The origins of Christianity have long invited deep historical and theological questions: Who actually wrote the Bible? Why are there four distinct biographies of Jesus rather than a single unified account? And how was early Christianity profoundly shaped and influenced by the surrounding Greco-Roman culture?
For years, biblical scholars and historians have dedicated their careers to investigating these complex topics. Among them, New Testament scholar Candida Moss has become especially adept at breaking down these intricate academic discoveries for the wider public. Regularly featured on the BBC and in the pages of The Washington Post as a trusted expert voice on early Christianity, Moss turns her sharp analytical focus toward the uncredited participants of the ancient world in her latest book, God’s Ghostwriters: Enslaved Christians and the Making of the Bible.
In her book, Moss takes a closer look at the people who actually wrote the New Testament—moving far beyond the famous apostles and evangelists to examine the nameless scribes, messengers, and marginalized communities whose very presence is embedded and hidden within the sacred texts.
Recognized for her groundbreaking contributions to religious scholarship, Moss was named the recipient of the prestigious 2026 Grawemeyer Award in Religion, an international prize that celebrates bold ideas possessing "world-changing potential." Following this honor, Brett Potter, an assistant professor of theology and religion at Huron University in London, Ontario, sat down to speak with Moss from her home in New York City to explore the profound implications of her research.
When discussing the transmission of the early Christian message, Potter opened the conversation by asking how the story of Jesus and the broader New Testament actually made it onto the page in the ancient world.
Moss emphasized that modern readers often suffer from a text-bound bias, viewing the Gospels as static physical objects. However, she pointed out that this is not how most ancient people encountered the narrative. Instead, they heard the stories performed aloud. That performance would inevitably vary based on a multitude of live factors: who was doing the telling, the specific style of the performer, tone of voice, deliberate vocal emphasis, hand gestures, and even eye contact with members of the audience.
"One of the things I thought about when I was writing God’s Ghostwriters was how people have always been reshaping, adapting and working with the story of Jesus every time they read it aloud or copied it out," Moss explained. While modern church communities often experience anxiety at the thought that a text might have been altered or adapted—viewing changes as an inherent corruption—Moss notes that this very process of organic reshaping was happening from the very beginning.
Moving deeper into the mechanics of ancient text production, Potter asked Moss about the enslaved and socially marginalized individuals who frequently acted as biblical scribes, and how acknowledging these invisible authors fundamentally shifts how modern readers understand the story of Jesus.
Moss pointed out that anyone taking an earnest interest in the New Testament today is routinely told that authorship matters immensely. Scholars look at whether a text’s creators were Jewish, where and when they were writing, and whether historical milestones like the destruction of the Second Temple had occurred yet. These massive historical pressures shaped the world in which the authors told their stories.
Therefore, Moss argues, when skeptics ask what difference it makes whether enslaved co-authors stood behind these texts, the only logical response is to ask how it could possibly not matter. When critics dismiss these scribes as mere mechanical mouthpieces rather than active contributors, they are inadvertently adopting the exploitative worldview propagated by Roman enslavers. To reduce these human beings to passive instruments is to sign up for an unethical view of humanity that few modern readers would consciously endorse.
This erasure, Moss demonstrated, is even baked into modern translations of biblical vocabulary, such as the Greek term doulos. While doulos is the standard Greek word for an enslaved man, and doule for an enslaved woman, translators have historically shied away from rendering the words consistently when the reality makes modern readers uncomfortable.
For instance, when Mary applies the term to herself in the Gospel of Luke, English translations routinely opt for flowery, archaic terms like "handmaiden"—a word virtually unused in any other modern context—or generalized words like "servant," sometimes dismissing the term entirely as a mere metaphor for obedience. Moss clarified that while she does not believe the historical Mary was literally enslaved, readers and translators must maintain linguistic consistency when encountering this terminology across the texts.
Turning to the character of Mary, Potter asked what makes the mother of Jesus such a compelling figure within the historical context of the Gospels.
Moss highlighted the striking isolation of Mary and many other women featured in the Gospel narratives. In the Gospel of Mark, recognized by scholars as the earliest of the four, Mary is depicted as a mother supporting a son who appears to be roundly rejected by his broader community in Nazareth, with few local townspeople on board with his prophetic mission.
Unlike many heroic figures in Greco-Roman literature, the Gospel of Mark unflinchingly exposes the sheer brutality of the crucifixion. For ancient women who had lost everything—particularly in a world where classical Greek heroes did not die in such agonizing and shameful ways—the character of Mary would have offered a deeply powerful, resonant portrait of profound maternal grief. It is a depiction grounded entirely in raw, distinctive humanity.
Expanding on the socio-economic reality of Jesus’s immediate family, Potter noted that Joseph is traditionally translated as a carpenter, though the Greek term tektōn more accurately denotes a blue-collar construction worker. Moss unpacked the heavy implications of this linguistic distinction.
Growing up within Christian cultural traditions, many believers picture Jesus and Joseph working together in a tidy, artisanal workshop crafting fine furniture. However, replacing "artisanal craftsman" with "construction worker" immediately shatters that romanticized image. Construction work in antiquity was low-status, backbreaking labor. Furthermore, because ancient builders lacked modern cement, keeping structures together often required the use of animal manure, making it a grueling, dirty, and difficult trade.
Moss noted that this type of labor mirrors the marginalized and migrant labor performed by society’s most vulnerable groups today. Viewing Jesus and Joseph through this blue-collar lens aligns historical reality with the broader anti-elitist ethos of the early Christian movement.
The discussion then turned to the theology of the human body, bridging Moss’s previous scholarship on disabled, bleeding, and resurrected bodies with her current focus on enslaved bodies. Potter asked Moss to connect the concept of "scar tissue" on the resurrected Jesus to the physical realities faced by enslaved people in the Roman Empire.
Moss observed that while Christian tradition frequently focuses on the famous wounds on Jesus’s hands, feet, and side following the resurrection, traditional narratives routinely omit the extensive scarring that would have covered his back from Roman scourging. The reason this aspect is frequently glossed over, Moss suggested, is that those specific marks carried an undeniable stigma: they were "slavish marks." Under Roman law, individuals bearing the physical scars of whippings or shackles were permanently marked, unable to ever achieve full citizenship even if they were legally freed.
Scars and bodily modifications served as permanent visual markers of criminality or enslavement in the ancient world. Enslaved individuals, as well as figures like the Apostle Paul who suffered repeated beatings, bore the exact same physical trauma on their bodies that Jesus carried. The enduring presence of these scars within resurrection accounts offers a profound lens through which to read and validate the suffering inscribed upon human bodies.
In a lighter moment of the interview, Potter asked Moss to settle a perennial holiday debate once and for all: Is Christmas actually a pagan holiday?
With a definitive "No," Moss dismissed the claim as facile. While she acknowledged that various cultural traditions share overlapping motifs—such as baptism-like rituals or winter solstice celebrations centered on light—the ultimate meaning of a cultural or religious practice is not determined solely by its historical precedents. Cultural traditions naturally adapt, evolve, and take on new meanings over time.
Concluding the interview, Potter asked Moss about her dual role as both an academic religion scholar and a regular public media columnist, inquiring about the broader stakes of public religious literacy.
Moss explained that while she never intended to become a public scholar, how society reads and understands the Bible remains a matter of vital public importance. A baseline level of religious literacy helps citizens navigate complex cultural landscapes and contributes to the pursuit of a more just and ethical society.
Without active participation from trained academics in mainstream media discourse, the public square will inevitably be filled by less rigorous voices. For Moss, participating in public education and defending the humanities is not merely an academic preference, but a profound moral responsibility.