The author of John begins his gospel with an authentication: he assures his readers that he was there, and saw everything he wrote about.  This is, of course, not only untrue, but also impossible.  The author of John wrote his gospel around 125 CE, which means that he would have had to be about 125 years old.  The author of John, however, wasn't lying--he was just using the slang of his day.  What we think of when we hear the word "biography" is actually relatively recent; most medievalists consider Einhard's Life of Charlemagne, written somewhere in the 820's, to be the first modern biography.  Previously, a "biography" really just meant a glorious account of someone's achievements, which might or might not have any basis in reality.  Certifying your work by claiming to be a direct witness was nothing more than convention.  It almost always had no bearing on reality--and people knew that.

For the Bard's purposes, this is interesting, because it reflects how our understanding of reality changes over time.  What we think of as immutable truth is really just a matter of opinion--in more ways than one.  Today, we think of "reality" and "truth" as synonymous--an accurate recording of the facts.  Reporters in our own time, our duty is to observe rather than comment.  The authors of the gospels, however, thought of reality as an accurate explanation of something's--or someone's--value.  

Over time, as our understanding of reality changed, so did our relationship to our history.  We began to wonder, did this actually happen?  If it's not an accurate representation of reality, then the moral it represents has less value to our lives.  Who wants to dedicate their lives to an imaginary man?  Out of this dilemma came Biblical archaeology, or the quest to prove that the events of the Bible are true.  Various universities and private corporations spent millions of dollars trying to locate Noah's Ark, even as they lost interest in its significance.  The point of the story has nothing to do with either Noah or his Ark; they're vehicles, means to an end.  The point of the story is God's recognition of His own spirit, or "breath," in human beings--what we sometimes refer to as the "divine spark." 

One to one correlations are dangerous, because they tend to focus on facts to the exclusion of meaning.  The means of Jesus' execution has nothing to do with its significance.  Had Pilot chosen to immolate Jesus, the result would still have been the same.  Jesus' death and resurrection, by whatever means, symbolize his triumph over death.  Jesus--and this comes from a practicing Catholic--is the first fantasy hero.  Believe it or not, his magical powers were as real to most early Christians as Rand al'Thor's command of Saidin is to us.  Nobody's out there--at least, I hope nobody's out there--trying to prove that Saidin and Saidar really do exist, but Rand's struggles are still meaningful.  Many fantasy heroes provide powerful role models, in a world that desperately needs them.  We want to see people battling evil, rescuing the damsel in distress, and saving the world--in short, we want to see people choosing the right.  It wasn't any cooler back then than it is now.

Frodo, in essence, "dies" during his quest.  Death, in much of fantasy as well as in the Tarot deck, symbolizes change.  To accept a new reality, we must "die" to the old.  Frodo returned to the Shire a different Hobbit than when he left: his experiences changed him.  Likewise, Jesus returned to Earth a different man than when he left.  Jesus, like all good fantasy heroes, had a complex nature: he was both human and divine.  He was never all one or the other; he didn't return to Earth all divine, any more than he left Earth all human.  Rather, the balance of his natures changed: he became more powerful, more divine.  Similarly, after Rand became the Dragon Reborn, he became more powerful, more capable--and more dark.  Heroes are people, too, and their experiences change them; the issue is not whether they change, but how they change.  Often, the difference between the hero and the villain isn't in their characters or attributes, but in the choices they make.  When faced with a difficult choice, the hero chooses the right, even when it hurts him--while, usually, the villain buckles under pressure.  The hero's choices change him into a stronger, better, faster man--or hobbit.

The author of John envisioned Jesus as a sacrificial lamb, casting him in the role of the sacrifices that Jewish priests made in the temple before its destruction.  Jesus' contemporaries believed that sacrificing an animal changed its nature, made it a vehicle through which mere mortals could access the divine.  For the sacrifice to be meaningful, the change must be real--and negative.  The problem was, each sacrifice only lasted so long--the link with the divine was tenuous at best and, eventually, it always dissolved.  Jesus' sacrifice was often referred to as the "last sacrifice," because only his sacrifice had the power to effect lasting change. In this, we see the true basis of comparison between Jesus and Frodo.  Like Jesus, Frodo chose his sacrifice--he embarked on his quest in full knowledge of what it meant.  Although he didn't fully understand the extent of the pain it would cause, at the beginning, he eventually did--and he didn't stop.  He didn't want it, but he accepted it.  And, ultimately, his sacrifice was the final sacrifice: he destroyed the ring.  The evil that kept creeping back into the world was, finally, vanquished by his act.

Most modern scholars set the date of the Crucifixion at April 5, although some still set the date at March 25.  The discrepancy has to do with changes in calendar systems.  Every year, the Church calculates the date of Easter using a complex formula that takes into account the Jewish calendar, which is Lunar, the date of the Equinox, and the date of the closest lunar eclipse.  I caution against such one to one comparisons as the March 25 comparison, because it ignores the culture out of which Christianity grew.  For us, as modern Christians, the issue isn't the date of the Crucifixion, or even the date of Easter, but, rather, how we choose to identify with Jesus' sacrifice.