From time to time we find in the Gospels matters for which the writers and those behind them have felt that some apology or at least some explanation was needed.  His friendship for sinners was a taunt against him in his lifetime; so was his inattention to the Sabbath (Mark 2:24, 3:2), and the details of ceremonial washing (Mark 7:1-5).  The faithful record of these is a sound indication both of the date[5] and of the truth of the Gospels.  But these were not all.  Celsus, in 178 A.D., in his True Word, mocked at Jesus because of the cry upon the cross; he reminded Christians that many and many a worthless knave had endured in brave silence, and their Great Man cried out.  It was from the Gospels that his knowledge came (Mark 15:37).  Even during his lifetime the Gospels reveal much about Jesus that in contemporary opinion would degrade him—­sighs and tears and fatigue, liability to emotion and to pain, friendship with women.

With these revelations of character we may group passages where the Gospels tell of Jesus surprising or shocking his disciples—­startling them by some act or some opinion, for which they were not prepared, or which was contrary to common belief or practice—­passages, too, where he blames or criticizes them for conventionality or unintelligence.

It has been remarked that the frequency and fidelity of Jesus’ own allusions to country life, his illustrations from bird and beast and flower, and the work of the farm, are evidence for the genuineness of the tradition.  Early Christianity, as we see already in the Acts of the Apostles, was prevailingly urban.  Paul aimed at the great centres of population, where men gathered and from which ideas spread.  The language of Paul in his epistles, the sermons inserted by Luke in the Acts, writings that survive of early Christians, are all in marked contrast to the speech of Jesus in this matter of country life.  When we recall the practice of ancient historians of composing speeches for insertion in their narratives, and weigh the suggestion that the sermons in the Acts may conceivably owe much to the free rehandling of Luke or may even be his own compositions, there is a fresh significance in his marked abstention from any such treatment of the words of Jesus.  It means that we may be secure in using them as genuine and untouched reproductions of what he said and thought.

This leads us to another point.  The central figure of the Gospels must impress every attentive reader as at least a man of marked personality.  He has his own attitude to life, his own views of God and man and all else, and his own language, as we shall see in the pages that follow.  So much his own are all these things that it is hard to imagine the possibility of his being a mere literary creation, even if we could concede a joint literary creation by several authors writing independent works.  Indeed, when we reflect on the character of the Gospels, their origin and composition, and then consider the sharp, strong outlines of the personality depicted, we shall be apt to feel his claim to historicity to be stronger than we supposed.