Exploring Key Literature that Frames the Apocalyptic Jewish Worldview
We will now explore key writings from Second Temple Judaism to better grasp the worldview and future expectations that shaped Paul and his contemporaries. To begin, let’s look at a quote from Paula Fredriksen, a respected historian, in her book on Paul. In her introduction, she surveys Second Temple literature and summarizes it this way:
“We can distill from this mass of writings a general pattern of end-time events—amplifications of themes shaping the older prophetic paradigm of exile and return. Before the end comes, the righteous will suffer persecution at the hands of the wicked. Suddenly, though, things will begin to reverse. The Day of the Lord will arrive, when the world will be convulsed by celestial and terrestrial catastrophes—earthquakes, plagues, darkness at noon, falling stars. With the resurrection of the dead, the judgment of the wicked, and the vindication of the righteous, Israel will reassemble all twelve tribes and return to the land. The redeemed will gather in Jerusalem at a rebuilt or renewed temple, peace will be permanently established, and the entire world—human and divine—will acknowledge and worship the God of Israel.”
This quote gives us a vivid snapshot of how Jews in the Second Temple period envisioned the unfolding of history and its ultimate destination. What I especially want to draw attention to is Fredriksen’s observation that these end-time expectations were not a radical departure from the Scriptures but “amplifications of themes shaping the older prophetic paradigm of exile and return.” In other words, Jews of the period were not inventing something new; they were carrying forward the trajectory of Israel’s Scriptures and traditions toward their ultimate conclusion.
From Genesis to Daniel, from the Torah to the later prophets, we see a development—a sharpening of themes, images, and expectations. Everyone recognizes that Deuteronomy, for example, speaks differently than Daniel, but the story holds together. The apocalyptic hopes of the Second Temple period were not disconnected speculations; they were the natural outgrowth of the prophetic word.
When we arrive at the New Testament, we can see how the Gospels and Epistles differ in style and emphasis from the wisdom literature, the Torah, and the historical narratives. Yet all of Scripture unfolds along a recognizable trajectory—a progression that becomes increasingly apocalyptic. By this, I mean that the biblical story consistently pushes its themes toward their ultimate conclusion.
This is why working through Second Temple Jewish literature is so important. Too often, such writings are approached with suspicion or dismissed with a negative bias. I would argue that this is unwarranted. Far from being a distortion, the apocalyptic outlook of Second Temple Judaism represents a faithful development of Israel’s Scriptures after the exile. The New Testament itself assumes this trajectory as positive and builds upon it.
For example, the theme of divine revelation begins in Eden but is most clearly manifest at Sinai in God’s self-disclosure. That same trajectory pushes forward to its ultimate climax in “the Day of the Lord,” the final and definitive theophany when God reveals Himself in judgment and salvation. Likewise, the theme of life and death traces from the tree of life in Eden, to humanity’s return to dust and descent into Sheol, and ultimately to the hope of resurrection. While the resurrection of the dead is not spelled out explicitly in the Torah, it emerges as the natural summation of this theme, the ultimate end toward which the Scriptures point.
The same can be said for divine judgment. Throughout the Tanakh, God acts in justice and truth, rewarding the righteous and punishing the wicked. In apocalyptic expectation, this theme is not abandoned or replaced but brought to its consummation in the final judgment, when God’s justice is revealed universally and decisively.
In the prophetic literature, we already see descriptions of final judgment, but in the apocalyptic tradition these themes are pushed to their ultimate end—a cosmic and universal climax. The messianic kingdom and expectation begin in seed form within the covenants, centered on the promised offspring to come. These themes are developed more explicitly in the prophets and, during the Second Temple period, Jewish tradition meditates on them and carries them forward to their final expression. All of these themes converge, interacting with one another in a climactic apocalyptic narrative.
The New Testament continues within this same hermeneutical trajectory. Divine revelation unfolds from above, and human interpretation follows from below, moving steadily in the same direction. The Gospels and Epistles, far from departing from this pattern, actually contain more two-age and apocalyptic references than much of the other literature of the time. Ultimately, the Book of Revelation stands as the fullest expression of this same trajectory. Nearly everyone agrees that the Tanakh develops progressively toward apocalyptic expectation: beginning with Genesis, deepened through wisdom literature that reflects on covenant, righteousness, and the problem of evil, and then projected into the future through the prophets. Second Temple Judaism simply carried this progression forward.
Jesus and the apostles did not introduce a new interpretive method but carried forward the same apocalyptic framework common in Second Temple Judaism. Their disputes with the Pharisees and teachers of the law were not over how the Scriptures should be read, but over how they should be obeyed. The issue was not hermeneutics but response—whether one would humbly believe and live in light of the Scriptures’ apocalyptic hope.
Apocalyptic Literature
As we now turn to the Jewish apocalyptic literature itself, we highlight three central texts: 1 Enoch, 4 Ezra, and 2 Baruch. These texts represent the “hub” of Second Temple apocalyptic writings because they are the most representative, widely copied, translated across the Diaspora, and frequently referenced in the early church. Their prominence shows that they were widely read and influential. Surrounding these are other works—such as Jubilees, the Psalms of Solomon, the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, the Life of Adam and Eve, the Targums, and the Dead Sea Scrolls—still significant, but more peripheral to the mainstream apocalyptic tradition.
Most of these writings are collected in the Pseudepigrapha. Charlesworth’s two-volume edition is the most comprehensive, though much of its bulk comes from commentary. For those wanting an accessible entry point, R.H. Charles’s earlier Pseudepigrapha (1913) is in the public domain, freely available online through resources like the Christian Classics Ethereal Library, and often included in Bible software programs like Logos. Many of these works are short and straightforward, making them quite approachable to read.
The best way to think of these writings is this: many Jews read them, valued them, and found them spiritually formative—but they did not treat them as Scripture or canonical. They are, in a sense, “inspiring, but not inspired.”
In the same way modern evangelicals might read authors like John Piper, Francis Chan, or Tim Keller—not as Scripture, but as helpful and inspiring voices—Second Temple Jews often approached writings like 1 Enoch, 4 Ezra, or 2 Baruch. These works were widely read and influential, yet not generally regarded as canonical or divinely inspired. They were valued as inspiring rather than inspired. How exactly 1 Enoch is to be understood when quoted in Jude is debated, but as a whole, these writings functioned as formative literature rather than binding Scripture. For the sake of focus, we’ll concentrate on 1 Enoch, 4 Ezra, and 2 Baruch, since they are representative of the apocalyptic worldview and thought of the time.
The Structure of the Universe and the Climactic End
When we use the term apocalyptic, it can refer to several things: a genre of literature, a particular approach to interpreting history, or even a broader sociological phenomenon. Here, I’m mainly using it in the sense employed by historical scholars: as both a literary genre and a worldview. In this sense, apocalyptic thought describes history as moving toward a climactic, cataclysmic reversal. It presumes two ages—the present one and the age to come—separated by a decisive and dramatic intervention. This framework isn’t limited to Judaism: there can be apocalyptic strands in Hinduism, Islam, or even secular naturalism. Popular culture is filled with apocalyptic naturalism, where history culminates in a comet strike, a nuclear holocaust, or catastrophic climate change.
So when we talk about Jewish apocalyptic, we mean this way of seeing history applied within the framework of Jewish theology and Scripture during the Second Temple period. Of course, Judaism was diverse—some groups were more apocalyptic, others less so (much as modern Judaism shows a spectrum, with conservative and ultra-Orthodox circles tending toward more apocalyptic expectation). Similarly, throughout church history, there have been apocalyptic movements that, while not Jewish, carried the same worldview of imminent, cataclysmic transformation.
On the literary side, John Collins—one of the foremost scholars of apocalyptic texts and chair of the SBL committee on the subject in 1977–78—offers a classic definition. He describes an apocalypse as “a genre of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal (insofar as it envisages eschatological salvation) and spatial (insofar as it involves another supernatural world).”
At the worldview level, ancient Jews differed from modern Westerners in countless small cultural details, but most significantly in two big-picture areas: (1) how they understood the structure of the universe, and (2) how they conceived of history itself—as moving toward a climactic, divinely orchestrated end.
Second Temple Jews did not think in terms of “natural” and “supernatural” realms the way modern Westerners often do. That language and framework simply weren’t theirs. Instead, they envisioned the cosmos as a plurality of heavens above and the earth beneath. Time, in their view, was moving forward in a linear fashion toward a climactic end—the Day of the Lord—and the restoration of all things.
For example, texts like 2 Enoch and 3 Baruch belong to the genre sometimes called “heavenly travel” literature. In them, figures such as Enoch or Baruch are taken up through the multiple levels of heaven—sometimes three, sometimes five, seven, or even ten (as in 2 Enoch). As they ascend, they are given visions of the future: the coming of the Messiah, the resurrection of the dead, the judgment of the wicked, and the vindication of the righteous. This captures the tenor of Jewish apocalyptic thought—Scripture interpreted and pushed to its ultimate conclusion.
Apocalyptic Literature Can Be Challenging to Understand
John Collins, in his classic survey The Apocalyptic Imagination, highlights both the richness and the challenges of studying this body of literature. One of the greatest challenges, he notes, is the longstanding bias against apocalyptic texts. In the early 20th century, biblical scholarship often dismissed them as dark, confusing, or overly mystical. John Harrigan recalls asking a seminary professor about these works, and his response was, “Apocalyptic literature just feels dark and murky—I can’t make sense of it.” But that assessment misses the point. Far from being murky, much of this literature is profoundly edifying, deeply hopeful, and strikingly similar to the New Testament in its themes.
The negative bias, I think, stems less from the texts themselves and more from later Christian tradition, which wrongly set Jesus and the apostles in opposition to Judaism as a whole, rather than recognizing that their critique was aimed at hypocrisy, pride, and unbelief within certain groups of their contemporaries. Collins makes this point well when he observes:
“The word apocalyptic is popularly associated with fanatical millenarian expectation. And indeed, the canonical apocalypses of Daniel and especially John have often been used by millenarian groups. Theologians of a more rational bent are often reluctant to admit that such material played a formative role in early Christianity. There is consequently a prejudice against the apocalyptic literature which is deeply ingrained in biblical scholarship.”
Whatever one concludes about the theological value of these writings, it is clear that strong theological prejudice often hinders historical understanding. If we dismiss Jewish apocalyptic literature outright, we fail to pay enough attention to it even to grasp its meaning. This raises an important question: how do we know what Jesus and the apostles meant by phrases like the Day of Judgment, the resurrection of the dead, the Kingdom of God, Gehenna, or the Son of Man—terms that appear without definition in the New Testament and are not always clearly explained in the Old Testament? The answer is that we must look to how Jews of the period understood those terms. This literature—together with the other sources referenced earlier—provides that context.
But if we approach these writings with a built-in bias against Judaism of the time, we will inevitably misread them. The better approach is to read them on their own terms: to see how they interpret the Tanakh, how they frame these concepts, and only then to read the New Testament in relation to them. When we do this, we discover that Jesus and the apostles employ the same vocabulary in the same ways.
One point that John Harrigan emphasizes in his doctoral dissertation is that the apocalyptic literature of Second Temple Judaism reflects a holistic worldview. It weaves together cosmology (a view of the universe), protology (the study of beginnings), divine and human sovereignty, angelology (angels and powers), epistemology (how we know things), soteriology (salvation), and hamartiology (sin). But above all, its eschatological orientation—its vision of the end—dramatically overshadows every other theme. Of course, apocalyptic texts address many things, but the dominant note is always the future: the coming Day of the Lord, the resurrection, the judgment, the restoration of Israel.
Second Temple Judaism had a rich and multifaceted worldview. But the thing that stood out above all—the “main event”—was eschatology. The focus on the future dominated the imagination, extending the late prophetic tradition (Daniel, Zechariah, Haggai, Malachi) to its ultimate end. And so, as we turn to Jewish apocalyptic eschatology, we will highlight this element because it is the most defining and pervasive feature of the literature.
The Core Elements of Apocalyptic Literature
When we examine the core elements of how Jews in the late Second Temple period understood eschatology, we find the very same elements echoed in the New Testament—especially in Paul’s writings. Recognizing these shared categories helps frame Paul’s message and makes sense of his language.
Jewish apocalyptic eschatology revolved around four major events:
The Day of the Lord—also called the Day of Judgment, the Day of Wrath, or simply that Day.
The Judgment—particularly the judgment of the wicked before the divine or Messianic judgment seat.
The Resurrection of the Dead.
The Messianic Kingdom.
Together, these four events form the narrative of history’s movement toward its climactic conclusion in this age. Their arrival signals a radical reversal, ushering in the age to come. This two-age dynamic is what gives Jewish thought its distinctly apocalyptic character.
Apocalyptic Context
To give some context, we can look at key passages from 1 Enoch, 4 Ezra, and 2 Baruch that deal with the Day of the Lord. These texts are invaluable for grasping how Jews envisioned redemptive history unfolding.
Take 1 Enoch as an example. It opens with a blessing attributed to Enoch, “the seventh from Adam.” Of course, these are not literally ancient writings passed down from Enoch himself. Rather, they are composed in his honor, much like a Festschrift written to celebrate a revered figure. This is why scholars classify such works as “Pseudepigrapha.” The intent was not deception, but tribute—placing prophetic visions in the mouth of an honored ancestor. The same pattern appears in works attributed to Moses, Zechariah, and the twelve patriarchs. Among these, however, 1 Enoch, 4 Ezra, and 2 Baruch stand out as the most widely read and copied, translated across the Diaspora, and frequently cited in the early church.
In 1 Enoch, the blessing describes the Day of the Lord as a time when “the elect and righteous” will be preserved through tribulation, while the ungodly are removed. It culminates with the very passage quoted in Jude 14–15:
The blessing of Enoch: with which he blessed the elect and the righteous who would be present on the day of tribulation at the time of the removal of all the ungodly ones ... Behold, he will arrive with ten million of the holy ones in order to execute judgment upon all. He will destroy the wicked ones and censure all flesh on account of everything that they have done, that which the sinners and the wicked ones committed against him. (1 Enoch 1:1-9)
Here we see why the Day of the Lord was regarded as the central and climactic event—the axis around which all of history turns. The long story of human wickedness builds toward this final divine intervention, which reverses corruption and inaugurates the righteous age to come.
This development also illustrates how the Day of the Lord grew in scope over time. In the earlier prophets—like Amos (5:18-20) or Isaiah (13)—it was often envisioned as a localized event, tied to judgment on Israel or on specific nations such as Babylon (Isaiah 13). But as the prophetic tradition progressed, especially after the exile, the concept expanded into a cosmic, all-encompassing reality. By the late Second Temple period, texts like 1 Enoch portray the Day of the Lord as the decisive and universal revelation of God.
4 Ezra and 2 Baruch add further depth, though they use different vocabulary. In 4 Ezra 7, for example, the author contrasts the present age with the glory of the future:
This present world is not the end; the full glory does not abide in it; therefore those who were strong prayed for the weak. But the day of judgment will be the end of this age and the beginning of the immortal age to come, in which corruption has passed away, sinful indulgence has come to an end, unbelief has been cut off, and righteousness has increased and truth has appeared. Therefore no one will then be able to have mercy on him who has been condemned in the judgment, or to harm him who is victorious. (4 Ezra 7:112-115)
Here the focus shifts to “the end” and the stark contrast between the present broken world and the glory of the age to come. 2 Baruch likewise emphasizes this two-age framework, highlighting the ultimate resolution when God’s justice and kingdom are revealed.
The Day of the Lord—also called the Day of Judgment or the Day of Wrath—marks the definitive end of this age and the dawn of the immortal age to come. In that new age, corruption will be abolished, sinful indulgence will cease, unbelief will be cut off, righteousness will flourish, and truth will be revealed in full. At that time, no one condemned in judgment will find mercy, and no one who has been vindicated will suffer harm.
Here we see how Second Temple Jewish writings press these themes to their ultimate conclusion. They create a two-age framework: this world and the world to come, this life and the life to come, everything before the Day of the Lord and everything after. “The end” refers not to the end of all existence but to the end of this age—the decisive turning point of history.
In 2 Baruch 55, at the beginning of the “Cloud Apocalypse,” an angel interprets Baruch’s vision of dark and bright clouds. He warns:
Why does your heart trouble you, Baruch, and why are you disturbed by your thought? For if you are already disturbed, only hearing about the judgment, what about when you see it with your eyes openly? And if you are already so disturbed by the expectation with which you expect the day of the Mighty One, what about when you arrive at its coming? (2 Baruch 55:4-6)
The purpose of such visions is not simply to satisfy curiosity but to prepare God’s people. They function as discipleship—strengthening the inner life so that one may endure the trials leading up to that Day and stand blameless at its coming.
It is important to note that in the apocalyptic texts, the Day of the Lord, the Judgment, the Resurrection, and the Messianic Kingdom are not neatly separated. They appear woven together as one climactic sequence. For that reason, the passages often overlap, each highlighting a different facet of the same reality.
For example, in 1 Enoch 60—part of the “Similitudes” or “Parables,” one of the five books later woven into the final form of 1 Enoch—we read:
What have you seen that has so disturbed you? This day of mercy has lasted until today; and he has been merciful and long-suffer-ing toward those that dwell upon the earth. And when this day arrives—and the power, the punishment, and the judgment, which the Lord of the Spirits has prepared for those who do not worship the righteous judgment, for those who deny the righteous judg-ment, and for those who take his name in vain—it will become a day of covenant for the elect and inquisition for the sinners. (1 Enoch 60:5-6)
Here the contrast is stark. The present age is characterized by divine mercy, but the Day of the Lord marks a sharp break—a climactic end where mercy gives way to judgment.
Similarly, 4 Ezra 7 ties the Day of the Lord directly to the resurrection:
The earth shall give up those who are asleep in it; and the chambers shall give up the souls which have been committed to them. And the Most High shall be revealed upon the seat of judgment, and compassion shall pass away, and patience shall be with-drawn; but judgment alone shall remain, truth shall stand, and faithfulness shall grow strong. And recompense shall follow, and the reward shall be manifested; righteous deeds shall awake, and unrighteous deeds shall not sleep. Then the pit of torment shall appear, and opposite it shall be the place of rest; and the furnace of Hell shall be disclosed, and opposite it the Paradise of delight. (4 Ezra 7:32-36)
The revelation of God—the unveiling that defines the Day of the Lord—is here expressed in terms of resurrection and judgment, drawing heavily from prophetic texts like Isaiah 26:19.
This emphasis on divine judgment helps explain why, historically, the Day of the Lord has been downplayed in both Christian and Jewish traditions. It carries a sharp, sobering edge that does not easily fit into later theological narratives. Whereas themes of comfort, hope, or kingdom may be emphasized, the Day of the Lord remains fundamentally tied to God’s righteous judgment—a reality many traditions have preferred to soften or sideline.
Alongside resurrection, eternal life, and the restoration of all things, the primary focus of Jewish apocalyptic eschatology is divine judgment.
In 4 Ezra 7 we see a vivid contrast between destinies. In Jewish thought, Hades (or Sheol) was the present holding place of the dead within the earth, awaiting the resurrection and final judgment. Gehenna, by contrast, was associated with the Valley of Hinnom outside Jerusalem, remembered for its fires and corruption. In apocalyptic expectation, Gehenna became the image of the fiery judgment at the end of the age—the “lake of fire” after the Day of the Lord. Thus the texts set Gehenna, the place of torment, opposite the paradise of delight, identified with the glorified New Jerusalem.
2 Baruch 54 adds another dimension: the connection between protology (the doctrine of beginnings) and eschatology. Jewish apocalyptic thought consistently links the story of Adam at the beginning with the destiny of all humanity at the end. In the midst of the angel’s interpretation of the “Cloud Apocalypse,” Baruch reflects:
For, although Adam sinned first and has brought death upon all who were not in his own time, yet each of them who has been born from him has prepared for himself the coming torment. And further, each of them has chosen for himself the coming glory ... Adam is, therefore, not the cause, except only for himself, but each of us has become our own Adam. You, however, O Lord, explain to me what you have revealed to me. And inform me about that which I asked you. For at the end of the world, a retribution will be demanded with regard to those who have done wickedly in accordance with their wickedness, and you will glorify the faithful ones in accordance with their faith. (2 Baruch 54:15-21)
Here the tension of history is laid bare: this present age is dominated by wickedness and darkness, but the age to come is defined by glory. The righteous will inherit “glory, honor, and immortality,” while the wicked inherit “wrath, fury, and torment.” Paul echoes the same dynamic in Romans 2, where he contrasts the destinies of the righteous and the wicked. As 2 Baruch concludes:
“Adam, therefore, is not the cause—except only for himself. Each of us has become our own Adam.”
This sweeping perspective is characteristic of apocalyptic thought. It integrates the entire story—from Adam to the final judgment—into one unified narrative. It gathers together the Torah, the Prophets (Nevi’im), and the Writings (Ketuvim) into a comprehensive vision of redemptive history, culminating in the Day of the Lord. This “big-picture” view is what gives apocalyptic literature its power: it frames all of human history within God’s ultimate plan of judgment, restoration, and glory.
The third major element of Jewish apocalyptic eschatology is the resurrection of the dead, inseparably tied to the Day of the Lord and the judgment before the divine throne.
In 1 Enoch 51 (Nicholsberg’s translation in the Hermeneia commentary), we read:
In those days, the earth will give back what has been entrusted to it, and Sheol will give back what it has received, and destruction will give back what it owes. For in those days, my Chosen One will arise and choose the righteous and holy from among them, for the day on which they will be saved has drawn near. And the Chosen One, in those days, will sit upon my throne, and all the secrets of wisdom will go forth from the counsel of his mouth, for the Lord of Spirits has given (them) to him and glorified him. In those days the mountains will leap like rams, and the hills will skip like lambs satisfied with milk; and the faces of all the angels in heaven will be radiant with joy, and the earth will rejoice, and the righteous will dwell on it, and the chosen will walk about on it. (1 Enoch 51:1-4, Nickelsburg)
Here Sheol and Destruction are personified, echoing the language of Revelation 20, where “death and Hades” are raised up together. In Jewish thought, death, Sheol, and destruction are often used interchangeably.
Thus, salvation, the Day of the Lord, judgment, and the resurrection converge in a single climactic event.
1 Enoch 58 expands this vision:
Blessed are you, righteous and elect ones, for glorious is your portion. The righteous ones shall be in the light of the sun and the elect ones in the light of eternal life which has no end, and the days of the life of the holy ones cannot be numbered. They shall seek light and find righteousness with the Lord of the Spirits ...
There shall be a light that has no end, and they shall not have to count days (anymore). For already darkness has been destroyed, light shall be permanent before the Lord of the Spirits, and the light of uprightness shall stand firm forever and ever before the Lord of the Spirits. (1 Enoch 58:2-6)
Here the two-age framework is unmistakable: this age = darkness; the age to come = light. Eternal life is not an abstract, immaterial existence but the bodily resurrection into a renewed creation centered in Jerusalem.
This contrasts with later Greek interpretations, where “eternal life” was spiritualized into a disembodied heavenly destiny. For first-century Jews, eternal life meant the resurrection of the body in a new heavens and new earth.
We see this again in 4 Ezra 8, where the angel declares:
It is for you that Paradise is opened, the tree of life is planted, the age to come is prepared, plenty is provided, a city is built, rest is appointed .. sorrows have passed away, and in the end the treasure of immortality is made manifest. (4 Ezra 8:52-54)
Here resurrection is associated with a restored paradise—the Edenic tree of life renewed, the city of Zion established, sorrow and death abolished, and immortality revealed.
Likewise, 2 Baruch 51 describes the glory of the righteous at the resurrection:
As for the glory of those who proved to be righteous on account of my law, those who possessed intelligence in their life, and those who planted the root of wisdom in their heart—their splendor will then be glorified by transformations, and the shape of their face will be changed into the light of their beauty so that they may acquire and receive the undying world which is promised to them ... For they shall see that world which is now invisible to them, and they will see a time which is now hidden to them. And time will no longer make them older. For they will live in the heights of that world and they will be like the angels and be equal to the stars. (2 Baruch 51:3-10)
The resurrection, then, is envisioned as a radical transformation of humanity and history—an end to corruption and mortality, and the dawn of an immortal, glorified creation.
This same expectation underlies Paul’s teaching in 1 Corinthians 15: “in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,” the dead will be raised imperishable and the living transformed. Likewise, the Mount of Transfiguration serves as a proleptic glimpse of this coming glory, when Jesus’ face shines like the sun—a preview of resurrection splendor.
2 Baruch 51:8 makes this contrast explicit:
“They shall see that world which is now invisible to them,
and they shall see a time which is now hidden.
Time will no longer make them older,
for they will live in the heights of that world,
and they will be like the angels,
equal to the stars.”
This is the same imagery Jesus uses when He says the resurrected will be “like the angels” (Luke 20:36), and Paul employs when he compares resurrected bodies to the glory of the stars (1 Corinthians 15).
From here we move to the fourth major element of Jewish apocalyptic eschatology: messianic expectation and the kingdom—a restored, glorified Davidic kingdom in a renewed earth and Jerusalem.
A climactic, apocalyptic, two-age view of history unfolds around the Day of the Lord, the judgment, and the resurrection. Within this framework, another key theme emerges in 1 Enoch 46: the description of the Messiah, the Son of Man.
This is the Son of Man, to whom belongs righteousness, and with whom righteousness dwells. And he will open all the hidden storerooms; for the Lord of the Spirits has chosen him, and he is destined to be victorious before the Lord of the Spirits in eternal uprightness. This Son of Man whom you have seen is the One who would remove the kings and the mighty ones from their comfortable seats and the strong ones from their thrones. He shall loosen the reins of the strong and crush the teeth of the sin-ners. He shall depose the kings from their thrones and kingdoms. For they do not extol and glorify him, and neither do they obey him, the source of their kingship. (1 Enoch 46:3-5)
This Son of Man imagery—which Jesus applies to Himself over seventy times in the Gospels—carries a distinctly messianic and apocalyptic weight. Unlike Ezekiel’s use of “son of man” as a simple reference to humanity, here the title is infused with expectation: a chosen figure who executes judgment, restores righteousness, and rules in eternal glory. When Jesus identifies Himself as the Son of Man, these kinds of associations would have been alive in the minds of His audience. Not that He is directly quoting 1 Enoch, but the book reflects the common worldview and messianic hope shared by many Jews in the Second Temple period.
We see a similar expectation in 4 Ezra 13, in the vision of the man from the sea—the seventh and climactic vision of the book. The angel interprets it for Ezra:
This is the interpretation of the vision: As for your seeing a man come up from the heart of the sea, this is he whom the Most High has been keeping for many ages, who will himself deliver his creation ... But he will stand on the top of Mount Zion. And Zion will come and be made manifest to all people, prepared and built, as you saw the mountain carved out without hands. And he, my Son, will reprove the assembled nations for their ungodliness... And as for your seeing him gather to himself another multitude that was peaceable, these are the ten tribes which were led away from their own land into captivity in the days of King Hoshea, whom Shal-maneser the king of the Assyrians led captive. (4 Ezra 13:25-40)
Here the Messiah is not only judge of the nations but also the one who regathers the twelve tribes of Israel. This expectation permeates the Gospels. When Jesus tells His disciples in Matthew 19 and Luke 22 that they will “sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel,” He is invoking this very apocalyptic framework: the restoration of a glorified Davidic kingdom in the age to come. Jesus deliberately chose twelve apostles to correspond to the twelve tribes—not as a symbolic recapitulation, but as a literal anticipation of Israel’s restoration. In this vision of the age to come, Mount Zion would host thirteen thrones: the throne of the Messiah and twelve for His apostles, ruling with Him forever.
Of course, this claim was not easily received. Jesus was from Galilee, spoke with a northern accent, and gathered around Him common, uneducated disciples. To many, this hardly fit the grandeur of messianic expectation. Yet this was precisely the scandal: Messiahs in Second Temple Judaism were expected to come in glory with angels and fire—executing judgment, restoring Israel, punishing the wicked, and inaugurating the age to come. They were not expected to die in shame on a Roman cross.
And yet, this is the mystery of the gospel: the Messiah from Nazareth was ordained by God not first to bring judgment, but to bear it. He came not in unveiled glory but in humility, suffering on the cross for our sins—to save us from the wrath to come.
This perspective adds gravity and depth to understanding the common messianic expectation of the time and its connection to the return of the Messiah. It also explains why the New Testament places such heavy emphasis on His coming again.
At the end of the Cloud Apocalypse, 2 Baruch 72 provides a strikingly messianic description:
When the nations are moved and the time of my Anointed One comes, he will call all nations, and some of them he will spare, and others he will kill ... And it will happen that after he has brought down everything which is in the world, and has sat down in eternal peace on the throne of the kingdom, then joy will be revealed and rest will appear. And then health will descend in dew, and illness will vanish, and fear and tribulation and lamentation will pass away from among men, and joy will encompass the earth.
And nobody will again die untimely, nor will any adversity take place suddenly ... For that time is the end of that which is corruptible and the beginning of that which is incorruptible. 2 Baruch 72:2-74:2
Here the familiar two-age contrast is unmistakable: this age marked by corruption, suffering, and death, and the age to come marked by incorruptibility, peace, and immortality. It’s the same framework Paul draws upon in 1 Corinthians 15. The Messiah comes to restore all things, to reign on the throne of His kingdom, and to bring the prophetic promises of rest and renewal to their climactic fulfillment.
Within this narrative, salvation itself is defined. Salvation is primarily deliverance from the Day of the Lord and the judgment it entails. 1 Enoch 62 declares that “the righteous and elect ones shall be saved on that day from the wrath to come, from the judgment, and from then on they shall never again see the face of sinners and oppressors. The Lord of Spirits will abide over them, and they shall eat and rest and rise with that Son of Man forever and ever.”
4 Ezra 8 adds another layer, contrasting the many who perish with the few who are saved:
The Most High made this world for the sake of many, but the world to come for the sake of few. But I will tell you a parable, Ezra. Just as, when you ask the earth, it will tell you that it provides very much clay from which earthenware is made, but only a little dust from which gold comes; so is the course of the present world. Many have been created, but few will be saved. (4 Ezra 8:1-3)
The imagery is stark: countless lives shaped from clay in this present age, but only a remnant—like refined gold—saved from the wrath to come.
Likewise, 2 Baruch 23 frames salvation in terms of judgment:
For truly, my salvation which comes has drawn near and is not as far away as before ... For behold, the days are coming, and the books will be opened in which are written the sins of all those who have sinned, and moreover, also the treasuries in which are brought together the righteousness of all those who have proven themselves to be righteous. (2 Baruch 23:7-24:1)
Here salvation is inseparable from the opening of the books, the judgment of all humanity, and the final vindication of the righteous. This was the eschatological horizon of Jewish expectation: salvation meant rescue from wrath, vindication in judgment, and entrance into the incorruptible age to come.
This is why, when we read the New Testament, every reference to being “saved” should be heard in this light:
I was saved from the wrath to come.
I am being saved from the wrath to come.
I will be saved from the wrath to come.
The reference point is crucial. Salvation is not an abstract spiritual idea but deliverance from the great Day of the Lord.
And yet, this framework has been largely neglected. Though the “Day of the Lord” appears explicitly 63 times in the New Testament, it is rarely given serious attention in theology or in the church. Richard Ayres, who translated Johannes Weiss’s Jesus’ Proclamation of the Kingdom of God, notes in the Anchor Bible Dictionary:
“Numerous biblical texts, particularly in the New Testament, refer to the coming day or time of judgment. Nevertheless, little scholarly attention has been devoted to this topic. In contrast, related themes like the Son of Man or the Kingdom of God are widely studied. One suspects that modern scholars prefer more congenial subjects. Only those willing to acknowledge the significance of apocalyptic Judaism—and its eschatological orientation—are prepared to recognize the nature and importance of these beliefs and expectations concerning the coming Day of Judgment.”
This is why studying Second Temple Judaism is indispensable. The literature doesn’t merely provide historical background—it reveals the common worldview shared by Jews in Jesus’ day. Whether or not Jesus and the apostles explicitly quoted these texts, they spoke the same language, used the same categories, and assumed the same narrative of history. And so, when Paul preaches about salvation, resurrection, or the kingdom, he does so within this very apocalyptic framework.