Enough measuring. The sign, the calendar, the year, the ministry — and the clock read at both ends, from the coronation month to the cross — everything has pointed to one week in the spring of the year 31, and now that week may at last be told. Not as a new argument; the arguments have been given. As a reconstruction: eleven days, from the eighth to the eighteenth of Nisan, with the events laid into them as the text gives them, each in its place, with nothing that has to be tucked out of sight. Where the familiar reading must press the whole week of the passion into a day and a half, this week breathes. And at more than one point, what first looked like a friction — an hour too many, a sabbath too many — turns into a gain. Come and see.
Dossierthe final week, 8–18 Nisan AD 31 (the Wednesday model)
Nisan
day (Julian)
weekday
in the model
8
19 April
Thursday
arrival at Bethany (John 12:1); that evening the anointing
9
20 April
Friday
the entry; the cleansing of the temple (Mt. 21:12; Lk. 19:45)
10
21 April
Saturday
the sabbath — rest
11
22 April
Sunday
the withered fig tree; teaching
12
23 April
Monday
teaching; the discourse on the last things
13
24 April
Tuesday
—
14
25 April
Wednesday
evening: the last supper, Gethsemane, the arrest · by day: crucifixion, death ~3 p.m., burial before sunset · that night: an eclipsed moon
15
26 April
Thursday
the festival sabbath of 15 Nisan — rest; John 19:31 calls that day "great"
16
27 April
Friday
working day — the women buy spices (Mark 16:1)
17
28 April
Saturday
the weekly sabbath — they rest (Luke 23:56); towards evening: the resurrection
18
29 April
Sunday
before dawn: the empty tomb discovered
The four days in bold are the hinges: the entry, the cross, the resurrection, the discovery. Everything between them follows the text without forcing. [CALCULATED · appendix A]
The rows are indexed on the Jewish day; the Julian date runs from midnight. The evening of 14 Nisan thus falls on Tuesday evening, 24 April Julian.
It begins at Bethany. Six days before the Passover He arrives there (John 12:1); that evening He is anointed, and its fragrance already hangs over the week to come. The next day He rides into Jerusalem — a donkey's colt, cloaks on the road, palm branches in the air, and a crowd shouting "Hosanna" as though heaven were opening. It is Friday, the ninth of Nisan; and that same day He drives the buyers and sellers from the temple, the tables overturned. And the tenth, the day on which every household set apart its Passover lamb (Exodus 12:3), falls the day after — the sabbath, a quiet day of rest. The typology stands: He is the Lamb, gone up to the feast to be slain, and He has called Himself "Lord" also of the sabbath (Mark 2:28). But it need not be riveted to a single calendar day to be true. Whoever sees the week begin this way sees at once that nothing in it is arbitrary.
Expertwhy the entry on the Friday and not the sabbath?
"Six days before the Passover" (John 12:1) can be counted four ways: from 14 or 15 Nisan, inclusively or by difference. Three of those four put the entry or the arrival on the sabbath; one does not. From 14 Nisan, by difference, the arrival at Bethany falls on Thursday 19 April and the entry on Friday 20 April — the only reading that keeps the sabbath clear. That is a choice, and it costs the tie of the entry to 10 Nisan (the setting apart of the lamb) as a calendar datum; the typology remains, the date does not. And why not the sabbath? Because Bethany lies fifteen stadia off (John 11:18) — more than twice the sabbath limit of two thousand cubits (Acts 1:12) — and no relief closes that gap: even an eruv techumin reaches at most four thousand cubits (m. Eruvin 4:3, 5:7; b. Eruvin 49b), and that still falls short. Whoever spends the sabbath in Bethany does not reach Jerusalem on that sabbath. And the cleansing? Two of the three evangelists (Matthew 21:12; Luke 19:45) place it on the day of the entry itself, the Friday; only Mark moves it to the next morning, in his fig-tree frame.
And in fairness to the other side: on the bare count the Friday fares better — on a Friday 14 Nisan only one of the four readings lands on the sabbath, against the three above on this book's reading. But the foremost defender of that Friday, Hoehner, chose precisely that one: he dates the arrival at Bethany itself to "the Saturday before the Passion Week" (pp. 90–91, 93) while pressing the sabbath limit against the Wednesday (p. 67). The seam is thus in John 12:1, and it runs through both weeks.
The days that follow fill themselves as the gospels fill them: the withered fig tree, the teaching, and then, on the slope of the Mount of Olives, the discourse on the last things — on the temple that will not be left one stone upon another, on the days to come. Three days of words, while in the city the knives are being sharpened and in a back room the money is being counted.
And then the Wednesday. The fourteenth of Nisan, the day of the lamb.
It begins in the evening, at a table. The most discussed meal in history, and the most finely wrought: He eats the Passover, with bread and cup and the words the church would never forget — "this is My body", "this is My blood". He eats it a day before the official temple lambs fall; how that can be is explained elsewhere (ch. 5), and it is no sleight of hand but a depth: He ate the Passover before the slaughter, because He would be the slaughter. The meal that ran a day ahead ran ahead to the cross. Then the night — the garden, the sweat like drops of blood, the kiss of a friend, the torches among the olive trees, the armed band. And the interrogations that last until morning: from Annas to Caiaphas, from Caiaphas to Pilate, a cock crowing in a courtyard, a disciple weeping in the dark.
Expertthe third hour or the sixth?
Mark says they crucified Him "at the third hour" (15:25); John places Pilate's sentence "about the sixth hour" (19:14). On a single reckoning of the hours that is impossible. But Mark counts Jewishly, from sunrise — the third hour is about nine in the morning; John, writing for a Roman-provincial audience, counts from midnight — the sixth hour is about six o'clock. Then the sentence stands at six and the cross at nine, a sequence that closes. In honesty: that Roman reckoning has been argued for and disputed. The point is a modest one — the clash resolves without doing violence to the text.
By day He hangs on the wood. And around Him stand those who handed Him over — the chief priests, mocking, shaking their heads: "He saved others; Himself He cannot save." They ought not to be standing there; on the feast day they would be bound to the temple service. But it is not the feast day, it is the fourteenth, a working day, and that is why they are there — the rabbinic front of Chapter 5 returns here, no longer as evidence but as colour, as the faces around the cross. Somewhere in the city Barabbas walks free, a murderer who took the place of the Innocent — the first man for whom He literally went into death. And at the sixth hour it grows dark.
Excursuswhat the darkness is not
Here honesty matters more than effect. The midday darkness, from the sixth to the ninth hour, is not a solar eclipse. The Passover falls at full moon; sun and moon then stand opposite each other, and a solar eclipse is astronomically impossible. So the darkness stands as what the text reports — a sign — not as something that can be recomputed. Whoever wants to make it an eclipse is inventing. But the moon, that night, does do something: in the hours after the crucifixion a partial lunar eclipse stood over Jerusalem, a disc partly stained blood-red on the evening of the Passover (ch. 7). Some connect it with Peter's "the moon into blood" (Acts 2:20); but such a link is a construal, not a measurement, and this book gives it not a grain of weight — no more on this side than on that of the eclipse of AD 33 (ch. 15). I draw the moon in as it was: an image, not an argument.
At the ninth hour — three in the afternoon, the hour at which in the temple the first lambs begin to fall — He cries out and dies. And before the sun goes down He is buried in haste, for the festival sabbath is drawing on — the day John calls "a great day" (John 19:31, 42). A new tomb, a stone before it, a few women watching from a distance. And at that moment the count of the sign begins: three nights, three days, in the heart of the earth.
Now the week grows spacious, and it shows what the space is for. The Thursday is the festival sabbath, the feast day of 15 Nisan; the people rest for the feast. Then comes the Friday — an ordinary working day — and precisely there the women buy their spices (Mark 16:1, "when the sabbath was past"). What they already had, they had prepared before the first sabbath; the Saturday is the weekly sabbath, and on that day "they rested according to the commandment" (Luke 23:56). Two sabbaths, with a working day between them, exactly where the two texts together ask for it (ch. 4). What in the familiar week is a riddle — how can the women buy spices after the sabbath (Mark) and prepare them before the sabbath (Luke)? — is here no riddle at all, but the ordinary course of a week with two days of rest: prepare before the first sabbath, buy on the working day, rest on the second. The date explains the details, instead of wrestling with them.
⚠ And the counter-reading belongs here, for it exists and it holds. The same two texts can be read within a single sabbath: the women prepare on the Friday afternoon (Luke 23:56), rest "according to the commandment", and on the Saturday evening, once the sabbath is past, buy what they lacked (Mark 16:1). On that reading no working day between two days of rest is needed, and this book does not refute it. What remains is an unevenness and not a refutation: on that reading they buy, after the sabbath, spices they then do not prepare. That is possible — unmixed spices can be carried as they are — but it is not the obvious course, and Luke puts the preparing expressly before the rest. The two texts therefore ask for a working day between two sabbaths. They do not require one, and I claim no more than that. [INTERPRETED]
⚠ And one datum belongs with that, for it cuts my way and against me at once. On the day of death itself Joseph of Arimathea buys linen — ἀγοράσας σινδόνα (Mark 15:46). A purchase, on the day this book calls the fourteenth. Whoever puts the day of death on the fifteenth must explain how buying takes place on a feast day; that is a gain for the fourteenth. But it also means that a purchase around these days proves no working day by itself — the text sets one down without supplying a calendar rule for it, and so the buying of spices in Mark 16:1 cannot be adduced as proof of a working day either. The datum works both ways, and it stands here because it works both ways.And it is not mine alone. André Reis adduces precisely this place — "Joseph of Arimathea buys a linen cloth during a festival Sabbath (Mark 15:46)" — as one of six objections to a crucifixion on Nisan 15 (2025, p. 6). He arrives at Friday 3 April 33 and not at the Wednesday; on the day of death itself we agree. That the other side uses the same datum in the same way does not make it weigh more — it shows that it is contested on neither side. [DOCUMENTED]
And then, at the end of the weekly sabbath, Saturday towards evening, exactly three full days after the burial: the resurrection. Not, as custom reads it, on Sunday morning — but at the close of the third day, where the sign places it. In this reconstruction the resurrection thus falls at the close of the sabbath, not on Sunday morning — though that is a reading, not a compulsion. Mark's phrase that He appeared "having risen early on the first day" (16:9) can be taken that way, but that participle is argued for as much as it is disputed; what is certain is that John finds the tomb already empty while it is "still dark" (20:1). The women discover it; they do not cause it. And note what this does not touch: the first day of the week remains the day of the empty tomb, of the appearances, of the church that came to know her Lord alive — untouched. Only the moment of the resurrection itself moves to where the Lord set it, in His own sign: the end of the third day.
"He is not here, for He has been raised, as He said" (Matthew 28:6).
Now lay the week beside itself and see the shape. The Lamb, set apart on the tenth. The Passover eaten before the slaughter, because He is the slaughter. Slain on the fourteenth, at the hour of the temple lambs. Three nights in the dark. Raised at the end of the sabbath, discovered on the first day. It is no string of loose facts; it is a liturgy. Everything the previous parts measured piece by piece — the day, the year, the calendar — converges here into a single movement, and the movement bears a name older than the arithmetic: Passover. The feast that for centuries commemorated a lamb in Egypt receives here its true meaning — the announcement of this Lamb, on these days.
And the week ends at an empty tomb. But did that day also leave something behind outside the texts? That is the next question.
HeartHEART
A God who keeps the clock to the night keeps the liturgy to the day. Nothing in this week is arbitrary: the day of the setting apart, the hour of the slaughter, the rest of two sabbaths, the turning at the close of the third day. For seven chapters the counting has gone on — the barley, the moon, the imperial years, the nights — and it was good to count. But beneath all that counting lies something no number can hold: that He chose this. That He presented Himself openly as the Lamb, ate before He was slain, died at the hour the knives fell, and returned exactly when He had promised. One who handles the times like that — precisely, and full of meaning — can be trusted with the time still to come. The dates are not the goal; they show that He is exact with what He promises. And whoever believes that can not only recompute the week, but enter it — and fall silent before it.
Note on the sources
The week calendar 8–18 Nisan 31 has been machine-recomputed (appendix A): 10 Nisan = Sat 21 April, 14 Nisan = Wed 25 April, 15 Nisan (festival sabbath) = Thu 26 April, 17 Nisan (weekly sabbath) = Sat 28 April, 18 Nisan = Sun 29 April. The lunar eclipse of the night of 25/26 April has been recomputed and is cited solely as construed colour; the midday darkness is expressly not an eclipse (full moon) and stays outside the calculation. This chapter advances no new argument; it displays the reconstruction the previous parts have measured, and the pearls of the rabbinic front (ch. 5) return here as colour, not as evidence. The resurrection at the end of the weekly sabbath is this book's reading (ch. 13); the Sunday remains untouched as the day of the discovery. This chapter claims no proof.
Literature (APA)
Primary texts: Exodus 12:3 · Mark 2:28; 11:1; 15:25, 33–37; 16:1, 9 · Luke 23:56 · John 12:1; 19:14, 31, 42; 20:1 · Matthew 21:1; 28:6 · Acts 1:12; 2:20. This chapter quotes no Greek; the verses are given in my own working translation, and where the text-form matters that is done in the chapters where it is measured (chs. 3, 4, 13). The calendar and eclipse calculations rest on Chapters 7 and 8; the tables are in appendix A. Reis (2025), cited here at Mark 15:46, is given in full at Chapter 15.
Enough measuring. The sign, the calendar, the year, the ministry — and the clock read at both ends, from the coronation month to the cross — everything has pointed to one week in the spring of the year 31, and now that week may at last be told. Not as a new argument; the arguments have been given. As a reconstruction: eleven days, from the eighth to the eighteenth of Nisan, with the events laid into them as the text gives them, each in its place, with nothing that has to be tucked out of sight. Where the familiar reading must press the whole week of the passion into a day and a half, this week breathes. And at more than one point, what first looked like a friction — an hour too many, a sabbath too many — turns into a gain. Come and see.
Dossierthe final week, 8–18 Nisan AD 31 (the Wednesday model)
The four days in bold are the hinges: the entry, the cross, the resurrection, the discovery. Everything between them follows the text without forcing. [CALCULATED · appendix A]
The rows are indexed on the Jewish day; the Julian date runs from midnight. The evening of 14 Nisan thus falls on Tuesday evening, 24 April Julian.
It begins at Bethany. Six days before the Passover He arrives there (John 12:1); that evening He is anointed, and its fragrance already hangs over the week to come. The next day He rides into Jerusalem — a donkey's colt, cloaks on the road, palm branches in the air, and a crowd shouting "Hosanna" as though heaven were opening. It is Friday, the ninth of Nisan; and that same day He drives the buyers and sellers from the temple, the tables overturned. And the tenth, the day on which every household set apart its Passover lamb (Exodus 12:3), falls the day after — the sabbath, a quiet day of rest. The typology stands: He is the Lamb, gone up to the feast to be slain, and He has called Himself "Lord" also of the sabbath (Mark 2:28). But it need not be riveted to a single calendar day to be true. Whoever sees the week begin this way sees at once that nothing in it is arbitrary.
Expertwhy the entry on the Friday and not the sabbath?
"Six days before the Passover" (John 12:1) can be counted four ways: from 14 or 15 Nisan, inclusively or by difference. Three of those four put the entry or the arrival on the sabbath; one does not. From 14 Nisan, by difference, the arrival at Bethany falls on Thursday 19 April and the entry on Friday 20 April — the only reading that keeps the sabbath clear. That is a choice, and it costs the tie of the entry to 10 Nisan (the setting apart of the lamb) as a calendar datum; the typology remains, the date does not. And why not the sabbath? Because Bethany lies fifteen stadia off (John 11:18) — more than twice the sabbath limit of two thousand cubits (Acts 1:12) — and no relief closes that gap: even an eruv techumin reaches at most four thousand cubits (m. Eruvin 4:3, 5:7; b. Eruvin 49b), and that still falls short. Whoever spends the sabbath in Bethany does not reach Jerusalem on that sabbath. And the cleansing? Two of the three evangelists (Matthew 21:12; Luke 19:45) place it on the day of the entry itself, the Friday; only Mark moves it to the next morning, in his fig-tree frame.
And in fairness to the other side: on the bare count the Friday fares better — on a Friday 14 Nisan only one of the four readings lands on the sabbath, against the three above on this book's reading. But the foremost defender of that Friday, Hoehner, chose precisely that one: he dates the arrival at Bethany itself to "the Saturday before the Passion Week" (pp. 90–91, 93) while pressing the sabbath limit against the Wednesday (p. 67). The seam is thus in John 12:1, and it runs through both weeks.
The days that follow fill themselves as the gospels fill them: the withered fig tree, the teaching, and then, on the slope of the Mount of Olives, the discourse on the last things — on the temple that will not be left one stone upon another, on the days to come. Three days of words, while in the city the knives are being sharpened and in a back room the money is being counted.
And then the Wednesday. The fourteenth of Nisan, the day of the lamb.
It begins in the evening, at a table. The most discussed meal in history, and the most finely wrought: He eats the Passover, with bread and cup and the words the church would never forget — "this is My body", "this is My blood". He eats it a day before the official temple lambs fall; how that can be is explained elsewhere (ch. 5), and it is no sleight of hand but a depth: He ate the Passover before the slaughter, because He would be the slaughter. The meal that ran a day ahead ran ahead to the cross. Then the night — the garden, the sweat like drops of blood, the kiss of a friend, the torches among the olive trees, the armed band. And the interrogations that last until morning: from Annas to Caiaphas, from Caiaphas to Pilate, a cock crowing in a courtyard, a disciple weeping in the dark.
Expertthe third hour or the sixth?
Mark says they crucified Him "at the third hour" (15:25); John places Pilate's sentence "about the sixth hour" (19:14). On a single reckoning of the hours that is impossible. But Mark counts Jewishly, from sunrise — the third hour is about nine in the morning; John, writing for a Roman-provincial audience, counts from midnight — the sixth hour is about six o'clock. Then the sentence stands at six and the cross at nine, a sequence that closes. In honesty: that Roman reckoning has been argued for and disputed. The point is a modest one — the clash resolves without doing violence to the text.
By day He hangs on the wood. And around Him stand those who handed Him over — the chief priests, mocking, shaking their heads: "He saved others; Himself He cannot save." They ought not to be standing there; on the feast day they would be bound to the temple service. But it is not the feast day, it is the fourteenth, a working day, and that is why they are there — the rabbinic front of Chapter 5 returns here, no longer as evidence but as colour, as the faces around the cross. Somewhere in the city Barabbas walks free, a murderer who took the place of the Innocent — the first man for whom He literally went into death. And at the sixth hour it grows dark.
Excursuswhat the darkness is not
Here honesty matters more than effect. The midday darkness, from the sixth to the ninth hour, is not a solar eclipse. The Passover falls at full moon; sun and moon then stand opposite each other, and a solar eclipse is astronomically impossible. So the darkness stands as what the text reports — a sign — not as something that can be recomputed. Whoever wants to make it an eclipse is inventing. But the moon, that night, does do something: in the hours after the crucifixion a partial lunar eclipse stood over Jerusalem, a disc partly stained blood-red on the evening of the Passover (ch. 7). Some connect it with Peter's "the moon into blood" (Acts 2:20); but such a link is a construal, not a measurement, and this book gives it not a grain of weight — no more on this side than on that of the eclipse of AD 33 (ch. 15). I draw the moon in as it was: an image, not an argument.
At the ninth hour — three in the afternoon, the hour at which in the temple the first lambs begin to fall — He cries out and dies. And before the sun goes down He is buried in haste, for the festival sabbath is drawing on — the day John calls "a great day" (John 19:31, 42). A new tomb, a stone before it, a few women watching from a distance. And at that moment the count of the sign begins: three nights, three days, in the heart of the earth.
Now the week grows spacious, and it shows what the space is for. The Thursday is the festival sabbath, the feast day of 15 Nisan; the people rest for the feast. Then comes the Friday — an ordinary working day — and precisely there the women buy their spices (Mark 16:1, "when the sabbath was past"). What they already had, they had prepared before the first sabbath; the Saturday is the weekly sabbath, and on that day "they rested according to the commandment" (Luke 23:56). Two sabbaths, with a working day between them, exactly where the two texts together ask for it (ch. 4). What in the familiar week is a riddle — how can the women buy spices after the sabbath (Mark) and prepare them before the sabbath (Luke)? — is here no riddle at all, but the ordinary course of a week with two days of rest: prepare before the first sabbath, buy on the working day, rest on the second. The date explains the details, instead of wrestling with them.
⚠ And the counter-reading belongs here, for it exists and it holds. The same two texts can be read within a single sabbath: the women prepare on the Friday afternoon (Luke 23:56), rest "according to the commandment", and on the Saturday evening, once the sabbath is past, buy what they lacked (Mark 16:1). On that reading no working day between two days of rest is needed, and this book does not refute it. What remains is an unevenness and not a refutation: on that reading they buy, after the sabbath, spices they then do not prepare. That is possible — unmixed spices can be carried as they are — but it is not the obvious course, and Luke puts the preparing expressly before the rest. The two texts therefore ask for a working day between two sabbaths. They do not require one, and I claim no more than that. [INTERPRETED]
⚠ And one datum belongs with that, for it cuts my way and against me at once. On the day of death itself Joseph of Arimathea buys linen — ἀγοράσας σινδόνα (Mark 15:46). A purchase, on the day this book calls the fourteenth. Whoever puts the day of death on the fifteenth must explain how buying takes place on a feast day; that is a gain for the fourteenth. But it also means that a purchase around these days proves no working day by itself — the text sets one down without supplying a calendar rule for it, and so the buying of spices in Mark 16:1 cannot be adduced as proof of a working day either. The datum works both ways, and it stands here because it works both ways. And it is not mine alone. André Reis adduces precisely this place — "Joseph of Arimathea buys a linen cloth during a festival Sabbath (Mark 15:46)" — as one of six objections to a crucifixion on Nisan 15 (2025, p. 6). He arrives at Friday 3 April 33 and not at the Wednesday; on the day of death itself we agree. That the other side uses the same datum in the same way does not make it weigh more — it shows that it is contested on neither side. [DOCUMENTED]
And then, at the end of the weekly sabbath, Saturday towards evening, exactly three full days after the burial: the resurrection. Not, as custom reads it, on Sunday morning — but at the close of the third day, where the sign places it. In this reconstruction the resurrection thus falls at the close of the sabbath, not on Sunday morning — though that is a reading, not a compulsion. Mark's phrase that He appeared "having risen early on the first day" (16:9) can be taken that way, but that participle is argued for as much as it is disputed; what is certain is that John finds the tomb already empty while it is "still dark" (20:1). The women discover it; they do not cause it. And note what this does not touch: the first day of the week remains the day of the empty tomb, of the appearances, of the church that came to know her Lord alive — untouched. Only the moment of the resurrection itself moves to where the Lord set it, in His own sign: the end of the third day.
"He is not here, for He has been raised, as He said" (Matthew 28:6).
Now lay the week beside itself and see the shape. The Lamb, set apart on the tenth. The Passover eaten before the slaughter, because He is the slaughter. Slain on the fourteenth, at the hour of the temple lambs. Three nights in the dark. Raised at the end of the sabbath, discovered on the first day. It is no string of loose facts; it is a liturgy. Everything the previous parts measured piece by piece — the day, the year, the calendar — converges here into a single movement, and the movement bears a name older than the arithmetic: Passover. The feast that for centuries commemorated a lamb in Egypt receives here its true meaning — the announcement of this Lamb, on these days.
And the week ends at an empty tomb. But did that day also leave something behind outside the texts? That is the next question.
HeartHEART
A God who keeps the clock to the night keeps the liturgy to the day. Nothing in this week is arbitrary: the day of the setting apart, the hour of the slaughter, the rest of two sabbaths, the turning at the close of the third day. For seven chapters the counting has gone on — the barley, the moon, the imperial years, the nights — and it was good to count. But beneath all that counting lies something no number can hold: that He chose this. That He presented Himself openly as the Lamb, ate before He was slain, died at the hour the knives fell, and returned exactly when He had promised. One who handles the times like that — precisely, and full of meaning — can be trusted with the time still to come. The dates are not the goal; they show that He is exact with what He promises. And whoever believes that can not only recompute the week, but enter it — and fall silent before it.
Note on the sources
The week calendar 8–18 Nisan 31 has been machine-recomputed (appendix A): 10 Nisan = Sat 21 April, 14 Nisan = Wed 25 April, 15 Nisan (festival sabbath) = Thu 26 April, 17 Nisan (weekly sabbath) = Sat 28 April, 18 Nisan = Sun 29 April. The lunar eclipse of the night of 25/26 April has been recomputed and is cited solely as construed colour; the midday darkness is expressly not an eclipse (full moon) and stays outside the calculation. This chapter advances no new argument; it displays the reconstruction the previous parts have measured, and the pearls of the rabbinic front (ch. 5) return here as colour, not as evidence. The resurrection at the end of the weekly sabbath is this book's reading (ch. 13); the Sunday remains untouched as the day of the discovery. This chapter claims no proof.
Literature (APA)
Primary texts: Exodus 12:3 · Mark 2:28; 11:1; 15:25, 33–37; 16:1, 9 · Luke 23:56 · John 12:1; 19:14, 31, 42; 20:1 · Matthew 21:1; 28:6 · Acts 1:12; 2:20. This chapter quotes no Greek; the verses are given in my own working translation, and where the text-form matters that is done in the chapters where it is measured (chs. 3, 4, 13). The calendar and eclipse calculations rest on Chapters 7 and 8; the tables are in appendix A. Reis (2025), cited here at Mark 15:46, is given in full at Chapter 15.