that they could block out the sun. That day they numbered 25,000 infantry, 1000 cavalry, 200 ships, and a reserve force of 100,000 sailors and oarsmen. The defending Athenians numbered less than half the number of invaders.

The timing of the battle was precarious. If it could be delayed long enough, the arrival of the Spartan army after the festival of Carneia would nearly double the number of Greek fighters. However, with Athens’ army deployed, the city was left defenseless. If the Persians sent even a portion of their army by sea, they could quickly sack the unprotected city. So, after five days of waiting, Miltiades saw a number of Persian warships depart back into the Aegean Sea. Were they on route to sack Athens? With no way of knowing, Miltiades forced the issue and ordered his troops to attack. 

Although the Greeks were outnumbered, the location of battle was carefully chosen. Marshes and rocky crags in the area prevented the use of the deadly Persian cavalry. And to match the width of the Persian infantry lines, Miltiades had thinned the Greek center while reinforcing the flanks. The Greeks fought with shields overlapped in a phalanx formation, where multiple rows of soldiers moved forward as a single unit, continuously pressing forward and crushing opposing forces. Spears thrust down from overhead were capable of reaching two, three, or even four lines forward, while their short swords thrust upward were capable of disemboweling any enemy unlucky enough to find themselves within arm’s reach. From the front, the Greek phalanx was virtually impenetrable to any light weapons of the time. But if outflanked, they were vulnerable from the rear. This was why Miltiades wanted his lines stretched so wide - as long as they could keep the Persians in front of them, they stood a chance of emerging victorious over the much larger army.

Pheidippides nervously took a long drink of water from a goatskin. This was the first major campaign he had been a part of. Although not on the front lines, his role was far from over. Urgent messages of tactical moves could very well turn the tide of the whole battle. Pheidippides and the other young runners were ready at a moment’s notice at their general’s side.

Miltiades gave the signal. The Greek phalanx, a wall of polished bronze, advanced across the open ground. The 11,000 hoplites marched in perfect formation in one massive line, three deep in some places, seven deep in others. Within 200 meters, arrows started flying, most of which glanced off their armor. Breaking into a run, the Greeks quickly covered the remaining ground and slammed into the Persian front lines. Wicker shields are excellent for defending against blades, spears,and arrows, but they were no match for a wall of bronze rushing forward. 

The first three lines of Persians were bowled over. As the bodies piled up before and below them, the surge of the Greek army slowed as battling warriors fused into a pulsing mass of flesh and weapons. Each round Greek shield was overlapped on either side, and those in the rear pressed into the backs of the hoplites in front of them, continuously pushing forward against the Persian lines. The Greeks repeatedly thrust their spears down into the faces of the Persians, whose short javelins and long swords were nearly useless in such close confines. 

The Athenians marched over top of their enemies - some dead, some wounded, others just stunned - while behind the advancement, Persians began rising from the ground. However, Miltiades had prepared for this. Greek slaves and servants, although not part of the formal military, were armed and equipped to evacuate injured hoplites, pass fresh weapons forward, and dispatch any surviving enemies. True to form, the supporting force made short work of any Persians who found themselves behind the Greek line. 

Pheidippides was sent to the front lines multiple times with various messages. He had to skip around writing bodies, arrows sticking out the dirt, and broken weapons strewn across the battlefield. The dust churned up was nearly suffocating at first, but soon the ground became muddy with blood and other bodily fluids. He found the lieutenants in the midst of the lines by identifying the pattern and color of horse hair atop their bronze helmets. With messages delivered, Pheidippides sprinted back to the Greek command post, often helping to carry or drag a wounded soldier along the way.

After the initial shock, and innumerable losses, the Persians began to regroup. Their strongest units, full of highly trained soldiers, had been positioned in the center of the battle lines. Although conscripted, they fought fiercely. By sheer mass of numbers, they began to press back on the thin Greek center. This, however, was also anticipated by Miltiades. As the Greek center was pushed back, the reinforced flanks wrapped around the Persian flanks and started attacking from the rear. Sandwiched between opposing walls of bronze and blades, the Persian center was cut down. 

With their lines in disarray, the remaining Persian army panicked and fled, escaping toward their ships. However, being unfamiliar with the terrain, many tried to run directly through the swamps, instead of taking the longer way around, and were bogged down in the muck. Some even drowned as their armor pulled them down in the stagnant water. 

With the main body of the Persian army crushed, the Greeks turned to pursue those that fled, slaughtering them in large numbers. The battle continued all the way back to the beach. Back at the ships, the Persian sailors and reserve forces witnessed the destruction of their “indestructible” army and watched the Greek forces getting ever nearer. The boats started putting out to sea with whatever soldiers were fortunately enough to make it back in time. The majority of Persian vessels escaped into the Aegean, but seven warships were captured by the Greeks before they could launch. 

Covered in the grime of battle, Pheidippides surveyed the aftermath of the battle. No cheer erupted from the victors - they were all too busy sucking air into their aching chests. Tears flowed, falling onto the bloody ground. Those Greeks who were not in shock were quickly occupied with binding up their wounded friends, or finishing off their wounded enemies. Soon the cacophony of moans and cries subsided, and an eerie silence descended on the battlefield as the soldiers trudged back to camp. 

This is where the historical veracity gets a little shaky. Legend holds that Pheidippides, exhausted but spurred on by the joy of victory, was dispatched by Miltiades to pronounce the news back home. He immediately ran the 40 km (26 mile) road back to Athens. However, the strain of the week - running all over Greece and dodging weapons on the battlefield - was simply too much. Bursting into the city council, he managed to utter “Chairete, nikomen!” (“Joy! We win!”) before collapsing dead on the ground. 

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The Battle of Marathon was an enormous victory for the city-states of Greece, who proved that the formidable Persian army could be defeated. Since that day, Pheidippides forever left his mark on the world. His final run to Athens - whether it actually happened or not - is the inspiration for the modern-day marathon, a footrace that happens nearly every weekend somewhere in the world. That distance - 42 kilometers or 26 miles - is the standard length of the world’s most popular long distance running race, named after the town where the Persians landed in Greece but were soon vanquished. 

Most athletes who participate in a marathon nowadays don’t realize that they’re running in memory of the “gospel” of Athens. Pheidippides died bringing good news to a people desperate to hear it. Although the Greco-Persian War would rage on for the next fifty years, the gospel a young man carried that day was good news not just for the citizens of Athens, or Greece as a whole, but for democracy itself. Every marathon should forever remind us that some news is so important that it’s worth expending any effort to proclaim, even costing us our very lives.

This is the context of the Greek word euangelion, which is most commonly translated into English as “gospel”. The gospel was a concept that was commonly understood in the ancient world, before Jesus or Christianity came on the scene. As we’ll see in the next article, The Bible is full of “gospel language”. The original audience of Scripture (i.e. those living in the Roman empire in the first century) would have recognized the Gospel of Christ the same way. They heard the good news for all those in God’s kingdom, that her enemies - sin and death - have been defeated, not just once, but for all time. And that this victory was available to all who would believe in Jesus’ name. However, Christianity’s rich history of proclaiming the Gospel simply followed the custom at the times ancient empires ruled the world. The modern-day marathon, and the legend of Pheidippides, is just one example of how this practice of proclaiming the gospel shaped not only Christianity, but the world.

© D. B. Ryen Incorporated, August 2024.