Fortress Introduction To The Gospels 6e6n2l

Fortress Introduction to the Gospels

Second Edition

Mark Allan Powell

Fortress Press

Minneapolis

FORTRESS INTRODUCTION TO THE GOSPELS Second Edition

Copyright © 2019 Fortress Press, an imprint of 1517 Media. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Email [email protected] or write to Permissions, Fortress Press, PO Box 1209, Minneapolis, MN 55440-1209.

First edition published 1998.

Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the USA and used by permission. All rights reserved.

The symbolic drawings of the four evangelists drawn by Rudolph Koch (18781934) are from Christian Symbols, translated by Kevin Ahern and published by Arion Press. These images are considered to be in the public domain.

Cover image: Peace, Be Still by He Qi. Used by permission

Cover design: Alisha Lofgren

Print ISBN: 978-1-4514-8525-7 eBook ISBN: 978-1-5064-6050-5

For Michael and Sharon Powell

Contents

Dedication

Figures

Preface to the Second Edition

Introduction: Four Stories of Jesus

1. From Jesus to Us

2. The Gospel of Mark

3. The Gospel of Matthew

4. The Gospel of Luke (and the Book of Acts)

5. The Gospel of John

6. The Other Gospels

Notes

List of Abbreviations

Glossary

Bibliography

Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Writings

Index of Modern Authors

Palestine in the Time of Jesus

Figures

Four Pictures of Jesus

From Jesus to Us: Six Stages in the Transmission of the Gospel Tradition

Modern Biographies of Jesus

Suggested Solutions to the Synoptic Puzzle

Contents of Q: Material in Luke and Matthew but Not in Mark

Typical Forms of Material in the Gospels

An Exorcism Story (Mark 1:21–28)

Mark 1:1–8 from the Printed Greek New Testament

Some Well-Known English Bible Translations

Reception: Evaluating Four Different Responses

Possible Sources for Mark’s Gospel

Material Unique to Mark’s Gospel

The ion of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark

The Story of the Epileptic Child (Mark 9:14–29)

Intercalation in the Gospel of Mark: A Few Examples

The “Kingdom of God” in the Teaching of Jesus

The Way of the Cross in the Gospel of Mark

When Will Jesus Return (according to the Gospel of Mark)?

Material Unique to Matthew’s Gospel

ages from Mark Omitted by Matthew

Matthew’s Use of Mark

The Structure of Matthew’s Gospel: Two Views

The Bias against Gentiles in the Gospel of Matthew

The Presence of God in the Gospel of Matthew

Worship in the Gospel of Matthew

A age from the Talmud

Disciples of Jesus as People of Little Faith in the Gospel of Matthew

ages from Mark Omitted by Luke

Material Unique to Luke’s Gospel

The Journey Motif in Luke

Two Christmas Stories: Similarities and Differences

Parallels between Luke’s Gospel and Acts

Luke’s Use of Mark

The Centrality of Jerusalem in Luke and Acts

Worship in the Gospel of Luke

Male/Female Parallels in the Gospel of Luke

Salvation Happens Now

Salvation in Luke and Acts

Luke 2:14—Peace on Earth for Whom?

John and the Synoptic Gospels

Possible Sources for John’s Gospel

A Gospel Composed in Stages

The Christological Moment

The Beloved Disciple in John’s Gospel

The Expression “I Am” in the Gospel of John

A Nazified Version of John’s Gospel

Three Persons Named John?

Preface to the Second Edition

The first edition of this volume is now more than twenty years old and still being used as a standard text by many professors and institutions. I’m glad it has served well, but it seemed I should update numerous sections to be more representative of current scholarship. I did that—and then decided to do much more. The current volume is quite a bit longer than the first edition, and about onethird of the material is completely new. I am grateful to Fortress Press for allowing me to expand the volume in ways that will make it significantly better. Two major additions may be immediately obvious: (1) the chapter on the Gospel of Luke is now on Luke and Acts, and (2) what was a brief appendix on the noncanonical gospels has now been expanded into a full chapter. Thus, while the title stays the same, this book is now effectively an introduction to the four New Testament Gospels, the book of Acts, and the most significant noncanonical gospels. Each of the main chapters also contains major new sections on themes or motifs that were not treated previously—the twelve major themes treated in the first edition have grown to twenty-five in this volume. In some cases, these make up for lapses in the first edition or represent advances in scholarly interest since that time (see, for example, the new sections on “Stages of History” and “The Role of Women in Church and Society” in the chapter on Luke and Acts). In other cases, they represent contributions from my own work on the Gospels (sections on “Women and Revelation” in the chapter on Mark and “Critique of Power” in the chapter on Matthew). I realize now that I viewed the first edition as a survey of significant scholarship and was shy about including my own work in such a category. For better or worse, I’ve overcome that timidity. from the first edition indicated that professors and students especially appreciated the figures, or text boxes, scattered throughout the book, so we have added many more of those (forty-seven now, compared to twenty-six before).

I think this is a much better book than the first edition, and I hope it will prove useful for any who want a guide to understanding the first half of the New Testament. For a course that covers more than that, it would pair nicely with Paul: Apostle to the Nations by Walter F. Taylor Jr. (also published by Fortress Press).

Mark Allan Powell

Introduction: Four Stories of Jesus

Introduction

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John: these are the names given to the first four books included in the second part of the Christian Bible, which is known as the New Testament. They are commonly called “the four Gospels.” All four relate the career of Jesus, the central figure of the Christian faith. The New Testament actually contains twenty-seven books, all of which reflect upon the significance of Jesus, but only these four describe his life and ministry. The names given to these books were added at a later time. The books themselves are anonymous but were written in Greek by Christians who lived in the Roman Empire during the last half of the first century. Jesus himself was born at the beginning of the first century—that, of course, is why it is called the first century in cultures influenced by Christianity. Thus, these four Gospels were written a generation or so after the time of Jesus himself but, nevertheless, before Christianity had become the developed, institutionalized religion it is today.

The World of the Gospels

Since the Gospels were written in a place and time other than our own, we sometimes need help understanding the stories they tell. They relate tales concerning centurions, Samaritans, Sadducees, and magi—people we are not likely to encounter in our world today. We also hear about tax collectors and lawyers, who are still with us, but in the world of the Bible these professions

evoked different associations than they do today. Tax collectors were viewed as traitors to their country since they collected taxes on behalf of a conquering power. Lawyers did not sue people but were experts at interpreting the Scriptures (the “law” of God). If we read the Gospel stories without realizing these things, we are likely to miss the point.

Figure 1: Four Pictures of Jesus

• The Gospel of Matthew presents Jesus as the one who abides with his people always until th

The world of the Gospels can be a strange environment to the uninitiated. People beat their breasts (Luke 18:13; 23:48), tear their clothing (Mark 14:63), and wash each other’s feet (John 13:3–15). Jesus criticizes a group of people called the Pharisees for making “their phylacteries broad and their fringes long” (Matt 23:5). He criticizes another Pharisee for neglecting to kiss him when he came to visit (Luke 7:45). Fortunately, a wealth of information is available to us regarding the world of the Gospels. For example, detailed descriptions of many places, people, and events are offered by the Jewish historian Josephus¹ (37 BCE–100 CE²). For students, numerous resources exist to provide the information needed. Bible dictionaries are available in both single-volume and multi-volume editions to offer brief or in-depth explanations of manners, customs, and concepts that are no longer immediately understandable.³ Similarly, Bible atlases offer maps, photographs, time lines, and other useful aids.

Scholarship and the World of the Gospels

Our knowledge of the world of the Gospels has been aided over the years through a variety of academic fields of research.

Archaeology

Archaeologists excavate ancient cities and other sites important to the New Testament world, and they have uncovered an enormous amount of physical evidence that supplies background information for interpreting these texts.⁴ For example, a few years ago a first-century CE fishing boat was found submerged in the Sea of Galilee. Gospel scholars do not suppose that this is the boat actually used by Jesus and his disciples, but they are interested in the artifact

nevertheless. The eight-by-twenty-six-foot boat was rather poorly crafted: it was constructed from varied materials and had undergone numerous repairs. Thus, it may represent a vessel typical of what would have been used by ordinary fishermen of the day. It had a narrower draft than anyone would have supposed and would have sat much lower in the water than we might have guessed would be advisable. Presumably, this lack of depth was intentional to facilitate the hauling of nets filled with fish into the vessel. But this also meant that the boat could be easily swamped by waves and may have been somewhat vulnerable to sinking in a storm.⁵ Archaeological research has also wielded a wealth of literary evidence for the world of the New Testament, such as the famous Dead Sea Scrolls, discovered in 1947. These scrolls offer a collection of over eight hundred documents dating from the New Testament era or slightly before. In addition to a wealth of liturgical materials, they include manuscripts of the Hebrew Bible (including parts of every Old Testament book except Esther and Nehemiah); numerous biblical commentaries; community documents (the Community Rule and the Damascus Document) that spell out regulations for a monastic Jewish sect (probably the Essenes); a Temple Scroll, which interprets laws from the Pentateuch in a manner analogous to the much later Jewish Talmud (and possibly similar to the Pharisees’ “tradition of the elders” referenced in Matt 15:2); an apocalyptic War Scroll that provides a blueprint for an imminent endtime conflict; and the Messianic Rule, a handbook for the future that details life in a postwar righteous community ruled by two messiahs, one a king and the other a priest. Just as important as the Dead Sea Scrolls may be the volumes from a fourth-century Christian library at Nag Hammadi, Egypt.⁷ Discovered in 1945, the Nag Hammadi collection comprises fifty-three mostly gnostic writings, including several noncanonical Gospels (see chapter 6 of this book). Some of the most useful results of archaeology, however, have not concerned individual artifacts or manuscripts; frequently, the field assists Gospel research through what it reveals about the social, political, and cultural climate in which Jesus lived. Jonathan Reed has studied the demographics of Galilee at the time of Jesus, estimating the population of such villages as Capernaum (between 600 and 1,500) and Nazareth (about 400), as well as that of the bigger cities, Sepphoris and Tiberias (both around 12,000).⁸ Sean Freyne has analyzed the “ecology of Galilee” at the time of Jesus: the area was lush with plant and animal life in a way that might have influenced the development of a “creation theology” that viewed the blessings of the earth as a guarantee of God’s

continued favor (this in contrast with the harsher theology of impending wrath espoused by John the Baptist in the less fertile wilderness). Marianne Sawicki has studied the ways in which Roman occupation of Galilee affected various economic and social systems; for example, the building of roads increased trade, making “exotic cultural and material goods” available to those who could afford them, but also depleting local resources through the export of agricultural goods.¹ David Fiensy has surmised from the study of fecal matter in firstcentury latrines that an extraordinary number of whipworms, roundworms, and tapeworms indicate a likelihood that many (perhaps most) persons featured in the New Testament Gospels “went through life never knowing what it felt like to be healthy.”¹¹ Archaeology is often invoked with regard to one of the most significant questions for studies of the historical Jesus: the relative Hellenization of Galilee and Judea at the time of Jesus. The word Hellenization refers to the influence of Greco-Roman culture on areas that had become a part of the Roman Empire. If the area in which Jesus lived was thoroughly Hellenized, then Jesus himself may have been influenced by Greek philosophy, Roman values, and other aspects of the gentile world: this could explain some of the tensions he experienced with certain Jewish leaders, who perhaps identified faithfulness with resistance to Hellenization. But if such influences were not prominent in Jesus’s world, then it might be better to understand him in more exclusively Jewish categories (e.g., by placing him within the stream of apocalyptic Judaism, or by viewing him as heir to the Jewish wisdom tradition or as a politically motivated prophet of social justice). At present, the data is inconclusive on this point, being read with opposite tendencies by various interpreters.¹²

Sociology and the Social Sciences

In recent years, Bible scholars have found another major ally in coming to understand the world of the Gospels: fields of study associated with the social sciences.¹³ These entail a variety of approaches and disciplines, some of which are still being defined. New Testament scholars will draw on the general field of sociology to understand various phenomena that characterized the social world

of the Roman Empire: the phenomenon of the so-called Pax Romana (the period during which the Roman Empire exercised such dominance within its geographical area that warfare with other nations was limited); the military occupation of the area that would come to be called Palestine; and the creation of a patronage system, according to which a few people with social and economic power were expected to serve as benefactors to the vast majority of those who lacked such power.¹⁴ A specific field of study called social history involves the interpretation of events in light of the social impact that historical transitions have on communities. For example, one result of the Jewish homeland becoming part of the Roman Empire was an exchange of populations. Business opportunities and other factors prompted non-Jewish people to move into Galilee, Samaria, and Judea in unprecedented numbers, while also prompting Jewish people to move out of their homeland and settle throughout the empire. Social historians would seek to define the effects that such migrations have on group identity and then to examine the Gospels to determine whether those issues are addressed in the stories they tell. The process is analogous to asking “the place of Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanac in preindustrial America or the relation of Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath to the Great Depression.”¹⁵ A related field, sociology of knowledge, tries to understand what people in a given culture take for granted about the world and how this relates to their patterns of social organization.¹ Examples might be beliefs about the extent to which life (or the future) is predetermined, and ideas concerning what constitutes wisdom (knowing right from wrong or understanding how things work). Especially significant is the investigation of what happens when competing sociologies collide, or when people convert from one way of knowing to another. John’s Gospel, for instance, represents faith as coming to know what his community calls “the truth” (8:32). Sociologists would say this means more than just adding new religious propositions to a prior list of convictions. Rather, John’s Gospel calls for its readers to abandon their preconceived notions about life and to entertain an entirely different vision of reality. Also derived from the social sciences, cultural anthropology employs models for understanding key phenomena that often occur within cultures. The goal is to understand what happens in a particular culture within a broader framework.¹⁷ For example, almost all cultures designate certain days as special (holidays), but it is revealing to note whether the special days within a given culture mark

events of primary significance to the individual (birthdays, Mother’s Day), the nation (Independence Day, Veterans Day), or a prominent social subgroup (Christmas, Hanukkah). Similarly, cultural anthropologists study such matters as kinship relations, power structures, gender roles, economic systems, and strategies for education. The method of study always involves cross-cultural comparisons, asking, for instance, what purpose a phenomenon in one culture is expected to fulfill based on what we know from the study of other cultures. With regard to the Gospels, cultural anthropology has emphasized the significance of honor and shame within the Mediterranean world, explained the social dimensions of purity codes that label people “clean” or “unclean,” and clarified the socioeconomic dynamics of peasant culture in which, without a middle class, most persons experience both the hardships and the solidarity of poverty.

Basic Dynamics of the Biblical World

Orienting ourselves to the world of the Gospels involves recognition of religious, political, and social dynamics.

Religious Dynamics

The religious world of the Gospels is primarily that of the Jewish people, though we should not rashly assume that the beliefs or values of Jewish people in that era were identical with those of Jewish people today.¹⁸ The phrase Second Temple Judaism is often used for the period of Jewish history extending from 515 BCE to 70 CE, and the somewhat anachronistic term first-century Judaism is used for the narrower period during which Jesus and the earliest Christians lived. Both , however, may be misleading, insofar as they imply a uniform religion that simply did not exist. One of the most outstanding characteristics of Jewish religion at the time of Jesus was the diversity of belief and practice. Recent discoveries such as the Dead Sea Scrolls have confirmed the presence of

many different groups of Jewish people with conflicting religious ideas. The two Jewish groups that figure most prominently in the Gospels are the Sadducees and the Pharisees. The Sadducees tend to be priests associated with the temple in Jerusalem, where sacrifices were offered to God under their auspices. The Pharisees tend to be teachers (“rabbis” or “lawyers”) associated mainly with synagogues, where they interpreted the Scriptures at regular Sabbath services. These Scriptures included the books that Christians now call the Old Testament, and familiarity with them is assumed throughout the Gospels. Another group of Semitic people, the Samaritans, claimed to be the true descendants of Abraham (the ancestor of the Jewish people) and the true followers of Moses (their lawgiver). They had their own temple at Gerizim in Samaria and their own copies of Scripture, but they were viewed as heretics and foreigners by most Jewish people.

Political Dynamics

The political world of the Gospels is that of an occupied land.¹ In 64 BCE the Roman general Pompey conquered Jerusalem. The areas where Jesus would later live and work (Galilee, Samaria, Judea) were all brought under the control of the Roman Empire. There were benefits to such colonialism: the Romans cleared the sea of pirates, built aqueducts and roads, kept crime to a minimum, and generally maintained an almost unprecedented stability with regard to istration and governmental affairs; trade flowed more freely, and both travel and communication became easier. Still, such benefits came at a very high price. The tax burden was incredibly oppressive, forcing most people into poverty and keeping them there. Somewhere between one-fourth and one-third of all inhabitants of the Roman Empire were slaves. Things were worst in the provinces, including Galilee, Samaria, and Judea, the principal settings for our Gospels. In these areas, Roman rule typically involved the imposition of a king, governor, or other such figure appointed by Caesar, while preserving certain institutions of native rule. According to the Gospels, a council of Jewish leaders called the Sanhedrin had authority in Jerusalem on some matters, but the Roman governor Pontius Pilate had the final say. The power struggles between these Jewish and Roman authorities (Who’s really in charge?) form a backdrop to the

Gospels’ stories of the trial and execution of Jesus and remain fuel for controversy even today in discussions of who was to blame for his crucifixion.²

Social Dynamics

The social world of the Gospels must be understood as an intersection of cultures, a world in which Jewish traditions and values came to be influenced or challenged by those of other cultures.²¹ For example, the Jewish people portrayed in the Gospels often understand sickness to be the result of possession by an evil spirit and healing to involve exorcism. These ideas do not derive from their Scriptures (there are no exorcisms in the Old Testament) but apparently were acquired from Persia or some other Eastern culture with which the Jewish people had . Even more significant, however, is the degree of influence on these people from the Greek and Roman cultures, the influence associated with what we have already called “Hellenism.” Hellenistic thought tended to focus on the individual and to emphasize acquisition of knowledge and wisdom (including knowledge of the self). It also tended to be dualistic—that is, to make distinctions (good or evil, matter or spirit) that facilitated the organization of knowledge. These tendencies were not altogether absent from the Jewish tradition, but in general, the latter had emphasized the community over the individual, stressed obedience over knowledge, and preferred paradox to precision. In short, the social world of the Gospels facilitated the development and integration of ideas from a variety of backgrounds. Two examples of such development within both Jewish and early Christian tradition are (1) apocalyptic thought, which saw the world as a battleground between God and Satan,²² and (2) Gnosticism, which taught that people’s spirits could be saved from the evil material world through the acquisition of secret knowledge.²³

Philosophical Dynamics

Scholars debate the extent to which Hellenism affected the Jewish world of Jesus (and Jesus himself), but there is no question that the Roman world in which the Gospels were composed had been deeply saturated with Hellenistic modes of thought by the time of Jesus. These included various philosophical orientations, including the following: (1) Cynicism, which emphasized radical authenticity, repudiation of shame, simplicity of lifestyle, and a desire to possess only what is obtained naturally and freely; (2) Epicureanism, which emphasized free will, questioned fate, and encouraged the attainment of true pleasure through avoidance of anxiety, concentration on the present, and enjoyment of all things in moderation; (3) Platonism, which emphasized the reality of a transcendent world of “ideals” that stand behind everything that is physical or earthly; (4) Pythagoreanism, which emphasized the value of intelligent reasoning, memory, and radical honesty, all in service of a quest to attain harmony of ideas, and of body and soul; and (5) Stoicism, which emphasized the attainment of virtue through acceptance of fate, based on the notion that all things are predetermined and that there is logic to all that transpires in the universe. Neither the Gospel authors nor their audiences may have identified themselves as followers of one or another of these particular schools of thought, but these philosophies represent the kind of thinking that was “in the air” at the time, and most people sought to orient themselves more with one perspective than another. Of course, people then (as now) could be eclectic and inconsistent, holding simultaneously to notions that the philosophers themselves may have considered incompatible.

Genre

What is a Gospel anyway? Most modern readers are familiar with many different genres of literature (biography, poetry, science fiction, romance, and so forth), and they usually find it easy to identify the category to which a particular work belongs. But no one writes Gospels anymore. When we first approach these books, we may find they are unlike anything else we have ever read. Scholars sometimes compare the New Testament Gospels to historical fiction: they depict real people and real events, but the stories they re-count are told with a flair more closely associated with novels than with historical reporting. The

authors of these books knew the art of storytelling, and their narratives develop in ways intended to be rhetorically effective. They employ such literary devices as irony, symbolism, and foreshadowing. They solicit our empathy so that, as the stories unfold, we may feel drawn into the drama. The organization of the Gospels also begs comparison to modern fictionalizations of history. None of the authors seems particularly concerned with recording the order in which events actually happened. This explains why, when the four Gospels are set side by side, their chronology of events is often inconsistent. For example, the of Jesus overturning tables in the Jerusalem temple is found near the beginning of John’s Gospel (2:13–17), but in the Gospel of Mark this event occurs during the last week of Jesus’s life (11:15– 17). In both cases, the placement of the episode seems determined more by literary considerations than by historical ones. All four of the Gospels can be studied with methods similar to those employed by literary critics in their analysis of contemporary novels or short stories. New Testament scholars often talk about the plot of a particular Gospel, or they may discuss a Gospel writer’s distinctive approach to characterization or conflict development. Still, the analogy between these works and modern historical fiction is primarily stylistic. Most Christians today would be offended by the notion that the Gospels are fiction, and rightly so. The authors of these books did not intend them to be read simply as literature, but clearly hoped their readers would accept the stories as accurate s of events that had actually occurred. Comparisons to historical novels are helpful up to a point, but if taken too literally, they become anachronistic, imposing modern categories on ancient documents. How would the Gospels have been viewed by their original readers? The GrecoRoman world, like our own, knew many types of stories: comedies and tragedies; fables, myths, and legends; heroic epics, historical monographs, and (in the Jewish milieu) apocalyptic reports of heavenly visions. Against such a background, the Gospels are probably most similar to ancient biographies.²⁴ Each of the four Gospels looks and feels more like a Bios (a Greco-Roman biography) than it does like any other type of literature known to us from this context. But one cannot say this without caveats. First, the Gospels (es-pecially the Synoptics) have definitely been more influenced by Jewish literature than by any

Greco-Roman Bios. Many of the stories of Jesus are recounted in a manner reminiscent of tales of Abraham, Moses, or Elijah in the Hebrew Scriptures embraced by the church as the Old Testament. Further, all four of the Gospels are compilations of multiple genres of literature: genealogies, hymns, parables, miracle stories, speeches, pronouncement stories, and so on. Most important, if we identify the Gospels as ancient biographies, we must acknowledge that they are not very much like modern biographies. They make no pretense of offering an objective or balanced perspective on Jesus’s life. They do not reveal their sources or offer any way for readers to check the reliability of what they report (no footnotes!). They employ an anecdotal style of narration with almost no concern for chronology. And their treatment of the main character is far from comprehensive: they offer little insight into Jesus’s personality or motivation (How did he come to think the way he did?), provide almost no information about his early life (Did he have formal education? Was he ever married?), and do not even bother to describe his physical appearance (Was he short or tall? Fat or thin?). Such matters, however, were not expected to be addressed in biographies of this period. Biographies of philosophers, for example, tended to focus on selected anecdotes that preserved a person’s teaching for the benefit of those who considered themselves his followers. Such biographies were almost worshipful in tone, and like our Gospels, they sometimes provided extended s of the hero’s death, which was thought to reveal his character most fully. The main goal of an ancient biography was to provide potential emulators of a significant person with instances from that individual’s life and examples of his philosophy deemed worthy of emulation. So, a librarian in the Roman Empire would probably have placed our Gospels on a shelf beside Lives of Eminent Philosophers by Diogenes Laertius or Life of Apollonius of Tyana by Philostratus. Still, the communities in which these Gospels were produced did not view Jesus primarily as a philosopher, nor did they think of themselves as schools. To “believe in Jesus” or to “follow” him no doubt implied emulation (accepting his teaching and practicing his way of life), but it meant something else as well. It might have meant believing that he was “the Son of the living God” (Matt 16:16) or “the Savior of the world” (John 4:42). It might have meant identifying him as the Jewish Messiah who fulfilled God’s ancient promises to Israel (Luke 24:25–27) or regarding him as a cosmic figure who would soon return from heaven to judge all people and determine their destiny (Mark 13:26–27). It might even have meant concluding that Jesus was God—that is, the physical embodiment of the one who created all things (John 1:1–3, 14). Though some ancient biographies did present the philosopher-

hero as a divine figure, no parallel exists for the multitude of categories or levels of exaltation applied to Jesus in the Gospels. The distinctiveness of the Gospels also becomes apparent when we consider the perspective they offer on Jesus’s death. In every case, the story of Jesus’s crucifixion provides an opportunity for the Gospel writer to present Jesus facing this ultimate crisis in a way that demonstrates his integrity and commitment. But there is more. The Gospels present Jesus’s death as the climax of history. When he was crucified, something happened—something that altered forever the very nature of human existence in a way that ultimately would affect the life of every person. The Gospels struggle for language to describe what happened, referring to Jesus’s death as a “ransom” (Mark 10:45) or as the institution of a “new covenant” (Luke 22:20). They liken him to a sacrificial animal who “takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29). They dramatize the significance of this event through reference to a ritual meal in which bread may be described as Jesus’s flesh given “for the life of the world” (John 6:51) and wine identified as his blood poured out “for the forgiveness of sins” (Matt 26:28). In short, the Gospel authors believe that the death and resurrection of Jesus have consequences for every human being on the planet, whether those people believe in him or not. The superlative nature of these claims may be trivialized by identification of the Gospels as simply “biographies.” Still, most scholars it that to persons in the ancient world, these books probably looked more like biographies than like anything else. Some are content to leave the matter at that; others prefer to say that the Gospels draw upon the genre of ancient biography but transcend or expand that genre in important ways.

Sermons in Story Form

The word gospel (Greek, euangelion) means “good news,” and in the first century it appears to have ed rather quickly through four stages of application. First, the term was used to describe the content of Jesus’s preaching. As one

Gospel writer puts it, “Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news (euangelion) of God” (Mark 1:14). We will examine what is meant by this in more detail in chapter 2, but for now we should simply note that what Jesus said about God was thought to be gospel, or good news. Second, the word was used to describe the content of early Christian preaching regarding the death and resurrection of Christ. When the apostle Paul says that he “proclaimed the gospel of God” (Rom 1:15), he does not mean that he repeated what Jesus had said about God but that he told people what had happened when Jesus died and rose from the dead (see also 1 Cor 15:1–8). This also was thought to be good news. Third, as a combination of the above, the term gospel came to refer to preaching that summarized the ministry of Jesus in a way that included both what Jesus said was the good news about God and what Christians said was the good news about Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection. A summary of such a sermon is found in Acts 10:34–43. And when Mark 14:9 says that an incident involving a woman anointing Jesus will be recounted “wherever the good news is proclaimed,” we may conclude that what is meant by “gospel” now includes reports of events from Jesus’s life, not just summaries of his essential message or announcements of his death and resurrection. Finally, the word came to be used for books that offer in written form what had previously been proclaimed orally. The first such book was probably the one we call the Gospel of Mark, and it uses this term in its very first verse: “The beginning of the good news [euangelion] of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” What this brief survey illustrates is that our written Gospels are only a short step removed from preaching, which may explain some of the difficulty in ascribing them to a genre of written literature. The Gospels are sometimes described as “sermons in story form.”²⁵ They may have looked like biographies to ancient readers, and they may look like historical fiction to modern readers, but buried within these outer forms are sermons trying to be heard. The technical term scholars use for the authors of these books is evangelists. Today, that term may summon images of zealous religious figures who exhort people to change their ways. If we can set aside the caricatures of such a role that derive from association with celebrity figures (“television evangelists”), we may realize that this image is actually not too far off the mark. The Gospel

writers do want to effect definitive changes in the ways their readers think and live. Recognition of the essentially religious character of these works raises questions for how they are best approached within an academic setting. On the one hand, such a setting demands that the Gospels be studied like any other books, with rigorous objectivity that does not exempt them from critical scrutiny. On the other hand, to ignore the religious dimension would represent a failure to engage the writings on their own . Reading the Gospels merely as literature or as ancient historical documents allows interpreters to adopt a detached perspective that avoids consideration of the very factors that caused these books to be written and preserved in the first place. An objective, disionate reception is the last thing the Gospel writers would have wanted their books to receive. We are free to accept or reject, belittle or embrace, but whatever our response, we ought to understand what these books intend to do: they intend to convert us.

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From Jesus to Us

Jesus lived in the northern portion of what came to be called Palestine, in the region known as Galilee. He was a Jewish peasant who lived a relatively simple life. He wrote no books and traveled less than fifty miles from his hometown. Much controversy surrounds the significance and meaning of his life, yet even today, the time when Jesus lived is called “the first century” because of him. The incredible influence of Jesus on Western civilization owes much to the religion that arose after his death. The Christian faith has found diverse forms of expression, but all traditional Christians have this in common: They believe that this Jewish peasant Jesus is living still, glorified in heaven, where he rules the cosmos and hears their prayers. They believe he is the Son of God, and the things he said and did on earth are ed as the words and acts of God. About half of the people living in the United States identify themselves as Christians, and on weekends many of them go to their respective houses of worship. At a climactic point in the service, the worship leader opens a Bible and reads familiar words regarding something Jesus said or did, words taken from one of the four New Testament Gospels. But what Christian congregations experience on these occasions is different from what they would have witnessed if they had actually been present with Jesus in Galilee. For one thing, they hear the words of Jesus proclaimed in English rather than in Aramaic, the ancient Semitic dialect that Jesus actually spoke, or in Greek, the language in which all four of the Gospels were written. New Testament scholars are interested in the process of development that leads from the historical time of Jesus to the impact that his words and deeds as reported in the Gospels have on people today. Six stages of transmission may be discerned (see figure 2), and each of these becomes the subject of particular

types of research. Most scholars recognize that the Gospel tradition undergoes development as it es through these stages of transmission. In other words, changes occur, and these changes may be evaluated either positively or negatively by people with different theological interests or religious commitments.

Figure 2: From Jesus to Us: Six Stages in the Transmission of the Gospel Tradition

The Historical Jesus

Even though the Gospels cannot be read as modern biographies, they are often used by historians as resources for gathering biographical information. The person Jesus did exist, and he did say and do things that were deemed remarkable by his contemporaries. The task of separating historical facts about Jesus from faith claims and religious interpretations concerning him has been tagged “the quest of the historical Jesus.”¹ To put the matter simply, historians are interested in studying the earthly Jesus in the same manner they would study any other figure from antiquity (such as Julius Caesar or Alexander the Great), and they use the New Testament writings the same way they would use other writings as sources for such historical inquiry. As such, the Gospels are regarded as “religious propaganda,” books that were not intended to serve the interests of historians but rather were written to promote the Christian faith. But this is nothing new: historians are accustomed to analyzing biased documents from the ancient world, works that report what the author wants people to believe regardless of whether it could ever have been substantiated by anything that now counts as historical evidence. Thus, historical-Jesus scholars approach the Gospels with a fair degree of skepticism: The Gospels of Matthew and Luke report that Jesus (who was usually said to be

from Nazareth) was actually born in Bethlehem. But isn’t that something Christians would have wanted to believe, since a birth in Bethlehem might help to boost the Nazarene’s messianic credentials (see Matt 2:4–6; cf. Mic 5:2)? Historians are cautious about accepting such a report as historical fact. Scholars have developed a number of criteria to help them determine which information concerning Jesus is to be regarded as historically authentic.² They are not content simply to sift through the Gospels in the form that we now have them. Rather, they rely on the work of source critics and form critics (discussed later in this chapter) to determine the origins of the materials that have been incorporated into each of these books. Material that is believed to derive from an early source is likely to be considered more credible than that which comes from a later period. In addition, facts concerning Jesus are best attested when they can be confirmed by more than one source. For example, no historian would doubt that Jesus did in fact tell parables, since numerous parables (albeit different ones) are attributed to him in many different sources. Historical scholars inspect the Gospel materials for anachronistic references that reflect the later interests of Christians rather than what can be reasonably attributed to Jesus himself. For instance, when Jesus explains the meaning of his parable of the sower for Galilean Jewish peasants, he uses language derived from the early church (“the word”) and compares what happens to the seed to the effects of Christian preaching (Mark 4:13–20). Likewise, in Matthew 18:17, Jesus tells his Jewish disciples to bring problems “to the church” for resolution. By contrast, descriptions of Jesus in the Gospels may be accorded authenticity precisely because they are dissimilar to what would have served the interests of the developing Christian religion. Depictions of Jesus as a person who socializes with such social outcasts as tax collectors (Mark 2:15) strike many as a tradition the church would have been more likely to suppress than to invent. Hence, this detail about Jesus’s life is usually accepted and allowed to serve as one piece of solid biographical data. A number of recent scholars have attempted to provide the modern world with what the Gospels do not offer: reliable historical biographies of Jesus (see figure 3). Although there are points of overlap, controversy arises over such questions as the level of continuity or discontinuity Jesus shared with his Jewish contemporaries, whether he self-consciously identified himself as the Messiah, and whether he was primarily oriented toward the present or the future. Among the works surveyed in figure 3, Crossan sees Jesus as an unconventional Jew and

Meier labels him a marginal one. Sanders and Wright place him in the tradition of Israel’s prophets, while Witherington sees him as more of a sage and Borg and Vermes consider him exemplary of a mystical variety of Judaism. Borg, Crossan, and Horsley emphasize Jesus’s this-worldly orientation as a politically conscious social reformer. Meier and especially Sanders focus on his vision of a future in which God will transform what lies beyond the capacity of humans to effect. Wright thinks Jesus believed that he himself was bringing about that transformation. Meier, Sanders, and Wright insist that Jesus believed he was the long-awaited Messiah of Israel; Fiorenza and Witherington think he saw himself as an embodiment of divine wisdom; Fredriksen supposes that he himself had no messianic pretensions but was purported to be the Messiah by others (in ways that proved to be his undoing).

Figure 3: Modern Biographies of Jesus

Historians often attempt to write biographies of Jesus based on what they take to be plausible

This use of the Gospels as resources for historical research is a far cry from more popular treatments that regard these books as Holy Scripture. Some historical scholars insist that Jesus is significant to historians as well as to theologians and deserves to be studied as a historical figure apart from the presuppositions of religious belief. Other historical scholars approach this topic as avowed Christians committed to ongoing dialogue with the secular world. They wish to consider such questions as what should be written about Jesus in an encyclopedia or what should be taught concerning him in public schools. Some Christian scholars are committed to research of this nature because they believe their faith can only be confessed with integrity when they allow its historical foundations to be examined.³ Ultimately, however, all of these scholars recognize that the interests of history and theology overlap only in part. Christian theology claims that Jesus was crucified under the Roman governor Pontius Pilate, and this claim can be tested through historical investigation. But Christian theology also claims that through Jesus’s death God acted to save human beings from their sins. This latter proposition offers an interpretation of the historical event that cannot be tested. The criteria of historical research offer no means for determining whether such an interpretation is true or false.

Early Tradition: Written Sources and Oral Transmission

Because the New Testament Gospels were not compiled until several decades after the time of Jesus, scholars are often interested in how the traditions concerning Jesus were transmitted during those intervening years. In particular, source critics attempt to identify and reconstruct written materials that may have existed prior to these four Gospels and served as sources for their composition. Similarly, form critics seek to identify units of material that may have been ed on through oral tradition before they were incorporated into these

Gospels. Source critics began by making a distinction between the Gospel of John and the other three books, which they call the “Synoptic Gospels.” This distinction is based on the recognition that Matthew, Mark, and Luke contain a large number of parallel ages—that is, ages that are very similar or even identical to each other. Accordingly, source critics assume that these three Gospels must somehow be related: either they used the same sources or one or more of them must have served as a source for the other(s). The dilemma scholars face in figuring out the details of this relationship is called the “Synoptic puzzle” (or, more commonly, the “Synoptic problem”).⁴ Over the last hundred years, numerous scenarios have been proposed and tested, but in the latter half of the twentieth century, a near consensus was reached. The most widely accepted solution to the Synoptic puzzle is the Two-Source Hypothesis (see figure 4). Most scholars believe that Mark’s Gospel was the first one written and that it served as a source for both Matthew and Luke. This explains the large volume of triple parallels between the three works. But there is more. Most scholars believe that Matthew and Luke also used another source, an early written collection of Jesus’s sayings that has come to be referred to as Q (an abbreviation of the German word for “source,” Quelle). This explains the large amount of material that is parallel in Matthew and Luke but not found in Mark. For convenience, the material in Matthew not derived from either Mark or Q is referred to as M, and material in Luke not derived from Mark or Q is referred to as L. (Because of the latter two designations, the Two-Source Hypothesis is sometimes called the “Four-Source Hypothesis.” This is misleading, since most scholars do not use the labels M and L to refer to actual sources but to material of unknown origin.⁵)

Figure 4: Suggested Solutions to the Synoptic Puzzle

The most significant (and controversial) aspect of this theory is the proposal that Christians once possessed a written collection of Jesus’s sayings that has since been lost. Numerous attempts have been made to reconstruct the Q document based on what is preserved in Matthew and in Luke (see figure 5). These reconstructions are always incomplete and somewhat hypothetical, but they offer a glimpse of what may have been the first book about Jesus. Historical-Jesus scholars often regard material that can be ascribed to Q as especially significant for their work, asserting that this lost document provides more reliable information about Jesus than any book in the New Testament. Others interested in the origins of Christianity also value reconstructions of Q as providing a look at what was deemed most important for some of the earliest Christians.⁷ As a collection of sayings, the Q document did not look much like the four New Testament Gospels, which are mostly narrative. The primary focus of these sayings was a call to a new orientation of life, one that would be grounded in recognition of God as ruler. This meant becoming a disciple of Jesus, which implies becoming like him (Luke 6:40). Just as Jesus had “nowhere to lay his head” (Luke 9:58), so his disciples were expected to leave their homes and families, abandon their jobs, and give up their possessions. Such a vision of discipleship, which scholars call “itinerant radicalism,” regards renunciation of worldly security as necessary for those who would devote themselves entirely to God.⁸ Apparently, Q contained very few stories about Jesus. It did not even have a ion narrative—that is, an of Jesus’s death and resurrection. So, those who treasured this book may have looked to the future rather than the past for God’s definitive act of salvation. While there are no references to Jesus dying for people’s sins, numerous ages in the Q material speak of a second coming, or parousia, a time when Jesus would return to deliver his followers from the afflictions of life in an evil world. This deliverance would come through a great judgment that would bring destruction upon many. In essence, the Q document appears to have been a collection of what some of Jesus’s followers believed were the sayings of their coming Judge. They accepted these sayings as a guide for living in the last days and were committed both to living in accord with them and to promulgating them for others who needed to know what was required to survive the final judgment.

Figure 5: Contents of Q: Material in Luke and Matthew but Not in Mark

All of these speculations, however, may be questioned: we do not know for certain that the people who used Q did not also have other materials (including ion narratives or oral traditions ing less radical modes of following Jesus). Nevertheless, some scholars have taken to calling the work “the Q Gospel,” regarding it less as a source for other Gospels than as an alternative Gospel in its own right. They speak of “the Q community,” suggesting that some early group (or groups) of Christians understood their identity and purpose in of this book alone. They write commentaries on reconstructed Q,¹ and sometimes suggest that the Q Gospel be added to the canon of the New Testament. They have even applied source and redaction criticism to their reconstructions of Q to project recensions in the Q tradition: early (Q1), middle (Q2), and late (Q3).¹¹ Other scholars regard much of this as foolishness, without disputing the basic idea that some collection of Jesus’s sayings (which we may now identify as Q) served as a common source for both Matthew and Luke. John Meier has suggested that New Testament scholarship could be advanced if, every morning, exegetes would repeat the mantra “Q is a hypothetical document whose exact extension, wording, originating community, strata, and stages of composition cannot be known.”¹² Some scholars do not accept the Two-Source Hypothesis or do not believe that the Q source ever existed.¹³ The primary competitor to the dominant paradigm is probably a solution called the “Farrer Theory,” according to which Mark’s Gospel came first, Matthew modified Mark, and Luke drew upon both Mark and Matthew.¹⁴ Another alternative is the “Two-Gospel Hypothesis,” according to which Matthew wrote his Gospel first, then Luke drew upon Matthew in creating his own compatible but distinctive work, and finally Mark had copies of both Matthew and Luke and produced a short, condensed Gospel using material from both of them.¹⁵ Both of these minority proposals (diagrammed in figure 4) attempt to for the parallels and differences between the three Gospels

without having to posit the existence of a hypothetical, now lost source. The difference between the two is the order in which the three Gospels were written. The Farrer Theory maintains Markan priority and so has much in common with the Two-Source Hypothesis, rejecting only the existence of Q. The Two-Gospel Hypothesis rejects both Markan priority and the existence of Q and, so, represents a more radical departure from the dominant paradigm. (The TwoGospel Hypothesis is sometimes also known as the “Griesbach Hypothesis,” after the eighteenth-century scholar, Johann Jakob Griesbach, who proposed its basic precepts.¹ ) If it is accepted, the Two-Source Hypothesis designates early written sources for Matthew and Luke (and even the Farrer Theory identifies the Gospel of Mark as one major source for Matthew and Luke). But what about the other Gospels: Mark and John? The Two-Source Hypothesis offers no suggestions for those works. If Mark’s Gospel really was the first of the four, did its author also make use of early written sources? Numerous suggestions have been made in this regard (see figure 11 in chapter 2), but all are disputed, and nothing as grand as the Q document is proposed. As for the Gospel of John, most scholars do believe that some material was put into writing early and incorporated into the final composition at a later time. Different theories exist, however, regarding these stages of editing, so that the origin, nature, and scope of what would have constituted the earliest strata are difficult to determine (possible sources for John’s Gospel are indicated in figure 41 in chapter 5). Whatever early written sources were used in the composition of the Gospels, much of what ended up in these books probably derived from oral tradition. Form critics study the processes through which information is transmitted orally in preliterate cultures.¹⁷ They recognize that small units of material often circulate independently and that these units tend to exhibit certain defining characteristics. Even today, this is often the case with jokes, which are more often told than written and which tend to be told in rather predictable ways. As form critics study the Gospels, they try to identify places where small units of oral tradition have been incorporated into the written documents. They may do this by noting certain structural patterns or other rhetorical features typical of a particular type of material that was transmitted orally. When these units can be detected, form critics try to do three more things. First, they classify the unit according to what type of material it is (see figure 6).¹⁸ Second, they identify the probable function that the material would have served for the people who

preserved it. The technical term for this function is Sitz im Leben, German for “setting in life.” The Sitz im Leben for a joke in our modern culture is usually entertainment, though it might also serve some other purpose such as social commentary. The units of oral tradition preserved by early Christians served a variety of functions, including preaching, worship, catechetics (instruction in faith), apologetics (defense), polemics (attack of critics or rivals), discipline (preserving order in the community), and, yes, entertainment. Finally, form critics attempt to reconstruct what the unit of tradition would have looked like prior to its incorporation into the written Gospel. To the extent that they are able to do this, they succeed at recovering or reconstructing oral sources for the Gospels. In this sense, form criticism may be considered a type of source criticism—a type that specializes in studying oral sources rather than written ones. A major contribution that source critics and form critics make to Gospel studies can be understood in of the distinction between what is called “tradition” and what is called “framework.” Scholars believe that when the four evangelists incorporated material into their Gospels, they edited the material and added their own commentary. Today, material in the Gospels that is thought to derive from a source (oral or written) is identified as tradition, and material that is thought to have been added by the evangelists is called the framework.

Figure 6: Typical Forms of Material in the Gospels

1. Sayings: memorable quotations that may have been preserved apart from any particular co

8. Legends: narrative s of persons earning renown or glory. Example: Jesus’s entry in

Figure 7: An Exorcism Story (Mark 1:21–28)

²¹They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught

As an example of how this works, we may consider a age from Mark 1:21– 28 (see figure 7). Form critics identify an exorcism story in these verses, and they note that exorcism stories were transmitted orally according to the following typical outline: (1) demon recognizes exorcist; (2) exorcist issues threat or command; (3) demon comes out of person, with signs; (4) impression upon spectators is noted. This outline corresponds almost exactly to what is reported in this age, beginning with verse 24 and ending with the first few words of verse 27 (“They were all amazed”). Accordingly, form critics would be likely to identify these verses as the tradition that Mark received and to identify the rest of the age (verses 21–23, the latter part of verse 27, and all of 28) as Mark’s own additions to this source material. We can see why the added material is called “framework,” for in this case the added commentary literally forms a frame around the traditional source material. Of course, it does not always work out this neatly. Sometimes material identified as framework is scattered throughout the age. What is the point of making such a distinction? It becomes significant in three different ways. First, scholars interested in the early history of the Christian church find that this distinction allows them to trace developments that occurred during this formative period. Traditional material offers testimony to concerns of the movement during one stage, and material ascribed to the evangelists’ framework offers evidence of how these concerns were addressed during a subsequent stage. For this type of scholarship, tradition and framework are equally important. Second, historical-Jesus scholars find that the distinction allows them to focus their attention on the material that is earliest and therefore most likely to represent what Jesus actually said and did. For this type of study, traditional material is far more important than framework ages. Third, scholars interested in explicating the theological views of the evangelists themselves (redaction critics) find that the distinction allows them to isolate those ages where the evangelists’ own perspectives are most evident. For this task, the framework ages are the most important.

Redaction of the Gospels

In writing what we now know as the New Testament Gospels, the four evangelists assumed what must have been enormous tasks fraught with responsibility. Luke says in the introduction to his work that he first took into the traditions he had received from others, then investigated everything carefully himself, and finally set out to organize his in a way that would reveal “the truth” to his readers (1:1–4). As we have seen, the evangelists relied heavily on oral and written source materials. At the same time, they did not simply string together miscellaneous traditions, but took strong personal interest in creating coherent narratives that would reveal what they considered the true meaning of the stories they told. A modern analogy for composition of this sort may be found in the role of editors, who sometimes take what has been written by others and shape it into a work that better meets with their own approval. Accordingly, the evangelists responsible for the four New Testament Gospels are often referred to as “redactors,” and the discipline that studies the way they shaped their materials into the form of our present Gospels is called “redaction criticism” (the word redactor is a somewhat archaic synonym for editor).¹ Modern newspaper editors have at least two opportunities to shape material in accord with their own standards. First, they might read all of the copy that reporters turn in to them and make changes they think are appropriate. Second, they may be responsible for the layout of the paper, for deciding where the various stories will be placed. Presumably, if one studied an editor’s habits closely enough, noting what kinds of changes were made consistently and what types of stories got top billing, one could determine quite a bit about that editor’s beliefs and values. Thus, redaction criticism usually employs two methods designed to uncover the particular ideas of each of the individual evangelists. Emendation analysis attempts to discern the redactor’s interests by observing changes that he has made in his source material. Composition analysis attempts to discern those interests by noting how individual units have been ordered and arranged in the work as a whole.²

Emendation Analysis

Emendation analysis presupposes the work of source and form critics discussed above. For example, since most source critics believe that Matthew used the Gospel of Mark as one of his sources, redaction critics usually begin their study of Matthew by listing all the changes Matthew appears to have made when he took Mark’s Gospel over into his own (see figure 21 in chapter 3; for a similar chart on Luke’s redaction of Mark, see figure 33 in chapter 4). They may note that Matthew frequently drops from his Gospel verses in Mark in which Jesus asks questions (Mark 5:9, 30; 6:38; 8:23; 9:12, 16, 21, 33; 10:3; 14:14). Why? Perhaps Matthew thought it unseemly for the Son of God to have to request information from mere mortals. If so, then this evangelist has a somewhat different view of Jesus than does Mark, who obviously did not find it problematic for Jesus to ask such questions. As this example illustrates, emendation analysis is most helpful in the study of those portions of Matthew and Luke that are derived from Mark, since the source (Mark) is available for easy comparison. It is less helpful in the study of Matthew/Luke parallels where the source (Q) must first be reconstructed. For instance, redaction critics will note that in Luke, Jesus says, “Blessed are you who are poor” (Luke 6:20), but in Matthew he says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit” (Matt 5:3). The difference in wording is intriguing, but how can we know for certain whether Matthew added the words “in spirit” or Luke dropped them? Emendation analysis would seem least helpful in the study of Mark, John, or the M and L portions of Matthew and Luke since in these cases no sources are available for comparison. Still, the distinction between tradition and framework material made by source and form critics allows for some application of the method even here. Let us consider once again the age from Mark 1:21–28 containing the exorcism story (see figure 7). As we have seen, form critics believe that Mark took a simple four-part exorcism story that had been ed on to him through oral tradition and added an introduction (verses 21–23) and conclusion (verses 27b–28). Historians tend to reject this Markan framework as less authentic than the received tradition, but redaction critics regard the framework as valuable for another reason. It provides an example of Mark’s emendation of the source and so offers insight into the evangelist’s own interests. In this case, redaction critics note that the Markan framework introduces a major

theme not present in the source material itself. The introduction describes the context for the exorcism as a situation in which Jesus was teaching and stresses that the authority of his teaching was apparent to all. The conclusion returns to this theme by actually referring to the exorcism as “a new teaching” (verse 27) and again stressing the authority of Jesus’s words. Thus, Mark uses this traditional exorcism story to make a point about the authoritative word of Jesus. Redaction critics assume he does so to make the story relevant to his own community. Jesus himself is no longer present (see Mark 2:20; 14:7), but the community does still have his teaching. Mark’s message to his community is that even though Jesus himself is gone, the authoritative word of Jesus continues to operate through his teaching in ways that liberate people from what is demonic or evil.

Composition Analysis

Composition analysis works equally well in study of any material from Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John, since one can make observations about how a work is organized without first determining what sources were used or defining which material is derived from those sources. Redaction critics typically make general observations regarding the overall structure of each of the four Gospels. For example, the Gospel of Luke devotes ten chapters (9:51–19:40) to describing a journey that Jesus makes to Jerusalem, a trip that appears to be covered in about half a chapter elsewhere (Mark 10:32–52). Once they notice this, redaction critics seek to determine the significance of organizing the Gospel story in this way. Is it to provide an orientation that focuses more of the story on the events that occur in Jerusalem (Jesus’s death and resurrection), as if to indicate that these events were Jesus’s destiny, toward which he had been moving all along? Or perhaps is the city itself significant? Does Luke want to call Christianity back to its Jewish roots by highlighting the significance of the Jewish capital for the life and ministry of Jesus (see also Luke 2:41–49; 24:49)? Composition analysis is also used to examine the immediate contexts of individual ages in the Gospels. Consider the example of Matthew 18:15–20. These verses are unique to Matthew (part of the M material). We have no

knowledge of any source from which they were derived and so we cannot know for sure what changes (emendations) Matthew might have made. Still, we can learn something about Matthew’s interests and concerns by observing how he placed this age in the overall framework of his Gospel. Matthew 18:15–20 offers a description of the process through which a member of the church might be accused of sin and, if unrepentant, removed from the community. But in the immediately preceding age (18:10–14), Jesus relates the parable of the lost sheep, in which he concludes that “it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost” (18:14). And in the very next age, Matthew presents an episode in which Jesus insists that his followers forgive each other repeatedly (18:21–22) and then tells another parable encouraging people to be as generous and merciful in their dealings with each other as God has been with them. In short, Matthew has deliberately chosen to sandwich the harsh words dealing with possible expulsion between stories emphasizing forgiveness and mercy. While recognizing that procedures for excommunication are necessary, this evangelist wanted to be sure they would never be applied as acts of punishment or in the interests of keeping the community pure (getting rid of the “bad apple”). In context, the process outlined in Matthew 18:15–20 becomes one for identifying the lost sheep, so that the community can intensify its efforts to reach the one who is in trouble before it is too late. As these examples illustrate, redaction criticism often exposes the intent of the evangelist in ways that have moral or religious application. For this reason, emendation and composition analysis are especially popular with clergy and other students of the Bible who are looking for didactic or homiletical insights. The methods are not, however, limited to exegesis of the Gospels as Scripture. They are used by all scholars who want to uncover the distinctive perspectives of the individuals responsible for producing these four books, regardless of the attitude the scholars might take toward those perspectives.

Preservation of Manuscripts

Copies of the Gospels were made quite early. This is impressive because, in the ancient world, books had to be copied painstakingly by hand, usually by

professional scribes skilled in the art. The production of even a single manuscript could be an expensive and time-consuming project.²¹ Still, the Gospels appear to have been disseminated throughout the world rather quickly. If the Two-Source Hypothesis is correct, then both Matthew and Luke had separate copies of Mark’s Gospel less than twenty years after it was completed. Today, we possess portions of more than forty Gospel manuscripts produced during the first two hundred years after these books were written, and we have to assume that far more copies were made that did not survive. These early manuscripts were made of papyrus, a plant whose fibers could be stretched, dried, and woven together to form sheets similar to modern paper. Highly useful in its day, papyrus was never meant to stand the test of time, for with age it becomes so brittle that a mere touch may turn it to powder. The portions of the papyrus manuscripts that we do possess are mostly scraps and fragments, not complete books. Still, even the smallest pieces are of great interest to scholars, who have carefully cataloged and photographed each one. The fragment known as Papyrus 52 (p52), for instance, is no larger than a person’s hand and contains only a few verses from the eighteenth chapter of John’s Gospel. Still, its very existence is significant. At one time, some scholars believed that John’s Gospel was written around the middle of the second century. Since p52 itself dates from 100–125 CE, its discovery in 1934 prompted revision of those theories. In the fourth century, the Roman emperor Constantine became a Christian, and the financial resources of the burgeoning church improved dramatically. Now, manuscripts of Christian writings could be preserved on parchment or vellum, a type of leather made from the skins of animals. Our oldest complete copies of the New Testament are two vellum manuscripts from this period, called Codex Sinaiticus and Codex Vaticanus. The word codex indicates that the manuscript has the form of a book, with pages sewn together rather than rolled up into a scroll. Many scholars believe the codex format was invented by Christians and first used in their Bible manuscripts.²² Over the centuries, the copying of the Gospels and other books of the Bible continued under a variety of conditions. Sometimes individuals would devote years to producing a single copy. At other times, manuscripts would be mass-produced in schools called scriptoriums. Apparently, some scriptoriums allowed one individual to read aloud from a manuscript while several copyists wrote what they heard (or thought they heard).

Such a procedure allowed several copies of a single manuscript to be made simultaneously, but under less than desirable circumstances. Even when copyists worked from manuscripts they had in front of them, the quality of the work could vary in accord with the individual’s facility with Greek, attentiveness to the task, or degree of dedication. Still, the concern for accuracy was often pronounced. Most copyists were monks who looked upon their work as a sacred calling. Manuscripts were supposed to be checked, and even in the scriptoriums, harsh penalties were prescribed for errors. But, of course, errors were made, such that in the manuscripts we possess (ones that supposedly ed all inspections), mistakes can be seen that range from the understandable to the ridiculous. Sometimes copyists left out words or misspelled them so grievously that we would never know what was intended if we did not have other manuscripts for comparison. Occasionally, bored monks wrote notes to each other on their parchment (“It is cold today” or “This lamp gives bad light”), which then ended up being copied by other monks right into the biblical text. Some copyists even took it upon themselves to add commentary to ages they thought were likely to be misunderstood, or to change the wording of ages to reflect their own interpretation.²³ The study of the manuscript traditions that underlie our modern editions of the Bible is called “text criticism.”²⁴ Text critics compile and analyze all available manuscripts and fragments, comparing them scrupulously to note any differences. Readings that differ in any way are called “variants,” and modern text critics have developed computer databases that list every variant reading for every verse of the Bible. The more significant ones are listed in footnotes to Greek editions of the New Testament, sometimes requiring up to one-third of the page. Especially important or difficult variants are sometimes referenced in the notes to English Bibles. Many Bibles, for example, include a note regarding the words “against you” in Matthew 18:15, since these words are missing in a variant reading found in both Codex Sinaiticus and Codex Vaticanus. How do text critics determine which reading is best? The process involves consideration of both external and internal evidence. External evidence involves evaluation of the manuscripts themselves. Text critics recognize that an error that occurs in a manuscript is likely to be reproduced if that manuscript is itself subsequently used as a basis for making additional copies. Thus, variant readings frequently multiply, occurring not only in the manuscript where the error was first made but in all of its descendants. Accordingly, text critics have attempted

to work out family trees for biblical manuscripts, designed to reveal which may be directly or indirectly dependent on another. Ultimately, this process can become very complex, but a few of the fundamental distinctions are easy to grasp. The most common system classifies most manuscripts into one of three major families, or text types: Alexandrian, Western, or Byzantine. The Alexandrian text type is generally considered the best and the Byzantine, the worst. In other words, the family of manuscripts called Alexandrian is thought to have preserved the original reading of the New Testament with the fewest variants or errors. Ironically, the Byzantine text type is by far the largest, such that its more numerous errors have multitudinous (the manuscripts may have been produced in settings where quantity was prioritized over quality). This is one reason text critics say manuscript evidence must be “weighed, not counted.” Byzantine variants often constitute a so-called majority reading in instances where text critics believe the majority of manuscripts are wrong. Manuscripts belonging to all three text types are further classified as uncials or minuscules. The distinction is simple. Uncial manuscripts are printed in capital letters while minuscules are written in cursive using both capitals and lower case. The significance of this distinction is chronological. The minuscule style of writing did not develop until the ninth century, but it then quickly became standard. Thus, uncial manuscripts are older than minuscules and are considered much more valuable. Internal evidence involves consideration of logic that would explain the development of a particular reading. In individual cases, readings in our most reliable manuscripts may be discounted if the cause of the error is explicable. For example, in the famous story of the good Samaritan (Luke 10:30–37), Codex Sinaiticus completely omits any reference to the Levite who es by without offering to help (verse 32). The problem, apparently, is that two sentences in a row (verses 31 and 32) end with exactly the same words (in English, “ed by on the other side”). Thus, we may assume that the copyist must have accidentally skipped from the end of verse 31 to the end of verse 32 without realizing he had left out an entire sentence.²⁵ Codex Sinaiticus is an uncial manuscript of the Alexandrian text type, but in this instance its reading is regarded as an understandable error and the readings of other manuscripts are accepted as more reliable.

Similar evaluation of internal evidence may apply in cases where the cause of error is not obvious. When faced with two readings, both of which have strong external from manuscripts that are usually reliable, text critics must try to decide whether a development in one direction would be more logical than another. They claim that often “the more difficult reading is to be preferred,”² assuming that copyists would be more likely to make changes that solved problems than ones that created them. For instance, in Luke 2:41 and 43, where some manuscripts say “his parents,” others read “Joseph and Mary.” Text critics believe the former was the original reading and take the latter to be the variant. Why? If the original text said “his parents,” it is possible that some copyists might have thought this was an affront to the doctrine of a virgin birth and changed the wording to the more amenable “Joseph and Mary”; but if the original text said “Joseph and Mary,” there is no discernible reason anyone would have changed that to read “his parents.” Or to take another example from the opposite end of this Gospel, some manuscripts report at Luke 23:32 that Jesus was crucified with “two other criminals,” while other manuscripts say he was crucified “with two others, who were criminals.” The first reading seems to imply that Jesus was a criminal, a thought that might have been offensive to some Christians. Because it is easy to understand why copyists might have altered this reading (but not the other), it is recognized as the most difficult and therefore considered the original. A similar principle of text criticism holds that “the shorter reading is often to be preferred.”²⁷ The assumption here is that when copyists were themselves uncertain as to what the correct reading should be, they were more likely to err on the side of inclusion than exclusion. The fear of losing any word of Scripture caused them sometimes to conflate texts. We can actually see this in practice when we study the development of manuscript traditions from earlier to later times. In early manuscripts of Luke’s Gospel, the last verse sometimes reads, “they were continually in the temple blessing God,” and other times reads, “they were continually in the temple praising God.” Later on, copyists who had apparently become aware of this minor discrepancy wrote, “they were continually in the temple blessing and praising God.” Modern text critics are not able to determine whether Luke originally wrote “blessing” or “praising,” but they are pretty certain that he did not write both. In cases such as that just cited, the work of text criticism may seem obsessed with details that do not make much practical difference for interpretation. In some instances, however, text-critical questions are of considerable magnitude.

In a few cases, entire ages, such as Mark 16:9–20; Luke 22:43–44; and John 7:53–8:11, are missing from the best manuscripts. Should they be taken out of modern Bibles or at least removed to the footnotes? In other cases, the meaning of a age can be significantly altered by the acceptance or rejection of a variant. In a very real sense, text criticism forms the basis for all other types of Gospel research. Whether they realize it or not, everyone who reads or studies the Gospels relies on the work of these scholars, for it is not possible even to begin talking about what the Gospels mean without first knowing what the Gospels say.

Translation

When people read the Gospels today, they do not normally read from any of the numerous manuscripts that text critics have collected. Scholars may peruse a compendium of such works through the use of a critical edition of a Greek New Testament,²⁸ but most people rely on a translation of the Greek into their own language. Numerous English versions of the Bible are available today, and these are typically cited by two- or three-letter abbreviations (see figure 9).² The first translation of the New Testament from Greek into English was produced by William Tyndale in 1526, and the work cost him his life: condemned as a heretic, he was executed—burned at the stake. Today, it is difficult to understand why merely translating the Bible into language that people could understand would be so controversial. Before Tyndale’s work was published, however, the standard biblical text for all of the Western world was a Latin translation called the Vulgate.³ Because Tyndale’s Bible went back to the Greek text, it inevitably disagreed with the Vulgate in spots. Some took it as a direct assault on what they regarded as Holy Scripture.³¹ If Tyndale’s English Bible was right, then their Latin Bible was wrong. The opposition to Tyndale serves as a reminder of the enormous power Bible translators potentially wield. They are able to control what most people think “the Bible says” to a degree that sures the influence of any professor, teacher, or preacher. Such control is inevitable, despite the best intentions of the

translator. Differences between language systems make it impossible ever to say in English exactly what is said in another language. For example, the Greek word that Jesus uses to refer to the Holy Spirit in John 14:16 is paraklētos. English Bibles refer to the Holy Spirit in this verse variously as “Advocate” (NEB, NRSV, NIV, NLT), “Comforter” (KJV, ASV), “Counselor” (RSV), “Helper” (NASB, TEV), and “Companion” (CEB).³² These are all somewhat synonymous but convey different shades of meaning that might be significant for someone reflecting theologically on the role of the Holy Spirit. To translate is always to interpret, and people who read English Bibles are in fact reading interpretations of the Bible. In recognition of this, many religious bodies today insist that their clergy receive some training in the original biblical languages (Hebrew, Greek) so they will not be completely dependent on translations. Persons who do not have this facility are advised to consult a variety of translations when doing serious study of biblical texts and to become aware of differences significant for interpretation.

Figure 8: Mark 1:1–8 from the Printed Greek New Testament

Figure 9: Some Well-Known English Bible Translations

All translations strive for accuracy and clarity. With regard to the former, the first concern (aside from the qualifications of the scholars who do the work) is the quality of the manuscripts from which the translation is made. The King James Version, for instance, may be a literary masterpiece, significant historically and culturally, but among scholars, it is almost unanimously regarded as the least accurate English translation of the Bible available today. Why? Its translators did not have access to any of the uncial or papyrus manuscripts that have been discovered in the last few centuries. As a result, this classic edition of the Bible is based on a handful of late, minuscule manuscripts that text critics now know to contain hundreds of errors.³³ An excellent translation of a poor manuscript can be just as bad as a poor translation of an excellent manuscript. Beyond this, translators disagree philosophically as to what constitutes the most accurate reading. On the one hand, some strive to produce a literal translation that comes as close as possible to reproducing the original text word-for-word into English. Some versions (ASV, KJV, NASB) even italicize all words that are not actually representative of corresponding words in the original but that were regarded as necessary to make sense in our language (Greek grammar, for example, allows pronominal subjects to be implicit, but English grammar does not). The widely used RSV attempted to produce a fairly literal translation of the Bible without adopting this extreme convention. On the other hand, some scholars favor an approach called “dynamic equivalence,” which is more concerned with thought-for-thought translation that does not demand word-forword correspondence. Almost anyone who is bilingual today will grant that one would not use the same number of words to express a thought in one language as would be used to express the same thought in another language. The goal of dynamic equivalence is to produce a translation that conveys the message of the original text in such a way as to produce the same effect on those who read it in English as would have been produced on those who read the original. This philosophy informs such popular translations as NEB, JB, TEV, CEV, and NLT.

Scholars recognize the logic behind dynamic equivalence and will generally grant that a more accurate “overall translation” can be obtained when the quest for word-for-word correspondence is abandoned. Still, they sometimes prefer the word-for-word philosophy (also called “formal equivalence”) for the analysis of individual verses because that sort of exegesis can involve consideration of every individual word: if one isn’t able to work with Greek, use of a word-forword rendering of the Greek might be the next best thing. But, as indicated, most scholars recognize that obsessive literalism may “miss the forest for the trees.” As a result, many modern translations (including NIV, NJB, NAB, REB, NRSV, CEB) try for a balance between literal and dynamicequivalent readings. Indeed, the motto of the NRSV translation committee (as stated in the preface to the translation) was “As literal as possible, as free as necessary.” Concern for clarity is also necessary, since even the most accurate translation will not be worth much if it cannot be understood by its intended readership. Language is always changing, such that numerous words that were well known in 1611 when the KJV was produced require explanation today. The psalmist who “prevented the dawn” (Ps 119:147) did not keep the sun from rising, but simply got up before daybreak (prevent used to mean “precede”). Even in the few decades since the RSV was produced, language changes have occurred. The picture of John the Baptist wearing “a leather girdle” (Matt 3:4) brings a chuckle to unruly Sunday school students, as does Paul’s seeming ission “Once I was stoned” (2 Cor 11:25). In the NRSV, John wears a belt and Paul says, “Once I received a stoning.” Likewise, people who cannot speak are now called “mute” rather than “dumb” (Mark 7:37), and Jesus is more likely to sit on his donkey than on his ass (John 12:14). Unless updated, translations themselves need translating. Sometimes, clarity and accuracy become competing concerns. A story Jesus tells in Matthew 18:23–35 describes servants who owe debts of “ten thousand talents” and “one hundred denarii.” To understand the story, readers must know that the former amount is worth more than the latter. For this reason, the TEV paraphrases the amounts as “millions of dollars” and “a few dollars,” while the NEB (a British translation) renders the amounts in of “pounds.” A 1986 revision of the NAB leaves out any mention of the numbers and says simply “a large amount” and “a much smaller amount.” Strict accuracy is sacrificed for the sake of making the message of the text more accessible to readers in the modern English-speaking world.

Most translators recognize that paraphrase is necessary at times to make idiomatic expressions meaningful. Even the very literal NASB decided the expression “bowels of mercy” was better translated “heart of comion” (Col 3:12; compare KJV), since in the Western world the heart usually symbolizes the source of love and kindness (a role ascribed to the intestines in the ancient Near East). Still, the use of paraphrase is often controversial, and most scholars prefer that it be kept to a minimum, lest something essential be lost. Ideally, academic students of the Bible will acquire sufficient knowledge of the biblical world to make sense of the Bible’s expressions within their original context. Popular paraphrases of biblical texts are produced from time to time, and these need to be distinguished from what are more properly called translations. Thus, a “seaman’s version of the Twenty-Third Psalm” begins, “The Lord is my Pilot; I shall not drift,” and a “Cotton Patch Version” of Paul’s letters transforms the discussion of Jews and gentiles in Corinth into one regarding whites and blacks in Atlanta.³⁴ In recent years, a paraphrase of the Bible by Eugene Peterson called The Message has attained great popularity, reproducing the biblical text in lively, evangelical language that is reader-friendly but less capricious than the examples just cited.³⁵ Here, paraklētos in John 14:16 is translated “Friend” and the Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 6:9–13) is rendered:

Our Father in heaven, Reveal who you are. Set the world right; Do what’s best—

as above, so below. Keep us alive with three square meals. Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others.

Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil. You’re in charge! You can do anything you want! You’re ablaze in beauty!

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Scholars may appreciate the practical function that paraphrases serve within church and society, but they typically do not recommend the use of such works for serious biblical study.³ The most significant issues in recent Bible translation have arisen from concern for the use of gender-inclusive language.³⁷ It is almost hard to believe today that the NRSV was considered controversial for claiming that Jesus told his disciples he would make them “fish for people” instead of making them “fishers of men” (Matt 4:19); the latter translation was traditional (KJV, ASV, RSV, NASB, JB), even though no one doubted that the Greek word anthrōpoi in this context means “human beings,” not “male human beings.” Previous translators probably intended the word men to be taken in a generic sense, but by 1991 the generic use of that word had become archaic at best. In some cases, however, anthrōpoi actually does mean “men” (see Matt 14:21), so translators must sometimes make a judgment call as to the meaning of the word in each specific instance. English translations often suffer from the fact that individual personal pronouns imply gender in a manner that the original text did not. Thus, in the RSV, Mark 8:34 says, “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” Certainly, Jesus meant these words to apply to women as well as to men: a more inclusive and accurate translation could be obtained by saying “If any one . . .” rather than “If any man . . .” But what about those pronouns? Should we say, “If anyone would come after me, let that one deny him- or herself and take up his or her cross and follow me”? Some would say yes, but the NRSV took another route; in order to avoid the stilted “him or her”

language, they simply rendered the entire verse in the plural: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” The problem, some would say, is that the use of singular pronouns in Greek was intentional, indicating the personal dimension of the decision Jesus says every individual must make. Thus, the gain in clarity with regard to gender inclusion must be weighed against the loss in accuracy with regard to personal reference. The big question with regard to gender-inclusive translation involves pronouns and other expressions that are applied to God. Most biblical theologians will grant that God is beyond gender: it would be reductive and inaccurate to describe God as either male or female since both men and women are equally created in God’s image (Gen 1:27). But which, if any, pronouns should be used for God? In times past, translators thought nothing of saying “God gives his Spirit to his people,” but the concern for more accurate, gender-inclusive language compels a search for alternatives:

use neuter pronouns: “God gives its Spirit to its people”

alternate pronouns: “God gives her Spirit to his people”

use only plural pronouns: “God gives their Spirit to their people”

avoid pronouns: “God gives the Spirit to the people”

use only proper nouns: “God gives God’s Spirit to God’s people”

A preference for the latter two alternatives appears to have emerged in recent years. Many Christians believe they show respect for God’s majesty by consciously refusing to use the pronouns for God that they would employ for lesser entities. Pronouns always imply limitations (of gender and number), and learning to speak of God without such reductions can become an act of piety that many find meaningful even apart from other concerns. Thus, numerous inclusive-language lectionaries have been produced for use when the Bible is read publicly. We must note, however, that to date, no major translation of the Bible has appeared that takes seriously what scholars have been recommending for nearly forty years.

Reception

After ing through all the stages of transmission described in figure 2 (p. 16), the four New Testament Gospels finally become accessible to people in our modern world. Today, we are able to hear or read in our own language the words and deeds of Jesus as they were ed, redacted, and preserved in these books. Not surprisingly, then, many Gospel scholars are fundamentally interested in how the Gospels are understood by their audiences. Indeed, many literary critics now maintain that meaning is not something imputed to texts by authors but rather a phenomenon ascribed to texts by readers. Just as a tree that falls in a forest makes no sound unless there is someone to hear it, so a text has no meaning unless there is someone to read it. Then, the text means what it means to its reader. Authors might intend for texts to mean one thing or another —they might hope readers will understand the text in a certain way or be affected by it in certain ways—but the meaning the text actually has depends on how readers actually understand it or are actually affected by it. Considerable attention has been paid to the phenomenon of polyvalence—that is, the capacity for texts to generate any number of effects and to mean different things to different people. Studies have revealed that the manner in which a text is received affects the way it is interpreted. Thus, when a text is heard out loud, it might be understood differently than when it is read silently. Or when a section

of a text is read as an isolated pericope, it might be understood differently than when it is encountered as an episode in a longer work. When one of the Gospels is read as a part of a larger book (the New Testament or the Bible), it might be understood differently than when it is read as a freestanding work. Beyond all this, however, scholars now recognize that interpretation is intrinsically linked to the social location of readers. Social location refers to identifying characteristics such as age, gender, nationality, race, health, career, social class, political affiliation, personality type, and marital status. Readers who share certain aspects of one social location tend to understand texts in similar ways that can be distinguished from understandings produced by readers with a different social location. Simply put, men understand stories differently than women, adults understand stories differently than teenagers, business executives understand stories differently than blue-collar workers, Tanzanians understand stories differently than Russians, and so forth. Numerous factors may for such distinctions. Sometimes readers experience a story differently depending on the characters with whom they most identify, and reader empathy can be affected by social location. Diverse interpretations of a text’s meaning can also be determined at a basic level by different philosophical concepts of what constitutes meaning (a cognitive message to be ed from author to reader, or an affective or emotive response produced in readers through the experience of receiving the text). Again, such concepts may be related to factors of social location. Given the reality of polyvalence, scholars have developed numerous approaches to biblical interpretation that are attentive to processes of reception. In many cases, the distinctions between approaches are attributable to identification of what is meant by “the reader” or “the audience”: Are we interested in how the text would have been understood by its intended, historical audience or by modern readers? And if the latter, are we talking about any readers anywhere or readers who are presumed to know or believe things that would affect their understanding?

Reader-Response Criticism

The field of literary study known as “reader response criticism” broadly envisions interpreting texts from the perspective of unspecified readers.³⁸ Accordingly, reader-response criticism can be a catch-all term for any sort of literary method that approaches any text from the perspective of any reader (however that reader might be defined). Historically, reader-response criticism arose in the latter half of the twentieth century as a reaction against interpretation that was excessively author-oriented. At first, it seemed sufficient to insist that texts be understood from a reader’s perspective rather than from an author’s perspective. But before long, all sorts of questions arose: Should texts be understood from the perspective of an informed or competent reader (as opposed to an ignorant or incompetent one)? Should they be understood from the perspective of a first-time reader (as opposed to someone who has read the story repeatedly and knows its ending from the start)? These and many similar questions led to a proliferation of reader-response criticisms—many different literary approaches that sought to interpret texts from the perspectives of readers who met certain qualifications or could be defined in of certain particular criteria.

Rhetorical Criticism

Rhetorical criticism focuses on how a text would have been understood by its original, intended readers, the actual historical people for whom the book was written.³ Rhetorical critics often attempt to reconstruct the community in which a book was produced and then analyze how the work would have proved effective for people in that particular context (in accord with principles of rhetoric that were known and practiced in such an environment). While using literary-critical methods, rhetorical criticism is typically invested in historical interests, functioning as the mirror image of redaction criticism. The goal is to determine authorial intent, but such intent is now defined in of effects on a particular audience. Such effects include not only intellectual responses (learning facts or believing doctrines) but also emotional or aesthetic ones.

Wirkungsgeschichte

The approach known as Wirkungsgeschichte, or “history of influence criticism,” focuses on how texts have been understood by actual readers throughout history.⁴ Scholars who practice this approach compile as much data as they can regarding the diverse interpretations that have been ascribed to various texts. They are interested not only in academic or theological interpretations (e.g., those evident in biblical commentaries) but also in popular and secular understandings: how the text has been preached and how it has impacted art, music, legends, and the like. For example, the story of the magi in Matthew 2 came to be elaborated in both ecclesiastical festivals and secular dramas: the magi were identified as kings, they were accorded names (Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar), and their gifts to Christ were ascribed various symbolic meanings.⁴¹ Reader-oriented critics are interested in what such elaborations say about the capacity for the story to captivate audiences and to generate meaning beyond the limitations of its initial content. One practitioner describes the goals of Wirkungsgeschichte as being “to furnish correctives that remind us of full potential for meaning, to further ecumenical understanding and broaden our horizons, and to clarify who we have become (or who we might become) through engagement with designated texts.”⁴² At times, the approach may reveal tendencies that merit evaluation: legends associated with the magi story served politics as well as piety, providing a divine benediction for crusades, conquest, and colonialism (as submissive kings or godly wise men, the magi were exemplars of how political and intellectual leadership were to function in a society dominated by ecclesiastical rule).⁴³

Ideological Criticism

The wide variety of approaches that might be included under the umbrella term ideological criticism seek to interpret texts from the perspective of readers who occupy a specific social location.⁴⁴ Thus, a Marxist critic might seek to interpret Mark’s Gospel from the perspective of Marxist ideology: the author of Mark’s

Gospel was obviously not a Marxist, but a critic may still inquire as to what meaning this Gospel will have for readers who are Marxists.⁴⁵ It is sometimes said that all biblical interpreters are ideological critics since it is impossible for any interpreter to divest themselves of ideological presuppositions and perspectives that affect interpretation. While this may be true, not everyone applies their ideological stance to texts in ways that are explicit and deliberate. There is a difference between (1) a redaction critic who happens to be a Lutheran being inevitably influenced by the Lutheran confessional perspective when attempting to discern the historical intentions of the author of Matthew’s Gospel, and (2) a Lutheran theologian articulating what Matthew’s Gospel might mean to Lutherans today when interpreted from a perspective that assumes principles of Lutheran theology that, ittedly, would not have been espoused by the Gospel’s author. The latter scenario would exemplify what is typically called “ideological criticism.” The most influential examples of ideological criticism in recent years have been varieties of feminist criticism.⁴ Of course, not all feminist scholars practice what we have just described as ideological criticism. There are feminist historical critics, feminist text critics, feminist redaction critics, and so forth. Sometimes feminists who are Bible scholars pursue the same goals as any other Bible scholars and employ the same methods of inquiry, without any desire to read the text in light of their favored ideology; even so, they might discover heretofore unrecognized insights, including ones that expose traditional interpretations of texts as androcentric or patriarchal. Many feminist critics, however, view their task in analogous to what was described for a hypothetical Lutheran above: they seek to discern the meaning of a text when it is read from the perspective of feminism, without any supposition that this is a meaning the author would have endorsed (or even anticipated). Then, feminist criticism is practiced as a type of ideological criticism with goals that go beyond whatever contributions feminists might make when they engage in other disciplines. Such criticism often entails adoption of a “hermeneutics of suspicion” (an assumption that the texts are inherently biased)⁴⁷ and a practice of “resistant reading” that begins with a call to consciousness.⁴⁸ Texts such as the New Testament Gospels often embody a masculine perspective so thoroughly that readers adopt a patriarchal point of view without knowing it. If the story is told in a way that is rhetorically effective, even non-male readers may find themselves identifying with the male characters in ways that assume that their values are normative, or they may find themselves identifying with female characters whose values and perspectives were created by male authors in ways that subtly reinforce a

patriarchal understanding of gender roles. One task of feminist criticism is to recognize the processes of reception so as to empower women to read the Gospels as women—even if those texts were originally intended for men. In similar ways, critics interested in reception may interpret the Gospels from other political, social, or ethnic viewpoints.⁴ African American approaches to interpretation have been prominent, especially the African American feminist approach that is sometimes called “womanist criticism.”⁵ A related field, mujerista criticism, interprets texts from the perspective of Latin American women.⁵¹ Queer criticism analyzes and evaluates texts from a perspective that challenges heteronormativity (the idea that only heterosexuality is normal and valid).⁵² Postcolonial criticism brings to the fore interpretations from the perspectives of marginalized and oppressed peoples of the world, especially those in Asia, Africa, and Latin America.⁵³ Postcolonial interpreters look at how imperial power is presented in the Gospels and at the ways in which subjugation to such power is encouraged, assumed, repudiated, or ignored. They analyze and evaluate the Gospel narratives from a position informed by more recent instances of domination, particularly that which results from Western capitalism; indeed, they sometimes initiate dialogue regarding the nature of biblical scholarship itself, which can be viewed as a product and expression of imperialism. Recent decades of New Testament scholarship have also produced studies of the Gospels informed by such diverse perspectives as Jungian psychology, Buddhist Mahāyāna philosophy, liberation theology, and numerous other ideological viewpoints.⁵⁴ Such approaches may unapologetically read the texts through lenses that are deemed valid without great concern for whether the author wrote or the original readers ever would have read the text from such perspectives, or they may overtly seek an interpretation in tension with authorial intent if the adopted perspective is considered more enlightened than the author’s limited perspective would have been. Such critics are adopting a strategy analogous to the oft-acknowledged perspective of canonical reading (interpreting individual biblical texts from a perspective informed by the full canon of Scripture) or of reading all texts in light of what their confessional community has discerned to be a sound theological perspective informed by other key texts (a “canon within the canon,” so to speak). Thus, long before ideological criticism became an identifiable approach, it was common to speak of “theological interpretation,” a label that might have been applied to our unabashedly biased Lutheran scholar mentioned earlier. And the latter would have such counterparts as evangelical

interpretation and Calvinist interpretation and numerous other approaches intentionally informed by a particular theological perspective (Augustinian, Franciscan, Pentecostal, and so on). Nowadays, these theological approaches can and should be classed as types of ideological criticism—which is what they have always been—and, of course, there would be sub-groups within such communities (African American Calvinist interpretation, feminist evangelical interpretation, Jungian Wesleyan interpretation, etc.).

Postmodern Criticism

Scholars who identify themselves as practitioners of postmodern interpretation focus on meaning that could be ascribed to texts by any reader in any context.⁵⁵ Thus, appreciation for polyvalence leads to an essential denial of what other scholars might call “misinterpretation.” Postmodern critics take the notion that texts can mean different things to different people to its logical extreme; hypothetically, texts can mean anything to anybody. Therefore, all claims to have discerned the meaning of a text are contextual and must be regarded as a particular meaning that the text has for certain readers in certain contexts. Accordingly, any attempt to establish certain interpretations as normative or preferred is viewed with suspicion. Postmodern critics often practice an interpretive strategy called “deconstruction,” through which they seek to demonstrate the instability of the text and of all proposed interpretations of it. For example, a postmodern critic might deconstruct a traditional understanding of a text by exposing its dependence on certain contextually derived presuppositions. Postmodern critics often claim that interpretation reveals more about interpreters than about the texts they seek to interpret. Nevertheless, the process of interpretation need not be abandoned but may be continued in a chastened way: postmodern critics “play” with texts, interpreting them in ways they find interesting; they do not imagine that they will arrive at an absolute understanding of truth, but by interpreting texts in dialogue with other interpreters, they hope to discover things about themselves and about other interpreters.

Narrative Criticism

The field of narrative criticism focuses on meaning that may be ascribed to a text’s implied reader, interpreting the work from the perspective of readers who receive the text in the manner that appears to be expected of them.⁵ The method of narrative criticism draws on certain varieties of modern literary criticism to read the Gospels as coherent short stories. Narrative critics would emphasize that each Gospel, as it now stands, needs to be considered in its entirety as a wholly integrated work. They would view the Gospel of Mark, for instance, not as the collection of stories about Jesus that form critics discern but as a single story about Jesus. Certain themes and motifs develop throughout the book from beginning to end. One can actually describe the plot for this story or speak about how individual character groups develop as the narrative progresses. Whereas form critics sometimes spoke of Mark stringing together individual pericopes “like pearls upon a string,” narrative critics would prefer the analogy of weaving together diverse strands to form a single rope.⁵⁷ Narrative critics also insist that each Gospel needs to be considered on its own , as distinct from the others. The story of Jesus that Mark tells is different from that told by Matthew, Luke, or John, even though many of the same people, events, and themes figure prominently in all four. Narrative critics pay close attention to the rhetoric of each Gospel—that is, to the way in which the story is told. They note literary devices and other features that indicate what sort of effect the story is expected to have on its readers. The implied reader favored by narrative criticism is an imaginary figure who seems to be presupposed for the text. Narrative critics try to discern how such a person would respond to the story by assuming the posture of this imaginary figure. First, they must imagine they are receiving the text in the manner in which it was expected to be received (reading or hearing the entire work from beginning to end, perhaps at a single sitting). Such modes of reception are not always practical, but narrative critics will at least ask, What would the text mean to someone who did receive it in such a fashion? Second, they must seek to know everything the reader would be expected to know but no more than this. The reader of Mark’s Gospel is expected to be familiar with the writings now known as the Old Testament and to know certain things about the Roman world, but Mark’s reader is probably not expected to know material from the other

Gospels or doctrinal propositions from later Christianity. To discern the expected impact of Mark’s Gospel on its implied reader, narrative critics must strive to obtain knowledge that is assumed for the story and “bracket out” knowledge that would not be assumed for the story. The question sometimes becomes, What would the text mean to someone who did not know certain things that we know today? Finally, critics must pretend to adopt the ideological perspective the reader was expected to espouse. The reader of any one of our four Gospels is assumed to hold certain beliefs and values that may or may not coincide with beliefs or values of modern readers (e.g., the reader may be expected to believe that demons are literal beings, that ghosts actually exist, that slavery is an acceptable social institution, that women are intrinsically weaker than men). To determine the response expected of an implied reader, modern readers must ask, How would a reader with these assumed beliefs and values respond to this story?

Figure 10: Reception: Evaluating Four Different Responses

Imagine four people reading the story of the ion of Christ recorded in Matthew 26–27. T

Ideological criticisms would evaluate each of the four readings from a particular perspective

By utilizing this concept of an imaginary implied reader, narrative critics typically end up discerning a range of what would qualify as “expected responses” or ways in which an implied reader might be expected to respond. In practice, then, narrative criticism allows for discernment of what I have called “polyvalence within perimeters,” the perimeters being set by what would accord with expected responses attributable to the narrative’s implied reader.⁵⁸ There is polyvalence within these perimeters, because divergent and sometimes even contradictory responses might be shown to be attributable to the implied reader as defined above. Still, such polyvalence is limited; outside the perimeters, polyvalence becomes potentially infinite. The classification of readings as “expected” or “unexpected” does not in itself say anything about the value or the legitimacy of a reading, though some scholars may operate with a hermeneutic that assumes valuations not intrinsic to the method itself. In any case, an expected reading is one that seems to be invited by signals within the text (as discernible through narrative criticism). An unexpected reading is one that is produced when factors extrinsic to the text cause the reader to resist or ignore the text’s signals. In practice, narrative criticism has become something of a baseline approach for Gospel studies. Even scholars who ultimately want to interpret the text in accord with some other literary scheme often start with a narrative-critical analysis in order to (1) lay a foundation upon which they can build with supplemental insights or (2) define the accepted or traditional literary understanding, which they might subsequently hope to contest or challenge.

Conclusion

The New Testament Gospels are not simply read; they are studied. In fact, it may be safe to say that these four books have been more carefully investigated and more closely scrutinized than any other narrative works in history. The field of New Testament studies has developed into a discipline that encomes many different approaches and employs a variety of methods. Some scholars are

primarily interested in historical questions: they rely on archaeology to reconstruct the settings in which the Gospels may have been written, and they draw on the insights of sociology, cultural anthropology, and other disciplines to understand what the author meant to communicate to a particular audience at a given place and time. Other scholars tend to be more interested in understanding the messages these books have conveyed to readers in different contexts and in discerning the effects the authors sought to have on readers in general. They rely more heavily on methods that analyze the rhetorical and literary features of the texts. And of course, many Gospel scholars are interested in theological issues, so they study these writings in light of specific ideological or doctrinal concerns. In a broad sense, the different methodological approaches to the Gospels may be likened to keys on a ring: different keys open different doors and grant access to different types of insight. It is difficult to know at the outset which doors one will want to open. Accordingly, the best advice might be simply to try to obtain as full a set of keys as possible.

2

The Gospel of Mark

The Gospel of Mark opens by introducing its readers to the figure of John the Baptist who has come to “prepare the way of the Lord” (1:3). The focus shifts quickly, however, to Jesus, who is baptized by John, receives the Holy Spirit, and is driven into the wilderness for a time of testing.¹ After John is arrested, Jesus begins a dynamic ministry in Galilee, “proclaiming the good news of God” (1:14). He calls disciples to him and travels throughout the countryside. He earns renown for healing people of various diseases, for casting demons or unclean spirits out of afflicted persons, and for working other miracles. He also teaches his disciples and the crowds that gather, often using parables to disguise his true meaning (4:10–12). Conflicts arise as the religious authorities in the area oppose him, and his own disciples prove to be persons lacking in faith. Finally, he travels to the city of Jerusalem for a final showdown, predicting along the way that he will be killed there but will subsequently be raised from the dead. After more intense conflicts in that city, he gathers his disciples for a ritual last meal and then, having been betrayed by one of these disciples (Judas), he is put on trial and crucified. Three days later, a group of women visits his tomb, only to be told by a youth that he has been raised. When people who already have some knowledge of the story of Jesus read the Gospel of Mark, they are often surprised by what they find. Some of the stories here are familiar, such as the miracle s of Jesus feeding five thousand people (6:30–44) or walking on the water (6:45–52). Likewise, the parable of the sower that Jesus tells in 4:1–20 is one of his best-known tales. In many churches, the reports of Jesus’s “transfiguration” (9:2–8) and of his entry into Jerusalem on what has come to be known as Palm Sunday (11:1–10) have become lessons associated with annual festivals. Best known of all is the ion narrative, the lengthy of Jesus’s betrayal, Last Supper, arrest, and eventual crucifixion (chapters 14–15). Still, there are surprises. The first surprise may be what is not here. Mark’s Gospel contains no “Christmas stories,” no references to Jesus’s birth or infancy. Jesus does not preach a Sermon on the Mount. He does not teach his disciples the Beatitudes or the Golden Rule or the Lord’s Prayer. He doesn’t tell the story of the good Samaritan or the prodigal son. There is no mention of his raising Lazarus from the dead. Many of our society’s best-known stories about Jesus and his teaching are missing.

The greatest surprise of all, perhaps, comes at the end. When the women who visit Jesus’s tomb are told that he has been raised from the dead, the youth who tells them this also says that they should go and tell his disciples. Then, Mark reports, “they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid” (16:8). So, what happened next? Did the women ever tell the disciples? If not, did the disciples find out about the resurrection in some other way? Did anyone ever actually see Jesus risen from the dead? Mark doesn’t say. There are no “Easter stories” in this Gospel, except for the brief report that the tomb was empty and that some young person claimed a resurrection had occurred. To many readers, this doesn’t seem like enough to provide a basis for faith, much less a foundation for the establishment of a major new religion. Mark’s Gospel seems unfinished. The book must have seemed that way in the early church as well, for text critics have found a number of endings for Mark’s Gospel that were written at various times and places.² One of these ended up in the Latin Vulgate, the fourth-century translation of the Bible that became the standard scriptural text in Western Christianity for over a millennium. The same ending appeared in a 1551 edition of a Greek New Testament in which a French printer numbered the text into chapters and verses for the first time. Thus, the age received unofficial sanction as a designated biblical text, Mark 16:9–20. Even today, Mark 16:9–20 appears in most Bibles, in spite of the fact that scholars are virtually unanimous in saying that it was not part of the original Gospel. Most modern Bibles set the verses off from the rest of the Gospel to indicate this, and some also include another of the endings for Mark composed by early Christians. A few modern scholars think the original ending of Mark’s Gospel may have been lost,³ but most believe the book really was intended to conclude abruptly with 16:8. The surprising lack of resolution contributes to the effect the evangelist wanted the Gospel to have on his readers. They are left asking questions, wanting to know more. Beyond this, an axiom of literary criticism holds that “unresolved conflict tends to impinge most directly upon the reader.”⁴ This means that when a story leaves “loose ends” or appears unfinished, readers often feel drawn into the world of that story to imagine how they would bring the tale to a satisfactory close. Thus, Mark’s Gospel may conclude without a proper ending because Mark wants his readers to in supplying that ending themselves.⁵ If Mark was the first Gospel written, what sources might he have used? Critics

have offered numerous suggestions (see figure 11), which are intriguing to those who want to reconstruct the earliest layers of Christian tradition. In general, though, most scholars think Mark relied more heavily on oral tradition than on materials that had previously been put into writing. The great achievement of Mark is that he appears to have been the first Christian author to weave such disparate materials into a coherent narrative. Not satisfied simply to fashion a collection of s (such as Q may have been), he took numerous and varied stories about Jesus and turned them into a single story, a story that from beginning to end could be called “the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (1:1). Indeed, literary critics often note that Mark’s Gospel works better as a coherent narrative (as opposed to a simple collection of episodes) than any of the other Gospels.⁷ A few scholars have focused less on sources that Mark might have had for the supposedly historical events of his story and more on the literary sources that might have influenced his creation of a dramatic narrative that resembles modern fiction more closely than it does modern biography, or any other genre of historical literature.⁸

Figure 11: Possible Sources for Mark’s Gospel

• A collection of controversy stories, including those found now in Mark 2:1–3:6. • A collecti

Figure 12: Material Unique to Mark’s Gospel

• parable of seed growing secretly (4:26–29) • healing of man who is deaf and mute (7:31–37

Characteristics of Mark’s Gospel

We may note a few of the distinctive characteristics of this Gospel, things more typical of Mark than the other three Gospels. 1. The story is told with an unusual urgency. Jesus begins his ministry with an announcement that “The time is fulfilled!” (1:15). After that, things tend to happen very quickly, such that the entire ministry of Jesus appears to transpire within a few weeks (in John’s Gospel, it lasts around three years). The word immediately (Greek euthys) occurs forty-two times in Mark’s Gospel—eleven times in the first chapter alone. The same word is used only once in the much longer Gospel of Luke. This sense of urgency is also felt with regard to what is still to come (see figure 18 later in this chapter). Mark’s Gospel seems to present an expectation that Jesus will return soon (13:30), and readers are exhorted to constant vigilance in view of this impending but unpredictable crisis (13:32– 37).¹ 2. Mark’s Gospel appears to emphasize Jesus’s deeds over his words. This can be overstated, because the teaching of Jesus presented here is certainly significant.¹¹ Still, the material that presents Jesus’s teaching takes up less space proportionately in Mark than it does in Matthew, Luke, or John, while reports of Jesus’s mighty works take up proportionately more space in Mark than in the other Gospels. Mark’s Gospel does not actually tell more miracle stories than the other Gospels, but the overall impression of Jesus as a miracle worker is felt more strongly here than anywhere else in the Bible.¹² 3. Mark’s story of Jesus is dominated by the relatively long ion narrative that comes at the end (see figure 13).¹³ The fast-paced reporting typical for most of the book slows down in the last three chapters as we are provided with a dayby-day and even hour-by-hour of the last week of Jesus’s life. In the earlier material, furthermore, Jesus makes numerous references to his eventual death. Some of these are subtle allusions (2:20; 12:6–8); others are explicit predictions (8:31; 9:31; 10:32–34). Jesus’s enemies also begin plotting to kill

him early in this Gospel story (3:6; as compared to 12:14 in Matthew and 19:47 in Luke). At one point, Jesus even says that giving his life is what he has come to do (Mark 10:45). Far from representing a tragic reversal, his death is the goal of his life and mission. Clearly, of all the stories Mark tells about Jesus, the story of his crucifixion is presented as the most important. Indeed, one theologian has described this entire Gospel as “a ion narrative with an extended introduction.”¹⁴

Figure 13: The ion of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark

Theme: Jesus Dies as One Abandoned • Peter, James, and John fall asleep while he prays in t

4. In a superficial sense, this Gospel may appear to be less sophisticated than the others because its linguistic style is more colorful yet less refined.¹⁵ For example, the author makes regular use of what are called “historical present” verbs—that is, present-tense verbs that describe actions that occurred in the past (Mark 6:1 reads, literally, “He left that place and comes to his hometown and his disciples follow him”). English Bibles typically clean up these constructions. Such features remind us that the New Testament is written in koinē (or “common”) Greek as opposed to classical Greek, the language of Homer, Aristotle, and Plato. All four Gospels were written in the language of the common people; Mark just seems to be a tad more “common” than the rest. Still, the author was a gifted storyteller, such that the less sophisticated Markan telling of an event is often the most memorable. For example, the story of the epileptic child in Mark 9:14–29 presents a more vivid characterization of the boy’s father than reports of the same event in Matthew 17:14–20 (see figure 14). As comparison of those two s also makes clear, Mark is given to providing us with more details, points that don’t always seem to contribute anything essential to the meaning of the story but simply make it more vivid and engaging. When Synoptic stories are printed side-by-side in parallel columns, the Markan version is usually longer than that in Matthew or Luke because of this abundance of detail. 5. Mark’s Gospel employs effective rhetoric that belies its apparently simple tone. Three literary devices may be noted as exemplary: ¹ (a) Narrative anticipations or references that prepare readers for what is to come later. In Mark 3:9, Jesus’s disciples are told to “have a boat ready for him” though the boat is not actually needed until 4:1. The device provides what Keith Nickle calls “narrative glue,” holding together stories that may originally have circulated independently of each other.¹⁷ (b) Two-step progressions in which a statement is repeated in a way that adds precision or clarity.¹⁸ A simple example would be the double temporal phrases “That evening, at sunset” (1:32). More significant theo-logical equivalents include the opening identification of Jesus as the “Christ, the Son of God” (1:1) and the climactic declaration “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near” (1:15). Rhetorically, such expressions encourage readers to develop the habit of taking a second look to see more than may at first be evident

(compare the story in Mark 8:22–26). (c) Intercalation, or the inserting of one story within another (see figure 15). In Mark 6:7–13, Jesus gives his disciples special authority and sends them out on a mission. Then, in Mark 6:14–29, the narrative appears to digress to tell about the ruler Herod’s reaction to Jesus and about an earlier incident in which that ruler had John the Baptist executed. Finally, in Mark 6:30, the disciples return to Jesus with a report of their mission. The point of intercalation is to prompt readers to consider two otherwise unrelated stories in light of each other. In this case, the of John’s martyrdom has a sobering effect alongside the report of the disciples’ success (6:13). Mark’s readers are probably expected to know that many of these “apostles” (6:30) will eventually meet with similar fates (10:39; 13:9–13). Another example of this construction is Mark 11:12–21, where the story of Jesus driving moneychangers out of the temple is inserted into a story of Jesus cursing a fig tree and making it wither. Most likely, Mark wants us to see these situations as analogous: like the fig tree, the temple is doomed because it does not “bear fruit” (see also 12:1–9).¹

Figure 14: The Story of the Epileptic Child (Mark 9:14–29)

Mark 9:14–29

When they came to the disciples, they saw a great crowd around them, and some scribes argu

Figure 15: Intercalation in the Gospel of Mark: A Few Examples

Jesus’s family sets out to seize him (3:21). Religious leaders accuse Jesus of using the power

6. The geographical focus for this book is clearly on the region of Galilee. The first half of the Gospel tells of Jesus’s ministry in Galilee, with very few references to activity elsewhere. At the beginning of chapter 10, the focus shifts abruptly to Judea, where Jesus travels to Jerusalem and is eventually killed. Even then, however, the promise attached to the news of his resurrection is that he is returning to Galilee and that his followers will see him there (16:7). The significance of the latter point may be enhanced if we recall that in the other Gospels the risen Jesus appears to his followers in Jerusalem (Matt 28:1–10; Luke 24:1–10, 34, 36–49; John 20:11–29) and in Judea (Luke 24:13–32); indeed, in one version of the Jesus story, his disciples are explicitly told not to leave Jerusalem (i.e., not to return to Galilee) until a later time (Acts 1:3–4). 7. Mark’s Gospel appears to be written for a gentile audience, although it assumes familiarity with matters Christians took over from Judaism.² Mark’s Gospel begins with a quotation from “the prophet Isaiah” (1:2)—that is, from the writings of Jewish Scripture—but he does not assume that his readers will have knowledge of Jewish matters intrinsic to the time or place in which Jesus lived: Mark’s readers may need some explanation concerning what Sadducees believe (12:18) or what Pharisees mean by “eating with defiled hands” (7:2–5). In general, Mark assumes that his readers know the meaning of Latin words and concepts drawn from the Roman world (legion [5:9, 15]; denarius [12:15]; centurion [15:39]), but he regularly defines Aramaic words that had been used by Jews in Jesus’s world (Boanerges [3:17]; talitha cum [5:41]; corban [7:11]; ephphatha [7:34]; Bartimaeus [10:46]; Abba [14:36]; Golgotha [15:22]; Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani [15:34]). In 4:21, he uses a Latin term (modios) for a measure of grain, and in 12:42 he explains that the two lepta (Jewish currency) were equivalent in value to a kodrantēs (Roman currency). In 15:16, he lets his readers know that what the Jews called an aule (palace courtyard) was what they might know as a praetorium (governor’s headquarters). Thus we conclude that Mark’s Gospel is probably written for gentile Christians, who respect the Jewish Scriptures (which they would eventually identify as “the Old Testament”) even if they are ignorant of some basic Jewish matters.²¹ This explains certain anomalies, such as why Jesus would tell Jewish peasants that any woman who divorces her husband and marries another is an adulteress when Jewish law did not actually permit women to initiate such divorces (10:12)—Roman law did permit this, so Mark has amended Jesus’s comment in 10:11 to make the point

applicable for gentiles with regard to circumstances Jesus himself probably never considered. 8. Of the four New Testament Gospels, Mark offers the most human portrait of Jesus. The Christian faith would ultimately confess that Jesus was both “fully God and fully human,” and the tension inherent in such a confession is evident in the Gospels and other New Testament writings. In John’s Gospel, Jesus is identified with God (1:1) and addressed as God (20:28). But in Mark’s Gospel, the focus is elsewhere. Like any human being, Jesus becomes tired (6:31) and hungry (11:12). He feels a wide range of human emotions, including pity (1:41), anger (3:5), sadness (3:5), wonder (6:6), comion (6:34), indignation (10:14), love (10:21), and anguish (14:34). Most significant, perhaps, Jesus does not know everything (13:32), and his power is sometimes limited (6:5). Indeed, he sometimes must struggle to know the will of God (14:36), and at one point in the story he even seems to change his mind, coming to a deeper understanding of God’s plan in light of a woman’s clever remark (7:24–30). Of course, he is extraordinary in some respects: he is identified as the Son of God (1:1, 11; 9:7; 15:39), he teaches with divine authority (1:22; cf. 2:10), and by God’s power he is able to work fantastic miracles. Even so, he clearly differentiates himself from God (Mark 10:18, but also Luke 18:19) in a way that would not ultimately fit well with the doctrines of most Christian churches. 9. Mark’s Gospel is imbued with a motif of secrecy. Jesus describes the message of his teaching as “the secret of the kingdom of God” (4:11).²² He even claims that this is the reason he teaches in parables: the parables are not sermon illustrations to help people grasp difficult points, but rather a sort of code language that prevents those for whom they are not intended from understanding (4:10–12). The secrecy theme extends to Jesus’s deeds and person as well. Several times in this Gospel he commands those who benefit from his miracles to “say nothing to anyone” about what he has done for them (1:43–44; 5:43; 7:36; see also 9:9). He silences demons who identify him as “the Holy One of God” and orders them “not to make him known” (1:23–25, 34; 3:11–12). And when Peter identifies him as “the Messiah,” he rebukes his disciples, ordering them not to tell anyone about him (8:30). This emphasis on secrecy is all the more intriguing when we observe that elsewhere in Mark’s Gospel Jesus sends his disciples out as missionaries (6:7–13, 30) and speaks of them proclaiming the gospel to all nations (13:10). 10. Mark’s Gospel highlights the failures of Jesus’s disciples. The twelve

disciples whom Jesus calls to “fish for people’’ (1:16–20; 6:7) seem to fail him at almost every turn. They are remarkably unperceptive (8:14–21) and often diametrically opposed to him in their thinking (8:33; 9:33–34; 10:37–38). Again and again, this Gospel presents them as people unable to live up to Jesus’s expectations: He gives them authority over unclean spirits (6:7), but they are unable to cast such a spirit out of a child (9:17–19). He encourages them to welcome little children in his name (9:36–37), but then they rebuke people who wish to bring children to him (10:13). He asks them to stay awake and pray with him and they fall asleep (14:32–41). Their worst failures, however, occur in the events surrounding the cross. Mark records bold statements by all twelve disciples that they are willing, if necessary, to die for him (10:38–39; 14:29–31). But when the time comes, Judas betrays him (14:43–45), the rest desert him (14:50), and Peter denies three times that he even knows who Jesus is (14:66– 72).

Historical Context

Who?

A strange but often repeated legend holds that the author of Mark’s Gospel is in fact the young man in 14:51–52 who wiggles out of his tunic and runs away naked on the night Jesus is arrested. This has no historical basis and is not taken seriously by scholars.²³ What might seem more likely is the ancient attribution of this book to someone named Mark.²⁴ But who would that be? Mark was an extremely common name in the Roman world, and this Gospel could have been written by someone who bore that name but is never mentioned in the New Testament or anywhere else. Nevertheless, one ancient tradition identifies the author of this Gospel with the man named Mark who is described as Peter’s (metaphorical?) son in a letter attributed to Jesus’s chief disciple (1 Pet 5:13). This Mark is further identified in

tradition with a person called “John Mark” in the book of Acts, a young man whose house Peter is said to have visited (Acts 12:12). Our earliest witness to this tradition comes from the fourth-century Christian historian Eusebius, who quotes from a certain Papias, who Eusebius claims wrote in the middle of the second century (Hist. eccl. 3.39).²⁵ According to Eusebius, Papias held that this Gospel was written by a man named Mark who had not been a follower of Jesus “but, at a later date, of Peter,” and who had served as the latter’s “interpreter.” This would explain how the author learned the stories about Jesus that he tells. Still, this view is not without its problems. For one thing, Papias’s credibility is suspect since he is almost certainly wrong in what he says about Matthew’s Gospel (as we shall see in our next chapter). Further, it is possible that Papias was simply constructing a guess based on references to people named Mark in the New Testament. He may have been motivated to do so by a desire to make the work seem more authoritative. If it was well known in the second century that the author of this book had not actually known Jesus, Christians may have wanted to believe he had at least known one of Jesus’s closest disciples. In any case, the tradition that Peter served as a primary source for the author of this Gospel seems unlikely to scholars for other reasons. This Gospel tells fewer stories about Peter than do the other Gospels (particularly Matthew), and the ones it does tell cast Peter in a less favorable light than the stories regarding him found elsewhere. Also, a number of this Gospel’s most distinctive features, such as its strong gentile orientation and emphasis on the crucifixion, echo key theological themes for Paul, who we know was sometimes at odds with Peter theologically. Peter was known for his missionary work among Jews, not gentiles (Gal 2:7–8). Indeed, this Gospel contains material that appears to Paul’s perspective on one issue that we know caused conflict between Paul and Peter in the early church: the observance of dietary laws in Christian community (Gal 2:11–14; see Mark 7:18–19). In some ways, then, the author of this Gospel appears to be linked more closely to Paul than to Peter. The obvious difference is that Paul does not appear from his letters to have had much interest in the earthly life or ministry of Jesus. He could not, at any event, have served as a source for that information since he had not been a follower of Jesus prior to Easter. Still, three letters attributed to Paul in the New Testament do mention someone named Mark: (1) Philemon 24 speaks of a “fellow worker” of Paul; (2) Colossians 4:10 mentions a cousin of

Barnabas, whom Paul commends; and (3) 2 Timothy 4:11 refers to a man who is to visit Paul while the latter is imprisoned in Rome. Christian tradition usually assumes these ages are all referring to the same person, who is also usually identified as the John Mark from Acts. In the latter book, John Mark appears to know Paul better than Peter, and to be closer to Barnabas than to either of them (see Acts 15:36–39; cf. 13:13). In sum, the ancient tradition that this Gospel was written by a first-century Christian who had not been a follower of Jesus appears to be correct, and there is no good reason to doubt that the name of this person was Mark. The identification of this “Mark” with associates of Peter and/or Paul who bore that name is less certain, but not impossible. A specific connection with the John Mark who is mentioned in Acts is more speculative still, but also not impossible. One might argue that the suggestion makes sense insofar as Acts presents John Mark as someone who knew Peter (12:12) but who traveled with Paul (12:25). Thus, he might have learned some stories about Jesus from the former and yet had his theological agenda shaped by the latter. Against this notion, however, we must convey the consideration that John Mark appears to be Jewish, and most interpreters think the author of this Gospel was a gentile. Whoever the author was, one verse offers a clue to at least one source of information. In the story of Jesus’s crucifixion, Mark reports that the Roman soldiers “compelled a er-by, who was coming in from the country, to carry his cross,” and then he identifies this person as “Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus” (15:21). This information may strike the modern reader as irrelevant, since neither Simon nor his sons are ever heard from again. But apparently, Mark’s original readers knew who Alexander and Rufus were. Thus, we may assume that the author of this Gospel probably had access to the children of an individual who had been present at the crucifixion (if not to their father himself). This would provide information for only a small portion of the narrative, but a portion that describes a climactic event at which Peter and the other disciples were not present. In a broader sense, the reference to Alexander and Rufus could be paradigmatic of how Mark often gathered information. Mark writes his Gospel early enough to have known people like Simon of Cyrene or their children, people who could have provided information that Mark was able to weave into a coherent narrative.

Where?

Although most scholars believe Mark’s Gospel was written for a community of predominantly gentile Christians, theories about where this community existed are diverse and speculative. Those who think the author was a companion or “interpreter” of Peter usually think the Gospel was written in Rome.² The person named Mark who is described as Peter’s son apparently lived in that city at least at the time that letter was written (see 1 Pet 5:13, where Rome is metaphorically referred to as “Babylon”). Rome is also a possible place of origin for all three of the letters that refer to a Mark who was a companion of Paul, though that can be disputed in each individual case. John Mark apparently lived in Jerusalem (Acts 12:12; 13:13), but he also traveled a great deal. An origin in Rome would fit with the gentile orientation of the book and would clarify the apparent need to explain certain Jewish practices (7:3–4). It would also seem appropriate for the concern with persecution (13:11–13), since at this time the most terrible and violent persecutions had occurred under the emperor Nero in that city. A Roman origin does not, however, explain the Gospel’s strong interest in Galilee, particularly its insistence that Galilee is the place where Jesus will be encountered after Easter (14:28; 16:7). In this regard, scholars also note that in Mark 13:14, the evangelist breaks into his story to alert his reader to the direct application that a saying of Jesus may have for their lives: “When you see the desolating sacrilege set up where it ought not to be (let the reader understand), then those in Judea must flee to the mountains.” These words appear to be addressed to Christians who live in or near Judea, close enough to Jerusalem to be affected by what transpires there. Accordingly, many scholars think the Gospel could have been written for a community of Christians in Galilee, in the same general area where Jesus’s ministry had been conducted a generation earlier, or perhaps in nearby Syria, where gentile Christianity gained an early foothold (Acts 15:23, 41; Gal 1:21).²⁷ Such a provenance would fit well with the Gospel’s predominantly rural character (4:3–9, 26–29; 12:1–9), though the latter could simply be determined by the setting of the story itself.

When?

Most scholars agree that Mark’s Gospel was written around the time of the Jewish War with Rome (66–70 CE).²⁸ The strongest evidence for this may once again be the words addressed to the reader in 13:14 (see the last paragraph of the preceding section). Scholars usually assume that the “desolating sacrilege set up where it ought not to be” refers to the Roman desecration and destruction of the temple, which occurred in 70 CE.² So, a prominent suggestion is that Mark considers these words especially relevant to his immediate audience either because such desecration seems imminent or because it has recently happened. A few scholars have argued that the Gospel could have been written earlier,³ but the majority place composition of Mark somewhere in the range 66–74 CE, a few years before or a few after the temple destruction. This probably makes it the earliest of the four Gospels.³¹

Why?

The most obvious reason for Mark to compose this book is given in the opening words: he wants to proclaim “the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (1:1). But why does he want to do this in writing rather than through preaching? And if he is committed to writing, why write a story about Jesus’s life and mission rather than a sermon or an essay? An answer that is often suggested is that Mark felt compelled to get the story of Jesus’s life down in writing because people who had known Jesus were dying, and he did not want the tradition to be lost or forgotten. Peter, for instance, was martyred in the year 65 CE (Paul was killed at this time also). The death of eyewitnesses probably did have some influence on the production of written Gospels (see Luke 1:1–4), but the point can be stressed too strongly. As we have suggested, Mark seems to think that the parousia is going to come soon (13:30), and his Gospel appears to be written not for posterity but for readers alive at that time. Mark’s purpose is more precise. By telling the story of Jesus as he does,

he lays claim to that tradition, presenting it in what he hopes will be accepted as an authoritative form. In other words, he is not just concerned that the story of Jesus’s life be ed, but that it be ed in a particular way. As an illustration, we may consider again the issue of dietary laws. We know that one of the biggest controversies in first-century Christianity concerned the question of whether Christians were expected to obey traditional Jewish restrictions regarding certain foods (such as pork). When Mark records the teaching of Jesus on a related topic—what constitutes true defilement (7:14–23)—he does so in a way that indicates that Jesus “declared all foods clean” (7:19). It would certainly be possible to report the teaching of Jesus on this subject without drawing that conclusion (see Matt 15:10–20), since the dietary restrictions were not necessarily tied to the notion that these foods would defile. Mark has chosen to tell the story in a way that presents Jesus as ing the view he believes is right.³² We might sometimes think Mark is using Jesus to advance his own agenda, but Mark would no doubt claim that he is merely showing us that his agenda is based on ideas that go back to Jesus. This approach begs comparison with the strategy of Paul. We have observed that Mark’s theological ideas are often compatible with those of Paul, but the latter seldom tells stories about Jesus’s life. He is comfortable with simply proclaiming his own thoughts on various matters as expressive of “the mind of Christ” (1 Cor 2:16) and he can do this without establishing or even claiming that the man Jesus actually thought this way. Mark’s primary motivation for writing a Gospel, then, may be to do what Paul did not do, to provide historical grounding for an emerging theological system (a basically Pauline understanding of gentile Christianity) and the pastoral concerns it generates. That Mark thinks the system needs historical grounding is itself significant, especially when compared with the completely ahistorical mythologies that served as grounding for much Greco-Roman religion. One specific concern that Mark wants to address is the intrinsic openness of Christianity to gentiles. Mark’s Gospel includes stories that address the question of whether a Jewish Messiah has anything to offer non-Jews (7:24–30), and in response he reports incidents in which Jesus performs the same acts of ministry for gentiles (8:1–9) that he has performed for Jews (6:30–44). By the same token, however, Mark does not want to sever Christianity completely from its Jewish roots, as is evident by his commitment to the Jewish writings, which he apparently believes even gentile Christians must now regard as Scripture (1:2–

3).³³ Thus we see him struggling to clarify how the Christian faith can be viewed as a legitimate expression of Jewish hope even though it has been rejected by most Jews. Mark is also concerned to or strengthen those whose faith is in danger. The memorable parable of the sower (4:3–9, 13–20) recognizes two principal problems that may cause those who have received the word to fall away rather than “bear fruit.”³⁴ One is the external threat of “trouble or persecution [that] arises on of the word” (4:17). To address this, Mark recalls numerous instances of Jesus encouraging steadfastness in the face of trial (8:34–38; 13:9– 13) and, of course, describes Jesus’s own ion as the supreme example of one who suffers in submissive obedience to God’s will (14:32–42).³⁵ The second problem highlighted in the parable is the internal threat posed by “the cares of the world . . . the lure of wealth, and the desire for other things” (4:19). Mark also includes stories in which Jesus describes the proper priorities his followers need to adopt (10:17–31; 12:41–44). Both of these problems—fear of persecution, and misplaced priorities—are addressed through Mark’s tragic portrayal of the disciples, who fall victim to both and so become negative examples whose failures are a warning to readers. Another concern for Mark is the appearance of people he regards as “false messiahs and false prophets” (13:22). What sort of heresies he feared is unclear, but his entire Gospel is no doubt intended to serve as a defense against any claimants whose contrary teaching would lead people astray. In keeping with this catechetical purpose, we may probably assume that Mark’s narrative was also intended to meet certain liturgical needs for the Christian community, providing the church with a consistent record that could be read publicly when believers gathered for worship.³ Precedent for such ritual reading had already been set by the use of lectionaries in synagogue services. One of our earliest s of a Christian worship service (ca. 155 CE) mentions readings from the Gospels as central to the liturgy.³⁷ Finally, Mark presents the reign of God enacted through Jesus and his followers as a clear challenge to Roman imperialism.³⁸ The Markan Jesus is diametrically opposed to the Roman system of dominance and subjugation: “it is not so among you” he tells his disciples (10:43), seeing in them more potential than perhaps the reader would discern. The community of Jesus will be composed of those who seek to outdo one another in humility, self-denial, and service (8:34; 10:43– 44). It will be intrinsically subversive, presenting itself as an alternative to the

power of empire, repudiating the violence of imperial culture,³ and functioning as what one scholar has called “a community of charity, not clientelism.”⁴ Within such a context, the eschatological and apocalyptic elements that predict an imminent end to the current world order (13:24–27) would offer hope and comfort to a beleaguered minority.⁴¹

Major Themes

The Reign of God

In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus talks more about “the reign of God” than he does about anything else (see figure 16).⁴² The concept is taken over from certain Old Testament writings (e.g., Ps 103:19; Isa 52:7), and the phrase is used also by Paul (Rom 14:17; 1 Cor 4:20). In Mark, however, it receives such emphasis as to dominate the entire book. Indeed, Mark goes so far as to define what he means by “gospel” (euangelion) as the revelation that time is fulfilled and the reign of God has come near (1:14–15). Followers of Jesus are expected to believe in this revelation concerning the reign of God and to alter their lives radically in light of it. Many English Bibles translate the phrase “reign of God” as “kingdom of God,” which can be misleading. The pertinent Greek word (basileia) is a cognate noun —that is, a noun derived from a word that can also be used as a verb (in this case, basileuō). The English word reign is also such a noun, as is the alternative translation rule. But the noun kingdom does not convey this sense of verbal action. We may say “God reigns” or “God rules,” but it makes no sense to say “God kingdoms.” People who rely on English Bibles may get the impression that the “kingdom of God” Jesus speaks about in Mark’s Gospel is a location, a place where God lives and where people may hope to live with God after they die. But the phrase “reign of God” refers not to a static location but to a dynamic activity. Specifically, it refers to the phenomenon of God reigning or ruling, and Mark

presents this phenomenon as something that cannot be circumscribed by space or time. The so-called kingdom of God is found wherever and whenever God reigns. This may become clearer when one considers some of the numerous verses in the Bible where the English translation “kingdom of God” is used. The best known is probably one line of the famous Lord’s Prayer (though not found in Mark): “Your kingdom come, your will be done” (Matt 6:10). Bible scholars recognize that this line employs poetic parallelism, which means that when Christians pray this, they are asking for the same thing twice (“your kingdom come” = “your will be done”). God’s kingdom (or reign) comes when God’s will is done, for God can only truly be said to rule when what God wants to happen takes place.

Figure 16: The “Kingdom of God” in the Teaching of Jesus

Jesus often teaches about the “kingdom of God.” Sometimes he appears to be talking about th

Compare These References from the Letters of Paul • “The kingdom of God is not food and d

Understanding what Mark means by the phrase “reign of God” aids in the interpretation of numerous ages. For example, when Jesus says, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom [reign] of God” (10:25), he probably does not mean to indicate that rich people will be unlikely to go to heaven and live with God after they die. What he means is that it is easier for a camel to through a needle’s eye than for God to rule a rich person’s life. Of course, the question of whether God rules people’s lives now may not be unrelated to the question of what will happen in “the age to come” (10:30), but the teaching of Jesus regarding the reign of God in Mark’s Gospel focuses decidedly on the first consideration. What, then, does Jesus mean when he announces, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom [reign] of God has come near” (1:15)? In the theological context of Mark’s Gospel, this means that the time has finally come for God’s will to be accomplished. What God wants to happen is about to take place; indeed, it is already beginning to take place. This is the basic premise of Jesus’s teaching in Mark’s Gospel, and it is fleshed out in more detail as the narrative continues. We learn that this nearness of God’s reign is a secret, not known to all (4:11). We hear that it is only the beginning of something that will eventually become very big (4:30–32). What is going to happen will transpire in a way that is mysterious (4:26–29) but powerful (9:1). Because the reign of God has now drawn near, furthermore, it is both possible and imperative for people to “enter it” (9:47; 10:15, 23–24). People do this by believing the good news that Jesus proclaims and by living their lives in ways that reflect their trust in this good news (1:14– 15). The deeds of Jesus reported in Mark’s Gospel also reflect his explication of the nearness of God’s reign. Jesus’s healings, exorcisms, and miracles demonstrate the truth of his claim, in that God’s will is thus accomplished in remarkable ways. Furthermore, these actions illustrate what it means for God’s reign to draw near. It means that demons and disease and catastrophic forces of nature are vanquished.⁴³ Mark wants his readers to receive the announcement that God’s reign has drawn near as “good news” because God’s rule in their lives will operate to defeat what is evil and to bring about what is good. There are both present and future aspects to God’s reign, but Mark’s story of Jesus focuses on the former. Basically, Jesus is claiming that God is ready and

willing to rule people’s lives, and he maintains that this is “good news”; people who realize this will respond with repentance and faith (1:15). The announcement has practical implications. First, the in-breaking of God’s rule has brought an “invasion of purity” that challenges Israel’s traditional view (as expressed through purity codes) that what is unclean must be kept separate from what is holy. Very soon after announcing the advent of God’s reign, Jesus touches a leper; in this act Jesus does not become unclean, but rather the leper is cleansed (1:40–42). Similarly, he associates with sinners without worrying that they will contaminate him (2:15–17). One thing that Jesus means in proclaiming God’s rule as a present reality is that “holiness” is now contagious in a way that “uncleanness” was thought to be before: what is holy now has the power to transform what is unclean. Further, the nearness of God’s reign has ethical implications. God has never wanted people to get divorced, but Moses had to make allowance for divorce in the Torah because people have hard hearts and are unable or unwilling to live as God wants (10:2–5). But now that the reign of God has come near, the possibility of God’s will being accomplished is greater than ever before. We can expect the original intentions of God to trump human hard-heartedness and for divorce to become as unnecessary as adultery. God s people together, and no one who recognizes that God is in charge would try to undo what God has done (10:6–12). Ultimately, Mark wants to say not only that God’s reign has drawn near, but that it has drawn near in Jesus. It is Jesus himself who brings about the accomplishment of God’s will, and he does this not only through his teaching and his miracles but, most important, through his crucifixion. In some mysterious way that Mark never fully explains, Jesus’s death on the cross effects the definitive accomplishment of God’s saving purpose. Jesus says that the very reason he has come is “to give his life [as] a ransom for many” (10:45), and he rejects as Satanic anything that would deter him from that goal (8:31–33). Thus Mark believes that God’s reign draws near when Jesus begins his ministry, but when Jesus dies on the cross, the unfolding of God’s purpose es the point of no return.

Baptism and Death

We noted earlier that Mark likes to use the device of intercalation to bracket individual episodes with references that suggest a context for that episode’s interpretation. Some scholars think he may have done this on a grand scale by placing his entire story of Jesus inside a frame marked by parallel events dealing with baptism and death. The first story to feature Jesus as a character in Mark’s Gospel is the of Jesus’s baptism (1:9–11), at which these three things occur: (1) the heavens are torn apart (the Greek word is schizō); (2) the Spirit descends upon Jesus; and (3) God speaks from heaven, calling Jesus “Son.” The last story in Mark’s Gospel to feature Jesus as a character is the of his death (15:37–39), at which these three things occur: (1) Jesus gives a loud cry and breathes his last (literally, his “breath” or “spirit” leaves him); (2) the curtain in the Jerusalem temple is torn in two (again the word is schizō); and (3) a centurion says, “This man was God’s Son.” Thus, many scholars see these parallels in the two s:

These parallels are not exact, and we might wonder whether a typical reader could be expected to notice them, given the expanse of intervening text. But the “clincher” for many is an awareness that the curtain that hung in the Jerusalem temple was actually a tapestry that displayed a picture of the heavens (probably at night). Thus, worshippers in the temple would look at the curtain and see a portrait of the sky and, according to the Roman historian Josephus, feel as though they were gazing into the very heavens.⁴⁴ Thus, when Mark says that this curtain (with a picture of the heavens) was torn, his readers might very well be expected to the scene at the beginning of the Gospel when the heavens themselves were torn. The question remains what Mark might have intended by providing his story with such a framework. Perhaps he wanted his readers to think of baptism as being like death. The apostle Paul had written, “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (Rom 6:3). A new life may have begun, but an old life has ended (see 2 Cor 5:17). Or perhaps Mark wanted his readers to think of death as being like baptism. In

Mark 10:38–39, Jesus actually refers to his death as his “baptism” and, indeed, refers to the deaths of his followers as “baptism” as well. The old life in this world may end, but then a new life in heaven begins.⁴⁵ The key to understanding the baptism/death frame for Mark’s story may lie in further consideration of the ripping of the heavens and the temple curtain. Mark’s use of the word schizō to describe what happens to the heavens is noteworthy. The heavens are often said to open—for example, when God sends rain to the earth (Gen 7:11)—but this is the only time in the Bible, or anywhere else, that they are said to have been torn. Further, the heavens and the temple curtain are not just any two items. Most people in the ancient world thought God lived either in the heavens or in the temple. Thus, the sky and the curtain were barriers that separated people from God. When people looked up at the heavens, they thought, “God is on the other side of that sky,” and when they worshipped in the temple, they thought, “God is on the other side of that curtain” (which, of course, is why the curtain offered a pictorial representation of the heavens). So, the frame that Mark has set around his story of Jesus may emphasize the same point Jesus makes repeatedly throughout his ministry: the reign of God has come near! When first the heavens and then the temple curtain are torn asunder, it is as though God is breaking out of places where God might be confined. God will no longer live up in the clouds or in a special building. God rips away whatever hides or separates God from mortal beings. So it is said that Mark’s Gospel is about a God who invades our space, a God who is loose in the world of people.⁴

Son of Man and Son of God

As Mark’s story unfolds, we are told who Jesus is, where he goes, what he does, whom he meets, and so forth. At a basic level, then, understanding Mark’s Gospel means understanding Mark’s Christology—that is, his particular perspective on the enduring significance of the person and work of Jesus. Discussions of Mark’s Christology must always wrestle with the secrecy motif mentioned previously. Why does Jesus try to keep his identity and actions a secret? Simple, practical explanations may be offered: for instance, that Jesus

had to be circumspect about his claims in order to avoid being arrested before his time had come, or that Jesus wanted to keep news of his healing powers a secret to avoid being accosted by unmanageable crowds (see 1:45). Still, Mark’s level of investment with this theme suggests the need for more than just a pragmatic explanation. For one thing, none of the other Gospels seems to be this concerned with shrouding Jesus’s earthly ministry in secrecy; the theme surfaces elsewhere only in ages that Matthew or Luke takes over from Mark. Most scholars would agree that the secrecy theme is not simply reported as historical reminiscence of what was a practical necessity during Jesus’s life. Rather, the theme is developed intentionally by Mark to further some theological agenda. But what? In 1901 a German scholar named William Wrede proposed a solution to this puzzle that made sense to many, but disturbed others.⁴⁷ Basically, Wrede thought that Mark invented the scheme of a “messianic secret” to facilitate a presentation of Jesus that was not historically accurate. For Wrede, Mark’s Christology represented a position between two poles in early Christianity. The earliest tradition, he believed, held that Jesus became the Messiah and/or Son of God at his resurrection. Thus, the post-Easter, risen Lord Jesus whom Christians worship came to be identified as Messiah and Son of God in a way that the preEaster Jesus who lived and taught in Galilee had not been. For the most part, these earliest Christians did not leave writings, but Wrede found pointers to their views in occasional ages preserved in Acts 2:36 and the letters of Paul (Rom 1:4; Phil 2:6–11). Later Christian tradition interpreted the pre-Easter Jesus in light of post-Easter theology, identifying the man who lived and taught in Galilee as the Messiah and Son of God and attributing great miracles to him as proof of these claims. This tradition Wrede recognized as standard for the four Gospels, especially the Gospel of John. As the first Gospel written, Mark’s book reflects the necessary transition from the early tradition to the later view. The secrecy theme is a device to explain why some earlier Christians had not known what otherwise would seem obvious. Unlike the other Gospel writers, Mark writes at a time when many people who knew Jesus may still be alive. As Wrede sees it, Mark wants to describe a messianic life, but memories of the actual non-messianic life are so fresh that he cannot do this without inventing the notion that what he has to say about Jesus was a secret known only to a few. If someone says, “I was there, and I don’t Jesus ever claiming to be the Messiah or working all these miracles,” Mark can respond, “He did say and do these things, but you were not one of the

ones privileged to know about them.” Few scholars today would accept Wrede’s provocative thesis outright, but some of his ideas continue to be influential.⁴⁸ Ongoing study in source and form criticism has demonstrated that the growth of christological ideas in the early church was more complex than Wrede allowed. (For example, most scholars would now regard the speeches in Acts as representative of a tradition later than Mark’s Gospel.) Overall, Wrede seems to regard Mark as unnecessarily devious, and his assumption that Mark would be so concerned about establishing the historical credibility of his seems anachronistic. Most likely, Mark is writing for believers who already know these stories through oral tradition. They do not have to be persuaded that these things happened, but they may (in Mark’s mind) need some guidance regarding what these things mean. In light of the latter observation, many theologians believe Mark uses the so-called secrecy theme as a way of correcting what he regards as inadequate views. Thus, Mark portrays Jesus as commending silence regarding certain miracles because he does not want Jesus to be known primarily as a miracle worker. The point is not that the miracles are or should be a secret. The point is that people who go around proclaiming Christ as “a wonder worker” are preaching an inadequate Christology. Mark seems to think that the contemporaries of Jesus falsely believed that miracles implied legitimacy (8:11–12), and he fears that his own readers might think this too (13:22).⁴ The Roman world knew many stories of “divine men” who were gifted by the gods with extraordinary powers, or who learned magical arts that enabled them to do amazing things. Mark does not want Jesus to be grouped with such persons.⁵ This understanding of Mark, called “corrective Christology,”⁵¹ focuses especially on a key text around the middle of Mark’s Gospel. In Mark 8:27–30, Jesus raises the question of his own identity pointedly. “Who do people say that I am?” he asks his disciples. They give a number of responses, all of which are clearly wrong. He then continues, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answers, “You are the Messiah.” And then Mark reports that Jesus “sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.” According to the corrective-Christology theory, the point here is not that Jesus is commanding secrecy now that his disciples know who he is, but rather that he is commanding silence because they still don’t know who he is. Peter’s identification of him as “the Messiah” is just as inadequate as the “divine man” (theios anēr) identifications implied by those impressed by Jesus’s miracles. Why? The concept of Messiah might have been too easily connected with political aspirations. Many people would have thought of the Messiah as a

deliverer who would liberate the Jewish people from Roman authorities. Writing his Gospel around the time of the Jewish War with Rome, Mark finds the traditional Christian identification of Jesus as the Messiah to be limiting and subject to misinterpretation. If acclamations of Jesus as a divine miracle worker or even as the Messiah are inadequate, then what would Mark consider to be a proper Christology? Proponents of this view usually seize upon another title applied to Jesus in this book: Son of Man. This is the term Jesus uses for himself. When he says, for instance, that “the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins” (2:10) or “the Son of Man is lord . . . of the sabbath” (2:28), he means to claim that he has authority to forgive sins and that he is lord of the sabbath. The phrase Son of Man derives from the Old Testament, where it sometimes means simply “a human being” (Psalm 8:4) but other times refers specifically to a divine figure who is to come at a climactic moment in Israel’s history (Dan 7:3; cf. Mark 8:38; 13:26; 14:62). Both senses seem appropriate for Mark’s understanding of Jesus, but what is most distinctive is the additional nuance the term assumes here. According to Mark, the Son of Man is also a figure who is to be rejected, suffer, be killed, and then rise from the dead (8:31; 9:31; 10:33–34).⁵² Critics of this corrective-Christology theory are especially hard on the “corrective” part. Mark himself identifies Jesus as the Messiah in the first verse of his Gospel, and toward the end, when Jesus is asked point blank, “Are you the Messiah?” he responds, “I am” (14:61–62). Mark also identifies followers of Jesus as persons who “bear the name of Christ [Messiah]” (9:41; cf. 13:13). Mark may want to supplement this popular designation for Jesus with other images that present a broader focus, but the claim that Mark does not want Jesus to be identified as the Messiah seems like an overstatement. Still, the theory of corrective Christology has been widely accepted as insightful in some respects. Most scholars agree with the basic point, that Mark tells his story so as to interpret the traditional materials he has received in ways that may have represented only one of the options being explored by Christian thinkers at the time. Another aspect that needs to be considered, though, is Mark’s designation of Jesus as the “Son of God.”⁵³ Again, this identification is first made by Mark himself in the Gospel’s opening verse. In the story that follows, God twice speaks dramatically from heaven and both times calls Jesus “my Son” (1:11; 9:7). Demons also recognize Jesus as the Son of God (3:11; 5:7; cf. 1:24). But,

curiously, no human character ever identifies Jesus as the Son of God until two climactic moments toward the end. At his trial, Jesus is asked if he is “the Son of the Blessed One” (no doubt a periphrasis for “Son of God”), and his affirmative answer earns him a death sentence (14:61–64). Later, at the moment of his death, the centurion, or Roman officer, in charge of his execution says, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” (15:39). Jack Dean Kingsbury has offered yet another explanation of the secrecy motif in Mark connected to this Son of God Christology.⁵⁴ According to Kingsbury, the motif is a literary device intended to facilitate a particular reading of the story. Mark’s Gospel is like a mystery, but the mystery (secret) does not concern the question, Who is Jesus? That answer is given to the readers in the very first verse: Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God. Rather, the mystery most pertinent to Mark’s readers concerns other questions: What does it mean to call Jesus this? and How do people come to know this? These are the issues that would be relevant to a community of believers. The first question is answered in the ion narrative when readers learn that to identify Jesus as the Messiah and Son of God means to identify him as the one who is to be crucified. The second question is answered similarly in the acclamation of the centurion. Earlier in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus cast out demons, forgave sins, performed extraordinary miracles, and taught the will of God, but these actions simply left people wondering who he was (1:27; 2:7; 4:41; 6:2–3). No one was able to recognize Jesus as the Son of God until he died on the cross, though at that point the revelation became apparent even to an uninstructed gentile. Mark is preaching through this story, Kingsbury avers, and the theme of his sermon is that this Jesus whom Christians know to be the Messiah and Son of God cannot be understood apart from the cross. This was a common theme in Paul’s preaching also (1 Cor 2:2). Critics of this view might point out that, in context, the centurion’s acclamation was hardly tantamount to an orthodox Christian confession but would have meant only that Jesus was “a son of a god,” or simply someone pagans would regard as worthy of inclusion among the many “divine men” who had walked among them. But those who follow Kingsbury’s suggestion think the pertinent point is more rhetorical than historical: Mark’s readers may have been moved by the story to ground their Christology in a Pauline theology of the cross regardless of what sense the centurion’s actual words had in their original context (if, indeed, the report of the centurion’s response is literally or historically accurate, a point that many would not confidently grant).

Women and Revelation

Women play an important role in the story Mark tells, albeit in a somewhat peculiar fashion.⁵⁵ At various points in the narrative, mysterious, unnamed female characters appear and say or do something that seems to reveal to other characters in the story and/or to the reader something significant. Then the women disappear and are not mentioned again. The most striking of these incidents occurs in Mark 7:24–30. Jesus leaves his disciples in Galilee and goes to a faraway place (in the region of Tyre), where he tries to keep his identity and whereabouts a secret. Nevertheless, an unnamed gentile Syrophoenician woman comes into the house where he is hiding and begs him to cast a demon out of her daughter. He rebuffs her with a proverb: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs” (i.e., the benefits of God’s reign intended for Israel should not be wasted on gentiles). She responds cleverly, “Even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs,” and her daughter is immediately healed. Jesus realizes that the benefits of God’s reign extend to gentiles after all, and no longer tries to exclude them from his ministry (e.g., the people in the Decapolis to whom he ministers in 7:31–8:9 may well have been gentiles).⁵ In another story, in Mark 12:41–44, Jesus observes people putting money into the temple treasury. Rich people put in large sums, but a poor widow puts in only two small coins. Jesus points out to his disciples that she has put in more than all the rest because she has given “all that she had to live on” (12:44). She becomes the first and only living example of the kind of faithfulness Jesus has been talking about throughout the narrative (8:34; 10:17–22). Beyond that, it is possible that Jesus himself learns something from her action: only moments before, he had viewed poor widows like her as oppressed victims of injustice (12:40); now he views her as a teacher, one who commands respect rather than pity, one who models faithfulness and trust in God to an extent that not even Jesus himself has yet demonstrated. Once again, it is a mysterious, unnamed woman who slips onto the scene to reveal this truth and then disappears without having spoken a word.⁵⁷ Elsewhere in the Gospel, Jesus and his disciples are sitting at a table when

another mysterious woman comes on the scene and anoints his head with costly ointment. The disciples object to what they regard as a wasteful extravagance, but Jesus defends the woman’s actions: “She has anointed my body beforehand for its burial” (14:8). Then he says that wherever the gospel is proclaimed throughout the entire world, what this woman has done should be told “in remembrance of her” (14:9). This last line seems to assign unusual significance to what has transpired. Why is it so important? Most likely, the point is that it explains what the Gospel of Mark means when it calls Jesus the Messiah (which means “Anointed One” in Hebrew, as does Christ, or christos in Greek). At the very least, it serves as a revelation to the reader regarding what kind of Messiah Jesus is (one who serves people and gives his life for them, rather than ruling people and lording over them, cf. 10:42–45). But there could be more. In Mark 8:29–30, Jesus appears to reject the notion that he is the Messiah; in 14:61–62, he accepts the title. In between those two events, we have the anointing of Jesus by a mysterious, unnamed woman. Perhaps we are to regard this incident as a revelation to Jesus himself—as the moment when he realizes he is in fact the Messiah, the Anointed One, albeit in a different sense than he and others had typically construed that vocation. Other unnamed women in Mark may be distinguished in particular ways. The mother-in-law of Peter is the only person other than Jesus who is ever said to serve or minister (Greek, diakoneō) to anyone, much less to Jesus himself (1:29– 31). The woman who suffers from a hemorrhage is the only character whose faith is so aggressive that she can extract the blessings of God’s reign from Jesus without his permission. There may be room for interpretation or exegetical challenge to some of the points made here, but Mark’s Gospel definitely seems to employ a motif of women who serve as agents of revelation: again and again, unnamed women seem to be at the right place at the right time, doing or saying something that God wants people to know. Exactly what Mark wanted to convey through this motif may elude us, but we do know that around the time his Gospel was written, prominent voices within the emergent Christian movement were seeking to silence women and restrict their role as teachers (1 Tim 2:11–14). Within that context, it is surely significant that the first Gospel to be written portrayed women as modeling some of the book’s most important lessons, and serving as teachers to the crowds, the disciples, and possibly Jesus himself (as well as, of course, the Gospel’s readers). At the end of the story, the only people who know about the resurrection are three women who are, at least initially, afraid to tell

anyone. Mark has constructed his narrative so that the very future of the Christian movement depends on two things: (1) women overcoming their fear and proclaiming the good news; and (2) men being able to receive the good news when it is proclaimed to them by women. If both of those things do not occur, there will be no church—or, at least, no church that includes men.

Discipleship and the Cross

The disciples of Jesus in Mark’s Gospel serve as prime examples of persons who don’t “get” the message of the cross. Their failings were described in 1971 in a study by Theodore Weeden.⁵⁸ According to Weeden, Mark depicts the disciples’ faithlessness as developing in three stages: (a) Lack of perceptiveness. Although the disciples seem eager in responding to Jesus’s initial call (1:16–20), they do not appear to perceive who it is they are following. They hear Jesus’s words and witness his mighty acts but do not realize that he is the authoritative agent of God.⁵ This is readily apparent in what may be called “the three boat scenes.” The first time the disciples are in a boat with Jesus (4:35–41), a storm arises, and they fear for their lives. After Jesus calms the storm, the disciples are still afraid, responding to the miracle not with faith but with a question: “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” Later, when Jesus stills another storm (6:45–52), Mark reports that the disciples were “utterly astounded” because they did not understand about the loaves, and “their hearts were hardened.” Finally, when Jesus and his disciples are once again in a boat (8:14–21), the latter misinterpret a parabolic warning he offers against “the yeast of the Pharisees and the yeast of Herod” as a reference to literal yeast used in making bread. Jesus is aghast at their stupidity and is especially annoyed that they are worried about whether there will be enough bread when he has just performed two miracles of multiplying loaves of bread to feed multitudes of people. “Do you not ?” he implores them. “Do you not yet understand?” (b) Misconception. Around the middle of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus’s disciples finally do realize that he is the authoritative agent of God, but they draw all the wrong

conclusions from this insight. Identifying him as the Messiah (8:29), they think that being his followers means they are going to achieve success in this world and be accorded great glory and honor. Jesus repeatedly tells them that they are called rather to a life of service and sacrifice, and that they will meet with suffering and rejection. Their failure to grasp this point is illustrated well in their responses to Jesus’s three predictions of his own ion (see figure 17). The first time he tells them about the suffering and death that await him, Peter rebukes him for thinking this way, eliciting Jesus’s famous reply, “Get behind me, Satan!” (8:31–33). The next time he tries to tell them, the disciples don’t understand what he is saying and, instead of asking for explanation, become embroiled in an argument over which one of them “is the greatest” (9:12–34). The third time he declares clearly that condemnation and death await him, and two of the disciples respond by asking incongruously whether they can be guaranteed seats at his right and left when he comes into his glory (10:35–41). They miss his main point, that “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve,” and its corollary, that “whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all” (10:43–44).

Figure 17: The Way of the Cross in the Gospel of Mark

(c) Rejection. When the disciples finally do come to understand the nature of Jesus’s mission and its implications for their lives, they desert him. One of Jesus’s own, Judas, betrays him (14:10–11, 44–45), and when he comes with an armed crowd to arrest Jesus, the other disciples run away. Like the young man who abandons his clothing in order to get away (14:51), their desperation in separating themselves from Jesus now matches the enthusiasm with which they left their belongings to follow him in the beginning (1:16–20). Peter holds out a little longer than the rest, but eventually, his apostasy is even greater than theirs. He denies three times that he even knows who Jesus is, and then, aware that he has failed his master, breaks down and weeps bitterly (14:66–72). What Weeden’s description of these three stages makes clear is that the disciples are depicted in Mark’s Gospel not only as failures but as persons whose failings

become progressively worse as the story develops. They go from being people who don’t understand the gospel to being people who misconstrue it in dangerous ways to becoming, finally, apostates who reject it altogether. Most scholars accept this description of Mark’s , but many would have problems with Weeden’s next point. He goes on to suggest that Mark wants his readers to assume that these disciples never recovered from their apostasy and, so, became founders of an errant religion. Weeden believes Mark does this because his community is representative of a gentile branch of Christianity that is not sanctioned by the apostolic church in Jerusalem that claims to represent the faith as ed down by Jesus’s first followers. A variation on Weeden’s thesis advanced by Werner Kelber holds that Mark wants to minimize the significance of the loss of apostolic witnesses as a result of Roman persecution and war. ¹ In either case, the point is that Mark wants to establish his own community as the true heir to the Jesus tradition, while also exposing the understanding of the faith represented by the apostles (Jesus’s disciples) as inadequate. Most scholars find the notion that Mark wants his readers to regard the disciples of Jesus as permanent apostates intrinsically unlikely. Mark himself seems to recognize that the disciples will eventually play a significant role as authentic witnesses to the faith. He records words of Jesus indicating that they will bear testimony for him and suffer for his sake (10:39; 13:9). For that matter, Mark’s Gospel also includes predictions that Jesus and his disciples will be reunited after the resurrection (14:28; 16:7). Unlike the other Gospels, Mark never actually reports the stories in which such a reconciliation occurs (Matt 28:16–20; Luke 24:36–53; John 20:19–29; 21:1–23), but Mark’s readers are probably expected to know that the defection of the disciples during the ion narrative was not the end of all that could be said about them. Still, many scholars would concur with Weeden and Kelber that Mark does not report any more than he does because he wants his readers’ lasting impression of these disciples to be a negative one. The disciples represent a version of Christianity that does not reckon with the cross. ² Mark’s intention, however, could be more theological than political, more pastoral than polemical. The dominant view today would hold that Mark was more interested in instructing his community (albeit through somewhat negative examples) than in tarnishing the image of historical persons. ³ Ira Brent Driggers attributes the seemingly incomprehensible actions of the disciples to the transcendent activity of God, who must harden the disciples’ hearts (and dull

their minds) in order for Jesus’s mission to be fulfilled. ⁴ Richard Burridge suggests that “it makes more sense to see the disciples’ incomprehension in Mark as telling us more about Jesus than about the disciples: he is someone whom people find hard to understand and tough to follow, so perhaps the audience can take comfort if they too sometimes find discipleship difficult.” ⁵ Michael Trainor focuses less on the failures of the disciples than on the nature of their place in the “household” (community) Jesus has established, one in which they experience welcome, hospitality, and nurture. Readers may also note that Jesus does call these disciples and, so, takes responsibility for them, failures though they be. In Mark’s Gospel, no one volunteers to become a disciple of Jesus. Rather, people become disciples only at Jesus’s initiative, as a result of his call. Furthermore, Jesus never appears to regret his choices, not even when he predicts that those he has called will betray (14:17–21), forsake (14:26–28), or deny (14:29–31) him. In short, Mark’s reader is prompted to care about the disciples because Jesus cares about them. And he never gives up on them; he continues to teach them (4:33–34; 7:17–23), to correct their misunderstandings (8:34–38; 9:35–37; 10:42–45), and to empower them for the work he believes they will do (3:14–15; 6:7–13). Indeed, the message that goes out from the empty tomb is that Jesus has not abandoned those who abandoned him; he wants them back (16:7). The story ends without resolution because Mark wants his readers to place themselves in the position of the disciples and to determine what they would do. ⁷ At the end of this story, readers may recognize that, like the disciples, they have failed to understand the gospel of the cross and so have failed to meet the expectations of the one they call Messiah and Son of God. Even so, they may realize that they can still continue with Jesus, knowing that this relationship is (and always has been) sustained by his faithfulness, not theirs. ⁸ Such a message would have specific pastoral relevance for a community in which many had suffered persecution and some had no doubt lapsed on of it (see 4:16–17). From a literary perspective, Mark’s presentation of the disciples could serve as a device to challenge readers who empathize with these disciples to recognize their own failings.⁷ Such a message would also have general theological relevance in of defining discipleship based in the cross as something that must be grounded in Christ’s mercy rather than in the merits of disciples themselves. In this sense, Mark’s story of the disciples becomes a narrative depiction of Paul’s doctrine of justification by grace (see, for example, Rom 5:1–11).

The Meaning of Jesus’s Death

We have indicated several times that Mark’s Gospel places singular importance on the last week of Jesus’s life on earth and, specifically, on his death on the cross. But what exactly does Mark think this death accomplished? Why is it so important? The key verses for consideration of this question may be Mark 10:45, where Jesus says he “came to give his life [as] a ransom for many,” and Mark 14:24, where he refers to “my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.” Both ages have traditionally been understood as ing either (1) a “sacrificial” understanding of atonement, according to which Jesus’s death functions in a manner analogous to animal sacrifices, appeasing God or in some other manner paying the cost of human salvation; or (2) a “substitutionary” understanding of atonement according to which Jesus takes upon himself the full punishment that should rightly have been visited upon human sinners, eliminating the need for others to suffer such retribution. Such understandings have fallen on hard times in contemporary theology; they are said to portray God as less than gracious (if not as a murderer or a child ab), but of course the extent to which a perspective is currently appealing should not affect our perception of whether it was endorsed by an ancient author.⁷¹ Most modern scholars would recognize that there are elements of such perspectives in Mark’s soteriology (understanding of salvation); still, many would say that sacrificial/substitutionary understandings are less prominent than has traditionally been thought. Basically, Mark uses occasional metaphors or images that may suggest sacrificial or substitutionary notions, but he does not develop those motifs into anything approaching theological doctrine. The word translated “ransom” in Mark 10:45 (lytron) may have been used to identify a substitute sacrifice—for example, when a person wanted to offer two turtledoves instead of a sheep (see Lev 5:7). The far more common usage, however (especially among gentiles), was in reference to money paid to purchase freedom for a slave or a prisoner of war. Thus, the image suggests that human freedom (from sin? death? the devil?) is costly, but that the price is covered through Jesus’s death (compare 1 Cor 6:20; 7:23). There is no reflection

on exactly how this transaction worked, or why it was necessary, or to whom the ransom was paid (to God? to Satan?). Most likely Mark had not thought it through to that extent, any more than he had thought through all the implications of using “fishing” as a metaphor for evangelism (1:17—are fish usually better off after being caught than they were before?). The point may simply be that humans are potentially freer as a consequence of Jesus’s death than they would be if he had not gone to the cross. Likewise, the “blood of the covenant” reference in Mark 14:24 recalls the ceremony in Exodus 24:3–8 where the Sinai covenant is inaugurated with the splashing of ox blood on an altar and on the people. But that ceremony has nothing to do with atonement; it is a ratification ceremony in which the splashing of blood is celebratory.⁷² So Mark might be thinking that the shedding of Jesus’s blood can also be viewed as a celebratory act that ratifies the new covenant God has made with the “many” (i.e., potentially all human beings, as opposed to “the few” = potentially all who belong to the chosen people of Israel). The image, like most metaphors, works if one does not take it literally, think about it too much, or try to develop implications that would not necessarily follow. Others have noted that Mark interprets Jesus’s death in of a “righteous sufferer” motif that is common in the Old Testament and is particularly evident in Psalm 22. Mark’s ion offers several echoes of that psalm—for example, in its references to mockers shaking their heads (15:29; cf. Ps 22:7), to enemies casting lots to divide clothing (15:24; cf. Ps 22:18), and to Jesus’s final cry of abandonment (15:34; cf. Ps 22:1). This motif suggests that Jesus’s death is “necessary” not in the sense that it is required (to atone for sin) but in the sense that it is inevitable. Jesus must die (8:31; 9:31; 10:32–34) because he is totally faithful to God’s will in a world that resists the coming of God’s rule.⁷³ His resurrection is his vindication and demonstrates that God’s reign does triumph. Jesus’s costly death and subsequent vindication purchase freedom from fear for the many who will now trust God’s rule. Re-enactments of his Last Supper become celebrations of the new covenant established by the in-breaking of God’s reign, a covenant ratified (as covenants have always been) with a sprinkling of blood.

The Present Absence and Future Coming of Jesus

The New Testament often emphasizes the reality of a post-Easter Jesus who continues to be active in the lives of his followers. Sometimes he is envisioned as dwelling within individual believers (John 14:20, 23; Gal 2:19–20). More often, the metaphor is reversed such that the believer is found in Christ (Phil 3:8–9)—that is, as part of the corporate entity that now comprises Christ’s body on earth (1 Cor 12:27). Although the exalted Christ may be located in heaven (Col 3:1), he remains active on earth, especially through the words and deeds of those who speak and act in his name (Acts 4:30). His ongoing presence may be manifested through the Holy Spirit (cf. Acts. 16:7) and experienced in various contexts involving believers (Matt 18:20; 25:40; 28:20). He communicates with people through visions (2 Cor 12:1) and prophecies (1 Cor 14:29–31), and he answers prayers (John 14:14). Against this backdrop, we may note that the Gospel of Mark betrays almost no concept of Jesus as someone who is still present with his followers or accessible to them.⁷⁴ The period between his resurrection and parousia (second coming) is viewed as a time for fasting, not feasting (see figure 18); a time in which Jesus’s followers may be likened to guests at a wedding with no bridegroom (2:20). Neither his death nor his resurrection will fix all the world’s problems: Mark’s Gospel explicitly describes the post-Easter, pre-parousia era as a time when the poor remain plentiful, but Jesus is no longer around (14:7). There will be wars and earthquakes and famines and all manner of persecutions, injustice, and suffering (13:7–13). Jesus promises that the Holy Spirit will speak through the persecuted (13:11), but he does not say that he himself will be present in any way to lessen burdens, rescue people, or make their suffering more meaningful. Hope is deferred to the future: “the one who endures to the end will be saved” (13:13), and fortunately, the days of Jesus’s absence will be cut short for the sake of the elect (13:20) and he will return (13:26–27).

Figure 18: When Will Jesus Return (according to the Gospel of Mark)?

Mark 13 makes three points with regard to the time of Jesus’s second coming. The Time of Je

We should not overstate this point. It could be a mistake to assume that the author of Mark’s Gospel did not believe in the abiding presence of Christ in the church or in the world simply because he does not mention it. More likely, the author did have some sense of this traditional Christian teaching, but it has not influenced his theology to the extent that it inundated the thinking of other New Testament writers (including Paul). Perhaps Mark is wary that promoting any kind of relationship with Jesus as a dynamic, present reality could lead to an overly enthusiastic piety according to which persons think faith will enable them to rise above problems in life and enjoy a trouble-free existence.⁷⁵ Or perhaps he is simply convinced that Jesus is coming very soon, and if, indeed, that consummation of all things is at hand, less intense expressions of his metaphorical or spiritual presence fade in significance. What seems certain is that the Gospel least interested in current realizations of the presence of Jesus in the lives of his followers is also the Gospel most marked by an eschatological urgency according to which the believer keeps watch at all times with the expectation that all hopes are about to be fulfilled (13:35).

3

The Gospel of Matthew

When we compare the Gospel of Matthew to Mark, we notice immediately that it is almost twice as long. Indeed, Matthew has taken almost all of Mark’s Gospel over into his, albeit in redacted form. In addition is the material attributed to the Q source (see figure 5 in chapter 1) and a fairly large amount of material that is unique to Matthew (see figure 19). The latter, often called “the M material,” includes a distinctive genealogy for Jesus,¹ an “infancy narrative” that relates the story of the virgin birth and the visit of the magi,² and numerous parables not found anywhere else.³ The label M is applied to the latter material only for convenience and is not meant to imply that, as with Q, this material once constituted an independent, coherent document. Rather, the M material is simply that which was collected within Matthew’s own community over a period of years. As such, scholars often regard these portions of Matthew’s Gospel as especially revealing of the evangelist’s situation and particular concerns.⁴ Even more pertinent in this regard, however, are the editorial changes that Matthew has apparently made in the Markan material (see figure 21).

Figure 19: Material Unique to Matthew’s Gospel

Figure 20: ages from Mark Omitted by Matthew

Figure 21: Matthew’s Use of Mark

According to the dominant source theories, Matthew preserves about 90 percent of the stories

Most of the ages in Matthew that derive from Q or M present sayings or parables of Jesus. The Q source does contain a narrative of Jesus’s temptation by Satan (4:1–11) and an of Jesus healing a young man who belonged to a centurion’s household (8:5–10, 13), but these stand out as exceptional. Likewise, the M material provides stories about the birth of Jesus at the beginning of the Gospel (1:18–2:23) and stories related to his resurrection at the end (27:52–53, 62–66; 28:11–20). Still, the basic story of Jesus’s life and ministry presented in Mark’s Gospel remains unchanged. The major effect of merging the Q and M material with the Markan tradition is to supplement that basic story with generous portions devoted to the teaching of Jesus.⁵ Scholars have long noted that the bulk of the Q and M material in Matthew occurs in five big chunks, called the five great discourses, or speeches, of Jesus. These are given names, such as:

Chapters 5–7

The Sermon on the Mount

Chapter 10

The Missionary Discourse⁷

Chapter 13

The Parables of the Kingdom⁸

Chapter 18

The Community Discourse

Chapters 24–25

The Eschatological Discourse¹

Of these five speeches, the first is the most famous. The Sermon on the Mount contains such well-known items as the Beatitudes (5:3–10),¹¹ the Lord’s Prayer (6:9–13),¹² and the Golden Rule (7:12). It has had an enormous impact on Western civilization.¹³ Many expressions have entered our language at a popular level, such that even people who are not Bible readers have heard about “the salt of the earth” (5:13), “turning the other cheek” (5:39), and “wolves in sheep’s clothing” (7:15). Thomas Jefferson, who repudiated most elements of Christian faith, identified the Sermon on the Mount along with the Ten Commandments as expressive of the moral principles on which the United States of America should be founded.¹⁴ In 1930 a scholar named Benjamin Bacon proposed an outline for the entire Gospel of Matthew based on the pattern of these five great speeches (see figure 22).¹⁵ In an ingenious way, this outline recognizes that narrative material preceding each of the speeches often deals with the same theme addressed in the subsequent discourse. Bacon suggested that the pattern of organization is itself significant, intended to represent a Christian Pentateuch or “Five Books of Jesus” analogous to the “Five Books of Moses” that compose the Jewish Torah.¹ His outline has been extremely influential and is still used by many Matthew scholars today, but few would agree with his designation of the ion and resurrection narrative as an “epilogue.”¹⁷ Literary critics invariably identify the death and resurrection of Jesus in Matthew as the climax of the narrative’s plot, as the goal toward which most of the action is directed throughout the book.¹⁸ In this regard, many scholars prefer the simpler, more direct outline for the Gospel proposed by Jack Kingsbury (see figure 22).¹ Theologians note that Kingsbury’s approach is more christological (tracing the book’s presentation of Jesus) while Bacon’s is more ecclesiological (outlining its content according to church-related themes). Indeed, Bacon described the Gospel of Matthew as “an early Christian catechism” while Kingsbury has called it “a story about Jesus.”²

Figure 22: The Structure of Matthew’s Gospel—Two Views

Most scholars recognize that Matthew uses a variety of formulas and structural devices to org

Characteristics of Matthew’s Gospel

We may note a number of distinctive attributes of this Gospel that help to set it apart from the other three.²¹ 1. Matthew’s Gospel displays a penchant for organizational patterns,²²including numerical ones. We have already noted the five great speeches of Jesus and their possible connection to the five books of Moses. Elsewhere in the Gospel, Matthew includes exactly twelve “fulfillment citations”—that is, ages that claim that what is reported served to fulfill sayings of the prophets (1:22–23; 2:5–6, 15, 17–18, 23; 4:14–16; 8:17; 12:17–21; 13:14–15, 35; 21:4–5; 27:9– 10). The number twelve is often symbolic of Israel, since in the Hebrew Scriptures the nation of Israel consists of twelve tribes. Another obvious example of such organizational patterns is found in the genealogy of Jesus (1:1–17), which is divided into three sets of fourteen generations. What is the significance of the number fourteen? In the Hebrew language, letters of the alphabet also serve as numerals, and those who knew Hebrew in the first century often added up the numerical value of all the letters in a person’s name (a practice called gematria). The letters in the Hebrew name David add up to fourteen, and since tradition held that the Messiah would be a descendant of David, that number apparently took on messianic overtones for Matthew’s community. 2. For some reason, Matthew seems to be fond of pairs, such that his Gospel exhibits what is called a doubling motif.²³ Appropriately, this motif has two elements: First, when Matthew’s Gospel is compared to Mark’s, some minor characters appear to be doubled. Mark 5:1–14 contains a story about Jesus casting a legion of demons out of a man and into a herd of pigs (New Testament students jokingly refer to it as the story of “deviled ham”). The same story is found in Matthew 8:28–33, but now the legion of demons must be cast out of two men. Similarly, Mark 10:46–52 reports the healing of a blind man while Matthew 20:29–34 records the healing of two blind men. Most remarkable, perhaps, is the Palm Sunday story of Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem. In Matthew’s version, Jesus sits on two animals as he rides into the city (21:6–7). Is

this just an overly literal fulfillment of the prophecy cited in 21:5 (Zech 9:9), or is it a doubling of the one animal found in Mark 11:7? The second element of Matthew’s doubling motif involves repetition of sayings or entire pericopes within the Gospel itself. Jesus’s words on divorce are reported twice (5:31–32; 19:9), as are stories of the religious leaders seeking a sign from him (12:38–42; 16:1–4) and accusing him of operating with the power of Beelzebul (9:32–34; 12:22–24). 3. The disciple Peter receives special prominence in this Gospel, in that Matthew contains a number of stories concerning Peter that are not found anywhere else. These include a curious tale about Peter finding a coin in a fish’s mouth to pay taxes for himself and Jesus (17:24–27) and the well-known in 18:21–22 of Peter asking Jesus how many times it is appropriate to forgive someone (“As many as seven times?” Answer: “Not seven times, but seventy times seven”). Matthew also expands stories from Mark’s Gospel with new information about Peter. The story of Jesus walking on the water (Mark 6:47–52) now concludes with an of Peter trying (with limited success) to walk on the water (Matt 14:28–31). Most significant, Matthew has attached to the Markan story of Peter acknowledging that Jesus is the Messiah (Mark 8:27–29) an extended blessing in which Jesus declares, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church” (Matt 16:17–20). The latter age has been interpreted by Roman Catholicism as ing a doctrine of the papacy, since every pope is believed to be heir (via “apostolic succession”) to this privileged position bestowed first upon Peter.²⁴ In a very different vein, Robert Gundry has argued that Matthew actually portrays Peter “as a false disciple who publicly apostatized and is destined for eternal damnation.”²⁵ 4. Matthew’s Gospel is the only one of the four to display Jesus talking explicitly about the “church” that is to continue after he is gone.² Two ages use the word church outright. One is Matthew 16:17–20, which we have just mentioned, where Jesus tells Peter, “on this rock I will build my church.” Another is Matthew 18:15–18, where Jesus speaks of the church as though it already exists during his ministry, outlining a process by which disciples who have complaints against each other may bring their disputes to the church for resolution. According to Matthew’s Gospel, then, the church did not simply come into being after Easter, as followers of Jesus struggled to understand what had transpired. Matthew portrays Jesus as starting the church during his life on earth. This church is not just a social movement but an institution, with rules and procedures for defining hip and conducting business.

5. Many ages in Matthew’s Gospel display a strong Jewish orientation. Although the book ends with a commission to “make disciples of all nations” (28:19), Jesus’s disciples are explicitly commanded during his earthly life to “go nowhere among the Gentiles [nations]” (10:5). Similarly, Jesus insists that he has been “sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (15:24). At times, he appears to respect the Jewish authorities, paying the temple tax so as not to offend them (17:24–27). In one age, he goes so far as to acknowledge that “the scribes and Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat,” which means his followers should “do whatever they teach you and follow it” (23:2–3). All of these verses are unique to Matthew: they either derive from the M material or represent redactional changes Matthew has made in his sources. In addition, several ages in Matthew seem to betray an anti-gentile bias: Jesus can be impressed by the faith of individual gentiles (8:5–13; 15:21–28), and the gentile magi prefigure the manner in which pagans from many nations would come to worship “the king of the Jews” (2:1–12), but Jesus’s words often suggest that he doesn’t think very highly of gentiles in general (see figure 23). The presentation of those words in this Gospel suggest further that the evangelist (and his community?) shard those sentiments. As one scholar put it, “Matthew may want to baptize gentiles and make disciples of them, but he wouldn’t want his daughter to marry one.”²⁷ 6. At the same time, many ages in Matthew display what some regard as an anti-Jewish orientation. Certainly Jesus regards the religious leaders of the Jewish people with more hostility here than in the other Gospels.²⁸ He repeatedly calls them a “brood of vipers” (12:34; 23:33), viewing them as “evil” (9:4; 12:34; 16:4) and indicating that they represent the devil, not God (15:13; cf. 13:24–30, 36–43). Furthermore, Jesus tells these leaders that “the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom” (21:43), and when praising the faith of a gentile, he says that people from many nations will enter the kingdom of heaven while “the heirs of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness” (8:12). Some interpreters believe these verses suggest an ultimate rejection by God of the Jewish people as a whole in favor of righteous and faithful gentiles. In one chilling verse, Matthew presents the Jewish people as a whole, calling for Jesus’s death and saying, “His blood be on us and on our children!” (27:25). Throughout the centuries, this verse has been quoted by anti-Semitic groups who wished to label Jewish people “Christ-killers” and portray them as accursed by God.

Figure 23: The Bias against Gentiles in the Gospel of Matthew

Matthew’s narrative presupposes an anti-gentile prejudice on the part of its readers: • In 5:47,

7. Matthew’s Gospel shows particular interest in “the law”—that is, in the commandments and moral codes of the Jewish Scriptures that Christians call the Old Testament.² In keeping with the two points above, however, the perspective on the law does not always appear to be consistent. On the one hand, Jesus declares that he has come not to abolish the law but to fulfill it (5:17). He insists that “until heaven and earth away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will from the law” (5:18). In keeping with this, Matthew omits Mark’s interpretive comment that Jesus “declared all foods clean” (Mark 7:19; cf. Matt 15:17) and adds a comment that Christians undergoing tribulation should pray that they will not have to flee on a sabbath (Matt 24:20; cf. Mark 13:18). Apparently, as far as Matthew is concerned, dietary and sabbath laws are still in effect, as much for Christians as for Jews. On the other hand, some texts in Matthew’s Gospel appear to present Jesus as setting aside what Moses or other traditional exponents of the law have said (5:21–48; 19:3–9) in favor of his own teaching. Notably, the Great Commission to make disciples of all nations is to be fulfilled by teaching people to obey not the law but the commandments of Jesus (28:20). 8. The fulfillment of prophecy is an important theme in Matthew, as indicated by the twelve fulfillment citation ages mentioned above.³ Indeed, Jesus says he has come to fulfill the prophets as well as the law (5:17), and Matthew appears to regard Jesus’s entire life as previewed or predicted in the Scriptures. He finds references in those writings to Jesus’s conception (1:22–23), birth (2:4–6), upbringing (2:23), ministry (12:17–21), and ion (26:54). Scholars sometimes struggle to explain Matthew’s precise construal of these prophecies: the citation in 2:5–6 appears to add words to the text of Micah 5:2, and the age presumably quoted in 2:23 cannot be found. In any event, Matthew is also conscious of prophecies given by Jesus himself. These include specific predictions regarding the destruction of the Jerusalem temple (24:1–2), which is probably a past event by now for Matthew and his community, and sweeping projections regarding the end of the world (24:3–25:46). While much of this is derived from Mark and Q, Matthew incorporates unique material as well, generally enhancing concern for the final judgment (7:21–23; 25:1–13, 31– 46).³¹ In a broader sense, Matthew is often seen as developing his Christology on a variety of Old Testament models.³² 9. Matthew’s Gospel seems to present an apocalyptic vision of the world beyond

that evident for the other Synoptic Gospels.³³ In this instance, apocalyptic refers to a dualistic perspective that clearly divides everything into spheres of divine or demonic influence. This may be presented most clearly in a parable unique to this Gospel in 13:24–30, 36–43. Here, the world is likened to a field in which wheat and weeds grow side by side. The wheat are the “children of the kingdom,” while the weeds are “children of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil” (13:38–39). Mark and Luke believe that Satan has spiritual agents (demons) analogous to God’s angels, but Matthew goes so far as to suggest that some human beings were put in this world by Satan. We cannot be sure, of course, that this evangelist would want such descriptions to be taken literally, but the metaphors used in this parable do seem to exert a controlling influence over the story. Elsewhere, for instance, Jesus identifies some of the religious leaders of Israel as “plant[s] that my heavenly Father has not planted” (15:12–13). Thus, they are not persons to be challenged with a summons to repentance (as in Mark and Luke) but are simply to be left alone (15:14), left to be uprooted in time and “sentenced to hell” (23:33). The effect of this apparently harsh characterization is to cast much of the story into a symbolic sphere that allows it to work on more than one level. Seemingly trivial disputes between Jesus and the Pharisees become representative of the ultimate conflict of good and evil, the cosmic clash between God and Satan.³⁴ 10. The presence of God is an overriding theological motif throughout much of this Gospel (see figure 24, later in this chapter).³⁵ From the virginal conception of Jesus on, Matthew insists that “God is with us” (1:23), and numerous ages that are unique to this Gospel explore ways in which God’s presence is manifest in the world. These include traditional affirmations of God’s presence in the temple (23:21) and more innovative declarations of God’s presence in Jesus as well as in his followers (10:40). Matthew also assumes that while the divine presence in our world is assured (18:20; 28:20), it may assume unlikely guises so as to go unrecognized by the righteous and the wicked alike (25:31– 46).

Historical Context

Who?

Popular Christian tradition ascribes this Gospel to the tax collector named Matthew who, according to this book, became one of Jesus’s twelve disciples (9:9; 10:3). The story of this person’s call is also reported in the Gospel of Mark, although his name is given there as Levi and there is no indication that he ever became one of the twelve (Mark 2:14; 3:16–19). The earliest witness to this tradition is probably the somewhat mysterious Papias, mentioned in the last chapter. According to the fourth-century historian Eusebius, Papias wrote around the middle of the second century, claiming that the disciple Matthew “collected the sayings [or records] in the Hebrew language and each one interpreted [or translated] them as he was able” (Hist. eccl. 3.39). Scholars don’t know what to make of this enigmatic remark. The church has usually assumed that Papias is referring to the book we now know as the Gospel of Matthew, describing it as a collection of materials compiled by Matthew the disciple of Jesus. But our Gospel of Matthew contains only materials written in Greek, not Hebrew. Some scholars have thought that Papias may be referring to some earlier stage in the tradition: the disciple Matthew might have collected sayings of Jesus that were eventually incorporated into our Gospels even if he was not responsible for putting any of those Gospels together in their final form.³ A few have even suggested that Papias might be referring to what we now call the Q source, though that of course is speculation. Evaluation of the Papias tradition is complicated even more by the fact that we know so little about this person: his credentials, his resources, his basis for making these claims, or his motivation in making them. We don’t even know for certain that Eusebius is correct in his dating of the citation. The bottom line is that very few scholars believe this Gospel was written or compiled by Matthew the disciple of Jesus. The Gospel itself makes no such connection, and the church’s tradition to this effect seems to be relatively late and confused. Most scholars think that this Gospel uses Mark as a principal source. If its author had the advantage of actually being an eyewitness to the events Mark reports, we would expect him to offer greater detail, filling in the blanks left by Mark’s sketchy s. But this is not the case. The Gospel of Matthew adds very little of a historical nature to Mark’s report of Jesus’s

ministry. What it does do is develop theologically the reports found in Mark in ways that would render them more meaningful to Christians of a later era. Thus, most scholars believe this Gospel reflects the concerns of second-generation Christianity, coming from a time when all the original disciples were probably dead. Acknowledging that the book is anonymous, scholars try to describe its author (who, for the sake of convenience, is still called “Matthew”) in generic, rather than specific, . Almost all regard him as Jewish,³⁷ which immediately sets this Gospel apart from that of Mark, who most scholars believe was a gentile Christian. In fact, this evangelist shows some evidence of professional education as a Jewish leader or scholar.³⁸ His biblical quotations are not all drawn from the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures) but sometimes appear to represent his own translations from the Hebrew. His style of writing and approach to argumentation have suggested to some that he might be a converted rabbi or former Pharisee. Far from exhibiting the perspective one would stereotypically attribute to a first-century tax collector (an outcast and traitor to the Jewish nation), the evangelist known as Matthew is preeminently concerned with the same issue that motivates Jesus’s opponents in this story: the correct interpretation of the Scriptures and, in particular, the law. Therefore, many scholars have noted that the reference in this Gospel that best describes what its author was like is found, not in 9:9, but in 13:52: a “scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven.” Like the scribe in this parable of Jesus, Matthew the evangelist struggles to bring “out of his treasure what is new and what is old.” He wants to proclaim the good news of what he believes God has now done in Christ in a way that preserves and interprets the tradition of what God has done in the past. A great debate rages among scholars concerning the question of whether Matthew and his community still see themselves as belonging to Judaism. Some describe the evangelist as intra muros or “within the walls” of Judaism.³ According to this view, Matthew regards the emerging Christian movement as a sect of Judaism, analogous to the Pharisees or Sadducees. This evangelist and his community are more accurately described as “Christian Jewish” than as “Jewish Christian.”⁴ The evangelist is not a convert from Judaism to Christianity but rather has made a less radical move from Pharisaic Judaism to Christian (or Messianic) Judaism. Proponents of this view point to some of the ages cited above (17:24–27; 23:2–3) in which Jesus shows respect for the institutions and leaders of Judaism. Notably, Jesus predicts that his followers will be persecuted

in synagogues (10:17; 23:34) but in this Gospel never refers to them being excluded from synagogues (cf. Luke 6:22; John 9:22; 12:42; 16:2). David Sim goes so far as to suggest that Matthew’s community comprises only Christian Jews (no gentiles) and is not engaged in any gentile mission.⁴¹ Another view holds that Matthew and his community are already extra muros or “outside the walls” of Judaism.⁴² A definitive break has been made, such that Matthew now regards “the Jews” (28:15) as a group to which he does not belong. He and his community are committed to making disciples primarily from “the nations”—that is, gentiles (28:19). Some proponents of this view assume the break was not voluntary. In the decades after the disastrous war with Rome, Jewish authorities met in the city of Jamnia in western Judea to clarify legal and doctrinal issues that would serve to define normative Judaism to the present day. Possibly, Matthew and other Christian groups were excommunicated in some official or authoritative way.⁴³ This debate is not easily resolved. A great many ages in Matthew evince sufficient ambiguity to be read either way. References to “their synagogues” (4:23; 9:35; 10:17; 12:9; 13:54; emphasis added) imply some distinction (theirs, not ours), but who are the “they”? Does Matthew mean to distinguish Jewish synagogues from Christian churches, or does he mean to distinguish Pharisaic Jewish synagogues from Christian Jewish synagogues? At any rate, scholars agree that Matthew and his community are caught somewhere in the transitional process from Jewish sect to Christian religion. Graham Stanton saw the issue as complicated in that Matthew may have been writing for a number of communities struggling with self-definition in the aftermath of the Jewish War.⁴⁴ Amy-Jill Levine introduces another dynamic by suggesting that the distinction between Jew and gentile has been transcended in Matthew’s community by a new distinction between privileged and marginalized.⁴⁵ Anthony Saldarini suggested that the precise relationship of Matthew and his community to Judaism may have been just as debatable in the first century as it is today. He believed that Matthew himself regarded his community as a sect within the bounds of Judaism, while other Jews had come to think of them as sufficiently deviant to constitute a separate entity.⁴

Where?

Redactional changes Matthew is believed to have made in material derived from Mark indicate that he shaped his Gospel for a fairly prosperous, urban community (see figure 21, p. 98).⁴⁷ In addition, the Gospel is likely to have been produced in an area that contained numbers of both Jews and gentiles, since its author is concerned both about relations with Judaism and about fulfillment of a mission to “all nations” (28:19). Numerous cities in the Roman Empire would meet these criteria, so we cannot possibly determine the exact location with certainty. Reasonable guesses include Alexandria, Caesarea Maritima,⁴⁸ Sepphoris, Tiberias,⁴ and Antioch. The latter has gained popularity in recent years, partly because Matthew’s Gospel is first quoted by Ignatius, the Bishop of Antioch (ca. 115 CE), and may also have been used as a source for the early Christian writing called the Didache, which was produced in the Syrian region around Antioch in about 100 CE.⁵ The possibility of the Gospel being composed in Antioch is also intriguing because we know that both Peter and Paul ministered here and quarreled over a question related to the continuing validity of the law (Gal 2:11–14). What’s more, although we have only Paul’s of this incident, the community in Antioch appears to have sided with Peter against Paul (Gal 2:13). Numerous scholars have noted that Matthew’s Gospel does favor Peter more than any other and appears to challenge the more extreme positions regarding the law expressed by Paul (cf. Matt 5:17 with Rom 10:4).⁵¹ Accordingly, scholars sometimes speak of Antioch as providing the appropriate theological context for this Gospel’s origin, even if we cannot be certain that it provided the geographical context as well.⁵²

When?

If Matthew used the Gospel of Mark as a source, then he must have composed his work sometime after 70 CE, a fact that might receive additional from what appears to be an allusion to the Roman destruction of Jerusalem in one of Jesus’s parables (22:7). Ignatius’s quotation of Matthew indicates the book was already regarded as authoritative by 115 CE, and the likely reliance of the Didache on Matthew means the Gospel probably had to be written before the

end of the first century. Other factors come into play as researchers attempt to fine-tune their projected dates for the book, but the great majority of Matthean scholars place the work within the decade of 80–90 CE. An earlier date is preferred by a minority of scholars, including some ers of the TwoGospel Hypothesis who reject the thesis that Matthew used Mark as a source (see figure 4 in chapter 1).⁵³

Why?

Matthew’s community had many of the same concerns as the community for which Mark’s Gospel was written. They faced trouble from without and from within.⁵⁴ From without, they had met or expected to meet with persecution at the hands of both Jews (5:11; 10:17, 23; 21:35; 23:34) and gentiles (10:18, 22; 24:9). From within, they were confronted with problems of heresy (7:15; 24:11), apostasy (13:21; 24:12), and betrayal (24:10). But Matthew’s community also struggled with issues that may not have been major concerns for Mark. The Jewish background or influence was felt more heavily, such that issues related to the continuing validity of the law and the fulfillment of the Hebrew Scriptures were more pressing. It has even been said that Matthew was written specifically as “a Christian response to Jamnia”—that is, to the Jewish councils held in that city during the latter decades of the first century.⁵⁵ Less specifically, he may simply be engaged in the theological task of transforming Jewish faith into Christian faith.⁵ Still, if we assume that Matthew had a copy of Mark’s Gospel and a copy of the Q source, we must ask why he did not simply present these to his community, alongside his own collection of additional materials. The community would then have had three independent books about Jesus, each significant in its own right but with very little overlap between them. The evangelist we call Matthew did not do this. Instead, he edited all these materials, integrating them into a single coherent document. We must assume, then, that Matthew regarded the Gospel of Mark (as well as Q and M) as not only incomplete but also inadequate. He probably intended for his Gospel to replace that of Mark, not stand alongside it as in our modern Bibles. Otherwise, we would expect some defense or

explanation for changes it makes, such as when the friendly scribe in Mark 12:28–34 is transformed into an enemy who wants to test Jesus in Matthew 22:34–40. The production of a book such as the Gospel of Matthew was a difficult, timeconsuming, and expensive proposition. Matthew would not have been likely to undertake such an effort simply to render Mark’s Gospel more relevant to his social setting. Rather, Matthew appears to have regarded Mark’s Gospel as theologically inadequate in at least three ways: (1) Mark does not present Christ as currently present among his followers, and thus the locus of God’s continuing presence in the world is ambiguous; (2) Mark offers little insight with regard to the discernment of God’s will for contemporary situations; and (3) Mark’s portrait of discipleship does not address the possibility of progress and, so, provides little hope or incentive for improvement. All three of these points may be gathered under one umbrella observation: from Matthew’s perspective, the Gospel of Mark contains no effective doctrine of the church. Addressing this concern may have been Matthew’s major incentive for producing a replacement Gospel.

Major Themes

The Abiding Presence of God

We have already identified the presence of God as a significant motif in Matthew’s Gospel, but a more detailed examination of how this motif is developed may provide a key for understanding the book’s principal contributions to theology and faith (see figure 24). This theme is related to that of the “reign of God” discussed with regard to Mark’s Gospel in chapter 2. Though Matthew prefers the phrase “kingdom [or reign] of heaven,” he takes over into his Gospel virtually all the material in Mark related to this theme. Thus, Matthew also affirms that God’s rule has both present and future

dimensions: people experience the benefits of God’s rule already (12:28) even though the full consummation of that rule is still to come (6:9–10). Matthew, however, develops these thoughts in ways that go beyond anything we find in Mark. The first thing Matthew wants to say is that God is present in Jesus. Such an affirmation goes a subtle shade beyond Mark’s insistence that God acts through Jesus. For Matthew, the reality of God’s presence is tied to the very existence of Jesus. When Jesus is born, Matthew can say, “God is with us” (1:23). Matthew believes, of course, that God has been present with the people of Israel in the past, before Jesus was born, but the presence of God manifested now in Jesus is nevertheless unprecedented and superlative. God may have dwelt in the Jerusalem temple, but the coming of Jesus represents “something greater than the temple” (12:6). God is present with people now in a way that God has never been present before.

Figure 24: The Presence of God in the Gospel of Matthew

God Is Present in Jesus • when Jesus is born: “Emmanuel” = “God is with us” (1:23) • Jesus

Just how far Matthew is willing to take this becomes evident when we trace the theme of worship in this Gospel (see figure 25).⁵⁷ On nine different occasions Matthew portrays people worshipping Jesus, always in a sense that meets with approval (2:11; 8:2; 9:18; 14:33; 15:25; 20:20; 21:16; 28:9, 17). The Greek word used in most of these verses (all but 21:16) is proskyneō. It can refer to an act of extreme respect or obeisance that one human shows to another, but in Matthew it seems to mean something more. Jesus himself declares in Matthew 4:10 that people should worship (proskyneō) no one except “the Lord your God.” Yet when people worship Jesus, they are not rebuked. As far as Matthew is concerned, God is present in Jesus to such an extent that worshipping him counts as worshipping the Lord God. We can see here a significant step in the development of Christian doctrine. Mark’s Gospel presents Jesus as the Son of God through whom God’s reign draws near and God’s will for salvation is accomplished, but Mark offers no hint that his community would therefore worship Jesus or pray to him. Matthew’s Gospel appears to have made that move, though many years would before Christians would work out the dogma to justify it, as evidenced in such formulations as the Nicene Creed (ca. 325 CE) and the Chalcedonian Definition (451 CE). In other words, Matthew locates the presence of God in Jesus on a pragmatic rather than a theoretical level, treating Jesus effectively as divine without attempting to articulate any rationale for doing so.⁵⁸ Matthew does more than this. He also emphasizes the continuing presence of Jesus in the world after Easter. The last verse of the Gospel records Jesus saying, “I am with you always, to the end of the age” (28:20). The Gospel of Mark describes the time between Jesus’s resurrection and his second coming as a difficult time of absence (Mark 2:20; 14:7). Matthew recognizes the literal or physical absence of Jesus during this period also (9:15; 26:11) but reduces its significance by insisting that Jesus remains present nonetheless. Specifically, Jesus promises that he will always be with those who baptize people in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and who teach them to obey his commandments (28:19–20). Likewise, in Matthew 18:20, Jesus says that where two or three gather for prayer in his name, he will be “among them.” The obvious expectation, then, is that the presence of Jesus will continue to be manifested within the community of his followers, the community that Matthew calls “the church” (16:18; 18:17). Even the well-known story of the separation of

sheep and goats in Matthew 25:31–46 probably reflects this thinking. Jesus says that whatever is done for one of the least of those who belong to his family is done for him. For Matthew, the “family” of Jesus is probably the church (cf. 12:50). As representatives of this church go out into the world to “make disciples of all nations” (28:19), Matthew wants them to know that these nations will be held able at the end of time for how they treat Jesus’s family (25:32). Those who are kind to his followers will be rewarded (10:42; 25:34–40) and those who are not will be punished (10:11–15; 25:41–46).⁵ In theological scholarship, the question of God’s continuing presence is sometimes related to discussions of what is called “salvation history,” which tries to understand how God is thought to have related to humanity in different periods of time. Some Matthean scholars would hold that this Gospel envisions three distinct epochs: a time of Israel, a time of Jesus, and a time of the church. A distinction between the first two is not controversial. Matthew certainly believes that the coming of Jesus inaugurated a new era. The question is whether Matthew’s Gospel presents the church as living in a time that is definitively different from the period of Jesus. The claim is that Matthew presents the time of Jesus’s earthly life as a period in which salvation was typically restricted to Israel (10:5–6; 15:24), and God’s people were expected to keep the entire law of Moses (5:18). During the time of the church, however, salvation is for all nations (28:19), and only the commandments of Jesus remain binding (28:20).

Figure 25: Worship in the Gospel of Matthew

Events • The magi worship (proskyneō) Jesus as one born king of the Jews (2:11; cf. 2:2). • A

Others suggest that Matthew really only envisions two epochs of salvation history, since Jesus remains present in the church in all the ways mentioned above. ¹ In fact, Matthew also speaks of the church as though it is present already during the earthly career of Jesus (18:17; cf. 16:18). Thus, Matthew puts the church into what is called “the time of Jesus” and also puts Jesus into what is called “the time of the church,” confusing these categories so that no neat distinction can be made. Discontinuity with regard to ecclesiological matters is trivialized by the transcending continuity of God’s abiding presence expressed in Matthew’s christological understanding. We cannot easily resolve this debate, especially since it is cast in language that Matthew’s Gospel itself does not use. What we can affirm is that Matthew believes the church now represents the continuing presence of Jesus on earth in a way analogous to that in which Jesus represented the presence of God. ² In Matthew 10:40, Jesus tells his disciples, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” This is a bold claim: responses to the followers of Jesus are ultimately responses to God. Returning to the propositions that God is present in Jesus and Jesus is present in the church, we might suppose that Matthew’s answer to someone seeking the presence of God would be, “Go to the church, and there you will find the God who is present in Jesus.” But Matthew does not really expect seekers to do this. Thus, a third proposition: the church is present in the world. For Matthew, the church is not a static institution but rather a dynamic movement, an assembly of missionaries who go out into the world as sheep in the midst of wolves (10:16) in order to bring good news, healing, and life (10:7–8). Followers of Jesus will be the light of the world and the salt of the earth (5:13–14). The world may not appreciate them, but it will be a better place because of them. Indeed, the church that Jesus will build will overcome the gates of Hades (16:18), moving triumphantly against the forces of death and evil.

Jesus as the Son of God

Matthew’s Gospel places special emphasis on the identity of Jesus as the Son of God. ³ As in Mark, in Matthew’s Gospel God speaks twice from heaven (at Jesus’s baptism and at his Transfiguration), and both times God calls Jesus “my Son” (3:17; 17:5; cf. 2:15). But Matthew has expanded on this theme by adding a story of virgin birth that presents Jesus as God’s Son in an almost literal sense (1:18) and by including s of the disciples confessing Jesus to be the Son of God (cf. Matt 14:32–33 with Mark 6:51–52). Indeed, it is specifically Peter’s confession that Jesus is not only “the Messiah” (Mark 8:29) but “the Son of the living God” (Matt 16:16) that earns him Jesus’s blessing and promise in 16:17– 19. Thus, the confession that Jesus is the Son of God seems to be closely connected to the foundation of the church, to the overcoming of Hades, to the reception of the keys to the kingdom of heaven, and to the binding and loosing on earth of what will therefore be bound and loosed in heaven. Ultimately, Jesus’s identity as God’s Son in Matthew is closely linked to the story of his crucifixion: in one of his parables, Jesus hints that the reason his enemies want to kill him is that he is the Son of God (21:33–46), and sure enough, he is later sentenced to death for claiming to be God’s Son (26:63–66). On the cross, he is mocked by opponents who claim that such a fate proves he is not the Son of God (27:40, 43), but ironically, the manner of his death leads others to confess that he is indeed the Son of God (27:54).

Jewish Law and Christian Faith

Jesus explicitly refers to “the church’’ twice in Matthew’s Gospel, and in both of these ages he tells those who constitute the church, “Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven” (16:19; 18:18). In the historical setting for this Gospel, the bind and loose were used in rabbinic interpretations of the law to designate whether or not a specific scriptural onition was applicable for a given circumstance. ⁴ For example, some rabbis might insist that the law forbidding work on the Sabbath was binding with regard to travel on the Sabbath, since travel is a form of work. By the same token, they might also decide that this law should be loosed with regard to certain types of travel or with regard to travel for certain purposes. Such discussions were widespread within Pharisaic Judaism around

the time Matthew’s Gospel was written. The Talmud (an ancient collection of Jewish laws based on scriptural interpretation) contains numerous examples of decisions regarding application of Torah to aspects of daily life (but as the humorous age quoted in figure 26 illustrates, the Jewish teachers engaged in this work knew there were limits to how far a matter should be pressed). Throughout Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus contests such talmudic decisions. He claims that they “make void the word of God” for the sake of their tradition (15:6). But at the same time, Jesus himself acts like a rabbi, declaring whether or not laws are binding. He insists that the commandment forbidding adultery does apply to lustful thoughts, because anyone “who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (5:28). Then he declares that the law forbidding work on the sabbath does not apply to healing the sick on that day because “it is lawful to do good on the sabbath” (12:12). In such ages, Jesus sounds very much like a Pharisee himself, even though the actual Pharisees are condemned throughout this Gospel as persons whose teaching is dangerous (15:14; 16:12; 23:15). At issue is not the practice of binding and loosing as such but the manner in which this is carried out. Matthew’s Gospel invariably presents Jesus as the good example of one who binds and looses the law in accord with God’s will. By the same token, the Pharisees are made to serve as bad examples of people who do not know God’s will and therefore bind what should be loosed and loose what should be bound.

Figure 26: A age from the Talmud

Although Matthew’s Gospel portrays Jewish scribes as dour and petty, their own writings dis

Why does Matthew do this? A simple explanation would be that he wants to assert the authority of his emerging Christian community over against groups that make competing claims. Matthew not only portrays Jesus as the one who has divine authority to bind and loose the law, but also presents Jesus as explicitly extending this authority to Peter and the other disciples (16:19; 18:18). ⁵ When Jesus promises that what the church binds and looses will be bound and loosed in heaven, the clear implication is that God will hold people able for following the ethical decisions of this church. Matthew seems to be saying to someone, “We have the authority to determine God’s will, and you don’t!” As we have seen, some scholars would regard this as an intra-Jewish rivalry (Christian Jews have the authority and Pharisaic Jews don’t), while others would see it as a definitive element of the break with Judaism (Christians have the authority and Jews don’t). Many scholars would also grant that struggles internal to Christianity may be in view here: communities in line with the tradition of Peter and the other disciples have a claim to authority that other Christian communities (such as those founded by Paul?) lack. We must be careful, however, not to construe Matthew’s intention so narrowly as to miss the central theological claims of his Gospel or to lose sight of its most enduring contributions. Although Matthew’s theological claims have political implications, he is certainly interested in the claims for their own sake and not simply as theoretical means to political ends. Matthew grounds the church’s authority to interpret God’s will in eschatological and christological propositions. Eschatologically, he believes that “the kingdom of heaven has come near” (4:17), that God’s reign is in the process of being established so that God’s will can now be discerned and followed in ways not previously possible. Christologically, he believes that Jesus, the Son of God, manifested God’s presence on earth and that he continues to do so through his enduring presence among his followers. The church has the authority to declare God’s will not because it exhibits more insight or greater faithfulness to God than others but because Jesus Christ, God’s Son, has chosen to be present in the church and to exercise his authority on earth through this community. Whatever we think of these propositions, we should not sell Matthew short by implying that he simply constructed them to a personal or political agenda. Matthew and his community are prepared to confess this position even when their claims go unrecognized and, in fact, bring terrible persecution and suffering upon the

church. They believe these claims belong to the content of “the gospel,” the good news about what God has done and is doing through Christ. Aside from these theological propositions, one of the most enduring contributions of Matthew’s Gospel has been the insight it offers concerning interpretation of ethical mandates for existential situations. Jesus not only declares that he and his followers have the authority to interpret God’s will, but also articulates a number of principles that guide him and his followers in doing so. Best known may be the Golden Rule: “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets” (7:12; emphasis added). The latter part of this verse indicates that the rule is not simply good advice, but a hermeneutical principle for determining how laws are to be interpreted. The same is true for the double love commandment that Matthew takes over from Mark. Jesus says people are to love God with all their being and love their neighbor as themselves because “on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (22:40). Since these two commandments are themselves found in the Hebrew Scriptures (Deut 6:5; Lev 19:18), Jesus’s prioritization of them as “the greatest” commandments (22:36) implies a recognition that some scriptural mandates are foundational and ought to serve as the basis for interpretation of those that are not. A similar philosophy informs his use of Hosea 6:6, which he cites twice to the Pharisees: they “[condemn] the guiltless” with their legal interpretations because they do not realize that God prefers mercy to sacrifice (12:7; cf. 9:13). Elsewhere, Jesus tells these Pharisees that while insisting on obedience in trivial matters, they “have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith” (23:23). We noted above that the attitude toward the law displayed in Matthew is somewhat ambiguous, and principles such as these help explain why. Matthew may believe that the entire Jewish law remains in full force for followers of Jesus, but he recognizes that this law must be interpreted to discern the true will of God. The realization that certain concerns (love, mercy, justice, faith) are primary holds the key to discerning how the law must be taught and obeyed in ways that will be truly pleasing to God. At times, Jesus does appear to set aside legal prescriptions as no longer relevant (5:38–39), but Matthew probably considers these to be instances not of abolishing the law but of fulfilling it through an interpretation that brings out its true intent (5:17). Overall, Jesus binds laws more often than he looses them, demanding that his followers adopt standards of righteousness that exceed those of the scribes and Pharisees (5:20). Still, the claim is that Jesus’s stricter interpretations of the law constitute a

paradoxically light burden compared to the heavy burdens laid on people by the Pharisees’ misguided judgments (11:28–30; 23:4). Why? Matthew believes that strict interpretations that are grounded in the divine preference for mercy, love, justice, and faith are bearable, while loose interpretations that are casuistic, arbitrary, and unreflective of those qualities are not. Historians are quick to point out that Matthew’s presentation of the Pharisees is one-sided. We know, for instance, that a famous Pharisee, Rabbi Hillel, actually articulated a principle similar to Matthew’s Golden Rule decades before Jesus. And in Mark’s Gospel, the priority of the double love commandment is accepted by a Pharisaic scribe (12:28–34), whom Jesus says is “not far from the kingdom of God.” Still, Matthew’s stories of Jesus and the Pharisees have become classic anecdotes illustrative of ethical principles embraced by persons of diverse backgrounds and faiths. For many, these stories offer timeless lessons in moral discernment that transcend the first-century power struggles evident in the rhetoric with which they are told. In a sense, the field of Christian ethics owes its existence to this simple insight from Matthew’s Gospel: doing the will of God is not a matter of “obeying the Bible” but rather of discerning within a community the contemporary relevance of biblical mandates in light of contextual considerations and hermeneutical priorities. ⁷

People of Little Faith

Four times in this Gospel, Jesus addresses his disciples as “you of little faith” (6:30; 8:26; 14:31; 16:8; see also 17:20). The expression apparently derives from the Q source, since it is found also in Luke 12:28, but in Matthew it becomes a stereotypical description of those who constitute the church, which, as we have seen, is invested with great authority. By contrast, Matthew’s narrative mentions two persons who have “great faith”—a centurion (8:10) and a Canaanite woman (15:28)—but Jesus does not call either of these to become his disciples or commission them for ministry as his followers in the world. His disciples are, definitively, people of little faith. ⁸

Figure 27: Disciples of Jesus as People of Little Faith in the Gospel of Matthew

In the Gospel of Matthew, the disciples of Jesus are called people “of little faith.” In Greek, t

This characterization emphasizes the inadequacy of Jesus’s followers and, accordingly, their dependence upon him. This theme, we recall, is also present in Mark’s Gospel, which strongly emphasizes the failings of Jesus’s disciples. As in Mark, so also here Jesus declares that he has “come to call not the righteous but sinners” (9:13; cf. Mark 2:17). For Matthew, then, the church is to be composed of people whom Jesus has saved from their sins (1:21), specifically by shedding his blood for the forgiveness of their sins (26:28). Indeed, forgiveness becomes one of the hallmarks of this community. Because Jesus’s followers are by definition inadequate people and because they often fail at fulfilling even their best intentions (26:41), they need to be forgiven repeatedly and, in turn, need to forgive others repeatedly as well (18:21–35). As people of little faith, Jesus’s disciples struggle not only with sin but also with doubt. Matthew’s Gospel twice describes the disciples of Jesus as doubting (14:31; 28:17) and, curiously, these are also the only two ages in which they are ever said to worship him (14:33; 28:17). These two concepts—worship and doubt—are clearly not antithetical or incompatible in Matthew’s vision of the church. The first of the two instances is significant in that Peter, Matthew’s favorite disciple, the “rock” on which the church is to be built (16:18), is singled out as a person of little faith, a man who doubts. The second instance is also significant in that it occurs within the resurrection narrative immediately preceding the Great Commission with which the Gospel concludes. Having failed Jesus miserably, denying and deserting him in his darkest hour, the disciples have had to be recovered for Jesus by a group of women who proved more faithful than they (27:55, 61; 28:1–10). But even now, at the end of the story, worship and doubt coincide within the community of disciples. Still, this does not prevent Jesus from sending them out to “make disciples of all nations” (28:19). Apparently, even doubters, people of little faith, are able to baptize others in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and to teach them to obey all that Jesus has commanded (28:19–20). Thus, Matthew’s presentation of the disciples as “people of little faith” goes beyond Mark’s characterization of them as failures. In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus questions whether his disciples have any faith at all. The difference between “no faith” (Mark 4:40) and “little faith” (Matt 8:26) is significant for Matthew, because elsewhere in this Gospel Jesus affirms that only the tiniest amount of faith is needed to accomplish whatever God might require (17:20).

Critique of Power

Matthew’s Gospel offers a starker critique of worldly power than any other book in the New Testament (save, perhaps, the book of Revelation). By “worldly power,” we mean power that coerces or dominates, as opposed to power that serves. Jesus, of course, is the most powerful figure in the story, but his power is always employed in service to others, sometimes sacrificially (20:28). Human characters almost always use power coercively (if they possess it), and an implicit value judgment underlies the entire narrative accordingly: characters are “good” to the extent that they lack power (or use it to serve, though that remains, for the most part, a hypothetical option); characters are evil to the extent that they possess power (since they virtually always use it coercively). We may consider, first, those who possess political power. In a scene of initial conflict, Satan is able to offer Jesus “all the kingdoms of the world” because, apparently, they are under his authority (4:8–9). Although this claim is made even more explicitly in Luke 4:6, Matthew’s readers are surely expected to assume the offer Satan makes to Jesus is valid, or else no real temptation would be involved.⁷ If Satan really is held to rule all the kingdoms of the world, then the clear implication is that the apparent rulers of worldly kingdoms are his underlings. Later, Jesus says to his disciples, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them” (20:25). This sweeping characterization typifies political rulers as embodying the qualities most antithetical to those that epitomize the reign of God (20:26–27). This generalization holds within Matthew’s story, for we do not encounter a single political ruler who exhibits positive traits. King Herod (2:16) callously slaughters children in a manner that recalls evil tyrants of old—the Pharaoh in the days of Moses (Exod 1:15–22) and Nebuchadnezzar at the time of Jeremiah (compare Matt 2:17–18 to Jer 31:15; 39:1–9). Herod’s son Archelaus is as much to be feared as he (2:21). Herod the tetrarch murders God’s prophet (14:3) and is perceived as a threat to Jesus as well (14:13). Pilate, the governor, reneges on his responsibility for istering justice by ordering the execution of a man he knows to be innocent (27:15–26).⁷¹ The religious leaders of Israel fare no better. The root character trait for all the various groups of religious leaders in this story

is “evil,” which identifies them with Satan, the “evil one” (13:19). Plants that the heavenly Father did not plant (15:13), they owe their place in this world to the devil (13:24–26, 37–39). Thus, it can probably be said that Matthew’s antipathy for Jewish leaders owes less to the fact that they are Jewish than to the fact that they are leaders. The story’s denunciation of worldly powers makes no ethnic distinctions. Jewish leaders and gentile rulers alike are condemned while humble Jewish supplicants, as well as gentile ones (8:5–13; 15:21–28), are acceptable. The primary line of opposition in this story is not between Jews and gentiles but between the powerful and the powerless. The powerless are presented as those with whom Jesus’s disciples must identify. In contrast to political rulers, the followers of Jesus will be slaves, seeking not to be served but to serve (20:25–28). In contrast to religious leaders, they will be siblings in a community of equals, refusing positions of leadership (23:1–12). The antipathy for worldly power in this narrative is so great that Jesus himself is portrayed as a person who “has nowhere to lay his head” (8:20), and his disciples are required to renounce their possessions and go out into the world with no apparent means of (10:9–10), helpless as sheep in the midst of wolves (10:16). In sum, Matthew’s narrative depicts a world in which the rule of Satan and the rule of God coexist (13:24–30, 36–43). Consistently aligned with the rule of Satan are all representatives of worldly power: gentile rulers, Jewish leaders, “great ones” (20:25)—all who are currently first but who are destined ultimately to be last (19:30; 20:16). God’s rule is associated with those who lack power in this world: servants (10:24–25; 20:27; 24:45–46), the meek (5:5), children (18:1–4; 19:13–15; 23:15–16; cf. 11:25), little ones (10:42; 18:6, 10, 14), the “least” (25:40, 45)—all who are currently last but who are destined ultimately to be first (19:30; 20:16).⁷² This critique of power probably explains Matthew’s lack of esteem for worldly wisdom and education.⁷³ In Matthew 11:25, Jesus says, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants.” This perspective is prevalent throughout the narrative. John the Baptist claims that God is able to raise children of Abraham from stones (3:9). Jesus says (quoting Scripture) that God brings forth praise from the mouths of nursing babies (21:16). God creates or reveals what is needed, preferring apparently to write the divine will on almost blank slates. That point is illustrated somewhat dramatically in the

characterization of Jesus’s disciples. They may be given understanding by Jesus (13:51; 16:12; 17:13), but never once in this Gospel are they depicted as knowing the will of God or even the basic content or teaching of the Scriptures. The only time they come close is especially revealing: they know that “Elijah must come first” (17:10), but they do not know that this teaching comes from Scripture; it is only something that “the scribes say.” The disciples are depicted as ignorant “blank slates” whom Jesus continually teaches, revealing to them what they need to know. Not only do the religious leaders of Israel know “that Elijah must come first,” but they know a great many other things as well: that the Christ is to be born in Bethlehem (2:4–6), that Moses commanded the giving of divorce certificates (19:7), that the Scriptures commend levirate marriage (22:24), that the Christ is to be the son of David (22:42), that it is unlawful to place blood money in the temple treasury (27:6), and so on. Still, such knowledge does not aid them in doing the will of God; quite the contrary, it leads them to resist God’s plan and oppose God’s agents. The point cannot be that knowledge of Scripture is a bad thing. Still, Jesus’s shocking words in 11:25 really do seem to represent an underlying evaluation of education that is fundamental to this narrative: those who are wise and intelligent seem to be rejected by God for no other reason than because they are wise and intelligent. The problem, perhaps, is that wisdom and knowledge obtained through education was a source of social power, and those who obtained such power tended to use it coercively. Thus, scholars,⁷⁴ like rulers, exemplify those who are first in this world: they will be last. The uneducated and ignorant, like slaves, represent those who are last: they will be first.⁷⁵ The Matthean critique of power may also for Matthew’s presentation of God-pleasing women.⁷ The role of the women in the empty-tomb narrative is similar to that ascribed to them in Mark but enhanced. They are the sole eyewitnesses to the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus (27:55–56, 61; 28:1– 3), the three events that early Christian tradition deemed to be “of first importance” (1 Cor 15:3–4). They are also exhibitors of the ideal response to the gospel (28:8): the first to worship the risen Lord (28:9), the first recipients of a “great commission” from Jesus (28:10), and the first to proclaim the gospel that is to be taken to the world (cf. 24:14). As such, they are portrayed as ideal followers of Jesus (and, so, as foils for the absent male disciples). Such primacy in worship and mission probably is intended to give them the role in the church that had originally been offered to Peter (16:18–19). The apostasy of Jesus’s

male disciples is forgiven, but it costs them the legacy that they might have had. Jesus wills for his church to be founded by women, grounded in their proclamation of the gospel, and marked forever by their experience of “fear and great joy” (28:8). But why would the narrative develop in this way, since otherwise Matthew clearly evinces and presupposes a patriarchal mindset, a view that understands the social superiority of men over women not as the result of injustice or of unfortunate prejudices but simply as reality intrinsic to nature? The essential legitimacy of such gender roles is accepted without imagining that anything so basic to human society could or should ever be different. Thus, feminism, as such, remains a foreign perspective, but Matthew’s Gospel seeks to critique and challenge the evaluation of gender roles within the patriarchal mindset. The critique comes, quite simply, through the claim that God prefers the powerless to the powerful. The one who is least is the greatest of all (20:26–27). Thus, women are not exalted as founders of the church and exemplars of faith because they should be considered “equals” with men. They are so exalted precisely because they are not equals. In the eyes of God, women are potentially greater than men because men are more powerful than women. Women are greater than men in the same sense that children are greater than adults (18:1–4). So, in this Gospel’s vision of the future, women may be the greatest in the kingdom even if there, the men are still the ones on the thrones (19:28). This is not feminism, which typically seeks to empower women and sometimes seeks to debunk stereotypical gender roles altogether.⁷⁷ But it is a critique of patriarchy from within, a critique that the Gospel foists upon its readers without any sure vision of where it might lead or what could happen as a result. Indeed, we might note that it is potentially a critique of feminism as well, a challenge to the basic assumption that the acquisition (or maintenance) of power is a good thing. The point of view of Matthew’s narrative is that power (when understood as the capacity to manipulate, dominate, or control others) is antithetical to God’s purposes; those who neither seek nor possess such power are favored and preferred by God.

The Gospel of Luke (and the Book of Acts)

The Gospel of Luke is similar to Matthew in that it combines both Mark and Q with traditions that are unique. Two differences, however, are immediately obvious: (1) Whereas Matthew takes most of Mark’s Gospel over into his own, Luke uses only a little more than half of Mark, omitting the rest (see figure 28). In fact, Luke omits all of the material that is found in Mark 6:45–8:26 and in Mark 9:41–10:12. Scholars refer to these lapses respectively as “the great omission” and “the little omission.” Some have theorized that perhaps Luke possessed a defective copy of Mark’s Gospel that was missing these sections, but most assume he skips over this material intentionally. (2) Whereas the material unique to Matthew (M) represents less than a third of that Gospel, the material unique to Luke (L) s for a full half of his completed Gospel (see figure 29). This material, furthermore, contains many of the most-beloved stories in the Bible, such as the Christmas story of the baby in the manger and the tales of Jesus’s encounters with Mary and Martha, Zacchaeus, and the two men on the road to Emmaus. Several of Jesus’s bestknown parables are found here also, including the stories of the good Samaritan, the prodigal son, the rich man and Lazarus, and the Pharisee and the tax collector. Scholars of literature often remark that stories contained in this L material are of a superior literary quality than is usually evident in the Gospels. This evangelist, they speculate, was a gifted storyteller, and he may be at his best when he is least reliant on tradition.¹

Figure 28: ages from Mark Omitted by Luke

Figure 29: Material Unique to Luke’s Gospel

For proponents of the Two-Source Hypothesis, Luke appears to have alternated between material ascribed to L, Mark, and Q in the following way:²

1:1–52

draws primarily from L

3:1–6

draws primarily from Mark

6:20–8:3

draws primarily from Q

8:4–9:50

draws primarily from Mark

9:51–18:14

draws primarily from Q and L

18:15–24:10

draws primarily from Mark

24:11–53

draws primarily from L

The two sections that draw heavily from Q are often called “the little interpolation” and “the big interpolation” because from our perspective, they appear to be insertions into the Markan Gospel (see figure 5 in chapter 1 for a content list of material scholars believe derived from Q). The little interpolation (6:20–8:3) contains Jesus’s Sermon on the Plain (6:20–49), which parallels Matthew’s more developed Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5:1–7:27) but is notable for a distinctive set of Beatitudes that pronounce not only blessings upon the poor and hungry but also woes upon the rich and satisfied (6:20–26).³ The big interpolation makes up the bulk of what is often called Luke’s Travel Narrative (9:51–19:44), the of Jesus’s journey to Jerusalem (see figure 30).⁴ Luke’s unique L material is integrated throughout the Gospel but, as indicated, is especially prevalent in the Travel Narrative section (where it is intertwined with Q material) and at the Gospel’s beginning and ending. The first two chapters of Luke’s Gospel deserve special notice.⁵ The material here is not only without parallel in the rest of the New Testament but also distinctive within Luke’s own work. The style of the Greek language differs from the rest of Luke’s Gospel, resembling more closely the Greek of the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures that Christians came to call the Old Testament). Also, these two chapters contain liturgical hymns, which are often identified today by Latin titles: the Magnificat (1:46–56), the Benedictus (1:67–79), the Gloria in Excelsis (2:14), and the Nunc Dimittis (2:29–32). Such hymns are not found anywhere else in Luke’s narrative. These differences are substantial enough to have led scholars in the past to speculate that Luke 1–2 may have been written by another author and attached to the Gospel at a later date.⁷ Today, however, that thesis has been rejected, and Luke 1–2 is more likely to be viewed as “an overture” to the Gospel narrative, setting out its principal themes in ways that are deliberately memorable and distinctive.⁸ For a comparison of Luke’s story of Jesus’s birth with the birth story in Matthew, see figure 31.

Figure 30: The Journey Motif in Luke

Luke 9:51–19:40 relates the journey of Jesus to Jerusalem. The reader is reminded repeatedly

Figure 31: Two Christmas Stories: Similarities and Differences

Finally, we must note that Luke differs from the other Gospels in one other respect, which is possibly the most significant of all. Luke is the only such book that has a sequel, the book of Acts, which provides a vivid of the early church intended to supplement or continue the story of Jesus presented in the Gospel. Since the evangelist responsible for this Gospel is also the author of Acts (see Acts 1:1), most scholars regard Acts as another rich resource for discovering the theological interests and concerns that helped shape the Gospel. Some have noted what they believe to be elaborate parallels between the Gospel and Acts, as though Luke wrote these two books in a way that invites comparison (see figure 32). For such reasons, many scholars do not even speak of Luke and Acts as separate works but prefer to treat Luke-Acts as a single twovolume entity. But Mikeal Parsons and Richard Pervo have cautioned against assuming that common authorship implies unity at other levels:¹ while virtually everyone agrees the books had the same human author,¹¹ there is discussion among scholars as to whether they belong to the same literary genre, whether they tell one continuous story,¹² and whether they espouse the same theology.¹³

Figure 32: Parallels between Luke’s Gospel and Acts

As with the Gospel of Matthew, scholars attempt to discern the particular focus of Luke’s work by paying close attention to the unique material (in this case, L and Acts), by analyzing the compositional structure of the Gospel,¹⁴ and by studying the redactional changes that Luke has made in his sources, especially Mark (see figure 33). Many of the latter changes are similar to those made by Matthew (see figure 21 in chapter 3), because Luke worked at about the same

time and faced similar issues, but distinctions may be noted. Alternatively, literary critics usually ignore source theories, and rather than focusing on Luke’s unique material or distinctive editorial tendencies, they seek to analyze Luke’s writings in of plot, rhetoric, character development, description of settings, and other facets that allow him to tell a story in a particular way: the story may overlap in content with that of other Gospels, but it is not the same story. Luke’s literary presentation provides us with a distinctive narrative that deserves to be read on its own .¹⁵

Figure 33 : Luke’s Use of Mark

Luke preserves only a little more than half of the Gospel of Mark, and he edits what he does

Character Portrayal Luke changes the way major characters are portrayed in the Gospel story

Characteristics of Luke’s Gospel

Let us now consider some distinctive features of Luke’s Gospel. 1. The Gospel of Luke begins with a preface addressed to a person named Theophilus (1:1–4), as does Acts (1:1–5). Luke is the only Gospel to identify its audience at all, much less with such specificity. In some respects, however, the identification is more puzzling than helpful. The word Theophilus means “lover of God,” prompting some to wonder whether Luke uses it in a fictitious sense: his books are addressed to anyone who loves God. Another theory has picked up on the honorary address (“most excellent Theophilus”) to suggest that the named individual must be a Roman official of some stature. Accordingly, Luke’s entire two-volume work may be regarded either as an apology for the Christian movement, written to convince a Roman official that he should regard the new religion as politically harmless,¹ or as an evangelistic tract written to persuade a Roman official that he should reevaluate the ultimate significance of his imperial status and privilege.¹⁷ More often, scholars posit that Theophilus was likely a wealthy individual who served as the patron for Luke’s project, providing financial for the research and writing. In that case, the address would be more of a dedication. In any case, all scholars take for granted that Luke intended his Gospel and the book of Acts to be read by more than just one person. 2. Luke is explicit in designating the historical context for the story he tells. The beginning of John the Baptist’s ministry is reported in this way: “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah” (3:1–2). This is quite a contrast from Mark’s simple report that “John the baptizer appeared” (Mark 1:4). Luke introduces his story of the birth of Jesus in a similar way (2:1–2; see also 1:5). The implication that Luke wants to be considered a historian is compatible with recognition that his book of Acts

is, in some sense, the first attempt to write church history. 3. Jerusalem receives special attention as a geographical focus in Luke’s Gospel (see figure 34). In the opening chapters, Luke relates two stories of Jesus visiting Jerusalem as a child (2:22–40, 41–51) and indicates that the visits were actually annual (2:41). Then, in the center of the Gospel, ten entire chapters are taken up with a journey to Jerusalem (9:51–19:44). Throughout this Travel Narrative, Luke repeatedly re- minds the reader that Jerusalem is the destination (9:51, 53; 13:22, 33; 17:11; 18:31; 19:11, 28, 41). Thus, much of the teaching material drawn from the Q and L traditions takes on whatever subtle connotations an orientation toward this city might bear. When Jesus finally reaches Jerusalem, he weeps over it (19:41–44), revealing both his great love for the city and his frustration over its rejection of him.¹⁸ Most significant, perhaps, Luke places all of the resurrection appearances of Jesus in and around Jerusalem (24:1–43) and even presents Jesus as telling his disciples not to leave that city until a future date (24:49; see also Acts 1:4). Mark and Matthew speak only of postresurrection reunions between Jesus and his disciples in Galilee (Matt 28:16–20; Mark 14:28; 16:7). This focus on Jerusalem continues in Acts, where that city is identified as the starting point for the church’s ministry (Acts 1:8) and serves as the site of the churchwide council in Acts 15.

Figure 34: The Centrality of Jerusalem in Luke and Acts

The Gospel of Luke • The story opens in Jerusalem (in the temple; 1:5–8). • Jesus is brought

4. Luke’s Gospel emphasizes worship and prayer.Luke presents far more instances of people praising God than any other Gospel (see figure 35).¹ In fact, the Gospel begins (1:8) and ends (24:53) with scenes of worship, and even the death of Jesus on the cross is presented as an occasion for glorifying God (23:47). We have also noted the abundance of liturgical material found in the first two chapters. In addition, Jesus prays more often in this Gospel, and he has more to say on the topic of prayer than in the other three Gospels combined.² Specifically, prayer is mentioned in relation to such significant occasions as Jesus’s baptism (3:21) and transfiguration (9:28). Jesus’s prayers determine the lives of his disciples: he prays before he chooses them (6:12), before he questions them about his identity (9:18), and before he predicts Peter’s denial (22:32). Only in this Gospel do Jesus’s disciples ask him to teach them to pray (11:1), and he does so not only by teaching them the Lord’s Prayer (Luke 11:2– 4; also found in Matt 6:9–13) but also through frequent encouragements to prayer (18:1; 21:36; 22:40) and through parables about prayer not found anywhere else (11:5–8; 18:1–8, 9–14). The motif continues to be developed in Acts, where persistent prayer characterizes and facilitates the work of those who take the gospel of Christ to the world (1:14; 2:42; 4:23–31; 9:11–12; 10:1–10).

Figure 35: Worship in the Gospel of Luke

Events • Mary magnifies (megalynō) the Lord when she visits Elizabeth (1:46). • Zechariah b

5. Luke’s Gospel also seems to display an unusual interest in food.²¹ Readers note (sometimes humorously) that in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus appears to be always eating. In fact, the book mentions nineteen meals, thirteen of which are peculiar to Luke. Jesus also talks about food a great deal, telling parables about banquets (14:7–11, 12–14, 15–24; 15:25–32; 16:19–30) and speaking about discipleship in that, on the surface, appear to be lessons in table etiquette (7:44–46; 14:7–14; 22:27). Jesus is also criticized for eating too much (7:34) and with the wrong people (5:30; 15:1–2). What is going on? Luke’s stories are undoubtedly influenced by the phenomenon of the symposium, a common meal shared in Greco-Roman circles that included a formal banquet and frequently became an occasion for instruction by the host.²² Such meals were indeed governed by elaborate rules for etiquette and hospitality, which seem to be presumed and/or challenged by some of the meal scenes in Luke. More specifically, Luke indicates in Acts that Christian fellowship and worship in the first century often occurred within the setting of a meal. Thus, followers of Jesus are described as gathering for “the breaking of bread” (Acts 2:42, 46), meaning they ate together in a context that included teaching, worship, and, probably, observance of the eucharistic ritual Jesus had told them to do “in remembrance” of him (Luke 22:19). Accordingly, Luke may have discovered that stories referring to meals were especially relevant for sharing with the community that gathered at these events. The sermonic potential becomes evident for a story such as Luke 7:36– 50, where Jesus’s host is offended when their meal is interrupted by an outcast woman. Read around tables in first-century worship services, the message becomes “Are we willing to allow outcasts to participate in our meals (that is, to our worshipping community)?” Other stories with meal settings may likewise be intended to facilitate connections for readers between what happens in the story and what might happen in their own context: meals can be occasions for healing (9:11–17), hospitality (10:5–7), fellowship (13:29), prophetic teaching (11:37–54), and reconciliation (15:23; 24:30–35). 6. Luke’s Gospel emphasizes Jesus’s ministry to those who are oppressed, excluded, or otherwise at a disadvantage in society. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus says that he has come “to bring good news to the poor” (4:18) and “to seek out and to save the lost” (19:10). We will reflect more upon the motif of wealth and poverty in Luke later in this chapter, but for now let us note that the Gospel’s concern for the economically deprived is part of a broader paradigm that

includes comion for people who are disadvantaged in any number of ways. Lepers, prostitutes (sex slaves²³), beggars, the demon-possessed, and the physically disabled would all exemplify the “captives” or “oppressed” for whom Jesus proclaims a year of Jubilee (4:14–21; cf. Lev 25:8–54; Isa 61:1–2), a metaphorical way of declaring that God’s reign will bring a reversal of fortune that sets right social injustice.²⁴ Further, Luke shows special attention to the inclusion of those who are often victims of bigotry or prejudice. Thus, his Gospel is the only one of the Synoptics that contains material demonstrating concern for Samaritans, a Semitic race of people frequently despised by Jews: we have two stories in which Samaritans serve as good examples of what God’s people should be (10:29–37; 17:11–19) and one story in which Jesus rebukes hostility toward Samaritans even when they do not behave irably (9:51–56). Later, in the book of Acts, a number of Samaritans become Christians (Acts 8:4–25). In the same vein, Luke wants to emphasize Jesus’s scandalous acceptance of tax collectors, adding new material (15:1–2; 18:9–14) to what he inherited from Mark (Luke 5:27–32; cf. Mark 2:13–17) and Q (7:34; cf. Matt 11:19).²⁵ Most striking of all, perhaps, is his story of Jesus bringing salvation to the house of Zacchaeus, a despised “chief tax collector” who is rich (Luke 19:1–10). The wealthy typically experience Jesus as judgmental and hostile, but apparently Zacchaeus’s status as a despised outcast qualified him for Jesus’s comion instead. 7. Women figure more prominently in Luke than in the other Synoptic Gospels. The infancy narrative in the opening chapters focuses on the role of Mary rather than on that of Joseph, as in Matthew (Luke 1:26–56; Matt 1:18–25), and only in Luke do we hear about such women as Elizabeth (1:24–25, 41–55) and Anna (2:36–38). Other stories found only in Luke describe Jesus’s miracle involving a widow’s son in 7:11–17, his no-condemnation of a woman “who was a sinner” (probably a teenaged sex slave² ) in 7:36–50, and a memorable visit to the home of two women named Mary and Martha in 10:38–42. Jesus tells unique parables in this Gospel that have women as prominent characters (15:8–10; 18:2–5).²⁷ Luke alone tells us that Jesus’s ministry was ed financially by a group of women (8:1–3). Further, Luke appears to have been the first writer in human history to pay deliberate attention to what is now called “inclusive language”: while he does not transcend his culture’s basic patriarchal assumptions regarding God or humanity, he does sometimes go out of his way to tell parallel stories or employ parallel expressions that make the same point twice: once with reference to men and then again with reference to women (see figure 36). Apparently, Luke thought he would have female readers, and he also thought

they might appreciate stories and expressions that offered them points of inclusion in a narrative that was otherwise heavily populated by men—or perhaps he just thought such inclusion was appropriate regardless of whether his readers were male or female. Modern scholarship nevertheless divides over its evaluation of Luke’s attitude toward women,²⁸ a point that will be discussed in more detail later in this chapter. 8. Luke’s Gospel emphasizes the work of the Holy Spirit in a way that the other Synoptic Gospels do not. Although a great deal is said about the Spirit in the Gospel of John, Matthew and Mark have only a few references (Mark 1:8– 12; 3:29; Matt 3:11, 16; 4:1; 12:28–32). In Luke, people are filled with the Spirit (1:15, 41, 67) and inspired by the Spirit (2:25–27). Jesus himself is conceived by the Spirit (1:35) and anointed with the Spirit (3:22; 4:1, 14, 18). Where Jesus promises in Matthew that God will give “good things” to those who ask (Matt 7:11), he specifies in Luke that God will give the Holy Spirit (Luke 11:13). This emphasis prepares readers for Luke’s second book (see 24:49), in which some would say the Holy Spirit becomes the main character.² There the Holy Spirit empowers people to be witnesses for Jesus in word and deed (1:8; 4:8, 31; 7:55), and the Holy Spirit directs the life and mission of the church (8:29; 10:19; 11:28; 13:2; 15:28; 16:6; 20:23; 21:4, 11). The Spirit is described in very personal in Acts: people can lie to, test, or resist the Spirit (5:3, 9; 7:51). But the Spirit is also closely connected to Jesus, such that what the Holy Spirit does on earth is to be regarded as the continuing activity of Jesus. In one place, Acts actually refers to the Holy Spirit as “the Spirit of Jesus” (16:7).

Figure 36: Male/Female Parallels in the Gospel of Luke

9. Promise and fulfillment is another theme receiving emphasis in this Gospel. We noted in the last chapter that Matthew is concerned with demonstrating that God brings to events predicted in Scripture. This is true to some extent in Luke as well (Luke 1:20; 4:21; 21:24; 22:16; 24:25–27, 45–47; Acts 1:16; 3:18; 13:27; 14:26), but here the focus is more on a general fulfillment of God’s overall plan.³ The overarching concern may be to show that God is sovereign

over history: God determines what will happen, as well as when, where, and how it will happen. Times and seasons are set by God (Acts 13:47; 17:26), and God determines the fate, purpose, or destiny of people’s lives (Acts 2:23; 10:42; 13:47–48; 17:31; 22:10). In accord with this, Luke often declares that things happen simply because it is necessary for them to happen: one of his favorite words is the Greek term dei, which means “it is necessary.” Above all, it was necessary for Jesus to die and rise from the dead (Luke 9:22; 13:33; 17:25; 24:7, 26; Acts 17:3) but Acts makes clear that it was also necessary for Judas to be replaced (1:22), for Paul to visit Rome (19:21; 23:11; 25:10; 27:24), for the gospel to be proclaimed to Jews first (13:46), and for Christians to experience tribulations (14:22) and to suffer for Christ’s name (9:16). This notion of divine necessity reminds some of the Greek concept of fate, but for Luke the point is articulated in of divine intention: things must happen when God has willed them to happen. At least two points seem significant theologically. First, Luke wants to emphasize that things are going well: everything is happening as God envisioned. New developments such as the gentile mission do not constitute diversions but were part of God’s plan all along. Accordingly, Luke does not seem interested in asking why it was necessary for Jesus to die or why it is now necessary for Christians to suffer. He is content to know and affirm that this has all been taken into and that everything is going according to plan. Second, Luke wants to call attention to the fact that past promises and predictions have been fulfilled in order to instill hope with regard to the promises that have not yet been fulfilled, including the return of Jesus (Acts 1:11) and, possibly, the redemption of Israel (Luke 2:38; Acts 1:6–7). By repeatedly indicating how God has kept promises made in the past, Luke shows that God can be counted on to keep all promises remaining for the future.³¹ 10. Salvation is also an important theme in Luke’s Gospel. This should come as no surprise, since concern for salvation is at the heart of the Christian faith and is addressed throughout most of the New Testament writings. But actually, Luke is the only one of the Synoptic Gospels in which Jesus is called “Savior” (Luke 2:11; see John 4:42). It is also the only Gospel in which Jesus specifically says that he has come “to save the lost” (19:10). Furthermore, Luke seems to have some distinctive ideas regarding the content of salvation, which will be discussed later in this chapter. For now, let us note the striking fact that salvation is not linked to Jesus’s death on the cross in the same way that it is elsewhere. Luke omits Mark’s reference to Jesus giving his life as “a ransom for many” (Mark

10:45), and his Gospel contains nothing similar to Matthew’s image of Jesus’s blood being “poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Matt 26:28). Many scholars have thought that the ion narrative in Luke reads more like a report of a pious martyrdom than a theological of atonement for sin.³² Others note, however, that it is only in Luke that Jesus actually succeeds in saving someone while on the cross, welcoming a penitent thief into paradise (23:42–43). Although Luke might not think of Jesus’s death as a sacrifice for sin, he does insist that this death is necessary (9:22, 44; 24:7, 26, 44) and, thus, related in some mysterious way to God’s plan of salvation.³³

Historical Context

Who?

Although this third Gospel is anonymous, a long-standing church tradition attributes it, along with the book of Acts, to “Luke the physician,” a companion of Paul (Col 4:14; Phlm 24; 2 Tim 4:11). The earliest witness to this tradition comes from a document known as the Muratorian Canon (170–80 CE), where the matter is regarded as already well established. Modern scholarship does tend to regard such traditions with skepticism, but the proposal for Luke and Acts has found wider acceptance than traditions regarding the authors of any of the other Gospels. For many, this tradition has an intrinsic likelihood because it does not seem like the sort of report anyone would have been motivated to invent. With all three of the other Gospels, church tradition attempts to link the document to one of Jesus’s disciples: one to Matthew the tax collector; another to Mark, the interpreter of Peter; and a third (as we will discuss in the next chapter) to John, the son of Zebedee. Such traditions present the authors as persons with direct access to the events that they report and therefore help ensure the reliability of their s. We also know that many other Gospels arose in the first few centuries of the Christian movement, and these were typically ascribed to one of Jesus’s disciples (Peter, Philip, Thomas, Judas) or to someone else who knew

Jesus personally (his brother James). In the case of Luke’s Gospel, however, the claim is simply that the author was a second-generation Christian who knew Paul, a famous missionary but not an eyewitness to any of the events reported in the Gospel. Would early Christians have been likely to invent such a tradition if it did not have some basis in reality? The greatest for Lukan authorship, however, may come from Acts itself, where this same author writes about Paul and uses the pronoun “we” to describe the movements of Paul’s party (16:10–17; 20:5–15; 21:1–18; 27:1–28:16). Some have dismissed these as the mere use of a literary device, according to which the author invites us, the readers, to experience Paul’s story as though “we” were there. Others suggest the pronoun is a carryover from a source (a diary or travel log) that the evangelist may have used without having been present with Paul himself. Most scholars it, however, that the “we ages” are best explained as indicators that the author of Acts and, therefore, also of Luke’s Gospel, wants his readers to believe that he really was present with Paul on those occasions where the pronoun occurs.³⁴ The issue is complicated on another front. Most Pauline scholars do not believe that the presentation of Paul in Acts is congruent with the picture of Paul gained from his own letters.³⁵ The argument is that the author of Acts shows no knowledge of Paul’s epistles, little understanding of his theology, and only slight appreciation for his main concerns (the righteousness of God, freedom from the law, justification by grace). For example, in Acts, Paul can speak of Jesus’s crucifixion without ever mentioning its significance for salvation (13:27–30; compare Rom 5:6–11; 2 Cor 5:14–21). Thus, even scholars who agree that this evangelist claims to have been a companion of Paul (in the “we” ages) may question whether that claim is authentic. This view was dominant in critical scholarship for most of the twentieth century, but scholarship of the new millennium has tended to question whether misrepresentation of Pauline thought necessarily discredits the tradition of Lukan authorship. The emerging view is that the author could have been a companion of Paul without being his disciple.³ As such, he could have been an independent thinker with his own theological agenda. Indeed, Ernst Käsemann identified Luke as the most innovative theologian in the New Testament (though he did not mean that as a compliment).³⁷ Thus, in writing Acts, Luke may have edited his own recollections of Pauline preaching the same way he edited the written s of Jesus’s preaching that he took from the Gospel of Mark. There is no logical reason why a free-thinking, occasional companion of Paul would not have used

selective reporting to emphasize the themes that were most significant to him and present the famous missionary as an endorser of what he himself wanted to promote. But let us set all of that aside for a moment and approach the question of authorship generically, based on what the writings themselves reveal. Quite apart from any traditions, we may discern from the Gospel’s preface (1:1–4) that the evangelist was not an eyewitness to the life and ministry of Jesus but relied on s of others. He also claims to have done research, “investigating everything carefully from the very first” (1:3). Literary analysis further reveals that this evangelist was probably well educated and that he possessed a broad range of knowledge. Scholars have found evidence of familiarity with GrecoRoman literature (Virgil, Homer) and philosophy (Stoics, Epicureans, and Cynics) in his writings.³⁸ Luke actually presents Paul as quoting from the philosopher Epimenides and the poet Aratus in Acts 17:28. Thus the evangelist has often been thought to be a gentile.³ At the same time, however, both the Gospel and Acts are filled with references and allusions to the Old Testament that often go much deeper than the simple citations found in Matthew. Some recent studies have tended to view him not as a gentile but as a Hellenistic Jew —that is, a Jew who had probably received a classical education and had come to be enculturated within the Greco-Roman milieu.⁴ Many have said that this evangelist has a better knowledge of both Greek philosophy and Hebrew Scripture than any of the other Gospel writers. This breadth of knowledge makes specific identification (Jew or gentile) difficult but is significant in its own right. A lesson may be learned here from the history of scholarship. In the early nineteenth century, some scholars tried to prove that Luke the physician was the author of these books by pointing to the abundant use of medical . Then Henry Cadbury, who was ultimately to become one of the most prominent Lukan scholars of his era, put an end to such apologia with a dissertation that demonstrated that the evangelist had an equal grasp of legal terminology and nautical language, though no one was proposing that he must therefore have been a lawyer or a ship’s captain.⁴¹ The simple fact is that Luke has the richest vocabulary of any writer in the Bible. His two books use almost eight hundred words that are not found anywhere else in the New Testament, a feature that makes them somewhat infamous to beginning Greek students. If medical don’t prove Luke was a physician, then neither does familiarity with Greek poetry prove he was a gentile nor knowledge of the Old Testament prove he was Jewish. What is certain is that this evangelist was able

to communicate effectively across cultural and linguistic barriers in the diverse world of the Roman Empire. In sum, the author of Luke’s Gospel was a well-educated second-generation Christian, either a Hellenistic Jew or a gentile with deep knowledge of Jewish Scripture. Although he itted that he had never known Jesus, he claimed that he had known Paul, while maintaining a theological agenda distinct from that of the famous missionary. Beyond this is only speculation. It is said that Henry Cadbury’s students used to joke that their mentor earned his doctorate by taking Luke’s away. But Cadbury did not disprove the tradition that the evangelist is the physician mentioned in Paul’s writings; he merely discredited attempts by others to establish that tradition illegitimately. Many scholars today would agree that the tradition is compatible with the description of the author stated above. So, they may reason, if traditions are innocent until proven guilty, this one should be allowed to stand. No one can prove that the evangelist we conventionally refer to as Luke was in fact “the beloved physician” (Col 4:14), but many scholars today will grant that this is at least a good guess. Before leaving this topic, we should note the important work of Karl Allen Kuhn, who has taken seriously the implications of the consensus that the author of Luke-Acts was a well-educated second-generation Christian. Noting especially Luke’s advanced literary acumen, Kuhn argues that the evangelist would have been a member of the social elite, someone who had benefited from the empire’s highly stratified social and economic hierarchy that ensured the flow of wealth and resources to a few at the expense of the many. But the content of the narrative and the values it espouses suggest that Luke has come to critique the very system that shaped him; for Luke, “becoming a Christian” has required a social conversion from the imperial realm of Rome to the kingdom of God, a “mythic substructure” that entails a different worldview and radically different values.⁴²

Where?

Scholars really have no clue as to where this Gospel might have been composed,

though that has not stopped them from naming possible locations: Rome, Caesarea, Syrian Antioch, Troas, Ephesus. It is usually accepted that the work comes from outside the vicinity of Galilee and Judea, since Luke’s knowledge of the geography there is imprecise (17:11), but not much more can be said. Still, the provenance of this Gospel is considered less significant than for the others because Luke does not appear to be writing for a specific community in a particular locale. More likely, he hopes Theophilus will foot the bill for “publishing” his Gospel, such that his book will be accorded a place in churches and libraries throughout the empire.

When?

As with the Gospel of Matthew, Luke’s Gospel is usually dated after 70 CE because it is thought to be dependent on the Gospel of Mark and because scattered references seem to reflect knowledge of the destruction of Jerusalem that occurred in that year (13:34–35; 19:41–44; 21:20–24). There is no certain evidence of the Gospel’s existence until quotations begin to appear around the middle of the second century, but most scholars agree that a date closer to 70 is more likely than one later than 100. For one thing, proponents of the dominant Two-Source Hypothesis would say that Luke does not seem to be aware of Matthew’s Gospel, which was becoming known by the end of the first century.⁴³ Also, the book of Acts, which is later than the Gospel (see Acts 1:1), is usually said to display no knowledge of Paul’s letters, which had certainly been collected and circulated by the beginning of the second century (Ignatius, the bishop of Antioch, takes knowledge of these for granted in 110 CE). Accordingly, most scholars guess that both Luke and Acts were composed in the decade between 80 and 90, around the same time as Matthew’s Gospel but, apparently, in a different sector. We will mention two minority views that stand as bookends to the dominant perspective. On the one hand, some scholars have thought that since Luke does not report the death of Paul, both Luke and Acts must have been written in the early 60s.⁴⁴ Most scholars, however, simply think Luke ends his report where he does because he has fulfilled his goal of tracing the progress of the gospel from

Jerusalem to Rome (see 1:8). But there is also a significant minority of interpreters who date Acts decades later than has been typical, and if that is the case, Luke’s Gospel might also need to be dated later if the two books have the same author (as is usually granted). Already in 1942, John Knox proposed that Acts was written in the middle of the second century to deal with the challenge of Marcion.⁴⁵ This suggestion was largely ignored until Joseph Tyson revived it in 2006,⁴ and then it was taken up in modified form by Richard Pervo, author of the influential Hermeneia commentary on Acts.⁴⁷ Pervo proposes a date of 115 for Acts and suggests that the Gospel could have been composed in the second century as well. This would, of course, make authorship by a companion of Paul impossible. These scholars think they can detect dependence on writings by the Roman historian Josephus, and they make much of the apparent fact that Acts was not quoted by Christian theologians until ca. 175 (when it was found useful in combating Marcion). At present, the idea of a late date for Acts is being discussed among scholars, but it has not carried the day; most still think Acts must have been written before 90 since the author betrays no obvious knowledge of Paul’s letters. Late-daters usually claim that Luke did know Paul’s letters and specifically wrote Acts to provide a background that would temper some of Paul’s more radical ideas and provide an orthodox context within which those letters could be interpreted.

Why?

Luke is the only one of the Synoptic evangelists to state clearly his purpose for writing (1:1–4): he wants his readers (like Theophilus) to “know the truth” concerning the things about which they have been instructed.⁴⁸ They may know this truth, furthermore, because what he writes is “an orderly ” based on careful investigation of traditions handed down by eyewitnesses and servants of the word. Such language, as well as the existence of Acts, has led Christians to identify Luke as “the historian” among the four evangelists. Some scholars object to this designation because they think it implies that Luke takes an objective or disionate approach to his subject matter. He does not do that. Still, even if Luke is interested in doing more than just reporting facts, he wants

his readers to believe that he is reporting facts. As we have seen, Luke is more concerned than any of the other evangelists in providing historical context and perspective for his narrative. For Luke, “writing history” is no doubt a means to a theological end, but at a basic level Luke wants to establish his of the Gospel story as a (the) definitive version of what happened.⁴ Beyond this, Luke’s purposes may have been manifold.⁵ As we have indicated, he appears to write for a broad audience and so may be offering material that addresses most of the issues facing Christianity during his time. Theologically, Luke is often thought to be responding to the crisis of faith Christians faced concerning “a delay of the parousia”—that is, a recognition that Jesus had not returned as early as had been expected.⁵¹ Luke is also concerned with establishing the gentile mission as the outworking of God’s plan and with exploring why Israel has not accepted God’s salvation through Christ.⁵² Some scholars think he challenges what he regards as false teaching within the church, such as gnostic notions that regarded matter as inherently evil and so denied the full humanity or bodily resurrection of Christ.⁵³ Politically, Luke may hope to establish Christianity as a legitimate religion so as to reduce the terrible persecutions inflicted upon the church by the Roman government.⁵⁴ And, pastorally, he certainly hopes to guide Christians whose faith may falter in the face of all these quandaries, heresies, and tribulations.⁵⁵

Major Themes

Stages of History

It would be no exaggeration to say that modern critical study of Luke’s theology began with a book by Hans Conzelmann titled Die Mitte der Zeit.⁵ That title would translate into English as “The Middle of Time,” which underscores the volume’s controlling motif. According to Conzelmann, Paul, Mark, Matthew, and most New Testament writers believed that Jesus had come at the end of time,

as the culmination of God’s dealings with Israel and in fulfillment of all the promises that history had provided. But Luke alone discerns that Jesus actually came “in the middle of time,” suggesting that there would be another era following the time of Jesus—possibly a very long era comparable to the period that preceded him. In short, Luke envisions “salvation history” in of three epochs: (1) the period of Israel, which concludes with John the Baptist; (2) the period of Jesus, from the beginning of his ministry to his ascension; and (3) the period of the church, from the ascension to the parousia. Conzelmann thought this Lukan insight was the essential key to understanding his distinctive theological emphases. The parousia, for instance, loses significance, since it is probably not going to happen anytime soon.⁵⁷ Luke’s emphasis on the Holy Spirit must also be understood in this light. The outpouring of the Spirit is necessary because the gift of ultimate salvation associated with an imminent parousia has been indefinitely postponed. For Paul, the Holy Spirit’s activity was a sign that the last days had come; for Luke, the Spirit is given as a provisional substitute for eschatological salvation, one that makes it possible for God’s people to live in the interim. Many other implications follow. In general, ecclesiological concerns (such as establishing Christian identity as the true people of God) supersede eschatological ones. Ethical issues (how a Christian should live in an unChristian world) become more prominent and more complex: Christians cannot simply imitate Jesus or his disciples because the latter belonged to a different era of salvation history (cf. 9:3 with 22:35–36). Political apologetic becomes advisable: if the end of the age were at hand, believers might be urged to endure a short period of terrible persecution, but a church that plans to endure for generations will attempt conversation with the state in order to reach a satisfactory settlement. Further (though Conzelmann himself did not take up this point), social transformation becomes a possible (and therefore imperative) goal. One reason Luke has far more to say about wealth and poverty than the apostle Paul could be that Luke realized the followers of Jesus might be on earth long enough to address social inequities and to effect changes in a world that was not simply destined for destruction in the very near future. Conzelmann’s scheme is not universally accepted; a few scholars argue that Luke does believe the parousia is imminent.⁵⁸ But though almost everyone quibbles with particulars in Conzelmann’s take on Lukan theology, the “middle of time” concept has remained very influential. Most scholars will grant that

although Luke has not given up on the eschatological promises and hope for the future, he emphasizes ways in which God’s reign is a present reality: the church is to announce God’s gospel and enact its implications as agents of a Christ who currently rules from heaven.⁵ The church will do this until Christ comes, and how long that missional epoch endures is not a matter of great consequence. My personal take on this matter would endorse Conzelmann’s key idea and expand it in a manner that allows us to understand two basic paradigms for envisioning Christ’s continuing presence in the world. Theologically, I would say that Luke’s doctrine of the Spirit resolves the problem of a delayed parousia in a manner analogous to the way that Matthew’s doctrine of the church resolved that problem for his community. In Mark’s Gospel, as we have seen, the problem did not come up: there is no reference to a continuing presence of Jesus during the time preceding his expected return (unless one counts Mark 9:37). Indeed, Jesus indicates in Mark that the time between his resurrection and his parousia will be a difficult period during which he has been “taken away” and is no longer with his followers (Mark 2:20; 14:7). I suppose this may have been tolerable short-term, but as the years continued, Christian communities discovered the importance of affirming ways in which the risen Jesus remained present in some respect. Basically, for Matthew, the locus of Christ’s abiding presence became the community (the church), while for Luke, it became the Holy Spirit. Thus, the Matthean perspective favors a “corporate relationship with Jesus” according to which the individual believer relates to Christ as part of a larger entity (cf. Paul’s notion in 1 Cor 12:12–27 that the church is the body of Christ and individual believers are only body parts). The Lukan perspective, however, favors personal relationships with Jesus according to which individuals who have received the Spirit have Jesus Christ with them (or in them) at all times and are able to benefit from the empowerment this constant presence brings. To some extent, these two paradigms for contemporary relationships with Christ (primarily corporate or primarily personal) continue to be affirmed in modern Christianity: all sects affirm both corporate and personal aspects of the relationship, but the Matthean, corporate paradigm seems to be favored by church traditions that had their origins in Europe or Asia (Catholic, Orthodox, Lutheran, Calvinist, Anglican) while the Lukan, individualist paradigm tends to be favored by traditions that have significant roots in America (Baptist, Wesleyan, Pentecostal).

Models for Understanding Jesus

Luke employs all of the titles for Jesus found in Matthew, Mark, and John, but his favorite of these is “Lord” (kyrios). ¹ He uses that term more frequently than any of the other Gospels, not only placing it on the lips of various characters but also using it in third-person narration. Thus, the author or narrator of the Gospel frequently says, “the Lord said . . .” (11:39; 12:42; 18:6) or “the Lord answered . . .” (10:41; 13:15) or something similar. But Luke is also the only Gospel to call Jesus “Master” (epistatēs): he uses this title (probably a synonym for “Lord”) seven times (5:5; 8:24 [twice], 45; 9:33, 49; 17:13). And we have noted previously that Luke is the only Synoptic author to call Jesus “Savior” (Luke 1:69; 2:11; Acts 5:31; 13:23; John uses the term once in 4:42). What is most striking, however, is the diversity of concepts upon which Luke draws in order to present Jesus in ways that might appeal to people with a wide variety of backgrounds. Scholars have identified an apparent attempt to seize upon numerous images and to apply them to Jesus with little concern for the potential confusion such superimpositions might produce. We have, first, models drawn from the Hebraic world of the Old Testament. These Scriptures often speak of the future, promising that God will continue to aid people by sending agents of divine help, and Luke wants to link all of these to Jesus. Five examples stand out: (a) Messiah. ² Numerous Old Testament texts could be related to the notion that God would raise up a messiah, an ideal king within the line of David who would restore the fallen fortunes of Israel (2 Sam 7:5–16; Ps 89). ³ We know from Paul’s letters that Christians identified Jesus as the Messiah very early, to the point of making the title part of his proper name: Jesus the Christ or, simply, Jesus Christ (the word Christ derives from christos, which is Greek for “Messiah”). The identification was found in at least one of Luke’s sources, the Gospel of Mark (1:1), though, as we have seen, some scholars think Mark believed the title was inadequate and needed to be corrected. Luke takes it over with no such ambiguity: Jesus is the Messiah of God (9:20). (b) Son of Man. ⁴ The book of Daniel describes the coming of a heavenly figure called “the Son of Man” (Dan 7:13–14). Both the Gospel of Mark and material

ascribed to the Q source use this designation for Jesus, but Luke develops it in a way that goes beyond his sources. The tradition described Jesus as the Son of Man with reference to either his past earthly ministry (Mark 2:10–12) or his future second coming (Mark 13:26), but Luke also emphasizes that Jesus is the Son of Man currently “seated at the right hand of the power of God” (Luke 22:69; cf. Acts 7:56). (c) Mosaic Prophet. ⁵ Deuteronomy presents Moses as promising that “the Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own people” (Deut 18:15). Luke describes Jesus’s career in ways that recall elements from the Moses story, even referring to the work that he accomplishes at one point as an “exodus” (9:31; NRSV translates the Greek word exodos “departure”). This leads, in Acts, to explicit identification of Jesus as the prophet like Moses spoken of in Deuteronomy (Acts 3:22; 7:37). Some scholars, we may recall, have suggested that Matthew also presents Jesus as a new Moses, but that Gospel never refers to Deuteronomy 18:15 despite its penchant for demonstrating that various prophecies are fulfilled by Jesus. (d) Suffering Servant. Isaiah speaks of a suffering “servant” through whom God will establish justice (Isa 42:1–4; 49:1–6; 50:4–11; 52:13– 53:12). The imagery associated with these ages may have influenced Mark’s of Jesus’s ion, but again, in Luke the identification is made explicit. Jesus himself testifies that “this Scripture must be fulfilled in me” (22:37, referring to Isa 53:12), and in Acts, Isaiah’s prophecies of a suffering servant are a starting point for proclaiming “the good news about Jesus” (Acts 8:30–35). Notably, Matthew also identifies Jesus as fulfilling Isaiah’s prophecies of a suffering servant, albeit with reference to his ministry rather than to his death (cf. Matt 8:17 with Isa 53:4, and Matt 12:17–21 with Isa 42:1–4). The theme is also picked up in other New Testament writings, such as Hebrews 9:28; 1 Peter 2:22– 25; and, less obviously, Romans 15:21. (e) Elijah. Malachi predicts that the prophet Elijah will return “before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes” (Mal 4:5). Early Christian tradition seems to have linked this saying to the role of John the Baptist (Mark 9:11–13; Matt 11:13–14; 17:10–13). Luke is aware of this tradition also (1:17), but many scholars believe Luke wants to present Jesus as the one who ultimately fulfills the hopes associated with the return of Elijah. Luke describes Jesus’s raising of a widow’s son in that recall Elijah’s similar deed (Luke 7:11–17; 1 Kgs 17:17–24). Most important, Luke presents Jesus as ascending into heaven, just

as Elijah did, endowing his successors with a rich measure of his spirit (Luke 24:50–51; Acts 1:6–11; 2 Kgs 2:9–12). Notably, Luke omits from his Gospel the sayings in Mark in which Jesus appears to link Elijah with John (Mark 9:11– 13). In the first century, all of these ages from the Hebrew Scriptures were understood differently by different Jewish groups (as they still are today). At issue would be such questions as whether the promises had already been fulfilled or whether they were to be fulfilled literally. Still, no Jewish group of which we have knowledge assumed that all these promises referred to the same person. At Qumran (the community where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found), the Essenes had subdivided messianic prophecies in such a way that they were expecting two messiahs. The focusing of diverse scriptural traditions onto a single individual was an innovation of the Christian faith. Luke himself does not appear to have been the innovator, but his writings serve as the best example in the New Testament of this comprehensive approach to Christology. Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of Man, the prophet like Moses, the suffering Servant, and the returned Elijah. He is all these things and more because things are written about him “in all the Scriptures” (Luke 24:27; cf. 24:44). Even more intriguing to some are the models for Jesus that Luke appears to draw from the Greco-Roman world. Here, he does appear to be innovative, seizing upon images that may make Jesus understandable to readers who have little familiarity with Jewish traditions or Old Testament Scriptures. Three such images have caught the attention of scholars: (a) Philosopher. ⁷ Luke-Acts is sometimes compared to an early third-century work by Diogenes Laertius called Lives of Eminent Philosophers. This work presents brief biographies of wandering philosophers, many of whom undertake journeys similar to Jesus’s journey to Jerusalem in Luke 9:51–19:44. The journeys are usually taken in response to divine commands, and indeed, Laertius appears to regard the philosophers themselves as divine in some sense. Furthermore, a key concern in these writings is to present the philosophers as founders of schools—that is, of communities that continue to venerate the founder and to be sustained by him. This could help explain why Luke attaches Acts to his of Jesus’s life. Laertius considered narrative regarding a philosopher’s successors to be integral to the biography of a philosopher because the presence of such successors demonstrates the continuing worth of the philosophy. If such biographies were popular in Luke’s time, readers of Luke-

Acts would be likely to regard Jesus as similar in some respects to a wandering Greco-Roman philosopher who established a school of followers. For Laertius, we should note, philosophy was not so much abstract speculation as a way of living, something learned through imitation of the philosopher’s lifestyle as much as by ing his precepts. Luke certainly presents Jesus as one who teaches his disciples a new way of living, calling them to become like their teacher (6:40). (b) Immortal. ⁸ In Greek and Roman mythology, the Immortals were divine beings (like Dionysius or Hercules) begotten through the union of a god with a human being. Typically, they lived on earth among other humans but performed extraordinary feats that gave evidence of their link to the gods. Initially, the Immortals could be distinguished from gods (such as Zeus) who were eternal, but often at some point in their career they underwent a transformation involving a visible ascent into heaven, where they essentially ed the heavenly pantheon. Even then, however, the Immortals retained interest in the affairs of humanity. They sometimes appeared to their friends on earth, and they could be persuaded to intervene on behalf of disciples who sought their aid. Luke’s writings, while respecting Jewish monotheism, tell the story of Jesus in ways that sound themes familiar from mythology. First, although it seems a far cry from the crude Hellenistic tales of gods mating with humans, Luke’s story of the virgin birth does present Jesus as the offspring of some type of encounter between the Most High God and a human woman (1:35). Jesus does perform remarkable feats of power. And, he ascends into heaven but continues at times to intervene on behalf of his followers on earth (Acts 9:1–9). Granting that there are differences, these similarities are no doubt sufficient to have inspired firstcentury readers to compare Luke’s Jesus to figures known from Greek and Roman mythology. (c) Benefactor. In the Roman world, emperors and other public figures were sometimes referred to as “benefactors” whose existence was a blessing to society. Such persons were regarded as gifts from providence and were sometimes themselves thought to be divine. They were distinguished for word and deed, for both saying and doing what was right. Chief among their contributions were the bestowal of peace and the granting of clemency or mercy to enemies. Benefactors were often presented as persons who had suffered hardships or even endured death on behalf of others. Luke emphasizes all these elements in his portrait of Jesus: the congruence of word and deed (24:19; Acts 1:1), the bestowal of peace (1:79; 2:14, 29), the forgiveness of enemies (23:34;

24:47), and the endurance of trials (22:28). Furthermore, Luke seems to borrow some of the language associated with Roman benefactors for his story of Jesus. One Roman inscription calls Nero “the Savior and Benefactor of the world,” and another describes the coming of Augustus as good news that will benefit all people of the world. As we have indicated, Luke is the only one of the Synoptic Gospels to apply the title “Savior” to Jesus, and Luke is also the Gospel that presents the coming of Jesus as good news for the whole earth (2:10, 14). In Acts 10:38, Luke even describes Jesus as one who, literally, “went about as a benefactor” (NRSV, “went about doing good”). Why would Luke rely on imagery drawn from the “pagan world” for his presentation of Jesus? On the one hand, he might have been trying to assert the claims of Christianity polemically against those of Greco-Roman religion. In other words, he may have wanted his readers to regard Jesus as the only true philosopher whose way of life they should follow, as the one true divine figure who would heed their intercessions, and as the only one truly worthy of being called “Savior and Benefactor of the world.” On the other hand, Luke might have been seeking common ground, hoping to portray Jesus in language that Greeks and Romans could understand. Thus, his entire two-volume work could be analogous to the sermon he depicts Paul preaching at Athens in Acts 17:22– 31. On that occasion, Paul does not denounce the Athenians as idolaters but, appearing to accept their polytheism, declares his intention as being simply to inform them of another god, hitherto unknown to them. Luke’s use of so many diverse models for understanding Jesus has theological significance beyond the particular implications for his own Christology. The use of such models is always controversial, tending inevitably toward syncretism at the same time that it enables cultural transcendence. Throughout the centuries, Christians have proposed and revised metaphors and images for understanding the person and work of Jesus, arguing frequently over the relative values of tradition and innovation. The New Testament itself contains a wealth of such imagery, which has retained varied levels of appeal. Sacrificial imagery of Jesus as the “Lamb of God” (John 1:29) has been especially popular in Protestant churches, while the equally biblical presentation of Jesus as the “high priest” (Heb 5:1–9) has been more deeply appreciated in Roman Catholic and Orthodox communities. Metaphorical identification of Jesus as “the good shepherd” (John 10:11) has continued to be very popular even in cultures where shepherding is no longer practiced, while descriptions of Jesus as a bridegroom (Mark 2:19; John 3:29) seem to have less relevance for many in our modern world.

The search for such images did not cease after the New Testament was written. In the fourteenth century, the mystic Julian of Norwich liked to call Jesus “Mother” because Jesus is the one from whom we are born anew (John 3:3) and by whom we are nurtured. In the Ankan culture of Africa, Jesus is still often called “Ancestor” to emphasize the preeminence of his standards over all others. In Korea, he may be known as the “Great Ying-Yang,” the one whose divinehuman nature represents a perfect complementarity of opposites.⁷ In all of these cases, Christians may be doing what Luke sought to do: describing Jesus with imagery that, while ittedly imprecise, conveys truth concerning a certain aspect of who he is believed to be. Luke, notably, presents no hierarchy of images that allows one to be rated above the rest. Less interested than the other Gospel writers in describing the correct or best view, he seems more committed to finding a multitude of perspectives that offer glimpses of the truth. Taken together, these glimpses provide a complex and somewhat confusing portrait of Jesus that would have offered most of Luke’s readers something that was familiar, mixed, perhaps, with much that was not.

Salvation Happens Now

We have noted that Luke is the only one of the Synoptic Gospels that calls Jesus “Savior,” and we have also noted that Luke is distinctive in that he never links salvation definitively to Jesus’s death on the cross. These two observations may be related. In Matthew and in Mark, salvation is primarily something that God accomplishes through Jesus’s death. It would be anachronistic, then, to call Jesus “Savior” during the story of his life and ministry. He doesn’t actually “save” anybody until the end of the story when he dies on the cross. In Luke’s Gospel, however, Jesus saves people throughout his life and ministry. We may illustrate the difference in these concepts by comparing two ages from the infancy narratives of Matthew and Luke. In Matthew’s Gospel, an angel announces that Jesus “will save his people from their sins” (1:21). The future reference implies that the infant Jesus is destined to someday become a Savior, and as Matthew’s story continues, we see that this destiny is fulfilled at the cross when Jesus “gives his life [as] a ransom” (Matt 20:28) and sheds his blood “for

the forgiveness of sins” (Matt 26:28). In Luke’s infancy narrative, by contrast, an angel announces, “To you is born this day . . . a Savior” (Luke 2:11). Jesus is already a Savior from the day of his birth. Thus we arrive at the widely held perception that in Luke-Acts salvation is tied less to Jesus’s death than to his life. As Jesus lives out his life on earth, he brings salvation to those he encounters, claiming that the very reason he has come is “to seek out and to save” (19:10). By virtue of his resurrection, he is able to continue saving people in analogous ways even after he has suffered death on the cross.⁷¹ The content of this salvation is also distinctive. For many people today, the religious concept of salvation has an undeniably future orientation. To “be saved” may mean to be assured that one will receive a favorable review at the final judgment and so be permitted to live forever in heaven after one dies. It is this concept of salvation that is typically tied most closely, in Christian doctrine, to Jesus’s death. Various theories of atonement attempt to explain how Jesus’s death opened the way to eternal life for those who believe in him. These theories do not draw heavily on the writings of Luke. In all of the Gospels, salvation has both present and future dimensions, but in Luke a decided shift can be observed toward the former.⁷² Luke does affirm the Christian hope for eternal life in “the age to come” (18:30), but in general he lays more emphasis on life that is possible here and now. We see this in the several verses, all unique to this Gospel, that make use of the word today (see figure 37).

Figure 37: Salvation Happens Now

The Gospel of Luke emphasizes the present consequences of God’s saving action. “Today . .

The chart in figure 38, furthermore, indicates how the sōtēria (“salvation”), sōzō (“to save”), and related words are used in Luke and Acts. We see that salvation may mean different things to different people. To a blind man, it means reception of sight (Luke 18:42), and to a leper it means being made clean (Luke 17:19). To others it may mean the reception of such blessings as peace (Luke 2:14) or forgiveness (Luke 7:48) or the removal of various infirmities (Luke 6:10; 8:48; Acts 4:9; 14:9). Salvation for Luke is essentially liberation. Jesus the Savior claims that he has come “to proclaim release to the captives” and “to let the oppressed go free” (Luke 4:18). In Luke’s story, Jesus saves people by liberating them from whatever prevents their lives from being as God wishes them to be. In this regard, Luke makes no distinction among what might be construed as physical, spiritual, or social aspects of salvation. Forgiving sins, healing disease, and feeding the hungry are all saving acts. In Luke’s theology, God is concerned with all aspects of human life such that salvation may involve righting any part of life that is not as it should be.⁷³ Luke 19:1–10 relates a story that may illustrate this concept. Jesus visits the home of a wealthy tax collector named Zacchaeus, who declares that he will give half of his wealth to the poor and generously repay anyone whom he might have defrauded. Jesus responds to this declaration by saying, “Today salvation has come to this house” (19:9). What does he mean? The main point cannot be that Zacchaeus is going to go to heaven when he dies. As the word today indicates, the focus is not on the man’s eternal destiny but on the immediate quality of his earthly life. Elsewhere in Luke, riches are presented as a false master that enslaves people (16:13) and prevents them from living life as God intends (e.g., from being rich toward God, 12:21; from hearing Moses and the prophets, 16:28–30; or from following Jesus, 18:22–23). For Zacchaeus, then, salvation means being set free from this slavery to mammon; his (partial) renunciation of wealth demonstrates that devotion to possessions will not rule his life.

Figure 38: Salvation in Luke and Acts

This chart lists the ages in Luke and Acts in which the words sōtēr

(“savior”), sōtēria (“salvation”), sōtērion (“salvation”), or sōzein (“to save”) are used.

If salvation for Luke is the result of a liberating encounter with Jesus, then how can people experience salvation in a world where Jesus is no longer present? The discussion ultimately turns on how one understands the ascension. There are scholars who regard this event as the departure of Jesus or even “a parousia in reverse,” inaugurating a period of absence.⁷⁴ Other scholars, however, have claimed that Luke presents the ascension as Jesus’s exaltation or enthronement.⁷⁵ Thus, according to Luke, Jesus is not absent, except in the relatively insignificant sense of no longer being on earth in bodily form. Standing now at the right hand of God in heaven (Acts 7:56), Jesus continues to bring God’s salvation to people on earth. Accordingly, in Acts, liberating encounters with Jesus remain possible. In some mysterious way, God continues to send Jesus to people even while Jesus remains in heaven (Acts 3:20–21). This happens most often and most obviously through the continuing activity of the Holy Spirit, who can also be called “the Spirit of Jesus” (Acts 16:7). But it also happens when works of salvation, such as healing (Acts 3:6; 16:18) or forgiveness of sins (Acts 10:43), are performed in Jesus’s name (Acts 2:21; 4:12). Indeed, when Peter isters the gift of healing to a paralyzed man, he is able to say with confidence, “Jesus Christ heals you” (Acts 9:34). The content of Christian preaching may be summarized as “the message of salvation” (Acts 11:14; 13:26) because such preaching is believed to convey the reality and power of Jesus’s presence to transform lives as God intends.⁷ We may also note that, in keeping with the diverse models for understanding Jesus discussed in the previous section, Luke’s concept of salvation draws from both the Jewish world of the Hebrew Scriptures and the Hellenistic milieu of the Greco-Roman empire. The Jewish world typically associated salvation with deliverance from enemies, while Greco-Roman society thought of it more as the bestowal of various blessings. Luke does not choose between these options but manages to incorporate both the introduction of positive features and the removal of negative ones into his paradigm of salvation. As the Messiah of Israel, Jesus initiates a new exodus that leads people out of bondage to such enemies as sin, disease, death, and the devil. As Lord of all nations, he behaves

like a supreme benefactor, granting such divine gifts as peace, health, and forgiveness.

Lukan Generosity

Luke seems to be unusually generous in his portrayals of non-Christians. We have already noted his special interest in Samaritans, who were often despised or regarded as outcasts in his social world. But on a broader note, he seems intent on presenting almost all people—not just pitiable social outcasts but also potentially hostile unbelievers—in the best possible light. Luke’s genealogy traces Jesus’s lineage not simply to Abraham (as in Matt 1:2–16) but all the way back to Adam (Luke 3:23–38), as though to emphasize that Jesus is “brother” to all human beings who, accordingly, are children of the God he calls “Father.” It may not be surprising that Luke evinces a somewhat friendly attitude toward gentiles (Luke 2:32; 2:23–27; 7:1–10) or that his Gospel lacks most of the antigentile bias discernible in Matthew (see figure 23 in chapter 3). But even Jesus’s relationships with Jewish leaders are less antagonistic in Luke than in Matthew’s Gospel.⁷⁷ Matthew presents the religious leaders of Israel as evil, irredeemable children of the devil (see sections on Matthew’s “apocalyptic vision of the world” and on his “critique of power” in chapter 3). But Luke presents them as simply flawed individuals: they may be self-righteous (15:2–7; 18:9–14) or greedy (16:14), and they may be ideological opponents who argue with Jesus about various matters (5:21–22, 30–32), but they are also persons whom Jesus considers worthy of his time and attention. Jesus can be very harsh with the Pharisees, but there are scenes (not found in the other Gospels) in which he dines with them (7:36; 11:37; 14:1). Sometimes he endeavors to teach them or correct them in the same manner he would his disciples (10:28, 37; 11:41; 14:14), rather than simply ignoring or denouncing them as evildoers already consigned to hell (Matt 15:13–14; 23:32–33). The generosity motif is especially noticeable in Acts, where a number of Roman officials are presented as just and sympathetic in their dealings with the Christian missionaries (Acts 18:12–16; 19:35–41; 23:10–35). Similarly, idolaters in

Athens are depicted as “extremely religious” people who possess a sincere desire for truth (Acts 17:22–23, 32). Even the natives on the island of Malta are portrayed as kind and generous pagans who come to the aid of castaways (Acts 28:2, 10). Nonbelieving Jews are treated somewhat more harshly in Acts, but certain Jews who don’t accept the Christian message are nevertheless presented as wise and responsible people (e.g., Gamaliel and those who heed his counsel [5:34–39]). In addition, Luke thinks the Jews and their leaders are to be excused for whatever role they played in the death of Jesus because they acted in ignorance (Act 3:17; cf. Luke 23:34). The theme of Lukan generosity may be sounded very early in the Gospel, in the very important song of the angels at Jesus’s birth. Figure 39 traces how Luke 2:14 has been translated and interpreted in modern Western churches or, perhaps, how it has been mis-translated and mis-interpreted. The point is probably not that God will bless people who please God: that would not be anything new, nor would it be spectacularly welcome tidings. The point, rather, is that the coming of Jesus indicates that God is fundamentally pleased with all humanity and therefore wishes for there to be peace on earth and good will among all human beings.

Figure 39: Luke 2:14—Peace on Earth for Whom?

The Gentile Mission: Relations with Romans and Jews

Luke has a strong interest in tracing the movement of Christian faith into the gentile world: what is called the “gentile mission” is prefigured in the Gospel (2:32; 3:6; 4:25–27; 24:47) and then becomes the major motif that drives the entire book of Acts. Peter’s sermon at Pentecost declares that “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved” (Acts 2:21; cf. Joel 2:32) and that

the promise of forgiveness of sins and the gift of the Holy Spirit is not only for the diverse Jews who have gathered in Jerusalem but also for “all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls” (Acts 2:39). Later, Paul is called by the risen Jesus to become a missionary, or apostle, to the gentiles (Acts 9:15; 22:15; 26:17, 23), and Peter is sent to the house of the gentile centurion Cornelius (Acts 10:1–4) to demonstrate that “God shows no partiality” (Acts 10:34). Peter’s listeners affirm that God “has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life” (Acts 11:18), and later, James relates Simeon’s that God has “looked favorably upon the Gentiles, to take from among them a people for [God’s] name” (Acts 15:14). The entire second half of Acts traces the journeys of Paul throughout the gentile world, noting the remarkable ways in which the gospel is embraced and in which faith in the Jewish Messiah becomes a hallmark of countless non-Jewish pagans. Luke’s generous treatment of gentile leaders and his enthusiastic endorsement of the gentile mission have been criticized on two different, albeit compatible, fronts. First, it is said that Luke’s interests lead him to present Roman authorities as friendly or benign, when in fact imperial power was antithetical to the gospel of Christ. Hans Conzelmann thought that Luke presents Christianity as a movement concerned only with religious matters, not political ones (see, for example, Acts 18:14–15) and in so doing assures the authorities that the Christian movement is politically harmless, if not irrelevant: “Christian preaching does not impinge on the power of empire.”⁷⁸ Ernst Haenchen thought the central purpose of Acts was to present an apologia to Rome on behalf of the new, harmless religion. Paul Walaskay turned that around and suggested that the apology was directed to the church on behalf of Rome: God has instituted and blessed the empire, and Christians must realize that living peaceably with Rome is commendable and advantageous.⁷ Philip Esler suggested that the concern was to reassure Romans who had already become Christians that their faith would not conflict with their civil loyalties.⁸ All these scholars and more think that Luke’s well-intentioned interest in easing tensions between the Christian church and the imperial state involved compromises that blunted the radical message of Jesus and diluted the message of his followers in ways that just might have betrayed the essence of the cause for which they had died. Some decades ago, however, Richard Cassidy demonstrated that Luke does not present the Christian religion as politically harmless but as a defiant movement initiated and populated by those committed to “[obeying] God rather than any human authority” (Acts 5:29; cf. 4:19–20).⁸¹

Recently, Karl Allen Kuhn has drawn upon literary criticism and cultural anthropology to argue that Luke-Acts was written by a repentant member of the social elite to invite his social peers (including Theophilus) to “ him in leaving behind the kingdom of Rome with all of its privileges, trappings, and inequities, to seek another radically different realm, and to align themselves with another crowd and a much greater Lord.”⁸² Given Luke’s undeniable critique of the imperial status quo, it may be best to view his positive presentations of Rome simply as an expression of his generic generosity toward all people, and as an attempt to put the best construction on things and to speak well even of one’s real or potential enemies when it is possible to do so (Luke 6:27, 37). The second criticism of Luke’s enthusiasm for the gentile mission holds that he develops that theme at the expense of the Jewish people. Ernst Haenchen famously claimed that “Luke has written the Jews off.”⁸³ Three times in Acts, having met with rejection from Jews, Paul declares that he is turning to the gentiles, who will listen (Acts 13:44–46; 18:5–6; 28:23–28). Thus, Luke is viewed as one of the New Testament’s primary advocates of “supersessionism,” the view that gentile Christians have replaced Israel as the chosen people of God. This understanding of Luke has widespread , with scholars like Robert Maddox, Jack Sanders, Joseph Tyson, and Stephen Wilson all maintaining that, for Luke, the mission to Israel is over. Differences of opinion do surface, however, with regard to how that development should be evaluated. Tyson thinks the failure of the Jewish mission is a matter of great sadness to Luke.⁸⁴ Maddox and Wilson think the problem is only one of social identification, in that Luke’s gentile audience must define their heritage over against Jewish opponents who claim that they are the true people of God.⁸⁵ Sanders has the most extreme view: Luke is anti-Semitic and regards the Jewish rejection of the gospel as typical for a people who have always rebelled against God (see Acts 7:51–53); indeed, as far as Luke is concerned, the Jews’ exclusion from salvation is long overdue and humanity will be better off when they finally “get what they deserve and the world is rid of them.”⁸ An alternative proposal is that Luke envisions mission to Israel as continuing alongside the gentile mission. The aforementioned instances in which Paul says he is turning to the gentiles must then be read as contextspecific prophetic rebukes rather than as programmatic declarations implying a permanent or universal change in strategy (if they were the latter, why would Paul continue going to synagogues in new areas after “writing the Jews off” in a different locale?). So Robert Brawley notes several facets of Luke-Acts that

indicate a conciliatory or apologetic tendency toward the Jews,⁸⁷ and both David Tiede and Robert Tannehill argue that closure of the mission to Israel would be impossible for Luke, given his awareness of scriptural promises concerning Israel’s salvation.⁸⁸ Of course Jesus was from the beginning “destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel” (Luke 2:34), but the current downward turn among Jews (more fall than rise) would not stop Luke from believing that the plan of God would eventually be fulfilled—a plan that surely includes the ultimate restoration and consolation of Israel (Luke 1:32–33, 76–79; 3:6). Other scholars who have set out views along these lines include J. Bradley Chance, Eric Franklin, Donald Juel, and A. J. Mattill.⁸ The most remarkable view on this topic, however, is surely that of Jacob Jervell. According to this scholar, Luke did not believe that Jews had rejected the gospel or that the Christian mission to Israel had failed. Indeed, it had been a great success. In spite of the numerous s of rejection by small groups of Jews, Acts reports that large numbers of Jews accepted the gospel and became followers of Jesus: three thousand in 2:41; five thousand in 4:4; and a great many more in 6:7. Finally, it can be said that there are “myriads” of believers among the Jews, “all zealous for the law” (21:20). With regard to the gentile mission, the most important point may be that it is almost exclusively carried out by believing Jews and so is itself a testimony to and a product of the Jewish acceptance of their Messiah Jesus. In other words, the gentile mission is not presented as an alternative strategy (“Plan B”) after the mission to Israel fails, but rather is presented as the second phase of global evangelization after the mission to Israel succeeds. There was never any expectation that all Jews would be faithful, but Luke no doubt thought that a faithful remnant would be sufficient to count as the restoration of Israel that Scripture presents as a prerequisite for the repentance of the nations. As faithful Jews bring the gospel of their Messiah to the world, Israel fulfills its call to be a blessing to the nations. Thus Luke presents the gentile mission as an outgrowth of Israel’s faithfulness and obedience: the inclusion of some gentiles in the people of God is a consequence not of God’s salvation being rejected by the majority of Jews, but of it being accepted by the faithful core that is enthusiastically alert to what God is doing in the world. ¹

Poverty and Wealth

Jesus says in his inaugural sermon in Luke that the purpose of his ministry is “to bring good news to the poor” and “to let the oppressed go free” (4:18; cf. 7:22). The poor and the oppressed are one and the same, for in this Gospel poverty is viewed as a consequence of injustice: the poor have too little because others have too much. Thus, Luke’s concern for the poor is accompanied by hostility toward the rich: ² God will provide the hungry with good things but will send the rich away empty (1:53); the poor are blessed (6:20–21), but the rich are doomed (6:24–25). Throughout the Gospel, Jesus repeatedly warns his followers of materialism’s inevitable power to corrupt (8:14; 12:13–15; 18:25; 21:1–4). In his parables, he depicts the rich as fools who think the essence of life is found in material possessions (12:16–21) ³ or, worse, as persons destined to suffer eternal agony while the poor receive their comfort (16:19–31). God’s kingdom brings a reversal of values and calls for a reversal of commitments (16:13–15). In this life, those who are faithful to God will divest themselves of material possessions (5:11, 28; 9:61–62; 11:41; 12:33; 14:33; 18:28–30) and will be generous in helping the poor (3:11; 14:13; 18:22; 19:8); in the life to come the poor are the ones who will be supremely blessed (6:20; 14:21; 16:22). The theme continues, with less emphasis, in the book of Acts, where the first believers pool all their possessions so there will not be a needy person among them (2:44–45; 4:32–37) and where we are told three times that Cornelius, the first gentile believer, was highly regarded for his generosity to the poor (10:2, 4, 31). It is generally agreed that Luke offers no universal strategy or sure prescription for how believers are to deal with issues of wealth and poverty. ⁴ Rather, he es on a problem with no sure solution. Not every follower of Jesus will give up everything they have, and not every church will pool its possessions and practice Christian communism. But Luke wants his readers to consider this matter every day: stories about rich people who lose out on God’s salvation are intended to shock and frighten the complacent, and stories of people who practice generosity or make financial sacrifices are intended to inspire the amenable. We get lots of suggestions: anyone who has two coats should give one of them away (Luke 3:11); a man who owns a field might want to sell it and give the money to the church (Acts 4:37); a successful businessman might consider tithing five times over (Luke 19:8); a powerful official may fund the building of

a synagogue (Luke 7:5); women of means can use their resources to provide for missionaries (Luke 8:2–3). In general, Luke encourages responsible stewardship that includes honest acquisition of money (Luke 3:12–14), giving alms (12:33), remitting debts (6:27–36), and using one’s financial resources to promote fellowship (14:7–24). ⁵ Beyond that, he stops short of providing a “one size fits all” solution for his readers but ensures that any reader who is not impoverished will be confronted by a challenge that never goes away: What does it mean to love my neighbor as myself when I have more than I need and my neighbor does not have enough? Multiple responses may be partially satisfactory; what is absolutely disastrous is to do nothing at all (Luke 12:13–21; 16:19–31; 18:18– 25).

The Role of Women in Church and Society

Granted that Luke attempts to include women in his Gospel story, some scholars nevertheless believe that he does so in a patronizing way. Women do not exercise leadership but serve Jesus in ive ways; they often enter the story as victims in need of assistance rather than as persons empowered to help others. Thus, Jane Schaberg called Luke “an extremely dangerous text [for women], perhaps the most dangerous in the Bible.” Elisabeth Tetlow agreed, arguing that the evangelist was reacting negatively to the active roles of empowered women in his community by presenting ive women as more appropriate role models. ⁷ Turid Karlsen Seim contends that Luke recalls stories in his Gospel that attribute strong, positive roles to women in the past, although he nevertheless appears to accept strict social boundaries for women’s activity that legitimate the masculine preferences attributed to the church in Acts. ⁸ Both Tetlow and Seim think Luke’s concept of “stages of history” s for this: in the sacred history of Israel and/or the special era of Jesus’s earthly ministry, women may have played roles inappropriate for them to exercise in Luke’s day. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza has also argued that Luke’s treatment of women is not favorable. She notes, for instance, that the evangelist adds the word “wife” to the list of family who sometimes must be left behind by followers of Jesus, implying that radical discipleship is only for men (14:26; 18:29; cf. Matt

10:37 and Mark 10:29). Similarly, she reads the Mary and Martha story as encouraging subservience (10:38–42).¹ Elizabeth Dowling notes that “the Lukan Jesus rebukes or corrects every woman who speaks to him in this Gospel.”¹ ¹ Luke’s comment that a report of Jesus’s resurrection by a group of women was dismissed as “an idle tale” (24:11) may also be taken to imply that women lack authority to proclaim the gospel persuasively.¹ ² Other scholars think such judgments are overly harsh and anachronistic.¹ ³ They argue that Luke’s concern for women is a legitimate example of the overall concern for the oppressed discussed above. Luke is not a feminist by modern standards and does not envision a complete restructuring of societal gender roles. Still, he recognizes that women are inevitably placed at a disadvantage in the patriarchal world he knows and, given this, demonstrates concern for their plight and repulsion for attitudes that maintain it. Jesus’s words in Luke 11:27–28 are often cited as expressive of an enlightened view: when someone implies that Jesus’s mother must be blessed to have a son as great as Jesus, he responds, “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it!” Thus, he rejects the popular notion that the worth of women is linked to the sons they produce for society and insists that women be evaluated on the merits of their own faithfulness. To some extent, disappointment with Luke’s presentation of women may be endemic to reading a first-century document through twenty-first-century eyes. Thus, Barbara Reid finds liberating potential in Luke’s stories of women, while also recognizing that it is sometimes necessary to “unravel patriarchal underpinnings of the text” or even to read “against Luke’s intent” to do this.¹ ⁴

Success, Growth, and Triumph

We have seen that in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus’s disciples are presented essentially as failures to whom Jesus nevertheless remains faithful. Luke redacts this portrait to present an altogether different picture. He completely omits ages in which Jesus offers his harshest critiques of these disciples, including the one in which Jesus refers to Peter as “Satan” (Mark 8:31–33; cf. Luke 9:22; also cf.

Mark 8:14–21 to Luke 12:1). Most telling, he completely omits any reference to Jesus’s disciples deserting him when he is arrested (Mark 14:27, 50) and in fact portrays Jesus as telling them, “You are those who have stood by me in my trials” (Luke 22:28). In other cases, he explains the disciples’ apparent failures in ways that soften any indictment of them. Peter’s denial of Jesus is part of a necessary test that will eventually help him to strengthen others (22:31–33; cf. Mark 14:29–31). And when disciples whom Jesus has asked to pray with him fall asleep instead, Luke is quick to tell us it was because they were overcome with grief (22:45; cf. Mark 14:41). Jesus’s disciples are not without their problems in Luke’s story. They engage in petty rivalry over rank, arguing about which one of them is the greatest (9:46; 22:24). They entertain premature messianic expectations (19:11; Acts 1:6) and use authority abusively to exclude others (Luke 9:49–50; 18:15–16).¹ ⁵ What many have noted, however, is that these are the sorts of problems associated with powerful or successful people. In Matthew, the disciples are definitively people of “little faith” (8:26), and in Mark they are sometimes people with no faith at all (4:40), but in Luke the disciples’ problems do not stem from any lack of faith. Their devotion to Jesus and confidence in him remain unshaken, even if the implications of this devotion for their relations with others have not been fully realized. Two texts illustrate this well. First, let us consider a story that is unique to Luke’s Gospel, found in 9:51–55. When a Samaritan village refuses to welcome Jesus and his group, two of the disciples ask Jesus, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” Jesus rebukes them for thinking this way, but the most remarkable part of the story is that the disciples actually believed they had the power to do such a thing. This is a very different characterization than we witnessed in Mark’s Gospel, where the disciples were for the most part ineffectual and tended to doubt that God’s power could be manifested through Jesus, much less through them. In Luke, the disciples are, if anything, overconfident and need to learn that the divine power and authority entrusted to them is to be used to serve others, not to dominate (or destroy) them. A second age that deserves a closer look includes Jesus’s words to Simon Peter regarding his denial, found in Luke 22:31–34. Although the story of this denial is found in all four Gospels, the words of Jesus presented here are peculiar to Luke. Jesus informs Peter that Satan is going to sift the disciples like wheat (that is, put them to a test), but that Jesus has prayed for Peter so that his faith

will not fail. Apparently, then, Luke does not consider what happens subsequently to represent a failure of faith. How can this be? Most people, I think, would say that Peter’s faith did fail when he denied Jesus three times (22:54–62). Not so. Read carefully: Peter does not actually renounce his allegiance to Jesus; he merely pretends that he does not know him. Luke may regard this as an act of cowardice, as a lie that Peter told to save his skin, but he does not regard it as a failure of faith. Peter lied to human beings but did not waver in his belief that Jesus is “the Messiah of God” (9:20). Once again, then, Luke seems to locate the disciples’ problems on a horizontal axis rather than a vertical one. The integrity of the disciples’ faith in God or relationship with Jesus is never in question for Luke, though he presents these disciples as sometimes failing to practice their faith appropriately in the world of human society. Some theologians regard this apparent distinction between faith and practice as problematic. Perhaps Luke wants to assure his readers that, whatever failings the disciples of Jesus may have had, they can be regarded as faithful witnesses to the confessional tradition on which the faith of the church is based.¹ In any case, it has been noted that Luke appears to conceive of faith as adherence to a confessional tradition rather than as a relational orientation that necessarily includes all aspects of life (“horizontal” and “vertical’’).¹ ⁷ Such a conception may also derive from the Greco-Roman environment in which Luke is striving to proclaim the Christian message. This Hellenistic world tended to categorize different aspects of the human personality while the Hebraic milieu insisted on the essential unity of humanity. The Greek concept remains dominant in the Western world today, as is evident in modern specializations that focus on physical, emotional, or spiritual matters. Another theological problem emerges when Acts is considered along with Luke’s Gospel. Here, the already positive portrait of the disciples is taken to an incredible extreme. Peter, Paul, and others become Spirit-filled agents of God who are almost duplicates of Jesus. They perform miracles similar to his, healing the sick (Acts 5:12–16; 19:11–12) and raising the dead (9:36–43; 20:7–12). All of the problems Jesus’s disciples exhibited in the Gospel seem to vanish. Now, his followers are committed to service (1:17, 25), willing to suffer (5:41), and courageous in the face of persecution (4:18–20). Indeed, the martyr Stephen meets his death with words that echo those of Jesus on the cross (7:59–60; cf. Luke 23:34, 46). Furthermore, the sermons and speeches of Jesus’s followers in Acts are presented with the same authoritative weight given to the words of Jesus in the Gospel. Luke’s readers are seldom, if ever, expected to regard what

these first Christians say as anything less than the word of God. In the Gospel, Jesus had told his disciples that “everyone who is fully qualified will be like the teacher” (6:40). Now, in Acts, this appears to have been fulfilled. This presentation of successful discipleship is part of a broader theme in LukeActs, one that presents the story of the church as marked by growth and triumph. Repeatedly in Acts, the ongoing success of the church’s mission is stressed in summaries that mark its progress (1:14; 2:41; 4:4; 5:14; 6:7; 9:31; 11:21, 24; 12:24; 14:1; 16:5; 19:20; 28:30–31). J. Albrecht Bengel, a theologian of the eighteenth century, summarized the trajectory of Acts as follows: “the victory of the gospel extending from one meeting to temples, houses, streets, marketplaces, plains, inns, prisons, camps, palaces, chariots, ships, village, cities, and islands: to Jews, Gentiles, governors, generals, soldiers, eunuchs, captives, slaves, women, boys, sailors; to the Areopagus in Athens, and eventually to Rome.”¹ ⁸ Thus, Christians succeed not only in being faithful disciples themselves but also in “turning the world upside down” (Acts 17:6)—that is, in having a transforming effect on society. Numerous stories also present the church as triumphant over all forms of evil, wiping out poverty (4:32–37) and healing diseases (5:12–16). The devil has fallen (Luke 10:17–18), and the world now seems to belong to Christ and to Christians.¹ Such a portrait is often criticized as naïve and unrealistic. Theologically, Luke is accused of replacing the “theology of the cross” prominent in Paul’s understanding of the gospel with a “theology of glory.”¹¹ The former notion regards the mission of the church as being fulfilled paradoxically through suffering and rejection, for God’s power is revealed through human weakness (1 Cor 1:26–2:5; 2 Cor 12:10). The latter construes the destiny of the church in of victory and success. Defenders of Luke point out that the overwhelmingly positive image of discipleship may seem idealistic, but it is probably intended to be inspiring. Luke wants to show his readers what God accomplishes through the lives of ordinary people to heighten their expectations of what God might accomplish through them. Luke wants his readers to believe that the possibility of God’s will being accomplished in their lives and in the world is greater than they imagine. I think I said this well in a different book:

Luke is not telling the whole story. He says nothing, for instance, about the divisions in the church of Corinth or the false teachers in Galatia, problems that we know about from the letters of Paul. If, indeed, Luke is writing in the mid80s, he knows that the church has seen all sorts of scandals and schisms and that it has endured some very hard times. Not all of the martyrs died as Stephen did; some went out screaming in agony, perhaps hurling curses at their enemies or directing unanswered prayers to God for deliverance. Others never got that far because they took a disgraceful but seemingly easier way out: denying the faith and/or betraying others. Luke knows all this, of course, and he assumes that his readers know these things too. But such is not a part of the story that he wants to tell. Instead, he tells us something else: Sometimes, miracles do happen. Sometimes, prayers are answered, heroes are rescued, pagans are kind, martyrs die bravely, and people of faith turn the world upside down. those times . . . ! Sometimes, God’s will is done!¹¹¹

5

The Gospel of John

The Gospel of John is a magisterial work of art, by all s a masterpiece of world literature. It is almost universally prized for its memorable characters¹ and stories; for its almost poetic, philosophical discourses; and for its creation of a mystical, symbolic universe within which the possibly familiar narrative of Jesus unfolds.² As specifically religious literature, it has managed to transcend categories. The traditional favorite of both mystics³ and philosophers, John’s Gospel has obvious appeal to both heart and mind. Throughout history, church leaders have treasured this Gospel for its seminal contributions to Christian theology,⁴ while scholars maintain that the meaning of this book is so deep and at times so elusive that one can study it for decades and still discover levels of thinking not noticed before. Clement of Alexandria described the Gospel of John as “a spiritual Gospel,” recognizing even in the early third century that this book is noticeably different from the three Synoptic Gospels (reported in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.14.7). Some of the key differences can be detected by observing what is unique to this Gospel, what is missing, and what is told differently (see figure 40). Scholars estimate that about 90 percent of the material in John’s Gospel is unparalleled in Matthew, Mark, or Luke. Included in this unique material are many well-known Bible stories, including the of Jesus changing water into wine (2:1–11) and the story of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples (13:1– 20). Some of these stories feature significant individuals who are otherwise unknown to us: Nicodemus, Lazarus, and Thomas (mentioned in the Synoptics, but fleshed out here as the “doubting disciple”). And some of John’s unique stories give prominence to women: Mary Magdalene, an unnamed Samaritan woman whom Jesus meets at a well, Mary and Martha (the sisters of Lazarus), and others.⁵ Partly (but not exclusively) for this reason, the Gospel has often been the subject of feminist criticism.

Figure 40: John and the Synoptic Gospels

1. Examples of Material Unique to John • calling of Andrew, Philip, and Nathanael (1:35–51

For those who are well acquainted with the other Gospels, omissions from John’s are remarkable. Exorcisms are so prominent in Matthew, Mark, and Luke: how can John report the ministry of Jesus without mentioning them? Or how can he give in-depth summaries of Jesus’s teaching without relating a single parable? John manages to do these things in such a way that, had we not read the other Gospels, such elements would never be missed. Indeed, these features only appear as “omissions” when John is evaluated from a Synoptic perspective. Eventually, we need to get past comparing John with the other Gospels to understand this book on its own .⁷ But the differences may serve as early clues to alert us that we really are entering a very different literary and theological world.⁸ In broad , the temporal and spatial settings of the narrative are somewhat unique. Jesus’s ministry appears to last three years in John’s Gospel (note mention of three overs, in 2:13; 6:4; 11:55) as opposed to one year in the other Gospels, and his ministry overlaps with that of John the Baptist (3:22–24), which is not the impression we would have gotten elsewhere (Matt 4:12–17; Mark 1:14). Further, in the other Gospels, the adult Jesus confines himself mostly to Galilee and surrounding territories, until he embarks on one fateful journey to Jerusalem; John’s Gospel narrates a largely Judean ministry: Jesus visits Jerusalem five times (2:13; 5:1; 7:10; 10:22–23; 12:12), and chapters 8–20 are set completely in Judea. Scholars debate the question of whether the author and community responsible for John’s Gospel had any knowledge of the other three Gospels. He does share a number of stories in common with those Gospels¹ (including some unique parallels with Luke¹¹), and in some instances the stories follow the same sequence.¹² Obviously, if he intended to write an additional book to set alongside one or more of the others, that could explain why he concentrates on material not found elsewhere. Yet this would not explain why some material is repeated: if John’s readers already had a copy of Matthew, Mark, or Luke, why would he tell the story of Jesus overturning tables in the temple (2:13–17) when that story was present in all three of the other Gospels? Is that narrative somehow more important than all the stories he leaves out? More to the point, if John’s readers knew the other Gospels, wouldn’t they want some explanation for the significant differences in the way those stories are now told? For these reasons, some scholars think it more likely that John only had access to some of the same

traditions or sources that were used by the other evangelists, not to the Gospels themselves.¹³ In any case, scholars often call attention to John’s postscript in 20:30–31. Here, he its that Jesus did many other things that he has not related but claims the things that he reports have been “written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” Some take this to mean that John regards his Gospel alone as sufficient to convey all that is essential for believers. If so, John may have known about other Gospels without necessarily thinking his readers needed to know about them. If the question of whether John and/or his readers knew the other Gospels cannot be answered with certainty, theories regarding other sources for this Gospel are even more tenuous.¹⁴ Many sources have been proposed (see figure 41), and of these, one has proved particularly intriguing. At certain points in John’s Gospel, miracles of Jesus are referred to as enumerated “signs”: the transformation of water into wine is called “the first of his signs” (2:11), and the healing of an official’s son is referred to as “the second sign” (4:54). Thus, many scholars have assumed that a major source for John’s Gospel may have been a collection of miracle stories that would have concluded with what is now John 20:30–31 (“Now Jesus did many other signs . . .”).¹⁵ Numerous studies have tried to detect differences in vocabulary, style, or ideology with regard to this material, and some scholars have even published reconstructions of this source.¹ A few, in fact, regard the collection as an early Gospel in its own right, claiming that portions of John’s ion and resurrection narrative also derive from it. If such a document did exist, it could have been either the first edition of what eventually grew into the Gospel of John as we have it, or it could have been a work of independent origin that a redactor combined with other materials in much the same way Matthew and Luke combined Q with the Gospel of Mark.

Figure 41: Possible Sources for John’s Gospel

• A “Signs Gospel” that recorded seven or eight miracle stories (2:1–12; 4:46–54; 5:1–9; 6:1–

Although none of the proposed sources can be established with certainty, most scholars would agree that John’s Gospel ed through stages of editing before assuming the form in which we now have it (see figure 42).¹⁷ The possibility that material got rearranged and sometimes altered over the years helps to for instances in which the text makes little sense as is. John 3:22 says that after speaking with Nicodemus, Jesus and his disciples “went into the land of Judea”; but they were already in Judea—in Jerusalem, the capital of Judea (2:23). Later, John 6:1 says that “Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee”; but again, he was in Jerusalem, which is not located on any side of the Sea of Galilee. In 7:21–23, Jesus refers to the healing of the man on the Sabbath as though that is now being discussed, though it occurred in 5:10–13 and much has transpired since. In John 8:31, Jesus is said to be speaking to “the Jews who had believed in him,” but in 8:37 he is presented as telling these people, “You look for an opportunity to kill me, because there is no place in you for my word.” In John 11:2, Mary is introduced to the readers as “the one who anointed the Lord,” but in our versions of this Gospel, she does not actually do this until later (12:3). In 14:31, Jesus brings his Farewell Discourse to a close, saying, “Rise, let us be on our way,” but the discourse then continues unabated for at least two more chapters. And in 16:5, Jesus complains that none of his disciples ask him where he is going, when in fact two of them have asked this that very evening during the discussion at hand (13:36; 14:5). Most scholars think such anomalies are best explained as editorial glitches, revealing that some of the material may once have been presented in a different order than what we now possess.

Figure 42: A Gospel Composed in Stages

One theory for the composition of John’s Gospel: First: Gospel materials consist of an oral, u

Another sign of such an editorial process may be the manuscript problems associated with the story of the adulterous woman, in which Jesus issues his famous challenge to her accs, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”¹⁸ In modern Bibles, the story is listed as John 7:53–8:11, but in some manuscripts it is found after John 7:36 or at the very end of the Gospel, following John 21:25. In at least one case it is actually found in Luke’s Gospel, and in many manuscripts it is missing altogether. Text critics aren’t sure what to make of such evidence. Most likely, the well-known story was added to John’s Gospel by Christians of a later generation, but it may have been among the community’s traditions, a nugget that got separated from the rest of the Gospel during the cycles of editorial revision, with the result that no one was quite sure where it belonged anymore. In its current “finished” form, the Gospel of John displays a fairly simple structure that is often described as follows:

Prologue (1:1–18)

The Book of Signs (1:19–12:50)

The Book of Glory (13:1–20:31)

Epilogue (21:1–25)

The prologue of the Gospel is a mostly poetic age that presents Jesus as the preexistent Word made flesh (John 1:1–18).¹ This reference to Jesus as “the Word” is almost unique in the Bible (see Rev 19:13), and it has been interpreted in light of both Greek philosophy and Hebrew prophetic tradition regarding the

word of God.² John does not use the expression again, which suggests this age might be by a different author, perhaps derived from a Christian hymn and attached to the Gospel to provide a beautiful crowning touch. The problem with that theory, however, is that the theology of the prologue is definitively Johannine: as we will see, the concept of Jesus being the Word of God made flesh—that is, a human representation of God’s message or self-revelation to humanity—is a defining element of the entire book. This and other images used only in the prologue establish a context for understanding everything that follows. The first main section of the Gospel is called the “Book of Signs” because it relates stories of remarkable things Jesus did, which are repeatedly called “signs.” The word sign (sēmeia) is used sixteen times in this part of John’s Gospel, and then it is not used again until the end (20:30), in a age that scholars think might have originally come at the end of chapter 12. Obviously, this is the part of the Gospel that many scholars think corresponds to material John derived from what is called the “Signs Gospel” or “Signs Source.” This portion of the Gospel focuses primarily on Jesus’s revelation to the world in general, his public ministry conducted in Judea and Galilee for the potential benefit of Jews and others. The second main part of the Gospel is called the “Book of Glory” because it deals with the last week of Jesus’s life, when, in the words of this Gospel, the time for Jesus to be “glorified” had come (17:1; cf. 13:1; see also 7:39; 12:16, 23–24). This portion of the Gospel focuses primarily on Jesus’s last days: his revelation to his disciples at the Last Supper (which includes a long Farewell Discourse), followed by s of his arrest, trial, death, and resurrection. Justification for the division of the Gospel into these two main sections (Book of Signs/Book of Glory) is derived, in part, from references to “Jesus’s hour” in the unfolding narrative. We are told three times that Jesus’s hour had not yet come (2:4; 7:30; 8:20); then, suddenly, in chapter 12, Jesus declares that “the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified” (12:23) and “It is for this reason that I have come to this hour” (12:27). The coming of the “hour” brings the first half of the story to a close; the second half opens with the words “Now before the festival of the over, Jesus knew that his hour had come” (13:1). The last chapter of John’s Gospel (chapter 21) appears to be an addendum to the book as a whole and is often called the “epilogue.” Whatever one makes of

theories regarding a Signs Gospel, the last few verses of chapter 20 read like a conclusion to the entire Gospel story, indicating that nothing more needs to be said. But then we get one more story, a bonus episode that serves to debunk a rumor in the church to the effect that someone called “the disciple whom Jesus loved” would not die before Jesus’s return (21:20–23). The usual theory is that John 21 was added to the rest of the Gospel after that individual had in fact died, to correct the false expectations of those who had not thought this would happen.

Characteristics of John’s Gospel

As we have noted, the Gospel of John is unique in many ways. Here are a few notable features: 1. John’s Gospel presentsJesus as the divine and pre-existent Son of God. While all the Gospels call Jesus the “Son of God” and may describe him as divine in some sense of the word (e.g., people worship him in Matthew and pray to him in Acts), the attribution of divinity is more explicit here. John can speak of God in a twofold sense: there is “God the Father” and also “God the Son” (1:18). And when Jesus rises from the dead, his most stubborn disciple calls him “my Lord and my God” (20:28). We will have more to say about this later in the chapter, but for now let us note that the prologue says that “the Word” that would ultimately become Jesus was present “in the beginning with God” and indeed “was God” (1:1). Here is an innovation (at least among the Gospels). Mark’s Gospel begins its story with Jesus’s baptism, at which he is identified as God’s Son; both Matthew and Luke begin with announcements of his conception, at which point he seems already to be a divine or semi-divine figure. Only John insists that the central figure of the Christian faith has been both present and divine from “the beginning” (see figure 43). As a result, John’s Gospel in general and the prologue in particular have provided a foundation for the Christian doctrines of preexistence (the belief that the person now known as Jesus Christ existed before becoming the man Jesus who lived and died on earth) and of incarnation (the belief that in Jesus, God became a human being). John does not articulate these doctrines as such, but he does provide material for their development.²¹

Figure 43: The Christological Moment

What moment in Jesus’s life is most significant christologically? At what point is he to be acc

2. John’s Gospel makes numerous references to a mysterious figure called “the disciple whom Jesus loved” (see figure 44). Some scholars have taken this to be a literary device: the beloved disciple was not an actual person but serves as an imaginary character in John’s story with whom readers can identify.²² Most scholars, however, take the references as historical: the beloved disciple was an actual person, but who was he? Among numerous theories, two have been prominent. From the second century on, popular Christian tradition has identified the disciple whom Jesus loved with John the son of Zebedee, who is a fairly significant disciple in the other Gospels but is not mentioned by name in John (but see 21:2).²³ The beloved disciple, however, does not come into the story until fairly late, and John the son of Zebedee was present with Jesus from the beginning of his ministry. In fact, this Gospel does not report any of the events that concern John the son of Zebedee in the Synoptic Gospels. John’s brother James is never mentioned, and there is very little interest in Galilee, though James and John were both Galileans. Accordingly, some follow the suggestion of Martin Luther that the beloved disciple is Lazarus, whom Jesus raises from the dead in chapter 11.²⁴ Lazarus is explicitly described as one whom Jesus loved in 11:36, and all of the Gospel’s references to “the disciple whom Jesus loved” are subsequent to this identification. Also, if the beloved disciple had been one whom the Christian community regarded as having been raised from the dead, this might have contributed to the rumor that he would not die (21:23). Still, Lazarus is never called a disciple, and nothing here or elsewhere indicates why he would be among that group on such occasions as Jesus’s Last Supper (13:23). Other candidates have been suggested, including John Mark and, lately, Thomas.²⁵ It has even been suggested that “the disciple Jesus loved” may have been a woman: since Jesus loved all his disciples, the phrase implies someone he loved in a different manner. Then, the reference in 19:26 must be taken ironically: Jesus’s mother is to value Jesus’s beloved not only as she would a daughter, but as she would a son.²

Figure 44: The Beloved Disciple in John’s Gospel

• leans on Jesus’s chest at the Last Supper (13:23) • intermediary between Peter and Jesus (13

Figure 45: The Expression “I Am” in the Gospel of John

Seven Metaphorical “I Am” Sayings Jesus says: • “I am the bread of life” (6:35; see 6:51). • “

Seven Absolute “I Am” Sayings In these instances, Jesus simply says “I am” in a manner tha

3. John’s Gospel makes abundant use of symbolism.²⁷ Early on, Jesus is called “the Lamb of God” (1:29, 36). As the story progresses, Jesus identifies himself seven times with metaphorical “I am” sayings (see figure 45).²⁸ The entire Gospel story is imbued with dualistic imagery of light and darkness (1:5; 3:19; 8:12; 12:35, 46) and with references to what is above and below (3:31; 8:23).² Much Johannine interpretation focuses on attempts to understand these symbols and, for that matter, to determine what is a symbol in the first place. Particularly controversial has been the question of “sacramental symbols.” Numerous references to water (3:5; 4:10–15; 5:2–7; 7:37–39; 9:7; 13:3–10; 19:34) are sometimes linked to Christian baptism,³ just as references to bread (6:5–13, 28– 58; 21:9–13), wine (2:1–10), or blood (6:53–56; 19:34) may be taken as symbolic of the eucharistic meal. John’s Gospel, however, contains no of Jesus being baptized³¹ or instituting the eucharistic meal, which seems to signal that the community initially (at least) had a decidedly nonsacramental theology.³² Many other symbols are simply obscure. Why does John note that Jesus’s disciples caught exactly 153 fish (21:11)? Most scholars think the number is probably symbolic, but no one is absolutely sure what symbolic meaning such a number would have had. Or again, in 19:31–34, John tells us that immediately after Jesus died, his side was pierced with a spear, causing water and blood to gush forth. Is this just a gory detail, or does the flow of water and blood convey some deeper meaning? Roman Catholicism has traditionally taken the elements to be symbols of baptism and eucharist: through his death on the cross, Jesus gifts the church with twin sacraments. Baptist scholars have thought that “blood” stands for forgiveness of sins and “water” for the gift of the Holy Spirit. I have suggested that the flow of water and blood from a person’s body is reminiscent of what happens when a woman gives birth; thus, John may be implying that in the very moment of dying, Jesus gives birth, creating new life for all who believe in him. The main point, however, would not be to determine who is right but to recognize that the Johannine symbols are often (intentionally?) obscure and open to polyvalent interpretations. 4. A motif of misunderstanding recurs throughout John’s narrative, according to which various characters in the Gospel fail to understand what Jesus says.³³ This motif is related to the prominence of symbolism just noted, for symbolic language is typically what characters fail to understand. When Jesus says, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up,” his audience assumes

he is talking about the temple in Jerusalem. But John tells his readers that Jesus “was speaking of the temple of his body” (2:19–21).³⁴ The Gospel is replete with such misunderstandings: Nicodemus thinks he must reenter the womb of his mother in order to be born anew (3:4). When Lazarus dies and Jesus tells his disciples that he has “fallen asleep,” they think he is getting some healthy rest (11:12). When he says, “The bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh,” people think he is advocating some bizarre form of cannibalism (6:51– 52). Similarly, he confuses his disciples by speaking of his desire to do God’s will as his “food” (4:31–34), and he stymies the crowds by describing his divine destiny as going where they cannot follow (7:33–36; 8:21–22). Other misbegotten attempts to make literal sense out of symbolic speech may be found in 4:1–15; 6:32–35; 8:51–53, 56–58. Most scholars recognize the purpose of this motif as being to sensitize readers to look for multiple or deeper meanings throughout the narrative, to look for possible instances of symbolism even where no obvious misunderstanding has occurred: the unwrapped bandages of Lazarus (11:44), the seamless robe of Christ (19:23), the unbroken net of fishes (21:6, 8, 11)—do these references also have significance that is more than literal? Sometimes the motif of misunderstanding may also be related to a prominence of irony, wherein characters can fail to understand the full implications even of their own speech or actions (11:50).³⁵ 5. The content and style of Jesus’s teaching are noticeably different in John’s Gospel from the Synoptics. As for content, Jesus does not talk much about the kingdom of God, Mosaic law, or specific moral behavior expected of his followers. Instead, he talks primarily about himself: about who he is and what his coming means for the world. As for style, Jesus does not use parables or aphorisms that relate matters of faith to daily life, but delivers relatively long, philosophical discourses on such abstract notions as “truth” and “freedom.” Examples of such discourses may be found in 5:19–47; 6:25–71; 7:14–52; 8:12– 59; 10:1–18, 22–39; 12:23–36; 14:1–16:33. Special attention has been focused on the latter block of material: chapters 14–16 (or, sometimes, 13–17) are often analyzed as a grand “Farewell Discourse” of Jesus or as a series of such discourses. They contain distinctive christological images, teaching on the role of the Spirit, and Jesus’s call for his followers to “abide” in him. These chapters are sometimes given a position of prominence in Johannine studies analogous to that accorded the Sermon on the Mount in studies of Matthew’s Gospel.³ 6. John’s Gospel emphasizes the role of the Spirit, which is referred to distinctively as “the Paraclete” (14:26; 15:26; 16:7; English Bibles often

translate this name as “Advocate,” “Comforter,” “Counselor,” or “Helper”). The Spirit is promised by Jesus (7:37–39; 14:16–17), who tells his followers that his leaving is actually to their advantage since it allows him to send the Spirit to them (16:7). John’s Gospel shares this emphasis on the Spirit with the writings of Luke. John even records a story of Jesus giving the Holy Spirit to his disciples after his resurrection (20:22), a story that makes for an interesting comparison with the more dramatic of the Spirit’s outpouring in Acts 2:1–4. In general, however, Luke presents the Spirit as a source of power for mission and ministry (Acts 1:8), while John focuses more on the Spirit as one who teaches and reveals truth (14:25–26; 16:13). This is accomplished both by reminding believers of the truth revealed by Jesus (14:26) and by leading those believers into new revelation that they were not able to bear while Jesus was with them (16:12–15). The Spirit testifies on Jesus’s behalf (15:26) and counters the world’s understanding of such things as “sin and righteousness and judgment” (16:8–11).³⁷ 7. As we noted already, John’s Gospel sometimes refers to Jesus’s miracles as “signs” (2:11, 23; 3:2; 4:54; 6:2, 14; 7:31; 9:16; 12:18; 20:30). This is striking even apart from questions of source analysis, because in the Synoptic Gospels Jesus refuses to work signs (Matt 12:38–39; Luke 11:29–32) and even links the working of signs to the activity of false prophets (Mark 13:22). In John, signs lead people to true faith (20:30–31). At the same time, John’s Gospel betrays some reservations regarding faith that is based on signs (4:48). As indicated above, the perspective presenting a positive relationship between signs and faith may derive from a source this evangelist used, but in any case, the Gospel as it now stands offers an ambiguous evaluation of miracles as an inducement to faith. On the one hand, people are encouraged to believe on of the works they see Jesus perform (9:16; 10:38). On the other hand, a special blessing is pronounced upon all “who have not seen and yet have come to believe” (20:29).³⁸ 8. John’s Gospel presents Jesus’s crucifixion as his exaltation. Whereas each of the other Gospels portrays Jesus predicting his suffering and death three times (in Mark, 8:31–32; 9:31; 10:33–34), John presents Jesus as saying three times that he will be “lifted up” (3:14; 8:28; 12:32–34). When Jesus was crucified, the cross to which he was nailed was literally lifted up from the earth, but John’s use of this term carries the double meaning of implying that he is exalted or glorified through his death. John’s story of the ion reflects this perspective: the crucifixion itself becomes an act of glorification because it reveals the depth of

God’s love for humanity (3:14–17) and the depth of Jesus’s love for his followers (10:11, 15; 13:1; 15:13). This concept affects the way John tells the story of Jesus’s ion. Although Jesus’s death certainly involves suffering, he is depicted as one who remains in control of the events throughout. All along, he has maintained that no one can take his life from him, but that he will lay it down of his own accord, knowing he can take it up again (10:17–18). Now, Jesus declares and demonstrates that no one has any power over him: not Satan (14:30), nor soldiers (18:6), nor Pilate who sentences him (19:10–11). When Jesus finally dies on the cross, he does not cry out in agony, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34) but simply declares, “It is finished,” indicating that the work he has come to do is now successfully completed. Thus, he is glorified (John 17:5).³ 9. John’s Gospel typically identifies Jesus’s opponents as “the Jews.” Such an identification strikes many as anachronistic since, historically, Jesus and his disciples were all Jewish. John acknowledges this fact (4:9), but still uses the term Jews in a way that suggests that Christianity and Judaism have become distinct religious movements.⁴ People must choose whether they are disciples of Jesus or of Moses (9:28), and confessing faith in Jesus provides grounds for being expelled from the synagogue (9:22; 12:42; 16:2). John does maintain that “salvation is from the Jews” (4:22), but he also depicts Jews as people who do not believe their own Scriptures (5:39–47), whose allegiance to God is compromised (19:15), and who indeed are not children of Abraham but children of the devil (8:44). Scholars point out that John did not intend to convey a generic condemnation of an entire race or nation (all Jewish people everywhere) but, apparently, wanted to attack a particular expression of a rival religious movement (first-century Jewish synagogue religion). Nevertheless, polemical ages in John’s Gospel have been used throughout history to anti-Semitism (and see figure 46). In our modern day, some translators render the word Ioudaioi as “Judeans” in John’s Gospel (but as “Jews” almost everywhere else) to indicate that in this Gospel, the word referred to a particular group of Jewish people in a particular time and place.⁴¹ Others wonder whether that is accurate or whether it actually helps: Was it okay to portray “Judeans” as children of the devil if they didn’t abandon their first-century Jewish synagogue religion and believe in the new Jesus religion embraced by gentiles?⁴² 10. John’s Gospel emphasizes love for one another as the great new commandment of Jesus and as the distinctive mark of his followers (13:34–35).

In fact, this Gospel and the New Testament letter called 1 John uplift this standard of communal love more than any other books in the Bible. Throughout history, John’s Gospel has been treasured in Christian piety because of its poetic and persuasive presentation of this ethic: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you” (15:12; see also 15:17; 1 John 3:23; 4:21). Somewhat remarkable, then, is the absence in this Gospel of any call for Jesus’s followers to love their neighbors (Mark 12:31; Lev 19:18) or their enemies (Matt 5:44; Luke 6:27). How a community grounded in a commandment to love can also exhibit the sort of hostility noted in the references to Jews above is a frequent subject for theological reflection on this book.⁴³

Figure 46: A Nazified Version of John’s Gospel

The Jewish Telegraphic Agency (New York) published the following article on January 14, 1

The new Nazi adaptation, prepared with the collaboration of Dr. Heinz Weizmann [sic], Evan

Historical Context

Who?

Popular Christianity often attributes five New Testament books to John the son of Zebedee, one of Jesus’s twelve disciples:⁴⁵ the Gospel of John, which claims to have been written in part by “the disciple whom Jesus loved” (21:20, 24); the epistle called 1 John, which is anonymous; the letters called 2 John and 3 John, written by someone who calls himself “the elder” (2 John 1; 3 John 1); and the book of Revelation, which is written by someone named John (Rev 1:1, 4). Of these five works, then, only Revelation actually claims Johannine authorship for itself. Legends abound as to how, of the original apostles, only John escaped martyrdom and died an old man in exile on the island of Patmos, where he received the angelic vision recorded in this apocalyptic book. Even in the early church, however, many disputed that the author of Revelation was John the Apostle, noting that he does not claim to be one of the apostles and, in places, explicitly seems to distinguish himself from them (18:20; 21:14). Further, in the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus seems to predict that John the son of Zebedee will suffer martyrdom. The reference is ittedly ambiguous. What he actually says is that John and his brother James will “drink the cup” that Jesus himself must drink (Mark 10:38–39). Most interpreters take this reference as a metaphor for suffering unto death (Mark 14:36), not merely exile: this is certainly what it meant with regard to James (Acts 12:1–2). Thus, it is likely that John the son of Zebedee had died as a martyr by the time Mark’s Gospel was written, and probably before Revelation was written as well. The man who wrote Revelation (often called “John the Seer”) was most likely some Christian named John who is otherwise unknown to us. To say this, however, is not ultimately determinative for decisions regarding the

Gospel and the epistles. Most scholars believe that, contrary to tradition, they probably had a separate origin from the book of Revelation. Although the latter book has some features in common with the Gospel of John (such as the use of symbolic language), it is distinctive in style, language, and perspective, and it addresses different concerns. Most notably, the Gospel of John displays practically no interest in the parousia or the end of the world, which are dominant themes for Revelation. The three epistles, however, are similar to the Gospel both theologically and linguistically, and most scholars do believe that these four works at least derive from the same community. Thus even if John the Apostle (the son of Zebedee) is not to be identified with the author of Revelation, he could still be the beloved disciple associated with the community that produced the Gospel and the epistles that bear his name. Still, we must complicate matters further by noting that the beloved disciple associated with the Gospel is probably not the same person as the elder associated with the last two epistles. The fourth-century historian Eusebius says that the elder’s name was in fact John, but he distinguishes this person from the apostle. Apparently, then, the first-century world knew three prominent Christians who bore the name John (see figure 47).

Figure 47: Three Persons Named John?

Many scholars identify three individuals named John in early Christianity, all of whom are as

One possibility is that John the Apostle had nothing to do with this Gospel but that John the Elder, who wrote the epistles, had a prominent role in editing the traditions handed down by Jesus’s beloved disciple, whoever that might have been. Thus the book would first have become known as “the Gospel of John” due to its association with John the Elder and only later have come to be regarded as the work of John the Apostle (as did Revelation) through confusion of names. It is also possible, of course, that the beloved disciple was the apostle, John the son of Zebedee. If so, then this book could have been associated with both John the Apostle (at its inception) and John the Elder (at its completion).⁴ In that case, perhaps it should be called “the Gospel of Johns”! Recognizing that the process of composition was complicated, many scholars are more comfortable speaking of “a Johannine school” than of a particular individual author.⁴⁷ If the beloved disciple was an early member of this school, furthermore, then his precise identity may ultimately be less significant than the mere fact that this book can lay claim to eyewitness testimony. One problem, however, has to do with determining how much of the Gospel and which parts of it are based on such testimony. When John 21:24 says “This is the disciple who is testifying to these things and has written them,” the reference could be to the beloved disciple (cf. 21:20), but that is not absolutely clear. And even if the point is that the beloved disciple has written these things, we would still be left to wonder exactly what the phrase “these things” encomes. It might refer only to details regarding Jesus’s death, which the beloved disciple apparently witnessed (19:26–27, 35). John’s Gospel does sometimes note other minor historical details missing from the Synoptic s. This happens particularly in the ion narrative, which is where the references to the beloved disciple seem to be found. For example, all four New Testament Gospels report that on the night Jesus was arrested one of his disciples drew a sword and cut off the ear of a high priest’s slave. Only John, however, seems to know that the man who did this was Peter, and that the name of the man he attacked was Malchus (John 18:10; cf. Matt 26:51; Mark 14:47; Luke 22:50). Aside from providing such information, however, the book does not offer a more historical presentation of Jesus than the Synoptics. On the contrary, most historical critics regard John as the most overtly interpretative of the four.⁴⁸

Aside from the problem of trying to determine which portions of the Gospel derive from the beloved disciple, they call attention to the Gospel’s own characterization of this beloved disciple’s words as “testimony” (John 21:24). The word carries the sense of evangelistic witness or preaching. The beloved disciple’s role in the Johannine community was quite different from the role Simon of Cyrene (or his sons) may have played for the church that produced Mark’s Gospel. In chapter 2 we noted that, since Mark and his readers apparently knew Simon’s sons (Mark 15:21), either Simon or those sons may have served as a source for some of the information presented in Mark’s ion . But the beloved disciple did more than supply the Johannine community with factual information regarding things that had happened. The reverence with which he is regarded indicates that he probably exercised a pastoral role as a leader of the community, guiding them in their theological interpretation of events. Indeed, some scholars believe that the speeches Jesus gives in this Gospel were originally sermons the beloved disciple gave about Jesus. This would explain their distinctive style, and more important, it would explain why Jesus himself is the principal topic of the speeches. The implication of such a theory is that, for this community, the teaching of the beloved disciple about Jesus became more significant than the original teaching of Jesus himself. Nevertheless, a small but significant number of historical-Jesus scholars have argued recently for recognition of John as a source for historical research.⁴ All of the Gospels present theologically interpreted history, they assert. John’s Gospel presents a dissonant tradition that ought to be considered if the Synoptic portrait is not to be granted uncritical free rein.⁵

Where?

Early church tradition holds that the Gospel of John was composed in Ephesus, and to this day tourists can be shown the site where the book was written. Scholars, of course, are skeptical of such traditions. They note, for instance, that when Ignatius writes to Ephesus in the early second century, he makes much of Paul’s former residence there but does not mention previous ministry by any of Jesus’s disciples or refer to any community in the city that is likely to have produced this book. Similarly, the book of Acts gives no hint that John the

Apostle is present in the city in its s of Paul’s ministry there or in its report of his address to the church’s leaders (Acts 20:13–35). Would not John have been among those leaders? Since the island of Patmos is off the coast of Ephesus, some speculate that John’s Gospel came to be associated with this city through the erroneous assumption that its author was the person who also wrote Revelation. Scholars are generally more interested in defining the type of locale that might have given rise to this Gospel than in determining the precise geographical location.⁵¹ The book’s philosophical orientation in general and treatment of the Logos theme in particular (1:1–18) are signs of an especially Hellenistic milieu. At the same time, its presentation of Jews as primary opponents suggests a city with a large and fairly powerful Jewish population. Also, the Gospel must have developed within a community that was to some extent independent of other Christian movements. Syria is often suggested as a likely locale for the Johannine community: this region was not too far removed from Judea and the strong Jewish influence there, but it was also an area where the influence of Hellenism was more overt. Others favor Alexandria, the center of Jewish Hellenism, noting similarities between the merger of Greek philosophy and Old Testament religion found in John and explicitly developed in the writings of Philo of Alexandria.⁵² If left to choose between the latter two proposals, most scholars would decide based on how they construe the relationship between John and the Synoptics. If the Gospel were composed in Syria, the community would probably have been aware of the traditions that inform the other Gospels, while Alexandria would provide a more out-of-the-way location where the Johannine church could conceivably have developed independently. By the same token, a number of scholars return to the traditional location of Ephesus and indicate that it meets all of the criteria adequately. The picture of Ephesus provided in Acts 18 and 19 is of a pagan Greek city (19:23–41) where varieties of Christianity were proclaimed (18:24–26). The stories set in Ephesus do attempt to illustrate the superiority of Christian ministry over Jewish practices (19:11–16). They even describe the incorporation of former disciples of John the Baptist into the Christian fold (19:1–7) in a manner analogous to John 1:35–36. In light of such correspondences, many are content to let the ancient tradition stand.⁵³

When?

The overall character of John’s Gospel is reflective and retrospective. It does not so much report events as discuss their meaning, and it does so with depth and profundity that suggest reflection over a considerable period of time. In the early church, John’s Gospel was always thought to be the latest of the four, and most modern scholars concur. They believe that this Gospel evinces the most mature development of a number of theological themes and, accordingly, assign it a relatively late date. Other factors this reasoning. The Gospel displays concern for Christians being systematically expelled from synagogues (9:22; 12:42; 16:2), an occurrence that some historians believe was the result of a Jewish decision made around 85 CE.⁵⁴ Also, a late date helps explain why John is quoted less by early Christian writers than are the Synoptic Gospels. A number of features, however, seem to indicate an early date, prior to 70 CE and before the writing of any of the other Gospels: references to Jesus as “Rabbi,” a term Christians soon dropped (1:38, 49; 3:2, 26; 4:31; 6:25; 9:2; 11:8); allusions to the temple complex as still standing (5:14); and material that appears to reflect competition between followers of Jesus and those of John the Baptist (1:20, 35–37; 3:22–23, 27–30; 10:41). Thus a minority of scholars have maintained that John’s Gospel was actually the first of the four to be written and have assigned it a date fairly close to the life and ministry of Jesus.⁵⁵ The puzzle is usually resolved by regarding the Gospel as a book that was written in stages, as discussed earlier. Some portions, such as those ascribed to the beloved disciple, may indeed come from an early time, but these were edited and more material was added as years ed. When was the process complete? Some scholars used to argue that John’s Gospel did not reach its final form until well into the second century, possibly as late as 160–170 CE. This now seems unlikely. Tiny fragments of papyrus manuscripts (called p52, p66, and p75) containing a few verses from John have been dated to the beginning of the second century, suggesting that the Gospel was already being copied and circulated by that time. Thus, John’s Gospel is now usually regarded as a latefirst-century document, probably reaching its final form around 90–100 CE.

Why?

The purpose of John’s Gospel is explicitly evangelistic. It records “signs” that are intended to bring its readers to believe “that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God,” so that they “may have life in his name” (20:31). We should not think, however, that the work as a whole is directed toward unbelievers in the interests of converting them to the Christian religion. Much of the Gospel is clearly devoted to confirming the faith of those who already believe and to guiding them in understanding the implications of their faith.⁵ The Gospel seeks to reveal “the truth” to people at various levels of comprehension, with the conviction that knowing this truth will have an immediate, qualitative effect on their lives (8:31– 32). More specific reasons for the Gospel’s composition may be geared to the particular historical situation of the community that produced it. The Hellenistic environment demanded a work that would recast the Jewish story of Jesus in the language and style of the Greco-Roman world. The expulsion of Christians from synagogues also necessitated a telling of the story that explained how one confessed to be the Jewish Messiah had come to be known as Messiah to Christians instead. From a sociological perspective, first-century Christianity might be viewed as a sectarian movement that split off from Judaism and was rejected by the larger group.⁵⁷ As a foundational document of that movement, John’s Gospel attempts both to appropriate the traditions of Israel for the emerging sect and to reorient the movement away from the Hebraic world of its past toward the Hellenistic world that represents its future.⁵⁸ Clues to the specific concerns of the Johannine community may also be gathered from the letters of John. These letters reveal the community to be one that has suffered divisions over various doctrinal matters, divisions so grave that some have left the church (1 John 2:19), and those who remain must be warned against “deceivers” who teach about Christ in ways that are not approved (2 John 7). Tension is high. In one letter, the elder tells the congregation not to show any hospitality to those whose teaching he does not approve (2 John 10– 11); in another, he complains that his opponents are advocating a similar policy

with regard to him and his friends (3 John 10). The material in the Gospel stressing the need for Jesus’s followers to “love one another” is no doubt intended to address such problems of internal division.⁵ At the same time, the Gospel intends to define confessional boundaries for the community by interpreting the tradition in ways that will rule out ideas that some have taught. For instance, the author of 1 John insists that “every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God” (4:2). Apparently, some teachers in the community had taught something to the contrary, perhaps that Christ was a heavenly being or an angel, but not a human being (see 2 John 7). We know that in the second century such teaching was characteristic of varieties of Christianity associated with Gnosticism. Some gnostic Christians made a distinction between Jesus, who was a physical human being, and the Christ, whom they understood to be the spiritual being that inhabited Jesus’s body for a time. Although such ideas were ultimately rejected as heretical by the Christian church, they may have been present in embryonic form in the firstcentury Johannine community. Thus when John says his Gospel is written so that people may believe “that Jesus is the Messiah [Christ]” (20:31), this phrase, like so many others in his Gospel, may have multiple meanings. On the one hand, Jews and other non-Christians are encouraged to believe that Jesus is the Messiah of Israel. On the other, Christians are encouraged to believe that, contrary to what some teach, Jesus is the Christ and not just some disposable human form that the Christ used while on earth (see also 1 John 2:22). John’s Gospel was written to reveal “the truth,” but this truth must be presented in opposition to what is regarded as error and deception.

Major Themes

Divine and Human

As we have seen, John’s Gospel is the only one of the four to identify Jesus

explicitly as God (1:1, 18; 20:28). Such language may have been disturbing to Jews (and Christians?) committed to monotheism, but John avoids compromising that principle by insisting on an essential unity of Father and Son. Jesus says, “I am in the Father and the Father is in me” (14:10–11; cf. 10:38) and “The Father and I are one” (10:30; cf. 17:22). This intimate relationship between “God the Father” and “God the Son” is marked by a mutuality of love (5:20; 14:31) and knowledge (6:46; 10:15). And because Jesus is the incarnation of the preexistent “Word of God” (1:1, 14), he knows that he has shared in the glory of the Father “since before the world existed” (17:5). There is nevertheless a sense in which the Son remains subordinate to the Father: the Son does the Father’s will (8:28; 12:49, 50), glorifies the Father (14:13; 17:1, 4) and acknowledges both that the Father is greater (14:28) and that he can do nothing on his own without the Father (5:19, 30). ¹ Further, if John appears to attribute divinity to Jesus, he also insists more explicitly than any of the other evangelists on the actual humanity of Jesus: the Word did become flesh (compare 1 John 2:19; 2 John 7). ² And John’s story of Jesus’s ministry illustrates his humanity in a manner reminiscent of what we observed for the Gospel of Mark: Jesus feels grief (11:33–35), fatigue (4:6), and anguish (12:27; 13:21); he gets suspicious (2:24–25) and irritable (2:4; 6:26; 7:6–8; 8:25); ³ he experiences thirst (19:28) and, most important, death (19:30, 33). Thus, this Gospel not only laid the foundations for Christian teaching on incarnation and preexistence, but also for the Christian doctrine of “the two natures of Christ”—that is, the confession that Christ was and remains both fully divine and fully human. ⁴ Scholars have focused an enormous amount of attention on the origins of John’s distinctive Christology. They have examined Jewish apocalyptic literature, Samaritan theology, ⁵ ideas found in the Dead Sea Scrolls, and more. Eventually, they would decide that wisdom traditions seem to have an inordinate influence on John’s presentation of Jesus. It is often noted that the “Wisdom of God” is personified in Proverbs in a manner analogous to that in which the “Word of God” is incarnated in the Gospel of John. Lady Wisdom is said to have been present with God at creation (Prov 3:19; 8:22) and comes into the everyday world of human beings, summoning them to live as God’s people and revealing God to them so that they might do this (Prov 1:20–21). As Warren Carter says, “Wisdom comes among human society to represent divine presence and purposes to people and to enable people to encounter God and God’s ways.” ⁷ Later Jewish writings (Sirach, Baruch, Wisdom of Solomon, 1.Enoch) expand

upon this notion, presenting Wisdom (always female) as the personification of that aspect of God accessible to humanity and, so, as the appropriate and effective mediator between God and people. Scholars, then, see John’s Gospel as representing a transitional point between two ideological developments: 1. Before John’s Gospel, certain Jewish writings personified Wisdom as a divine mediator of God’s person and intent (see especially Prov 8:27–30, 35–36; Wis 7:25–26; 9:10). ⁸ 2. After John’s Gospel, Christian theologians developed a doctrine of the Trinity, according to which God could be understood as three in one: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (three persons, but only one God). John’s Gospel emerges from the milieu of Jewish Christianity and provides a link between these Jewish and Christian concepts. John’s presentation of Jesus as “God the Son” (1:18) may be inspired by the Jewish wisdom tradition, but it also points forward to the Trinitarian view that would be articulated by later Christian theologians.⁷

Already and Not Yet

Salvation in John’s Gospel has a decidedly present-tense orientation. Jesus does speak often about eternal life, but even then, the concern is as much qualitative as quantitative: life that is not only eternally long, but eternally deep, endless in value and meaning.⁷¹ Furthermore, eternal life begins now and flows into the future. We see this clearly in a text such as 5:24, where Jesus says that anyone who believes God “has eternal life, and does not come under judgment, but has ed from death to life.” For John, then, the age from earthly existence to life eternal is not a future hope that believers await. It is a present reality, something that has already occurred. Theologians call this concept realized eschatology: what is usually associated with the future or the end times is realized already in the lives of believers.⁷²

To illustrate further, we may examine the way that the Johannine writings use the word life.⁷³ In the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus uses the word life to refer to life after death. For example, when Jesus says, “It is better for you to enter life maimed than to . . . go to hell” (Mark 9:43), the phrase “to enter life” refers to participation in the future kingdom of God, which will be granted to some at the final judgment. But in John’s Gospel the word life is typically used to refer to the quality of one’s existence here and now. Jesus says he has come so that people “may have life, and have it abundantly” (10:10). Indeed, the very reason for the book’s existence is to report Jesus’s ministry in such a way that people may come to believe and “have life in his name” (20:31). In this regard, a age from one of the epistles is also revealing: “God gave us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life” (1 John 5:11–12). The negative, latter phrase does not refer literally to people who have died but to people who, though physically alive, do not have a life that is meaningful and fulfilling (a life “worth living”). The Johannine perspective does hold that such people will eventually “perish” (John 3:16); that is, they will not live forever as will believers (10:28). But John wants to maintain that there is a qualitative difference even now between mere physical existence and eternal life, which, for those who “have the Son,” is a current experience. Realized eschatology is so prominent in John’s Gospel that some scholars have thought this evangelist denies or at least ignores traditional ideas concerning the future. The few scattered references to a future coming of Christ can be interpreted existentially. For instance, Jesus says, “I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also” (John 14:3). Does this refer to the parousia—to the great event described in the Synoptic Gospels in which Christ is expected to return to earth, coming in clouds with great power and glory to enact the final judgment (Mark 13:26–27)? Some find the reference in John more intimate than cosmic and take such verses as references not to a parousia at the end of time but to a present experience through which Christ comes to believers today. If of the Johannine community believe they are people who “have the Son” (1 John 5:11–12), then they must believe that, in some sense, the Son has already come to them.⁷⁴ Other references, however, seem to point definitely to an event that marks a boundary between present and future life. In chapter 21, Jesus says of the beloved disciple, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?” (John 21:23; emphasis added). Also, the epistles speak of the present

world as ing away (1 John 2:17) and look forward to a time in the future when Christ will be revealed in a way that he is not now (1 John 2:28; 3:2). Of course, the final chapter of the Gospel and the epistles are ascribed to a late stage in the development of this community. A common theory, therefore, is that the Johannine community focused almost exclusively on present dimensions of Christian life until near the end of the first century. Then, perhaps influenced by with other Christian groups, some aspects of the traditional future expectations were incorporated into their theology as well. In any case, the Gospel as we now have it presents dual concepts of key themes in the Christian faith. Jesus will come again in the future (21:21–23), but he also comes now to those who love and obey him (14:23). There will be a resurrection “on the last day” (6:39, 40, 44, 54), but those who believe in Jesus have experienced resurrection already so that, in some sense, they “never die” (11:26). Similarly, there will be a judgment on that last day (12:48), but judgment also occurs in the present so that those who believe “are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already” (John 3:18). Such dual imagery is similar to the present and future dimensions that we observed in chapter 2 for the phrase “kingdom of God” in the teachings of Jesus. John’s Gospel, however, clearly wants to stimulate interest in the present aspects of salvation. We see this in the story of the raising of Lazarus, which employs the characteristic motif of misunderstanding. Four days after Lazarus has died, Jesus tells the man’s sister, Martha, “Your brother will rise again.” She responds, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day” (John 11:23– 24). Martha misunderstands Jesus’s prediction of an immediate resuscitation as a reference to the distant future. The dramatic subsequent event, in which Lazarus walks out of his tomb, demonstrates that the future is now. The Gospel of John preserves some dichotomy between what is “already” and what is “not yet,” but encourages its readers to learn, as Martha does, that much of what is usually associated with the future is already available.⁷⁵

Knowing the Truth

People who “have life” may also be described in John’s Gospel as persons who are being “born anew” or “born from above” (3:3), or as persons who are made free (8:32). The latter phrase recalls the Gospel of Luke, which also emphasizes the present-tense dimension of salvation and describes this as “release to the captives” (Luke 4:18). As in Luke, then, salvation in John can mean liberation, and this may have social or political implications in addition to spiritual ones.⁷ The full context of the Johannine phrase, however, brings out a distinctive element less evident in Luke’s writings. What Jesus says in John is “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free” (8:31–32). For John, salvation is the result of an ongoing process of enlightenment. As people come to know the truth, they experience the qualitative difference in life that marks those who believe. Modern theologians may observe that John discerns the human predicament differently than other biblical writers. Frequently, the New Testament presents salvation in of forgiveness of sins. The problem for humanity is that people have transgressed God’s laws and are destined to suffer the present and future consequences of their transgressions. Jesus saves people by making atonement for their sins or by overcoming the power of evil that determines their fate. John does know and accept this tradition. Jesus is “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (1:29), and evil has no power over him (14:30– 31). But John also envisions humanity as enslaved by ignorance and deception. People do not experience the abundant, meaningful life that God intends because they do not know the truth. “What is truth?” Pilate asks in John’s Gospel (18:38), and the book’s readers are no doubt expected to do the same. It is not just any truth that is of interest here; it is ultimate truth, which for John means truth about God. Perhaps the most important thing Jesus does in this Gospel is to reveal God. The last verse of the Gospel’s prologue makes this point succinctly: the basic problem is that “no one has ever seen God”; the solution to this problem is that, now, Jesus has made God known (1:18). Note how different is this construal of the gospel: the basic human problem is not that people have sinned and need forgiveness/atonement (though that may also be true); the basic human problem is that people don’t know the truth about God and need to have this truth made known to them. Just how does Jesus make God known? As in the other Gospels, he teaches people about God, revealing through his words and deeds that God loves the world (3:16), that God is true (3:33), that God is spirit (4:24), that God is active

(5:17), that God gives the Holy Spirit (14:16), that God answers prayer (16:23), and so on. But there is more to his revelation of God than this.⁷⁷ Many scholars note that John’s Gospel presents Jesus as a messenger from God.⁷⁸ Time and again, the book speaks of God sending Jesus into the world with language that duplicates what was used in ancient messenger proceedings. Sent by God (7:28–29), Jesus is to deliver the message entrusted to him (3:34; 17:8) and then return to the one who sent him (7:33–34; 13:1, 3–4). Jesus refers to God regularly (a total of twenty-three times) as “the one [or the Father] who sent me.” This imagery is confused, however, in that sometimes Jesus appears to be not only the messenger but the message itself. When the prologue identifies Jesus as “the Word [of God] made flesh” (1:14), it indicates that he himself is a physical representation of what God has to say. He is the self-revelation of God, and in him the truth about God is made real in a way that people can see, hear, and touch (1 John 1:1). Thus, when one of Jesus’s disciples (Philip) says to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied,” Jesus responds, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:8–9). In John, then, not only does Jesus tell what God is like and show what God is like, but in a fundamental sense, Jesus is what God is like. He not only reveals the truth; he is the truth (14:6). Or, to put it differently, Jesus not only teaches people about God in John’s Gospel; he also addresses people as God—that is, as the Word of God made flesh (1:14). Often, what Jesus says about himself in this book applies less to his own historical person than to the transcendent divine reality for whom he speaks. This is probably the case with the seven metaphorical “I am” sayings (see figure 45 earlier in this chapter). Whatever the metaphors mean, they not only reveal who Jesus is but also apply to God, for whom Jesus speaks. When the Word of God (Jesus) says, “I am the bread of life” (John 6:35, 51), we are expected to conclude that “God is the bread of life.” To do otherwise, to apply the metaphors narrowly to the historical figure of Jesus, leads to misunderstanding (John 6:51–52). Jesus also acts as the Word of God made flesh throughout the narrative of John’s Gospel. His miracles are called “signs” primarily because they reveal what God is like. This explains why, as we noted above, the working of signs can be embraced in John’s Gospel even though it is repudiated in the Synoptics. What is rejected in the other Gospels is the idea that miracles may serve as proofs to authenticate one’s ministry (see Mark 8:11–12). In John’s Gospel, the miracles

are not called “signs” because of what they prove but because of what they reveal. The healing of the blind man, for instance, does not convince unbelievers that Jesus is God’s agent (9:24–29), but for those who believe Jesus is God’s agent this miracle may reveal God’s works (9:3). In a symbolic sense, removal of blindness may signify how Jesus/God enables people to see what they could not see otherwise (9:38–41), just as changing water into wine may symbolize the qualitative transformation that Jesus/God can effect in people’s lives (2:1–11). The miracles of Jesus reveal a God who offers people health (4:46–54), sustenance (6:2–14), and life (11:38–44; 12:17–18). Even without unraveling the meaning of Jesus’s symbolic actions and metaphorical speech, something basic about God is revealed through Jesus’s ministry in John’s Gospel. His words and deeds are consistently intended to benefit his audience. He does not, for instance, curse his enemies or work “punishment miracles” that bring affliction upon others. s of such activity by divine agents were common in the ancient world and even turn up occasionally in the Bible (2 Kgs 2:23–25; Acts 13:8–12). But if John presents Jesus as the one who has come to reveal what God is like, then the first thing Jesus reveals is that God loves the world and desires to bless and to save rather than to punish or to condemn (John 3:16–17). The metaphors and the miracles all point to this, summoning positive images of light and life, seeing and healing. God is not here likened to a raging fire that threatens to destroy the undeserving (Deut 4:24). All the images chosen are inviting: running water (4:10–15), an open door (10:9), bread (6:32–35) and wine (2:1–11), birth (3:3–5) and resurrection (11:23–25). In fact, the Johannine writings present God as one who is not to be feared (cf. Matt 10:28), as one whose “perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). The very coming of Jesus into this world is viewed as a demonstration of God’s love (John 3:16; 1 John 4:9), but nowhere is God’s love more clearly revealed for John than in Jesus’s death on the cross. “No one has greater love than this,” Jesus says, “to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). Thus, the death of Jesus works for salvation in a different way than that found in the other Gospels. By presenting Jesus as the “Lamb of God” (1:29), John pays homage to the traditional notion that the death of Jesus may be likened to a sacrifice that atones for sins. But on another level, his voluntary death demonstrates in an ultimate way the greatness of God’s love, and thus reveals the true nature of God.⁷ People who come to know this truth are set free; people who believe what Jesus reveals about the love of God have life that does not perish, life that is

abundant and eternal.

Believing, Loving, Abiding

One scholar has said that believing “must be reckoned the leading theme of the Gospel of John.”⁸ The verb believe (pisteuō) occurs ninety-eight times in this Gospel (though, curiously, the noun belief [pistis] never occurs at all). In most cases, Jesus himself is the explicit or implied object of this verb. Jesus tells his disciples, “Believe in God, believe also in me” (14:1). Nevertheless, the language that John’s Gospel uses to describe the Christian life is intensely relational (1:11–12): being a Christian means not only believing in Jesus, but also loving him (8:42; 14:15, 21, 23; 16:27; 21:15–17) and abiding in him (6:56; 15:4–10). Believers are united to Jesus Christ in a spiritual relationship of love that sustains and empowers them (see 1:12).⁸¹ People are brought into this relationship by Jesus and at his initiative (15:3, 16), and they retain the connection by allowing his word to abide in them (15:7; cf. 5:38) and by keeping his commandments (15:10), especially the commandment to love one another (15:12, 17; cf. 13:34–35). As always in the Bible, love is not primarily an emotion but an action, exemplified here by Jesus’s own humble acts of service on behalf of others (13:3–15; 15:13). Those who experience and exhibit this sort of love may remain in an abiding relationship with Jesus Christ and experience his joy (15:11; 17:13). Whatever they ask is granted (15:7; cf. 14:13– 14; 15:16; 16:23–24). They are able to do the works that Jesus did (and even greater works) because Jesus is actually doing these things through them (14:12– 13; cf. 15:5). They become one with him and with God and with each other (17:20–23).⁸²

Defining Boundaries

The Johannine community is often described as a sect—that is, as a group that would have identified itself as distinct from other religious associations, including other varieties of Christianity.⁸³ This perspective is based in part on the distinctive character of the Gospel, but it also derives from discernible tensions that appear to be addressed implicitly there and explicitly in the epistles. As this community struggles for self-identification, it appears to be marking boundaries on at least three levels, with regard to the world, the Jews, and other Christians.⁸⁴

The World

John’s Gospel begins with an allusion to the creation story in Genesis (“In the beginning . . .”), which presents the world as God’s creation and therefore as intrinsically good (Gen 1:31). Indeed, John says that “all things came into being” through the Word, which was to become flesh in the person of Jesus Christ (1:3, 14). If God—and God’s Son—are responsible for the world’s very existence, then it is no surprise to learn that God loves the world and does not wish to condemn it. God sent the Son into the world “that the world might be saved through him” (John 3:16–17). At the same time, the Johannine community has come to view the world as a pagan, hostile environment. It is a realm ruled by the devil (12:31; 14:30; 16:11), unable to receive the Spirit of truth (14:17). Jesus’s kingdom is “not from this world” (18:36), and neither Jesus nor his followers “belong to the world” (17:16). The world either does not know Jesus (1:10) or else it hates him and his followers (7:7; 15:18–19; 16:20; 17:14). The ambiguity with which the world is viewed in these writings suggests disparity between the community’s expectations and its experience. Its affirmation of the world as the work of God’s creation and object of Christ’s redemption (1:29) implies commitment to the world at least as a mission field for evangelism. As Jesus was sent by God into the world, so now Jesus sends his disciples into the world (17:18; 20:21).⁸⁵ Still, the epistles suggest that the community eventually adopted a largely defensive posture. There, believers are warned, “Do not love the world or the things in the world” (1 John 2:15). At this stage of its development at least, the community seems to have less interest in converting the world than in overcoming its dangers and influences (1 John 5:3–

4; John 16:33). There is no talk here of transforming the world, of being “salt of the earth” (Matt 5:13) or of turning “the world upside down” (Acts 17:6). Still, the Johannine community has not abandoned its mission. Ironically, it believes its mission to the outside world is fulfilled precisely through attention to internal concerns. Johannine Christians are to remain in the world but not of it (17:15– 16). By living as a non-worldly community, embodying the ethic of mutual love and oneness, they believe they will become a living testimony, a counterculture that manifests another way of being.⁸ Through those who do not belong to the world, the world may come to know and believe the truth about Jesus and God’s love (17:20–23).⁸⁷ John’s attitude toward the world is often compared with that of secondcentury Christian Gnosticism. The gnostics viewed the world as evil, rejected the God of the Old Testament, and ascribed the very act of creation to demonic forces. Christ, they said, came as a spiritual being to free human spirits from the evil world of matter and flesh. The Johannine writings contain both ideas that appear to be compatible with this gnostic perspective and statements that utterly reject it. Some scholars have suggested that the negative attitude toward the world in this Gospel represents a step toward Gnosticism; others see the Gospel as struggling with some of the same problems that led to the gnostic rejection of the world, while denouncing that option as a viable conclusion. In any case, we know that John’s Gospel was the most popular of the four among the gnostics and that early church leaders such as Irenaeus and Origen had to argue against gnostic interpretations of this book when putting forward their own views concerning it.⁸⁸

The “Jews” and Other Semitic Groups

If the Johannine community regarded the pagan world of the Roman Empire as its enemy, then we might imagine that it would have found greater commonality with the Jews. To an outsider, at least, Johannine Christians and Jews would appear to have much in common: they share the same Scriptures and, by and large, agree on definitions of morality and ethical behavior.⁸ Yet we have noted that John’s Gospel often presents “the Jews” as the implacable opponents of

Jesus and his followers. At the same time, John’s Gospel appears to be friendly to some Jewish/Semitic groups. First, we must note that he distinguishes between people he often calls “the Jews” (whom he regards unfavorably) and “Israel” (whom he regards favorably). So, Jesus praises Nathanael as “an Israelite in whom there is no deceit” (1:47). Other references to Israel are found in 1:31, 49; 3:10; and 12:13. More specifically, John the Baptist leads a group of repentant Israelites who do not necessarily believe in Jesus but have experienced light and truth similar to that brought by Jesus (5:33–35). Building on this, the Gospel goes on to present John as one who testified to Jesus and notes that some of John’s disciples did take the next step and become disciples of Jesus as well (1:24–37). Further, a number of scholars have noted a degree of respect for Samaritan religion in this Gospel. Jesus attempts to correct Samaritan thinking in certain respects too (4:20–22), but John suggests that Jesus’s teaching was close enough to that of Samaritan religion that he was actually called a Samaritan himself (8:48). Notably, in this Gospel, certain Samaritans (like certain followers of John the Baptist) respond favorably to Jesus and come to believe in him (4:39–42). Comparisons may also be noted between the Johannine community and the Jewish monastic community at Qumran, which kept the library of documents now known as the Dead Sea Scrolls. These writings exhibit the same dualistic thinking as John’s Gospel, describing community as belonging to the light and to the truth and castigating those of the world as children of darkness and falsehood. The Qumran community also rejected the Jewish religion as represented in the synagogues (and in the Jerusalem temple), while viewing themselves as true heirs of the faith. ¹ Thus, despite John’s inexcusable antipathy for first-century Jewish synagogue religion (at least as manifested in Judea during the lifetime of Jesus), he has not closed the door on dialogue with all Semitic groups that lay claim to the traditions of Israel. The concern seems to be defining who is to be simply rejected rather than engaged, and a primary candidate for rejection appears to be the religious movement that John’s community believes rejected them by expelling followers of Jesus from their synagogues (9:22; 12:42; 16:2).

Other Christians

Some scholars believe the Johannine community was seeking to define itself not only vis-à-vis other Jewish or Semitic groups but also with reference to other Christians. Several of the ages dealing with the beloved disciple present that person so that he appears to be superior to the other disciples, particularly Peter (see figure 44 earlier in this chapter). Closer to Jesus than Peter (13:23–25), he is also quicker, not only in getting to the tomb on Easter morning (20:4), but also in coming to faith (20:8) and recognizing the risen Lord when he appears (21:7). In the first century, Peter was widely regarded as a pillar of the church (Gal 2:9), if not as the rock on which the church was built (Matt 16:18). Perhaps, then, the Johannine community treasured stories that presented Peter as secondary to the beloved disciple because they believed the version of the faith Peter represented was inferior to that based on the beloved disciple’s testimony, the faith articulated in this Gospel. ² Another story in John’s Gospel can be read with similar effect. As Jesus hangs on the cross, he sees his mother and the beloved disciple. He says to his mother, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that hour, John notes, the beloved disciple took Jesus’s mother into his own home (19:26–27). On one level, this story simply indicates Jesus’s concern in his hour of death to be sure his mother would be provided for after he was gone. Historically, however, such an action would have been unnecessary since Jesus had brothers who could have cared for her. Indeed the eldest of his brothers, James, became the leader of the church in Jerusalem (see Acts 15:13–21) and is mentioned alongside Peter and John the son of Zebedee as a pillar of the church (Gal 2:9). In effect, then, this story presents Jesus as saying, “I regard the beloved disciple (not James) as my true brother.” The implication may be, once again, that the community founded on this beloved disciple’s testimony is superior to that led by James (see also John 7:5). ³ Divisions between the Johannine community and other Christian groups are explicitly addressed in the epistles. The tenor there is much stronger, for some who claim to be followers of Jesus are identified as “deceivers” or even “antichrists” (1 John 2:18; 2 John 7). These persons, however, do not appear to be followers of Peter or James, but rather proponents of ideas that would have been rejected by all major leaders of the church known to us in the New Testament. Specifically, the group that the Johannine community regarded as

heretical consisted of persons who considered themselves followers of Christ but who espoused what is known as docetism, the doctrine that Jesus was divine but not human. ⁴ The second-century gnostics were but one group to espouse a docetic Christology. We have observed that the Johannine writings emphasize love for one another as the most important of all commandments, the one that is definitive of the community (John 13:35). At the same time, the inward orientation of this community is evident in the absence of any explicit teaching regarding love for others: enemies, neighbors, or humanity in general. Today, the directive to “love one another” can be interpreted broadly, as calling upon all people to love each other. But in its original context, the command was addressed to disciples of Jesus who, accordingly, were to love other disciples of Jesus. Apparently, the Johannine community did not feel obligated to love the world (1 John 2:15) or the Jews. Heretics, too, have gone out into the world and so are probably no longer to be considered among the “one another” Johannine Christians are directed to love (1 John 4:5–7). Peter and the other disciples of Jesus, however, certainly are among this group. Even if these writings reflect competition and tension between the Johannine community and the varieties of faith found elsewhere in the New Testament, they do not employ the same sort of “us and them” vocabulary with reference to Jesus’s disciples as that used with regard to the world, the Jews, or the heretics. Indeed, the Gospel contains Jesus’s prayer that his disciples and those who believe in him through their word “may all be one” (John 17:20–21). ⁵ To label the Johannine community a sect, then, may be too simplistic. The group is a marginal, distinctive Christian community that is seeking to define itself with relation to other religious movements. Apparently, it has determined that its differences with synagogal Judaism on the one hand, and docetic (gnostic?) Christianity on the other, are too great for there to be any rapprochement. Its differences with other Christian groups, however, are not so great. The community can seek unity with such groups even while maintaining that its understanding of the faith is superior. Such matters as the Johannine community’s belief in the preexistence of Christ and its preference for realized eschatology could have been topics for early ecumenical dialogue. Indeed, the community also maintains a level of respect for Jewish or Semitic groups that have not established themselves as overtly hostile to the Christian movement: Samaritans, followers of John the Baptist (if they are still around), and

disaffected Israelites similar to those formerly associated with Qumran. All these may qualify as persons analogous to the numerous characters with whom Jesus interacts in the Gospel stories, people he heals or blesses, regardless of whether they have their theology figured out or whether they are disposed to believe in him. And there are ages in John that exhibit a strong (if paradoxical) tendency to push outward, testing if not obliterating boundaries: Jesus tells his disciples that he has “other sheep” they do know about (10:16), lest they get to thinking they are the only ones. And whose sin does Jesus take away? Not just that of John’s church , or even of Christians in general. Jesus is “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the [whole] world” (1:29). Could there be a more ecumenical (i.e., less sectarian) statement of Christian faith than that? In any case, Johannine Christianity can only be regarded as sectarian from a historical perspective. The eventual acceptance of the Gospel into the Christian canon is evidence that, even if this community was somewhat unique in the first century, its testimony to the faith came to be accepted by a wider audience. What was marginal became mainstream, and the controversial theological understandings that developed within this “sectarian” group ultimately came to be definitive of orthodoxy.

6

The Other Gospels

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were not the only Gospels written. Numerous other books that report sayings of Jesus and events of his life were produced by Christians in the first few centuries following his death.¹ These works are called either “the noncanonical Gospels” or “the apocryphal Gospels” to distinguish them from the four works that came to be included in the Christian canon of Scripture. Most of these books claim to be written by one of Jesus’s disciples or relatives, but in no case is this claim taken seriously by historians. They were probably written later than the four canonical Gospels but in at least two cases (the Gospel of Thomas and the Gospel of Peter), they may contain material or witness to some traditions that are just as old as what we find in the New Testament. All of the noncanonical Gospels are short, and some have been preserved only in fragmentary form. A few are known to us only by way of references to them in writings of early church leaders, who may also offer a few sample quotations from the books. Many of the Gospels reflect ideas associated with the religious movement called Gnosticism and, so, may owe their origin to a desire for gnostic Christians to have Gospels expressive of their particular interests.² Why did only four Gospels make it into the New Testament? The process through which writings came to be regarded as canonical was complex and remains, in some aspects, unclear. It involved the eventual coherence of both acceptance at a “grassroots level” (which books got used the most) and sanction by official authorities.³ The popular notion that the church picked only four from a buffet of options because those four favored its political interests or endorsed ideas it had decided were orthodox is simplistic and anachronistic. For one thing, the four canonical Gospels themselves present a diversity of often-conflicting theological ideas, and almost every “heretical movement” with which the Church had to contend during its first few centuries was able to appeal to those

writings for . Of course, the degree of diversion from what would become Christian orthodoxy may be greater in some of the noncanonical Gospels, and some church leaders did object specifically to the content and theology of some of these works, but that was not always the case. As we will see, church leaders liked some of the Gospels that were not ultimately included in the canon, and indeed, some Christian doctrines may actually derive from these works. In any case, the selection process had more to do with perception regarding how closely the writings could be related to the apostolic tradition: Did the author know people who knew Jesus? Or, at least, did the author give evidence of thinking in a manner associated with that of people who knew Jesus? Of course, modern scholars sometimes contend that church leaders were mistaken in their judgments regarding the canonical Gospels, attributing closer apostolic associations to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John than were warranted. Even so, we should probably assume a process that was somewhat reciprocal: to some extent, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John may have been deemed canonical because they ed orthodox theology, but on the other hand, theology came to be regarded as orthodox when it was ed by the Gospels that had been deemed canonical due to a perceived connection to the most reliable (apostolic) tradition. And for what it’s worth, most modern scholars would grant that connections to the apostolic tradition would be more tenuous for most or all of the noncanonical works than for the ones that made the canonical cut. The nature and style of these writings vary greatly. Some that we will not consider (such as the Gospel of Truth) are simply religious treatises that do not even purport to present the words or deeds of Jesus. Apparently, the titles of such writings used the word gospel in a general sense to mean “religious truth” rather than to designate a particular genre of literature. Noncanonical writings that do claim to transmit information about Jesus fall into two broad categories: “Narrative Gospels” and “Sayings, or Discourse, Gospels.” The Narrative Gospels were most similar to the four New Testament books, insofar as they told stories about Jesus. The ones that we still possess, however, usually focus on either the beginning of Jesus’s life (the Protoevangelium of James and the Infancy Gospel of Thomas) or on his death and resurrection (the Gospel of Peter and Gospel of Judas) rather than on his life or ministry as a whole. We know, however, that other narrative Gospels existed, even though we no longer possess copies of them. Of special interest are the three “JewishChristian Gospels” from which early Christian writers sometimes quote: the Gospel of the Nazarenes, the Gospel of the Hebrews, and the Gospel of the

Ebionites. These works were apparently treasured by Christians who remained deeply rooted in Judaism. The Sayings, or Discourse, Gospels reported teachings or words of Jesus with little interest in relating these to the events of his life. The most significant of these is the Gospel of Thomas, a collection of sayings similar in form to what scholars suppose for the Q document. Other works did not present individual sayings of Jesus so much as extended discourses on selected topics. These are stylistically reminiscent of Jesus’s discourses in the Gospel of John, but in the apocryphal Gospels they are often presented as postresurrection speeches. For example, Jesus is described as appearing after Easter to one or more of his followers, and the ensuing dialogue becomes a pretext for the development of dogmatic ideas beyond what is found in the four New Testament Gospels. All told, with very few exceptions (mainly, the Gospel of Thomas), these books do not contribute much to our understanding of the actual life and work of Jesus. Still, they are significant for historians because of what they reveal about the theology, piety, and politics of the early church.⁴ We should also note that the production of Gospels continued well into the Middle Ages (and, in some sense, has continued to our present day⁵). Our discussion here is confined to works that are usually dated to the second century (or earlier) or, at least, to those works that have been of the most interest to New Testament scholars (as opposed, for instance, to scholars of medieval church history).

Narrative Gospels

The Protoevangelium of James (or the Proto-Gospel of James, or the Infancy Gospel of James, or the Gospel of James)

This mid-second-century work, which goes by many names, is not attributed to James the apostle (a disciple of Jesus) but rather to the man known

throughout the New Testament as James, the brother of Jesus (see Mark 6:3; Acts 21:18; 1 Cor 15:7; Gal 1:19; the letter of James is also attributed to him). It claims to have been written by him around 4 BCE (just after the death of Herod) but is first mentioned in the early third century CE by Origen of Alexandria, who says it has only recently appeared. Unlike many of the noncanonical Gospels, the Protoevangelium of James has remained extant throughout church history. We possess over 150 Greek manuscripts of the work. The Protoevangelium of James has little to say about Jesus. It is primarily concerned with Mary, the mother of Jesus, beginning with an of how she is miraculously born to a pious and wealthy couple named Joachim and Anna: like Sarah, the mother of Isaac (Gen 21:1–2); Hannah, the mother of Samuel (1 Sam 1); and Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist (Luke 1:5–25), Anna is old and barren when God answers her prayers and causes her to conceive. The miracle child is brought up in a state of ritual holiness (her bedroom treated as a sanctuary) and at the age of three she is sent to the temple, where she lives in the Holy of Holies and is fed by the hand of an angel until she is twelve. She must then leave the temple before her menstruation can pollute it, so an elderly widower named Joseph is chosen by lot to be her guardian—but not her husband, so that her sexual purity might be preserved. At this point, the narrative catches up with the stories in Matthew and Luke, on which it is clearly dependent. Still, there are embellishments, such as the notation that Mary and six other virgins are chosen by the high priest to spin the thread for the veil that will hang in the temple (cf. Matt 27:51). Much attention is also paid to the drama that ensues when Mary’s pregnancy is discovered and the high priest suspects that Joseph has defiled her. They both must be given the “drink test” (cf. Num 5:11– 31) to determine whether they have sinned:

The high priest said, “I am going to give you the Lord’s drink test, and it will disclose your sin clearly to both of you.” And the high priest took the water and made Joseph drink it and sent him into the wilderness, but he returned unharmed. And he made the girl drink it, too, and sent her into the wilderness. She also came back unharmed. And everybody was surprised because their sin had not been revealed. And the high priest said, “If the Lord God has not exposed your sin, then neither do I condemn you.” (16:3–7)

Joseph takes Mary to Bethlehem in a way congruent with the of a census in Luke 2:1–5, and he and a midwife observe the birth of Jesus from outside a cave:

As they stood in front of the cave, a dark cloud overshadowed it. The midwife said, “I’ve really been privileged, because today my eyes have seen a miracle in that salvation has come to Israel.” Suddenly the cloud withdrew from the cave and an intense light appeared inside the cave, so that their eyes could not bear to look. And a little later that light receded until an infant became visible; he took the breast of his mother Mary. Then the midwife shouted, “What a great day this is for me because I’ve seen this new miracle!” (19:13–17)

The midwife subsequently tells another midwife, named Salome, that a virgin has given birth but in words strangely analogous to Thomas’s objection in John 20:24–25, Salome replies, “Unless I insert my finger and examine her, I will never believe” (19:19). So, Salome performs an internal postpartum inspection and discovers that Mary is still “intact” even after giving birth. Her hand, however, catches on fire and would have been consumed if she had not quickly repented of her disbelief. An angel appears and tells her to pick up the child; she does, and Jesus performs his first healing. The story then continues with its own version of Matthew’s of Herod and the magi (cf. Matt 2:1–12), though we now read about how Herod also tries to kill the infant John the Baptist, whose father suffers martyrdom rather than reveal his whereabouts. The Protoevangelium of James was very popular in the early church and continued to be widely read throughout the Middle Ages. Its validity was questioned by Jerome in the fourth century, and it was explicitly condemned as heretical by Pope Innocent I in 405 CE. Nevertheless, the work remained influential. It is probably from this work that the names of Mary’s parents (now revered as St. Joachim and St. Anne) were derived, and some scholars think that those names could be historically accurate. Theologically, the work contributed

to the Roman Catholic doctrine that Mary remained a virgin throughout her life, even after the birth of Jesus. The latter point is never made in the New Testament and may seem to be contradicted by the fact that Jesus has numerous siblings. But that objection is explained here: Joseph, the elderly widower, already had children from his previous marriage; thus James, the author of the Protoevangelium, was more like an elder stepbrother to Jesus than a literal brother. The contention that Mary was born to an extremely wealthy family, such that neither she nor Jesus would have been of peasant stock, did not take hold in church tradition.⁷ The Protoevangelium of James would serve as a source for other noncanonical works. Sometime after the mid-sixth century, a Latin work now known as the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew appeared. Sometimes called the Infancy Gospel of Matthew, it is essentially a reworking of the Protoevangelium of James, absent s that did not directly include Mary or Jesus and with additional stories related to the holy family’s flight into Egypt to escape King Herod: the infant Jesus tames dragons, lions, and leopards; causes a palm tree to bend before a famished Mary; and makes Egyptian idols in a pagan temple bow down and worship him. The perpetual virginity of Mary remains a central theme, but now it is clearly a matter of her own deliberate choice, not something foisted upon her by parents or priests. Other reworkings of the Proto- evangelium stories would also appear, most famously in a work known as the Latin Infancy Gospel (or simply as the J Composition), which dates from around 800.

The Infancy Gospel of Thomas

This highly fanciful work, probably from the latter half of the second century, claims to be authored by one of Jesus’s twelve disciples. The original work may have been anonymous, however, since the oldest manuscripts naming Thomas as the author are from the Middle Ages. The book should not, in any case, be confused with the Gospel of Thomas (also attributed to Jesus’s disciple), which is discussed under “Sayings/Discourse Gospels” later in this chapter. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas is first referenced in writings of Irenaeus (ca. 185 CE), who regards it as “apocryphal and spurious.” Numerous manuscripts have

survived in several different languages, such that there are slightly different Syriac, Greek, Latin, and Slavonic versions of the text.⁸ The Infancy Gospel of Thomas provides a collection of miracle stories from “the lost years” of Jesus’s life (ages five to twelve). When he is five, he gets criticized for making pigeons out of mud on the Sabbath, but when he claps his hands, the pigeons come to life and fly away. For the most part, however, this Gospel presents the child Jesus as petulant, self-serving, and destructive, such that Joseph must warn his mother, “Don’t let him go outside, because those who annoy him end up dead” (14:5). Here is one example:

[Jesus] was going through a village when a boy ran by and bumped him on the shoulder. Jesus got angry and said to him, “You won’t continue your journey.” And all of a sudden he fell down and died. (4:1)

When the parents of this child complain to Joseph, Jesus curses them, and they become blind. As the story continues, however, Jesus becomes more responsible, using his powers for good. He raises people from the dead: a child named Zeno who falls off a roof, a man who does the same, and an infant who died of a disease. He heals his brother James when he is bitten by a viper, and likewise heals a man who accidentally cuts off his own foot with an axe. At harvest time, he sows a single measure of grain, which produces a hundredfold, enough to feed all the poor of the village (cf. Mark 4:8). And when Joseph accidentally cuts a board too short in his carpenter shop, Jesus stretches the board to make it the right length. There is also considerable attention to the wisdom of Jesus in this Gospel. At the age of five, he gives brief discourses reminiscent of longer ones found in the Gospel of John. He tells people, “I’m present with you and have been born among you and am with you” (6:5), and says, “I declare this paradox to you: when the world was created, I existed along with the one who sent me to you” (6:10). People marvel at his words, but he responds, “I have made fun of you because I know that your tiny minds marvel at trifles” (6:12). Indeed, a running motif throughout the Infancy Gospel of Thomas concerns the failed attempts of

teachers to instruct him in his letters. Jesus, of course, already knows his letters, but he is contemptuous of the teachers and exposes their ignorance of deeper truths:

[Jesus said to his teacher Zacchaeus,] “You imposter, if you know, teach me first the letter alpha and then I’ll trust you with the letter beta . . . Listen, teacher, and observe the arrangement of the first letter: How it has two straight lines or strokes proceeding to a point in the middle, gathered together elevated, dancing, three-cornered, two-cornered, not antagonistic, of the same family, providing the alpha has lines of equal measure.” After Zacchaeus the teacher had heard the child expressing such allegories regarding the first letter, he despaired of defending his teaching. He spoke to those who were present: “Poor me, I’m utterly bewildered, wretch that I am. I’ve heaped shame on myself because I took on this child.” (6:20–7:2)

After a series of such stories, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas concludes with a version of the tale of Jesus instructing teachers in the temple at the age of twelve (cf. Luke 2:41–52). Soundly condemned whenever it is mentioned by church leaders, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas does not appear to any developed doctrinal aberrance, gnostic or otherwise. Its theology was not the primary problem, nor perhaps its primary attraction. Robert Miller identifies the work’s value: it offers us a view of “how Jesus was regarded in the unsophisticated religious imaginations of ordinary early Christians, rather than in the more abstract theological affirmations of Christian intellectuals.” Others have suggested that it also reveals how some early Christians understood the character of their Savior, namely as one who stands above the law of the Jews, who has the power of life and death, who heals those in desperate need yet violently opposes all who fail to believe in him.¹

The Gospel of the Hebrews (and other Jewish-Christian Gospels)

The second-century Jewish-Christian work known as the Gospel of the Hebrews would potentially be one of the most fascinating and helpful documents for understanding Christian origins, but unfortunately, no copies of the book have survived. We only know about it because it is cited and sometimes quoted in the writings of early church leaders, most of whom appear to respect it as a reliable source for information about Jesus or for theological reflection on his significance. The matter is further complicated, however, by the fact that church leaders do not always specify the source of their quotations in ways that enable us to attribute the references to this particular book. Most scholars now think that there were at least three different Gospels being used by different JewishChristian communities and that the work we call the Gospel of the Hebrews was only one of these (although some church leaders refer to any or all of the three works by that name). Before dealing with the work now called the Gospel of the Hebrews, we should mention briefly the other two works that sometimes went by that name in antiquity. First, Origen, Eusebius, and Jerome all cite ages from an Aramaic Gospel used by Jewish Christians in Berea, near Aleppo, Syria. Modern scholars now call this work the Gospel of the Nazarenes (a name for Jewish Christians derived from Acts 24:5), and they surmise that it was probably an Aramaic translation of the work we know as the Gospel of Matthew. The church leaders focus only on areas where it was distinctive, suggesting that the translation must have been somewhat loose and at times allowed for interpretive commentary. For example, Eusebius says that this Gospel offers a different take on the parable of the talents (Matt 25:14–30): the master “had three slaves, one who used up his fortune with whores and flute players, one who invested the money and increased its value, and one who hid the money” (Theophania 4.22). A second Jewish-Christian Gospel appears to be cited by Epiphanius, the fourthcentury bishop of Salamis, Cyprus. This work, now called the Gospel of the Ebionites, was apparently used by a sect of Jewish Christians in the region east of the Jordan River. Most scholars now think it was a harmony of the Synoptic Gospels that may have been edited in accord with the group’s beliefs. For example, in our current New Testament, the words spoken by God at Jesus’s baptism differ slightly in the three Synoptic Gospels; in the Gospel of the Ebionites, God apparently spoke three times, such that no version of the words

needed to be omitted. Epiphanius thought the Ebionites had a defective copy of Matthew’s Gospel, and most of his quotations intend to point out the work’s errors. Instead of reporting that John the Baptist ate locusts (akrides), it says that he ate pancakes (egkrides). And after what would have corresponded to Matthew 26:17, the work inserts a new saying of Jesus: “I have no desire to eat the meat of the over lamb with you” (cf. Luke 22:15–16). Scholars speculate that the Ebionites may have been vegetarian, such that their redaction of the Synoptic tradition eliminated references to eating meat (locusts, lamb). Thus, both the Gospel of the Nazarenes and the Gospel of the Ebionites appear to have been works based on and derived from the canonical Gospels. It is still interesting to note that Christians (indeed Jewish Christians) felt free to edit those works well into the second century; indeed, they seem to have viewed the works less as “canon” than as sources for developing a Gospel that would be more to their liking. In any case, once citations now attributed to one of these two works are removed from the list of quotations ascribed to the Gospel of the Hebrews, nine ages remain that testify to a Jewish-Christian Gospel that was probably not dependent on the four canonical works. It appears to have been written sometime in the early second century and was used mainly in Egypt. The brief snippets we have reveal some distinctive ideas. For instance, the mother of Jesus is identified as the archangel Michael, who took on the form of Mary:

When Christ wanted to come to earth, the Good Father summoned a mighty power in the heavens who was called Michael, and entrusted Christ to his care. The power came down into the world and it was called Mary, and Christ was in her womb for seven months. (1:1–2; quoted by Cyril of Jerusalem, fourth century)

On the other hand, the Holy Spirit is also identified as Jesus’s mother in another verse, probably from a story of Jesus’s temptation:

“[Jesus said,] Just now my mother, the Holy Spirit, took me by one of my hairs and brought me to Tabor, the great mountain.’” (4a; quoted by Origen; third century)

Notably, Origen not only cites this text but defends it. Since Jesus says elsewhere that whoever does the will of the Father is his brother and sister and mother (Matt 12:50), “there is nothing absurd in the Holy Spirit being his mother.” Jerome likewise cited this age favorably in the fourth century and insisted that, since the Hebrew word for spirit (ruah) is feminine, “whoever has Christ as their bridegroom also has the Holy Spirit as a mother-in-law” (Commentary on Micah 2, commenting on Micah 7:6). Modern scholars think the notion that the Holy Spirit is female was probably rooted in Jewish wisdom tradition, in which Wisdom is presented as a female personification of a divine attribute (see, for example, Prov 1:20–33). Although we cannot know for sure, the Gospel of the Hebrews appears to have been an of the entire life, ministry, and ion of Jesus. It remained extant at least until the fifth century and was viewed favorably by church leaders. Clement of Alexandria (second and third centuries) liked the following quote:

[Jesus said,] “Those who seek should not stop until they find; when they find, they will marvel. When they marvel, they will rule, and when they rule, they will rest.” (6b, quoted in Clement of Alexandria, Miscellanies 5)

Likewise, Jerome (fourth century) would remind Christians that in the Gospel of the Hebrews Jesus said, “Never be glad except when you look at your brother or sister with love” (7, quoted in Commentary on Ephesians 3), and elsewhere listed among the greatest offenders “those who have saddened their brother’s or sister’s spirit” (8, quoted in Commentary on Ezekiel 6). Most telling, perhaps, is the fact that Didymus the Blind (a.fourth-century theologian and student of

Origen) thought the Gospel of the Hebrews could be used to correct teachings found in the canonical Gospels. Specifically, he notes that the tax collector named “Matthew” in the Gospel of Matthew is referred to as “Levi” in Luke 5:27 (also in Mark 2:14), as though the disciple went by two names. Actually, Didymus tells us, it was the Matthias who replaced Judas (Acts 1:23–26) who was also known as Levi: “this is apparent in the Gospel of the Hebrews” (5, quoted in Commentary on the Psalms, 184).

The Gospel of the Egyptians

No copies of the second-century Gospel of the Egyptians have survived, but several church leaders mention it, usually in a disparaging manner. Clement of Alexandria, however, quotes six ages from the work in a favorable manner, though he allows that the book has been misinterpreted by many who take it literally so as to denigrate sexual activity and procreation. Most scholars think the book was produced by a community of ascetic Christians in Egypt who favored celibacy for all who wished to be truly spiritual. The ages quoted by Clement concern conversations between Jesus and a woman named Salome (cf. Mark 15:40; 16:1).

When Salome asked, “How long will death prevail?” the Lord replied, “For as long as you women bear children.” (quoted in Clement of Alexandria, Miscellanies 3.4.3)

When [Salome] said, “I have done well not to bear children” [supposing it was not necessary to give birth], the Lord responded, “Eat every herb, but not the one that is bitter.” (quoted in Clement of Alexandria, Miscellanies 3.66.1–2)

When Salome inquired when the things she asked about would become known, the Lord replied, “When you trample on the garment of shame and when the two become one and the male with the female is neither male nor female.” (quoted in Clement of Alexandria, Miscellanies 3.99.2–93.1)

The latter age parallels a saying attributed to Jesus in the Gospel of Thomas (Saying 22, cited later in this chapter).

The Gospel of the Savior

Purchased by a Berlin museum in 1967, this second- or third-century work was classified as an Egyptian work containing alleged sayings of Jesus and then placed in storage, where it remained unknown to scholars until the mid-1990s. Eventually, it was determined to be the same work represented by a different manuscript preserved in a museum in Strasbourg. Both manuscripts are fragmentary, and even when collated, some portions of the book are missing and others so riddled with holes that reconstruction of the text is difficult. Nevertheless, what remains presents Jesus either at the Last Supper or, more likely, in Gethsemane addressing his apostles, God, and then the cross on which he will be crucified. Written in Coptic, the Gospel of the Savior (like many other Coptic works) was probably originally composed in Greek. The work is not ascribed to any author (thus the name indicates it is about the Savior, not by him), but we are apparently expected to believe it presents eyewitness testimony of the apostles since the text often employs the first-person plural pronoun to indicate what “we saw” or “we heard” when “we” were in that place with the Savior awaiting those who would arrest him. The work opens with Jesus speaking to the apostles: this section is basically a pastiche of near-Scripture quotes from all four of the canonical Gospels (not limited to verses from their ion narratives), with occasional novelties, such as Jesus’s assertion that “it is necessary that I also descend to Hades for the sake of the others who are bound there.”¹¹ Jesus then addresses God in a manner that

roughly parallels his prayers in Gethsemane in the canonical Gospels (Matt 26:36–44; John 17). The apostles are transported in their spiritual bodies to the throne room of heaven, where the Savior is truly present as he prays. The content of the prayer is distinctive in that his primary concern seems to be for the fate of the Jewish people:

[Jesus says,] “I am deeply grieved that I will be killed by the people of Israel. My Father, if it is possible, let this cup from me. Let me be killed by some other sinful people . . . I weep greatly on of my beloved, namely Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, because they will stand on the day of judgment while I sit upon my throne and judge the world.”

After his prayer, the Savior comforts the apostles, and they engage in a liturgical call-and-response in which they affirm his plans and pledge their devotion:

“I am the king!” “Amen!” “I am the son of the king!” “Amen!” “I am fighting for you: you also wage war!” “Amen!” “I am being sent away: I also want to send you away!” “Amen!”

This goes on for quite a while, and then in one of the more distinctive portions of the Gospel, Jesus twice addresses the cross with words of praise and adoration:

“This is your will, O cross. Do not be afraid! I am rich: I will fill you with my riches. I will mount you, O cross. I will be hung upon you as a testimony against them.

“A little while, O cross, and what is lacking will become perfect, and what is wasted will be replenished. A little while, O cross, and what has fallen will rise. A little while, O cross, and the entire fullness will be complete.”

We have no knowledge of how the Gospel of the Savior was received in antiquity: there is no mention of it pro or con. It may never have received widespread distribution geographically. Still, the two fragmentary manuscripts date from the fifth and seventh centuries, providing evidence that it was used somewhere for around 500 years.

The Gospel of Peter

A second-century of Jesus’s death and resurrection, attributed to his premier disciple, this work has been the subject of controversy since its discovery in 1886. Only a fragment of the work remains, beginning and ending in the middle of sentences. Still, what we have relates the story of Jesus’s ion and resurrection in a manner that appears to be a hodgepodge of material found in the four canonical Gospels, with only occasional accretions. Could it be a portion of some early Gospel harmony, similar to Tatian’s Diatessaron? Probably not, because, even though the basic content of the Gospel of Peter is

paralleled in the New Testament Gospels, there are few, if any, verbatim repetitions. One theory, then, is that a second-century author who had read the canonical Gospels composed this work based on his recollection of those s, but without the actual documents to guide him. An alternative suggestion would be that the second-century author had never seen those canonical Gospels but simply relied on many of the same oral traditions that informed them. If the latter view is accepted, then the Gospel of Peter could preserve traditions as old as or older than those contained in the canonical Gospels even if the date of its composition were later. Indeed, some scholars have suggested that the Gospel of Peter might be based on an early written of Jesus’s ion, an that preceded any of the New Testament Gospels and that was based less on historical reminiscence than on an imagined scenario composed out of references and allusions in the Hebrew Scriptures.¹² As indicated, most of the Gospel of Peter presents material found in the New Testament Gospels, albeit in different words. The story begins with Pilate washing his hands. Joseph of Arimathea arranges to receive the body of Jesus after his death. Soldiers mock Jesus as a false king of Israel, crucify him in the company of two criminals, and gamble for his clothing. There is darkness at midday, Jesus is given vinegar to drink, and after he dies, the curtain in the temple is ripped. An earthquake shakes the land. Jesus is placed in a guarded tomb but rises triumphantly from the dead. Women who come to the tomb flee in fear after being told by a young man that he has risen. Peter and other disciples go fishing, and the text breaks off before narrating what would presumably parallel the story we have in John 21:1–4. The attention of scholars focuses on minor details in which these s differ from the New Testament versions. Here, it is Herod rather than Pilate who orders the soldiers to crucify Jesus. A crucified criminal does not reproach Jesus (as in Luke 23:39) but the soldiers, and for this he is punished by having his legs left unbroken so that he will live longer in agony. Peter and the other disciples witness the crucifixion, weeping and quivering with fear and, the author says, had to hide themselves because they were sought as criminals who wanted to burn down the temple. The guard at Jesus’s tomb includes a centurion whose name is Petronius. The most significant departure from the canonical tradition, however, is this Gospel’s presentation of the resurrection, which includes reference to a walking, talking cross:

During the night before the Lord’s day dawned, while the soldiers were on guard, two by two during each watch, a loud noise came from the sky, and they saw the skies open up and two men come down from there in a burst of light and approach the tomb. The stone that had been pushed against the entrance began to roll by itself and moved away to one side; then the tomb opened up and both young men went inside. Now when these soldiers saw this, they roused the centurion from his sleep, along with the elders. (, they were also there keeping watch.) While they were explaining what they had seen, again they saw three men leaving the tomb, two ing the third, and a cross was following them. The heads of the two reached up to the sky, while the head of the third, whom they led by the hand, reached beyond the skies. And they heard a voice from the skies that said, “Have you preached to those who sleep?” And an answer was heard from the cross, “Yes!” (9:2–10:4)

According to the fourth-century historian Eusebius, the Gospel of Peter was used in the second century by a church in the Syrian village of Rhossus (perhaps it was composed there: we do not hear of it being used anywhere else). After a while, however, word reached Serapion, the Bishop of Antioch, that docetic Christians were appealing to the book for , and following an investigation, Serapion forbade its use because, even though he thought the work was mainly orthodox, it contained ages that could be used to heretical ideas. Notably, neither Serapion nor anyone else had any problem with the notion of extremely tall angels, or of an even taller Jesus, or of a cross that could walk and talk. The only problem was that some verses (Eusebius doesn’t say which ones) were being quoted by docetists to their distinctive ideas. Thus, the objection was more to how the book was being interpreted by certain people than to anything in the book itself. We probably should assume that the Gospel of Peter had not attained great popularity or widespread —a pretty sure indication that not many Christians thought it was actually written by Peter—or else one bishop’s tacit prohibition would not have been sufficient to consign it to near oblivion. In any case, after Serapion forbade its use in Rhossus, the book disappeared, only to turn up seventeen centuries later in the grave of an eighth- to twelfth-century monk in Upper Egypt.

Scholars are naturally curious to identify the objectionable ages—that is, the ones the docetists were quoting. The Gospel of Peter does say that when Jesus was crucified, he remained silent “as if in no pain” (4:1). This is not the same thing as saying he felt no pain, but perhaps the docetists took it that way to their view that Jesus only appeared to be human but was not actually so. And when Jesus dies, he cries out, “My power, my power, why have you abandoned me?” and then, the book reports, “he was taken up” (5:5–6). Docetic Christians probably would have interpreted this to mean that the true Christ (here called “the power”) left the cross and ascended into heaven, leaving the earthly body he had temporarily occupied to die without him. But the age would not have to be read that way, and a number of scholars have wondered whether the Gospel of Peter got a bum rap: as time went by, many verses from the canonical Gospels would be interpreted to ideas that bishops considered heretical, and yet those Gospels had gained sufficient (widespread) to ensure they would not be deemed unacceptable simply because such interpretations were possible.

Sayings/Discourse Gospels

The Gospel of Thomas

Generally considered to be the most significant noncanonical work for New Testament studies, the collection of Jesus’s sayings that compose the Gospel of Thomas may include some material as old as anything in the canonical Gospels. As with the Gospel of Judas (discussed below), scholars had known of its existence for some time because certain early church leaders refer to it, but no copy was thought to have survived. Then, in 1945, a complete manuscript was unearthed in the Egyptian city of Nag Hammadi. The text was written in Coptic and was recognized to be a translation of a Greek document, some fragments of which had been found previously. It was probably written in Greek in Edessa in Syria, but its date is a subject of great controversy. Some scholars place it firmly

in the first century, around the same time as the four canonical writings and, so, assume it was independent of those writings.¹³ Others argue adamantly that it belongs to the second century and, so, was probably dependent on the canonical tradition, either drawing from that tradition or responding to it.¹⁴ A middle view allows that the book could be from the second century and still be independent of the canonical Gospels, drawing upon some of the traditions they used and possibly preserving more original versions of those traditions in certain instances.¹⁵ This debate sometimes influences decisions made by historical-Jesus scholars attempting to write modern biographies of Jesus.¹ In any case, the book claims to be written by Didymus Judas Thomas, who is certainly to be associated with the disciple of Jesus identified as Thomas (also known as “Didymus”) in John 11:16; 21:2. A tradition among Syrian Christians held that Didymus Judas Thomas was actually the identical twin brother of Jesus, and it seems likely that such an identification is intended here.¹⁷ So, we have a collection of sayings of Jesus reputedly recorded by one of his disciples, who also happened to be his twin brother. The Gospel of Thomas contains no stories about Jesus, no references to anything he did, and no references to his death, resurrection, or second coming. The book simply recounts 114 “secret sayings that the living Jesus spoke and Didymus Judas Thomas recorded.” Some of the sayings are brief one-liners (proverbs or beatitudes); others are full parables or short speeches on a topic. Most are presented without context, though occasionally Jesus is described as responding to a question (“Mary said to Jesus, ‘What are your disciples like?’”—Saying 21) or to something he observes (infants nursing in Saying 22, or a Samaritan carrying a lamb in Saying 60). More than half of the sayings parallel ones found in the Synoptic Gospels; for example, Jesus says, “If a blind man leads a blind man, the two of them fall into a pit” (Saying 34; cf. Matt 15:14; Luke 6:39). But more interesting to many scholars are the numerous sayings that sound somewhat similar to the New Testament Jesus but a little different:¹⁸

“The one who seeks should not stop seeking until he finds. And when he finds he will be disturbed, and when he is disturbed, he will marvel. And he will rule over all.” (Saying 2; cf. Matt 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10)

“If your leaders say to you, ‘Look, the kingdom is in the sky,’ then the birds of the air will precede you. If they say to you, ‘It is in the sea,’ then the fish will precede you. But the kingdom is within you, and it is outside you.” (Saying 3; cf. Luke 17:20–21)

“Know what is before your face, and what is hidden from you will be disclosed to you. For there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed.” (Saying 5; cf. Matt. 10:26; Luke 8:17)

“Love your brother like your soul; guard him like the pupil of your eye.” (Saying 25; cf. Matt 22:39; Mark 12:31; Luke 10:27)

“Do not be concerned from morning to evening and from evening to morning about what you will wear.” (Saying 36; cf. Matt 6:25; Luke 12:22)

“If two make peace with one another in a single house, they will say to the mountain, ‘Move from here,’ and it will move.” (Saying 48; cf. Matt 17:20; 21:21; Mark 11:22–23; Luke 17:6)

Parables abound in the Gospel of Thomas, including versions of many stories found in the Synoptic Gospels. But there can be significant differences. Here is Thomas’s version of the parable of treasure in a field:

“The kingdom is like a person who had a hidden treasure in his field without knowing it. And upon dying he left it to his son. The son did not know [about it]. He took over the field and sold it. And the one who bought it came plowing and found the treasure. He began to lend out money at interest to whomever he

wished.” (Saying 109)

This may be compared to the simpler version in Matthew’s Gospel: “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field” (13:44). Thomas also contains two parables of Jesus not found anywhere else:

“The kingdom of the Father is like a woman who was carrying a jar full of meal. While she was walking a great distance on the road, the handle of the jar broke off and the meal poured out behind her on the road. She was not aware of it: she had noticed no trouble. When she reached her house, she set the jar down and found that it was empty.” (Saying 97)

“The kingdom of the Father is like a person who wanted to kill a dignitary. At home, he pulled the sword out and stuck it in the wall, to find out if his hand would be firm. Then he murdered the dignitary.” (Saying 98)

Many historical-Jesus scholars think these two parables have a reasonable likelihood of being authentic, in part because they do not promote or any obvious theological agenda. Finally, there are several sayings in the Gospel of Thomas that bear little resemblance to what is found in the canonical Gospels:

“In the days you ate what is dead, you made it alive; [but] when you come to be in light, what will you do? On the day when you were one, you became two; but

when you become two, what will you do?” (Saying 11)

“When you make the two one, and make the inside like the outside, and the outside like the inside and the upper like the lower; and you make the male and the female be a single one, with the male no longer being male and the female no longer female; when you make eyes in the place of an eye and a hand in the place of a hand and a foot in the place of a foot, an image in the place of an image—then you will enter the kingdom.” (Saying 22)

“If the flesh came into being because of the spirit, it is a marvel; but if the spirit [came into being] because of the body, it is a marvel of marvels. Yet I marvel at this, how this great wealth has come to dwell in this poverty.” (Saying 29)

“The one who has come to know the world has found a corpse; and the one who has found the corpse, the world is not worthy of that person.” (Saying 56)

“Simon Peter said to them, ‘Mary should leave us, for females are not worthy of the life.’ Jesus said, ‘Look, I am going to guide her in order to make her male, so that she too may become a living spirit resembling you males. For every female who makes herself male will enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Saying 114)

ages such as these have been the focus of much scrutiny. Those who place the Gospel of Thomas in the second century maintain that these sayings are expressive of gnostic mysticism, and indeed, the claim that Thomas harbors a gnostic orientation is a major reason for dating the work to the mid-second century. The Gospel of Thomas assumes that the physical existence of believers and of the material world is of little consequence; the inner light and life of the soul or spirit are what matters. Further, the Gospel portrays salvation as a matter of acquiring hidden knowledge, including (or especially) self-knowledge: “If

you know yourselves, then you will be known, and you will know that you are sons of the living Father” (Saying 3). But other scholars detect only a mode of thinking that resonates with Gnosticism; there is no development of a distinctively gnostic theology, nor are there obvious references to the mythology that undergirded the second-century religious system. Robert Miller argues that motifs associated with Gnosticism may be better explained in of Jewish wisdom tradition, especially as expressed among those Jews (like Philo of Alexandria) attracted to the philosophical movement now known as Middle Platonism. Thus, he avers, the Gospel of Thomas imagines ideal humanity as androgynous (as did Plato) and construes the world not as something evil to be avoided (as did Gnosticism) but merely as something limited to be transcended.¹ Whatever its origins, the Gospel of Thomas was certainly used by gnostic Christians, hence its inclusion in the Nag Hammadi library. This alone may have been sufficient to explain its exclusion from the Christian canon, though a late date could also for such exclusion. In any case, popularity among gnostics may for why the Gospel of Thomas (unlike the Gospel of the Hebrews) is never cited favorably by church leaders who probably would not have had problems with most of its contents. Specifically, Hippolytus of Rome (ca. 222–235) notes that it was used by a group of gnostics called the Naasenes (Refutation 5.7.20), and Cyril of Jerusalem says it was popular in the mid-fourth century among the heretical Manicheans (Catecheses 4.46; 6.31). This tells us that the book was copied and read for a few hundred years, but that after the fourth century (and the decline of Gnosticism), it ceased to be a factor in theological discussions until the latter half of the twentieth century.²

The Apocryphon of James (or the Secret Book of James)

As with the Gospel of Thomas, the only complete manuscript of this work is a Coptic translation of what was supposedly an original Greek document. It, too, was discovered at Nag Hammadi in 1945. The original may have been produced as early as the first half of the second century. The book describes a discourse given to James and Peter by the risen Jesus just before his ascension. The work is actually written in the form of an epistle (sent by James to tell others of the

revelation), but it resembles a Gospel insofar as the contents contain beatitudes, parables, prophecies, and wisdom sayings attributed to Jesus:

“[The kingdom of heaven] is like a date palm shoot whose fruit fell down around it. It put forth buds, and when they blossomed, something made its productivity dry up. So it also is with the fruit that came from this singular root: when it was picked, fruit was gathered by many. Truly that was good. Isn’t it possible to produce new growth now? Can’t you discover how?” (6:10–12)

“Become eager for instruction. For the first prerequisite for instruction is faith, the second is love, the third is works; now from these come life.” (6:16)

A principal theme is martyrdom, which seems to be encouraged:

“If you think about the world, how long it existed before you and how long it will exist after you, you will discover that your life is but a single day, and your sufferings but a single hour.” (4:8)

“Become seekers of death, therefore, like the dead who are seeking life, for what they seek is manifest to them. So what do they have to worry about? When you inquire into the subject of death, it will teach you about being chosen. Let me tell you, those who fear death will not be saved; for the empire of God belongs to those who are dead.” (5:3–5)

The Dialogue of the Savior

This treatise was probably compiled in the first half of the second century, but our only copy is an incomplete fourth-century Coptic translation, once again discovered among the Nag Hammadi documents in 1945. It presents a putative conversation between Jesus and three of his followers—Matthew, Judas, and Mary—and appears to be intended for consideration within a context of baptism. The Dialogue incorporates material from a creation myth, a catalog of the elementary substances of the universe, and an apocalyptic vision, but the main focus is on an extended question-and-answer session between Jesus and the disciples, who seem to be stand-ins for Christian catechumens. Gnostic concern for the life (and journey) of the human soul is evident, as is reflection on the present and future possibilities for salvation.

Matthew said, “Master, I wish to see that place of life . . . where there is no wickedness, but only pure light.” The Master said, “Brother Matthew, you will not be able to see it as long as you bear flesh.” Matthew said, “Master, even if I will not be able to see it, let me know it.” The Master said, “Those who have known themselves have seen it in everything that is given for them to do for themselves, and they have come to be it in their goodness.” (14:1–4)

Judas said, “Why then, in truth, do the living die and the dead live?” The Master said, “Whatever is from the truth does not die; whatever is from woman dies.” (23:1–2)

Mary said, “I wish to understand everything—just how it comes into being.” The Master said, “Those who seek life—this indeed is their wealth. For this world’s rest is false and its gold and its silver are error.” (26:1–2)

The Gospel of Judas

This anonymous work from the mid-second century purports to record “the secret of the judgment that Jesus pronounced to Judas Iscariot over eight days, leading up to the three days before he observed over” (1:1). The book only became available to scholars in 2004, but its existence has been known since antiquity. Around 180 CE, Irenaeus mentioned that a group of gnostics called the Cainites used a document called the “Gospel of Judas.” Still, no copy would surface until 1978, when a manuscript was found in a burial cave in the Al Minya province of Egypt. That manuscript contained four gnostic documents, including the Gospel of Judas, all written in Coptic, though it is believed that the work had originally been composed in Greek. Subsequent mishandling by antiquities dealers would delay its publication for twenty-five years and lead to a 5–10 percent loss of what had once been a complete manuscript. Still, the Gospel of Judas has now been made widely available as the most recently discovered noncanonical Gospel, and it has become the focus of considerable attention in the popular media. It might not fulfill everyone’s expectations. The book does not tell the story of Jesus from the perspective of his usually maligned disciple; indeed, it does not recount any stories about the life or death of Jesus (or of Judas). Rather, it provides a series of homilies addressed by Jesus to Judas and/or other disciples. All of these homilies present Jesus as an exponent of gnostic ideology, the content of which may strike modern readers as simply bizarre or incomprehensible. That should not be surprising, given that Gnosticism claimed that its teachings consisted of secret knowledge that only enlightened insiders would be able to comprehend. After a brief preface, the Gospel of Judas recounts how Jesus came upon his disciples when they were giving thanks over bread and laughed at them. When they objected, he said, “You’re not doing this of your own free will but because your god will be praised by it” (1:9). Then he tells them, “No race of your people will know me . . . whoever of you is powerful should bring forth the perfect human, and stand and face me” (1:11, 14). Judas Iscariot, however, is the only one who could stand in front of him, and he says, “I know who you are and where you came from. You came from the immortal realm of Barbelo.” Jesus responds, “Separate yourself from them, and I will tell you the mysteries of the kingdom, not so that you’ll go there, but so that you’ll mourn deeply” (1:19).

The next morning, Jesus’s disciples ask him about “the great and holy race that is exalted above us” (2:3). Jesus laughs at them and responds, “I’m telling you, no one born of this realm will see [that race]. No angelic army of the stars will rule over that race, nor will anyone born of mortals be able to it” (2:5–6). On another day, the disciples report a vision they have had in which sacrifices are offered by immoral priests who commit a multitude of sins and lawless acts but also invoke Jesus’s name. He replies, “My name was written on this house of the races of the stars by the human races, and [they] shamefully planted some fruitless trees in my name” (2:20). Jesus further identifies his own disciples with the wicked priests, who are said to offer even their own wives and children as human sacrifices. A lengthy discourse follows, denouncing the efficacy of such offerings or sacrifices. At this point the reader may have detected polemic not only against Jews (lawless priests who offer worthless sacrifices) but also against non-gnostic Christians. Jesus mocks the disciples (whose “apostolic authority” was supposed to legitimate “orthodox” Christianity) in the very context of a eucharistic meal (giving thanks over bread). Only Judas, whom the orthodox Christians revile as a traitor, knows the truth about Jesus, that he is the representative not of the inferior Jewish god but of Barbelo, a gnostic deity who was said to be the mother of all that exists (but not a creator of the material world, since nothing that truly exists is material). As for the accusation that his disciples condone human sacrifices, Robert Miller suggests the point could be that the apostolic church is to be denounced for encouraging martyrdom.²¹ The remainder of the Gospel of Judas focuses exclusively on Jesus’s private teachings to Judas. Behind much of this lies the mythical gnostic pantheon, which at the highest level included an Invisible Spirit; his consort, Barbelo; and their son, the Self-Generated. Many other spirits and luminaries were also envisioned, but the creator god of Israel was only a low-level and evil or malicious demigod who trapped spirits in temporary prisons of flesh and matter. Some sample ages:

“The souls of each human race will die. But these, when they have completed the time of the kingdom, and the spirit leaves them, their bodies will die, but their souls live on and they will be taken up.” (3:4)

“There is a great and limitless realm, whose size no angelic race has seen. There’s [a great Invisible Spirit] in it, whom no angelic eye has seen, nor inner thought received, nor has he been called by any name. In that place, a luminous cloud appeared and [the Invisible Spirit] said, “Let an angel come into being to attend me. And a great angel, Self-Generated, the god of light, came out of the cloud.” (4:2–5)

“Adamas was in the first cloud of light, that not a single angel called ‘god’ has seen . . . he revealed the seventy-two lights in the imperishable race by the will of the Spirit. Now the seventy-two lights themselves revealed three hundred and sixty lights in the incorruptible race by the will of the Spirit, so that their number is five for each.” (4:14–18)

Judas said to Jesus, “Does the human spirit die?” Jesus said, “This is the way God commanded Michael to give the spirits of humans to them as they serve: as a loan. But the Great One commanded Gabriel to give the spirits to the great kingless race, the spirit and the soul.” (5:18–19)

After extensive instruction along these lines, Jesus tells Judas:

“Tomorrow, they will torture him who bears me. Indeed I say to you, no hand of mortal human [will] sin against me . . . But you yourself will do more than all of them, for you will sacrifice the man who bears me.” (5:33–6:3)

Then the work concludes with a report that Judas received some money and handed Jesus over to the high priests.

The ultimate contribution of the Gospel of Judas may be to further our understanding of second-century Gnosticism. Students of the New Testament Gospels, however, may be most intrigued by the role Judas Iscariot is assigned in this book. He is certainly more enlightened than the other disciples, but he is not necessarily idealized or blessed on that . At one point, Jesus reveals that he knows Judas is actually “the thirteenth daimon” (3:12). The latter word could mean he is a demon or an evil spirit, or simply that he is (or will become) a god, some lower-level deity with a role in the cosmological drama that is hardly susceptible to human value judgments. Likewise, Jesus’s comment that Judas would “do more than all of them” could mean that he would sur others in faithfulness by freeing the spiritual Christ from the earthly prison of Jesus’s body (a thought in keeping with gnostic ideology), or it could mean that, despite (or because of) his privileged insight, he would sur the others in wickedness. Ehrman and Plêse remind us that “the scholarship on this important document has just begun, and no consensus has emerged on many aspects of its interpretation.”²²

The Gospel of Mary

An of Jesus’s revelations to his friend Mary Magdalene, this gnostictinged work is probably from the second century, though estimates vary as to whether to place it early or late in that period. Discovered in 1896, the book was not published until 1955. It does not present any narrative of the life of Jesus, nor does it claim to have been written by Mary Magdalene. Rather, it is an anonymous work that purports to recount what Mary told the disciples Jesus had disclosed to her: secret revelations that he had apparently thought they would not be able to comprehend. These revelations have nothing to do with Jesus’s earthly life or ministry but focus instead on a philosophical and allegorical exposition of the nature of the soul and its journey toward its eternal, spiritual home. Unfortunately, about half of the pages are missing from our manuscripts. What we still possess opens with a scene of Jesus teaching his disciples. Then he departs, and conversation between the disciples continues, revealing that they are afraid they will suffer a fate similar to his. Mary tries to comfort them, and Peter says, “Sister, we know that the Savior loved you more than all other women. Tell

us the words of the Savior that you , the things which you know that we don’t because we haven’t heard them.” Mary then recounts a vision she had and the private explanation of it that the Lord provided her. Here is a brief sample:

“When the soul had overcome the third Power, it went upward and saw the fourth Power. It had seven forms. The first form is darkness; the second is desire; the third, ignorance; the fourth is zeal for death; the fifth is the realm of the flesh; the sixth is the foolish wisdom of the flesh; the seventh is the wisdom of the wrathful person. These are the seven Powers of Wrath.” (9:16–25)

After a long of the soul’s journey (much of which is missing from our current manuscripts), Mary is silent, not wanting to report anything more than what the Savior had spoken to her. The others respond:

Andrew said, “Brothers and sisters, what is your opinion of what was just said? I for one do not believe that the Savior said these things, for what she said appears to give views that are different from his thought.” After examining the matter, Peter said, “Has the Savior spoken secretly to a woman and not openly so that we would all hear? Surely he did not wish to indicate that she is more worthy than we are?” Then Mary wept and said to Peter, “Peter, my brother, what are you imagining? Do you think that I’ve made all this up by myself or that I am telling lies about the Savior?” Levi said to Peter, “Peter, you are always ready to give in to your perpetual inclination to anger. And even now you’re doing exactly that by questioning the woman as if you’re her adversary. For if the Savior made her worthy, just who do you think you are to reject her? For he knew her completely and loved her steadfastly. Rather we should be ashamed and, once we have clothed ourselves with the perfect Human, we should do what we were commanded and announce the good news, and not be laying down rules or making laws.” (10:1–13)

The Gospel of Mary may offer some insights into the complex cosmology of Gnosticism, but the book has been of primary interest to scholars because it reflects the power struggles over efforts to restrict roles of women within the early church. Women were sometimes granted more authority in gnostic communities than in what came to be regarded as orthodox expressions of the Christian movement. At a popular level, the testimony to Jesus’s love for Mary found in this book has helped to fuel speculation that he had a romantic or sexual relationship with her, though that is probably not something the book’s author intended readers to infer.

The Epistle of the Apostles

This mid-second-century work often gets excluded from discussions of noncanonical Gospels because of its name, but as Bart Ehrman points out, it is “not really an epistle but a Gospel.”²³ Like the Apocryphon of James, the Epistle of the Apostles begins like an epistle but shifts fairly quickly into a more Gospel-like genre. The eleven apostles (twelve minus Judas) are writing to the church at large to describe in detail their encounter with the risen Jesus after Easter, and they say they are doing so because Cerinthus and Simon, the enemies of Christ, are going throughout the world alienating believers. The latter names are familiar to us as purported leaders and founders of Gnosticism (Simon being the Simon Magus mentioned in Acts 8:9–24). We possess Coptic and Ethiopic manuscripts of the work, though it was originally written in Greek. After the epistolary introduction, the work recounts how Jesus was crucified and placed in a tomb and how he subsequently appeared to women who took the message to the apostles, though the latter did not believe them. All of this follows the stories of the canonical Gospels closely, though with a few distinctive details. We are told, for instance, that one of the women was called “Sarah,” a name not present in the New Testament s. In any case, Jesus himself then goes to the apostles in a manner reminiscent of the in John 20:26–29, and after they are convinced he has “truly risen in the flesh” (12), he

tells them what he has experienced in the interim:

“While I was coming from the Father of all, ing by the heavens, wherein I put on the wisdom of the Father and by his power clothed myself in his power, I was like the heavens. And ing by the angels and archangels in their form and as one of them, I ed by the orders, dominions, and princes, possessing the measure of the wisdom of the Father who sent me. And the archangels Michael and Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel followed me until the fifth firmament of heaven, while I appeared as one of them. This kind of power was given me by the Father.” (13)

As stated, this revelation might not seem adequate to combat gnostic teaching, which sometimes likened Jesus to an angel, but Jesus also makes clear that he is much more than an angel:

“I am wholly in the Father and the Father in me after his image and after his likeness and after his power and after his perfection and after his light, and I am his perfect word.” (17)

The point may be that Jesus, who is far more than an angel, can appear in the form of an angel (and be “like an angel”) when he chooses to do so. Thus, in a brief flashback, we learn that it was actually Jesus himself who announced his own birth to his virgin mother:

“I appeared in the form of the archangel Gabriel to the virgin Mary and spoke with her, and her heart received me; she believed and laughed; and I, the Word, went into her and became flesh.” (14)

The “fleshliness” of Jesus and of all resurrected life is perhaps the most prominent motif in the Epistle of the Apostles, as Jesus maintains (and reiterates) that “the flesh of everyone will rise” along with the soul and the spirit (24; 26). But Jesus also predicts his second coming and even tells the apostles when it will happen.

He said to us, “Truly I say to you, I will come as the sun, which bursts forth; thus will I, shining seven times brighter than it in glory, while I am carried on the wings of the clouds in splendor with my cross going on before me, come to the earth to judge the living and the dead.” And we said to him, “O Lord, how many years yet?” And he said to us, “When the hundred and fiftieth year is completed, between Pentecost and over will the coming of my Father take place.” (16– 17)

We know that the Epistle of the Apostles was still being translated, copied, and read in Egypt and Ethiopia more than 150 years after the first Easter; by the Middle Ages, however, it had been forgotten, and it would continue to be unknown until modern times.

The Gospel of Philip

This third-century work is not a Gospel by any stretch of the imagination but a potpourri of seemingly miscellaneous observations and comments, none of which are actually attributed to Jesus. Our best guess is that these may have been notes from the teaching and preaching of some unknown church leader which, for some reason, were gathered together and distributed under the name “Gospel of Philip.” The work itself is anonymous, but the name that came to be applied

might be intended to suggest that it contained the teachings of the Philip who was one of Jesus’s twelve disciples. Nevertheless, it does not actually purport to report the teaching of Jesus or events from his life, and since it probably dates from the third century, we would not normally consider it here. It merits brief attention only because it was treated as the most important of all noncanonical Gospels in the popular novel (and motion picture) The Da Vinci Code and, so, has entered the arena of popular discussion. Much of the content is esoteric and, perhaps, impossible to understand without context that is now lost to us. The ages easiest to understand are a handful of parables, though, again, these are not presented as parables of Jesus but merely as gems of wisdom attributable to some third-century church leader named Philip or, perhaps, to Jesus’s first-century disciple by that name.²⁴

No one will hide an extremely valuable thing in something of equal value. However, people often put things worth countless thousands into a thing worth a penny. It is this way with the soul. It is a precious thing that came into a worthless body. (22)

Glass and pottery vessels are both made with fire. But if glass vessels are broken, they are made again, for they are created with a breath. But if pottery vessels are broken, they are destroyed, for they are created without a breath. (51)

An ass which turns a millstone in a circle went one hundred miles. When he was turned loose he found he was still at the same place. There are people who make many trips and get nowhere. (52)

If a blind person and one who can see are in the dark, there is no difference between them. When the light comes, then the one who sees will see the light, and the one who is blind will stay in the darkness. (56)

The only story about Jesus found in the Gospel of Philip is cut from the same cloth, presenting a combination miracle story/enacted parable:

The Lord went into the dye shop of Levi. He took seventy-two colors and threw them into the kettle. He took them all out white, and he said, “Thus the Son of Man came, a dyer.” (54)

In places, the ideology of the Gospel of Philip is thoroughly gnostic, maintaining, for instance, that “the world came into being through an error” (85) and that “Jesus secretly stole” the souls that he rescued by hiding his Logos in disguises that appeared to be human to some and angels to others (26). The work also refers to what other Christians had come to regard as sacraments (Baptism, Anointing, Eucharist) but supplements these with reference to “the Bridal Chamber.” This does not seem to be a reference to marriage but to something more mystical (“If anyone becomes a child of the Bridal Chamber, he will receive the light,” 127). Maybe “the Bridal Chamber” is the realm of faith, in which Christ (the Bridegroom) and the church (the Bride) are ed. The precise meaning eludes us. In any case, the ages from the Gospel of Philip that have prompted the greatest interest are these two references to Mary Magdalene:

“There were three who always walked with the Lord: Mary, his mother and her sister and Magdalene, whom they call his koinōnos. A Mary is his sister and his mother and his koinōnos.” (32)

“Wisdom, whom they call barren, is the mother of the angels, and the koinōnos

of Christ is Mary Magdalene. The (Lord loved Mary) more than all the disciples, and he kissed her on the [text missing]. The (other women?/disciples? saw) him. They said to him, “Why do you (love her) more than all of us?” The Savior answered and said to them, “Why do not I love you as I do her?” (55)

In both ages, I have left untranslated the word koinonōs. The word basically means “companion,” and it can be used with a range of application, referring to a business partner (Luke 5:10), a coworker (2 Cor 8:23), or simply a “companion in the faith” (Phlm 17). But the word can also mean “spouse” (Mal 2:14).²⁵ In the second age, everything in parentheses is guesswork, filling in what the damaged text might have said in places where it is unreadable. Of course, everyone would like to know where Christ kissed Mary Magdalene: hand? feet? forehead? cheek? mouth? Perhaps we should not hazard a guess. Most scholars assume the point was not simply biographical (since the Gospel of Philip shows no biographical interest in Jesus or his followers anywhere else). Most likely, the kiss was intended as a symbol of authorization, indicating that Christ elevated women to roles of leadership. But of course, it is not impossible that some thirdcentury gnostics thought the man Jesus was literally married to Mary Magdalene.² So, Jane Schaberg says, “The kiss could be a metaphor of spiritual intercourse, or a sign for sexual intercourse.”²⁷ The two would not be mutually exclusive.

Conclusion

Now that we have surveyed many of the noncanonical Gospels, let us take a moment to compare them with the four that did make it into the New Testament, the four that occupied our attention for most of this book. There may be a temporal distinction: most scholars would grant that the four canonical Gospels were the only four produced during the first century; the noncanonical Gospels come from the second century or later. We have, of course, offered a few caveats to that few. Some scholars would place the Gospel of Thomas in the first century, and many would maintain that some of the material contained in other

Gospels could have a first-century origin. We might be more secure in saying that the canonical Gospels are the only four surviving works from the first century that present a sustained of Jesus’s life and ministry from its outset to its conclusion. The noncanonical Gospels are a mixed lot: some were regarded as heretical by church leaders, or dismissed for some other reason, but others seem to have been less disparaged than they were simply marginalized. In an era when production of manuscripts was costly and time-consuming, they may have been regarded as either (1) resources to which scholars would refer but that had little value for the masses or (2) purely popular drivel that served only the questionable piety of unsophisticated audiences. Yet for the most part, they did survive! They were copied and treasured, often for hundreds of years, even without official or enduring, widespread popularity. The canonical Gospels commanded a respect that was more universal. Or if I may state it differently, I think the four canonical Gospels belong to a different category of literature. I grant that my perspective is biased and that all matters of taste are somewhat subjective, but I think that most literary critics would regard Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John as four of the greatest works of literature ever produced. Two millennia of artists, musicians, poets, and storytellers would seem to agree. The noncanonical Gospels are interesting for historical, religious, and theological reasons, but none of them would ever have succeeded on literary merits alone. So, I do suggest that these works belong in a different category, and yet they are interesting for historical, religious, and theological reasons—not just interesting, but important. Their claims merit engagement; their arguments demand consideration. We may be impressed by the spirituality, the ion, the sanctity of their exposition, and not only impressed, but inspired and informed. Purely secular readers may be intrigued by these writings, generically religious persons may find them illuminating, and devout Christians need not find them threatening. Indeed, devout Christians may benefit from them most of all because their very existence bears testimony to something that all followers of Jesus hold dear: the absolute impossibility of squelching or even channeling the influence of the one whom they believe transforms the potential thoughts, hearts, and minds of everyone who encounters him and tries to tell his story.

Notes

Introduction: Four Stories of Jesus

1. See The New Complete Works of Josephus, trans. William Whiston, rev. ed. (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 1999). 2. Christians have traditionally designated dates before the birth of Jesus as BC (before Christ) and dates after that time as AD (anno Domini, Latin for “the year of our Lord”). In academic circles, however, dates are usually designated as BCE (before the Common Era) or CE (Common Era). 3. See, for example, Mark Allan Powell, ed., HarperCollins Bible Dictionary, 3rd rev. ed. (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 2011); Joel B. Green, ed., Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: IVP Academic, 2013); David Noel Freedman, ed., Anchor Bible Dictionary, 6 vols. (New York: Doubleday, 1992); Katherine Doob Sakenfeld, ed., Interpreters Dictionary of the Bible, 5 vols. (Nashville: Abingdon, 2006–2009). The latter two works are actually more like encyclopedias than dictionaries. 4. John Dominic Crossan and Jonathan L. Reed, Excavating Jesus: Beneath the Stones, Behind the Texts (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001); John J. Rousseau and Rami Arav, Jesus and His World (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995). 5. Jonathan L. Reed, The HarperCollins Visual Guide to the New Testament: What Archaeology Reveals about the First Christians (New York: HarperCollins, 2007), 68–69. 6. Geza Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English, rev. ed. (New York: Penguin, 2004). For interpretation, see John J. Collins and Craig A. Evans, eds., Christian Beginnings and the Dead Sea Scrolls,ASBT (Grand Rapids: Baker

Academic, 2006). 7.The classic collection is James M. Robinson, ed., The Nag Hammadi Library in English, rev. ed. (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1990). See also Marvin Meyer, ed., The Nag Hammadi Scriptures: The Definitive International Version (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2006). 8. Jonathan L. Reed, Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus: A Re-examination of the Evidence (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000). 9. Sean Freyne, Jesus: A Jewish Galilean. A New Reading of the Jesus Story (New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 24–59. 10. Marianne Sawicki, Crossing Galilee: Architectures of in the Occupied Land of Jesus (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), 126. She further notes that the system of roads led to labor displacement (migration of workers to the cities) accompanied by gender displacement (women tending fields in the absence of men or traveling to cities themselves to find previously unavailable work as sellers of cloth or produce). 11. David A. Fiensy, Interpreting the Bible in the Twenty-first Century: Insights from Archaeology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2017), 54. 12. The classic work that first raised these issues is Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period, 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974); see also his The “Hellenization” of Judaea in the First Century after Christ (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1989). Louis H. Feldman argues that the extent of Hellenization of Palestine during this period has been exaggerated in Jews and Gentiles in the Ancient World: Attitudes and Interactions from Alexander to Justinian (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), esp. 3–44. For summaries of some more recent inquiries, see James H. Charlesworth, Jesus and Archaeology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006). 13. John H. Elliott, What Is Social-Scientific Criticism? GBS (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993); David Horrell, Social-Scientific Approaches to Biblical Interpretation (London: Routledge, 1996); Richard L. Rohrbaugh, ed., The Social Sciences and New Testament Interpretation (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1996).

14. Philip F. Esler, The First Christians in Their Social World (London: Routledge, 1994); John Stambaugh and David Balch, The New Testament in Its Social Environment, LEC (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986). 15. David Rhoads, “Social Criticism: Crossing Boundaries,” in Mark and Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies, ed. J. C. Anderson and S. D. Moore (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008), 148. 16. Howard Clark Kee, Knowing the Truth: A Sociological Approach to New Testament Interpretation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989). 17. Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology, 3rd ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001); Richard L. Rohrbaugh, The New Testament in Cross-Cultural Perspective (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2007); David A. deSilva, Honor, Patronage, Kinship, and Purity: Unlocking New Testament Culture (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2000). 18. Lamontte M. Luker, ed., ion, Vitality, and Foment: The Dynamics of Second Temple Judaism (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001); Frederick J. Murphy, The Religious World of Jesus: An Introduction to Second Temple Palestinian Judaism (Nashville: Abingdon, 1991); E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief 63 BCE–66 CE (London: SCM, 1992). 19. Warren Carter, The Roman Empire and the New Testament: An Essential Guide (Nashville: Abingdon, 2006). 20. John Dominic Crossan, Who Killed Jesus? (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1995); Gerard S. Sloyan, Why Jesus Died (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004); Peter J. Tomson, Presumed Guilty: How the Jews Were Blamed for the Death of Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005). 21. Calvin J. Roetzel and David L. Tiede, The World That Shaped the New Testament, rev. ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002). 22. D. S. Russell, Divine Disclosure: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992); John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to the Jewish Matrix of Christianity, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). 23. Birger A. Pearson, Ancient Gnosticism: Traditions and Literature

(Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007); Pheme Perkins, Gnosticism and the New Testament (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). 24. See Richard Burridge, What Are the Gospels? A Comparison with GraecoRoman Biography, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004); Charles Talbert, What Is a Gospel? The Genre of the Canonical Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977). 25. Jack Dean Kingsbury calls them “kerygmatic stories” in Jesus Christ in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, PC (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 96.

Chapter One: From Jesus to Us

1. See Albert W. Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus, ed. John Bowden (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001; German original, 1906). 2. Stephen L. Harris lists eight criteria proposed by Norman L. Perrin for determining which sayings are most likely authentic: (1) orality (strikingly memorable, to be retained in an oral culture); (2) form (aphorisms and parables, not long discourses); (3) distinctiveness (peculiar or outrageous quality); (4) dissimilarity (with regard to both Judaism and the early Christian church); (5) multiple attestation (from different sources); (6) coherence (consistent with what is established by above criteria); (7) awkwardness (potentially embarrassing to the church); and (8) linguistic and environmental evidence (free of anachronism). See The New Testament: A Student’s Introduction, 2nd ed. (Mountain View, CA: Mayfield, 1995). To these, N. T. Wright would add “plausible influence” (explains how a matter rooted in Judaism became a concern for gentile Christianity), and I would add “congruity with modern view of reality” (does not require acceptance of what is deemed scientifically or logically impossible). See also Mark Allan Powell, Jesus as a Figure in History, 2nd ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2013), 59–70. 3. All these (and more) are discussed thoroughly in Powell, Jesus as a Figure in History. This volume also contains an ample bibliography of works by all historians mentioned here.

4. Ironically, two of the best analyses of the Synoptic puzzle/problem have been written by scholars who do not accept the dominant Two-Source Hypothesis as the best solution: David L. Dungan, A History of the Synoptic Problem: The Canon, the Text, the Composition, and the Interpretation of the Gospels (New York: Doubleday, 1999); Mark Goodacre, The Synoptic Problem: A Way through the Maze (London: T&T Clark International, 2004). See also David Alan Black, Why Four Gospels? The Historical Origins of the Gospels (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 2002); Robert H. Stein, Studying the Synoptic Gospels: Origin and Interpretation, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2001). 5. The terminology derives from the seminal work of B. H. Streeter, The Four Gospels: A Study of Christian Origins (New York: Macmillan, 1926). Although Streeter’s view that M and L were actual documents has not fared well, his book is otherwise regarded as the classic statement of this position. 6. Brian Hay Gregg, The Historical Jesus and the Final Judgment Sayings in Q, WUNT 2/207 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006); A. Lindemann, ed., The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus, BETL 158 (Leuven: Peeters, 2001); James M. Robinson, Jesus according to the Earliest Witness (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007). 7. William E. Arnal, Jesus and the Village Scribes: Galilean Conflicts and the Setting of Q (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000); Christopher Tuckett, Q and the History of Early Christianity: Studies on Q (London: T&T Clark, 1996); Leif E. Vaage, Galilean Upstarts: Jesus’ First Followers according to Q (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1994). 8. Richard Edwards, A Theology of Q: Eschatology, Prophecy, and Wisdom (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976); Vaage, Galilean Upstarts. 9. See Melanie Johnson-DeBaufre, Jesus among Her Children: Q, Eschatology, and the Construction of Christian Origins, HTS 55 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005); Edwards, Theology of Q; Gregg, Historical Jesus and the Final Judgment Sayings; Tuckett, Q and the History of Early Christianity. 10. James M. Robinson, Paul Hoffmann, and John S. Kloppenborg, eds., The Critical Edition of Q. Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000); Richard Valantasis, The New Q: A Fresh Translation with Commentary (London: T&T Clark, 2005). 11. See, above all, the works of John S. Kloppenborg: The Formation of Q:

Trajectories in Ancient Wisdom Collections (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987); Excavating Q: The History and Setting of the Sayings Gospel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000). 12. John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, 5 vols. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 2:178. 13. Mark Goodacre and Nicholas Perrin, eds., Questioning Q: A Multidimensional Critique (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2005). 14. Mark Goodacre, The Case against Q: Studies in Markan Priority and the Synoptic Problem (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001). 15. The classic statement of this position is contained in William R. Farmer, The Synoptic Problem: A Form-Critical Analysis (New York: Macmillan, 1964). 16. Griesbach was also the person who coined the term Synoptics to refer to these Gospels. His work is summarized in Farmer, Synoptic Problem, and in Werner Georg Kümmel, The New Testament: The History of the Investigation of Its Problems, enlarged ed. (Nashville: Abingdon 1996). 17. Here, three fundamental works form the basis for everything that has come after: Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (New York: Harper & Row, 1963; German original, 1919); Martin Dibelius, From Tradition to Gospel (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1934; German original, 1919); and Vincent Taylor, The Formation of the Gospel Tradition, 2nd ed. (London: Macmillan, 1935). 18. A useful guide to typical forms in the Gospels and other New Testament literature is James L. Bailey and Lyle D. Vander Broek, Literary Forms in the New Testament: A Handbook (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992). 19. Robert H. Stein, Gospels and Tradition: Studies on Redaction Criticism of the Synoptic Gospels (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1991). 20. The distinction between emendation analysis and composition analysis seems to have been drawn first by Ernst Haenchen, Der Weg Jesus (Berlin: Töppelmann, 1966). 21. On the making of ancient books, see Bruce M. Metzger, The Text of the New

Testament: Its Transmission, Corruption, and Restoration, 3rd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 3–35. 22. Metzger, Text, 6, 247. 23. Metzger (Text, 186–206) classifies errors as unintentional or intentional changes. The former category includes errors arising from faulty eyesight, hearing, memory, or judgment. The latter includes changes involving spelling and grammar; harmonistic corruption; addition of natural complements or adjuncts; clearing up of historical or geographical difficulties; and addition of miscellaneous details. 24. The essential volumes for this discipline are Metzger, Text; and Kurt Aland and Barbara Aland, The Text of the New Testament, rev. ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989); Philip W. Comfort, The Quest for the Original Text of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1992; reprint, Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2003). 25. This phenomenon of similar endings occurs often enough to have been accorded its own technical term: homoioteleuton. An apparent bane of copyists, it was a frequent cause of error. 26. This maxim was first stated by Johann Albrecht Bengel (1687–1752), whom the Alands say “is due the laurel of the eighteenth century” (Text, 11). 27. This principle was first formulated by J. J. Griesbach (1745–1812), whom we have met previously (see n. 16). Numerous exceptions to the rule are noted, in cases where omissions are explicable. 28. The Greek text most widely used today is published in two editions: The Greek New Testament, 4th ed. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2015); and Novum Testamentum Graece, 28th ed. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2012). For convenience, these are respectively referred to as the UBS (United Bible Society) and Nestle-Aland editions after their editors. The text of the New Testament is identical in the two editions, but the number of variant readings listed is greater in the Nestle-Aland Novum Testamentum Graece. 29. For a review of most versions up to 1982, see Sakae Kubo and Walter F. Specht, So Many Versions? rev. ed. (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983). Bruce Metzger offers a sweeping history of Bible translation with some review of

English versions into the 1990s in The Bible in Translation: Ancient and English Versions (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2001). 30. The name Vulgate is usually applied to what was actually a revision of older Latin translations undertaken by St. Jerome at the instigation of Pope Damascus around 382 CE. 31. The most significant English translation prior to that of Tyndale was the translation of the entire Bible from the Vulgate, produced by John Wycliffe in 1382. Wycliffe viewed the accessibility of Scriptures as instrumental to the task of reforming the church. Like Tyndale, he was condemned as a heretic. 32. The CEV simply says “Holy Spirit,” and NJB says “Paraclete” (a transliteration of the Greek word). 33. In 1982, some publishers came out with editions of a Bible called the New King James Version. This version was essentially the same as the KJV, but with modern vocabulary substituted for archaic and obscure words. For example, “ye” was replaced with “you,” “dost” with “did,” and so on. Still, the NKJV is no more accurate than the old KJV, since the numerous text-critical errors in the latter were not corrected. 34. Capt. J. Roger’s paraphrase of the Twenty-Third Psalm and Clarence J. Jordan’s version of 1 Corinthians are cited in Kubo and Specht, So Many Versions? (21) and discussed in John Beekman and John Callow, Translating the Word of God (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1974). Jordan’s piece was published in Clarence Jordan, The Cotton Patch Version of Paul’s Epistles (New York: Association, 1968). 35. Eugene H. Peterson, The Message: The Bible in Contemporary Language (Colorado Springs: NavPress, 1993–2002). The twentieth century had seen similarly popular paraphrases with J. B. Phillips, The New Testament in Modern English (New York: Macmillan, 1958; rev. ed., 1973); and Kenneth Taylor, The Living Bible, Paraphrased (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House, 1971). 36. See Kubo and Specht, 80–81, 242. Phillips produced his less-free second edition precisely because the work he had intended for devotional reading was being used in study groups. Similarly, the NLT was produced by a team of evangelical scholars to provide a work in the spirit of Taylor’s Living Bible that would stick closer to the original sense.

37. See Sandra M. Schneiders, Women and the Word: The Gender of God in the New Testament and the Spirituality of Women (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist, 1986); Nancy A. Hardesty, Inclusive Language in the Church (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1988). 38. On the development of reader-response criticism and its importance for biblical studies, see Edgar V. McKnight, The Bible and the Reader: An Introduction to Literary Criticism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985); Postmodern Use of the Bible: The Emergence of Reader-Oriented Criticism (Nashville: Abingdon, 1988); Stephen D. Moore, Literary Criticism and the Gospels: The Theoretical Challenge (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). The two major applications of reader-response criticism to the Gospels are Robert M. Fowler, Let the Reader Understand: Reader-Response Criticism and the Gospel of Mark (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991); and Mark Allan Powell, Chasing the Eastern Star: Adventures in Biblical Reader-Response Criticism (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001). 39. Most New Testament rhetorical criticism has focused on epistolary literature, but for work regarding the Gospels, see C. Clifton Black, The Rhetoric of the Gospel: Theological Artistry in the Gospels and Acts (St. Louis: Chalice, 2001); George Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984); Burton L. Mack, Rhetoric and the New Testament, GBS (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989); Vernon K. Robbins, Jesus the Teacher: A Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation of Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984). 40. This approach is especially associated with the work of Ulrich Luz, as represented in his three-volume commentary on Matthew: Matthew 1–7, Hermeneia, rev. ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007); Matthew 8–20, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001); and Matthew 21–28, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005). 41. See Richard C. Trexler, The Journey of the Magi: Meanings in History of a Christian Story (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997). 42. Luz, Matthew 1–7, 62–65. 43. See Powell, Chasing the Eastern Star, 131–84, 190–96. 44. For an excellent survey, see Shailey Paul’s “Methods of Ideological

Criticism” printed as an excursus in Bart D. Ehrman, The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writings, 6th ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 192–94. 45. Marxist ideology informs Fernando Belo, A Materialist Reading of the Gospel of Mark (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1981). 46. Excellent surveys of feminist criticism of the Gospels are found in Janice Capel Anderson, “Feminist Criticism: The Dancing Daughter,” in Anderson and Moore, Mark and Method; and Elaine Wainwright, “Feminist Criticism and the Gospel of Matthew,” in Methods for Matthew, ed. Mark Allan Powell, CMBI (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2009). See also Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, ed., Searching the Scriptures, 2 vols. (New York: Crossroad, 1993–94); Wisdom Ways: Introducing Feminist Biblical Interpretation (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2001); and the several volumes in the “Feminist Companion to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings” series edited by Amy-Jill Levine and available from Sheffield Academic Press. 47. The term hermeneutics of suspicion was coined by Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza in the classic work In Memory of Her: A Feminist Reconstruction of Christian Origins (New York: Crossroad, 1994; originally published in 1983). 48. The term resistant reading was coined by a nonbiblical scholar, Judith Fetterley, in The Resisting Reader: A Feminist Approach to American Fiction (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978). 49. See Randall C. Bailey, ed. Yet with a Steady Beat: Contemporary US Afrocentric Biblical Interpretation, SBLSS (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003); Brian K. Blount, ed., True to Our Native Land: An African American New Testament Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007); Michael Joseph Brown, Blackening of the Bible: The Aims of African American Biblical Scholarship (London: T&T Clark, 2004); Cain Hope Felder, ed., Stony the Road We Trod: African American Biblical Interpretation (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1991); Mary F. Foskett and Jeffrey Kah-Jin Kuan, eds., Ways of Being, Ways of Reading: Asian American Biblical Interpretation (St. Louis: Chalice, 2007); Fernando F. Segovia and Mary Ann Tolbert, eds., Reading from This Place, Vol. 1: Social Location and Biblical Interpretation in the United States (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1995); Reading from This Place, Vol. 2: Social Location and Biblical Interpretation in Global Perspective (Minneapolis:

Augsburg Fortress, 2000); R. S. Sugirtharajah, ed., Voices from the Margins: Reading the Bible in the Third World, 3rd ed. (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2006). 50. See Mitzi Smith, Insights from African American Interpretation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2017); Raquel Annette St. Clair, Call and Consequences: A Womanist Reading of Mark (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008). The term womanist was coined by Alice Walker in In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1974). 51. Barbara E. Reid, Taking Up the Cross: New Testament Interpretations through Latina and Feminist Eyes (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007). 52. Deryn Guest, et al., eds., The Queer Bible Commentary (London: SCM, 2006); Teresa Hornsby and Ken Stone, eds., Bible Trouble: Queer Reading at the Boundaries of Biblical Scholarship (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011). 53. Anna Runesson, Exegesis in the Making: Postcolonialism and the New Testament (Leiden: Brill, 2010); Fernando F. Segovia and R. S. Sugirtharajah, The Postcolonial Commentary on the New Testament Writings (London: T&T Clark, 2007); R. S. Sugirtharajah, The Postcolonial Biblical Reader (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2007). 54. To cite only examples of studies on the Gospel of Mark, see Diarmuid McGann, The Journeying Self: The Gospel of Mark through a Jungian Perspective (New York: Paulist, 1985); John P. Keenan, The Gospel of Mark: A Mahāyāna Reading (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1995); and José Cádenas Pallares, A Poor Man Called Jesus: Reflections on the Gospel of Mark (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1986). 55. See A. K. M. Adam, What Is Postmodern Biblical Criticism? GBS (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); Stephen D. Moore, Poststructuralism and the New Testament: Derrida and Foucault at the Foot of the Cross (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994); David Seeley, Deconstructing the New Testament, BIS 5 (Leiden: Brill, 1994). 56. See Mark Allan Powell, What Is Narrative Criticism? GBS (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); James L. Resseguie, Narrative Criticism and the New Testament: An Introduction (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005). The concept of an implied reader is derived mainly from Wolfgang Iser, The Implied

Reader: Patterns of Communication in Prose Fiction from Bunyan to Beckett (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1974); The Act of Reading: A Theory of Aesthetic Response (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978). Many Gospel scholars employ the concept as modified by Wayne Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983); and/or Peter J. Rabinowitz, Before Reading: Narrative Conventions and the Politics of Reading (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987). 57. Graham N. Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 41. 58. Powell, Chasing the Eastern Star, 8, 71. Actually, in that book, I call the phenomenon “polyvalence within parameters.” Helpful critics have since corrected my vocabulary (a parameter is a single basis for comparison; perimeters are plural boundaries within which something might be found).

Chapter Two: The Gospel of Mark

1. The story of Jesus’s temptation by Satan is briefer in Mark than in the other Synoptics and, so, receives scant attention. But see Susan R. Garrett, The Temptation of Jesus in Mark’s Gospel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). 2. The effects of some of these endings are explored in Bridget Gilfillan Upton, Hearing Mark’s Endings: Listening to Ancient Popular Texts through Speech Act Theory, BIS 79 (Leiden: Brill, 2006). 3. Notably, N. Clayton Croy, The Mutilation of Mark’s Gospel (Nashville: Abingdon, 2003). 4. Powell, What Is Narrative Criticism?, 43. 5. Donald H. Juel, A Master of Surprise (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 2002); J. Lee Magness, Sense and Absence: Structure and Suspension in the Ending of Mark’s Gospel, SBLSS (Atlanta: Scholars, 1986). 6. For a brief summary and a bibliography regarding these sources, see Frank J.

Matera, What Are They Saying about Mark? (New York: Paulist, 1987), 58–62. A more recent study is Delbert Burkett, Rethinking the Gospel Sources: From Proto-Mark to Mark (New York: T&T Clark, 2004). 7. The classic study of Mark from the perspective of narrative criticism is David Rhoads with Joanna Dewey and Donald Michie, Mark as Story: An Introduction to the Narrative of a Gospel, 3rd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012). The classic study employing reader-response criticism is Fowler, Let the Reader Understand. For a sampling of other literary-critical works, see also Jerry Camery-Hoggatt, Irony in Mark’s Gospel: Text and Subtext, SNTSMS 72 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University, 1992); Paul L. Danove, The Rhetoric of Characterization of God, Jesus, and Jesus’ Disciples in the Gospel of Mark, JSNTSS 290 (London: T&T Clark, 2005); Frank Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979); Jack Dean Kingsbury, Conflict in Mark: Jesus, Authorities, Disciples (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989); Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, Narrative Space and Mythic Meaning in Mark (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1986); In the Company of Jesus: Characters in Mark’s Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2000); Stephen H. Smith, A Lion with Wings: A Narrative-Critical Approach to Mark’s Gospel, BibSem 38 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996). 8. Gilbert Bilezekian, The Liberated Gospel: A Comparison of the Gospel of Mark and Greek Tragedy (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1977); Paul M. Fullmer, Resurrection in Mark’s Literary-Historical Perspective, LNTS 360 (London: T&T Clark, 2007); Dennis R. MacDonald, The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001); Burton Mack, A Myth of Innocence: Mark and Christian Origins (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988). 9. To understand the phrase (and the urgency motif) within the broad context of Mark’s concept of time, see Brenda Deen Schildgen, Crisis and Community: Time in the Gospel of Mark, JSNTSS 159 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998). 10. One recent study on the “little apocalypse” chapter of Mark 13 holds that the concern is epistemological: Mark is more concerned with teaching his readers how to know than what to know. See Timothy J. Geddert, Watchwords: Mark 13 in Markan Eschatology, JSNTSS 26 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989). 11. Perhaps the best volume on Jesus as a teacher/philosopher in Mark is

Robbins, Jesus the Teacher. 12. See Edwin K. Broadhead, Teaching with Authority: Miracles and Christology in the Gospel of Mark, JSNTSS 74 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1992). 13. Studies on the Markan ion narrative include Ernest Beck, Temptation and the ion: The Markan Soteriology, SNTSMS 2 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1965); Edwin K. Broadhead, Prophet, Son, Messiah: Narrative Form and Function in Mark 14–16, JSNTSS 97 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1994); John R. Donahue, Are You the Christ? The Trial Narrative in the Gospel of Mark, SBLDS 10 (Missoula, MT: Society of Biblical Literature, 1973); Werner H. Kelber, The ion in Mark: Studies on Mark 14– 16 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976); Frank J. Matera, The Kingship of Jesus: Composition and Theology in Mark 15, SBLDS 66 (Chico, CA: Scholars, 1982); Geert van Oyen and Tom Shepherd, eds., The Trial and Death of Jesus: Essays on the ion Narrative in Mark, CBET 45 (Leuven: Peeters, 2006). 14. Martin Kähler, The So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic Biblical Christ (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1964; German original, 1892), 80. 15. John C. Meagher, Clumsy Construction in Mark’s Gospel: A Critique of Form and Redaktionsgeschichte, TST 3 (New York: Mellen, 1979). 16. Other devices include the use of concentric or chiastic patterns. On the first, see Joanna Dewey, Markan Public Debate: Literary Technique, Concentric Structure, and Theology in Mark 2:1–3:6 (Chico, CA: Scholars, 1980). On the second, John Dart, Decoding Mark (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2003). 17. Keith F. Nickle, The Synoptic Gospels: An Introduction, rev. ed. (Atlanta: John Knox, 2001), 69. 18. Rhoads, Dewey, and Michie, Mark as Story, 49–51; and Frans Neirynck, Duality in Mark: Contributions to the Study of the Markan Redaction (Louvain: Leuven University Press, 1972). 19. William Telford, The Barren Temple and the Withered Tree, JSNTSS 1 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1980).

20. So, Neil R. Parker maintains that apparently negative portrayals of Jewish people who don’t believe in Jesus are a literary construct for characterizing gentile unbelievers in his own setting. See The Marcan Portrayal of the “Jewish” Unbeliever: A Function of the Marcan References to Jewish Scripture: The Theological Basis for a Literary Construct, StBL 79 (New York: Lang, 2008). For other studies on the Jewish leaders in Mark, see Michael Cook, Mark’s Treatment of the Jewish Leaders, NovTSup 51 (Leiden: Brill, 1978); Kingsbury, Conflict in Mark. 21. Wolfgang Roth represents the minority opinion that the Gospel is thoroughly Jewish and engaged in intra-Jewish conversation. See Hebrew Gospel: Cracking the Code of Mark (Yorktown Heights, NY: Meyer-Stone Books, 1988). 22. See the study on the parables of Mark 4 by Joel Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom of God, SBLDS 90 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1986). 23. An exhaustive study of the traditions connected to Markan authorship is found in C. Clifton Black, Mark: Images of an Apostolic Interpreter (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1994). 24. On the reliability of the Gospel’s superscription, see Martin Hengel, The Four Gospels and One Gospel of Jesus Christ: An Investigation of the Collection and Origin of the Canonical Gospels (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), 34–60. 25. For a list of other patristic evidence that associates this Gospel with Peter, see Vincent Taylor, The Gospel according to Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction,Notes, and Indexes, 2nd ed. (New York: St. Martin’s, 1966), 1–8. 26. For a classic defense of this position, see Martin Hengel, Studies in the Gospel of Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). See also Brian Incigneri, The Gospel to the Romans: The Setting and Rhetoric of Mark’s Gospel (Leiden: Brill, 2003). 27. Willi Marxsen, Mark the Evangelist: Studies on the Redaction History of the Gospel (Nashville: Abingdon, 1969). Howard Clark Kee argues for Syria (north of Galilee) in Community of the New Age: Studies in Mark’s Gospel (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1977). See also Hendrika N. Roskam, The Purpose of the Gospel of Mark in Its Historical and Social Context, NovTSup 114 (Leiden: Brill, 2004).

28. On this point, for instance, Hengel (Studies in the Gospel of Mark) and Marxsen (Mark the Evangelist) agree. 29. W. A. Such, The Abomination of Desolation in the Gospel of Mark: Its Historical Reference in Mark 13:14 and Its Impact in the Gospel (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1998). 30. The earliest date is argued by James G. Crossley, who places the composition in the early 40s. See The Date of Mark: Insight from the Law in Earliest Christianity (New York: Continuum, 2004). 31. S. G. F. Brandon, Jesus and the Zealots: A Study of the Political Factor in Primitive Christianity (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1967); Werner Kelber, The Kingdom in Mark: A New Place and a New Time (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974). Brandon favors Roman origin, and Kelber, Galilean. 32. Roger P. Booth, Jesus and the Laws of Purity: Tradition History and Legal History in Mark 7, JSNTSS 13 (Sheffield: JSOT, 1986); Thomas Kazen, Jesus and Purity Halakhah:Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity?, rev. ed. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2010). 33. On Mark’s use and understanding of Scripture, see Thomas R. Hatina, In Search of a Context: The Function of Scripture in Mark’s Narrative, JSNTSS 232 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2002); Parker, Marcan Portrayal of the “Jewish” Unbeliever. 34. Mary Ann Tolbert identifies the parable of the sower as “a plot synopsis” of the whole Gospel, with the four soils corresponding to four types of characters portrayed elsewhere in Mark’s story. See Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s World in Literary-Historical Perspective (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 127–75. 35. Sharyn Echols Dowd relates suffering to the Markan theme of “power in prayer” in Prayer, Power, and the Problem of Suffering: Mark 11:23–25 in the Context of the Markan Theology, SBLDS 105 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1988). 36. Charles A. Bobertz, The Gospel of Mark: A Liturgical Reading (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2016). 37. Justin Martyr, Apology 67.3.

38. On this, see especially the work of Warren Carter. A one-chapter summary can be found in his Telling Tales about Jesus: An Introduction to the New Testament Gospels (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2016), 75–98. See also Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus, 20th anniversary ed. (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2008). Adam Winn, The Purpose of Mark’s Gospel: An Early Christian Response to Roman Imperial Propaganda, WUNT 245 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008); Simon Samuel, A Postcolonial Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus, LNTS 340 (London: T&T Clark, 2007). 39. Robert R. Beck, Nonviolent Story: Narrative Conflict Resolution in the Gospel of Mark (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2000). 40. Alberto de Mingo Kaminouchi, “But It Is Not So among You”: Echoes of Power in Mark 10:32–45, JSNTSS 249 (London: T&T Clark, 2003). 41. The latter point figures strongly in a study by Elliott C. Maloney that considers the political implications of Mark’s “kingdom theology” from the perspective of Latin American scholars and faith communities. See Jesus’ Urgent Message for Today: The Kingdom of God in Mark’s Gospel (New York: Continuum, 2004). 42. For a sample of the vast literature on this topic, see Bruce Chilton, ed., The Kingdom of God in the Teaching of Jesus, IRT 5 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984). On the concept in Mark, see Aloysius M. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom: A Redaction-Critical Study of the References to the Kingdom of God in Mark’s Gospel, CBQMS 2 (Washington: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1972); Kelber, Kingdom in Mark; Maloney, Jesus’ Urgent Message for Today. 43. A study on exorcism in Mark that employs narrative and psychological criticism is Michael Willett Newheart, “My Name Is Legion”: The Story and Soul of the Gerasene Demoniac (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2004). For a more historical analysis of the same key text, see Roger David Aus, My Name Is “Legion”: Palestinian Judaic Traditions in Mark 5:1–20 and Other Gospel Texts (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2003), 1–100. Compare Graham Twelftree, Jesus the Exorcist: A Contribution to the Study of the Historical Jesus (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1993). 44.Jewish War 5.212–14 45. These possibilities are explored more thoroughly in my book on

contemporary spirituality, Mark Allan Powell, Loving Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 89–99. 46. Juel, Master of Surprise, 35–36. 47. Available in English as William Wrede, The Messianic Secret, trans. J. C. G. Greig. LTT (London: James Clarke, 1971). 48. James L. Blevins, The Messianic Secret in Markan Research, 1901–1976 (Washington: University Press of America, 1981); and Christopher Tuckett, ed., The Messianic Secret, IRT 1 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983); Heikki Räisänen, The “Messianic Secret” in Mark’s Gospel, rev. ed., SNTW (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990); W. R. Telford, The Theology of the Gospel of Mark (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 41–54. 49. Charles B. Puskas and David Crump, An Introduction to the Gospels and Acts (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 80. 50. Paul J. Achtemeier, “Gospel Miracle Tradition and the Divine Man,” Int 26 (1972): 174–97. For a critique of this approach, see Otto Betz, “The Concept of the So-Called ‘Divine Man’ in Mark’s Christology,” in Studies in New Testament and Early Christian Literature: Essays in Honor of Allen Wikgren, ed. D. E. Aune (Leiden: Brill, 1972), 229–40. 51. Theodore J. Weeden, Mark: Traditions in Conflict (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971); Norman Perrin, A Modern Pilgrimage in New Testament Christology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974); and Paul J. Achtemeier, Mark, 2nd ed., PC (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986). 52. The best studies on this theme remain Morna D. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark (Montreal: McGill University Press, 1967); and Barnabas Lindars, Jesus Son of Man: A Fresh Examination of the Son of Man Sayings in the Gospels (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983). 53. Four works are particularly important: Donald Juel, Messiah and Temple: The Trial of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark, SBLDS 31 (Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1977); Carl R. Kazmierski, Jesus, the Son of God: A Study of the Markan Tradition and Its Redaction by the Evangelist, FB 33 (Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1979); Jack Dean Kingsbury, The Christology of Mark’s Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983); and Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, Mark’s Jesus: Characterization

as Narrative Christology (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2009). 54. Kingsbury, Christology of Mark’s Gospel. 55. The most important studies on women in Mark include Jeffrey W. Aernie, Narrative Portraits of Women in the Gospel of Mark (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2018); Sharon Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These: A Socio-Literary Analysis of Daughters in the Gospel of Mark, LNTS 422 (London: T&T Clark, 2010); Rita Nakashima Brock, Journeys by Heart: A Christology of Erotic Power (New York: Crossroad, 1988); Joanna Dewey, “The Gospel of Mark,” in Fiorenza, Searching the Scriptures, 470–509; Hisako Kinukawa, Women and Jesus in Mark: A Japanese Feminist Perspective (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994); and Susan Miller, Women in the Gospel of Mark (New York: Continuum, 2004). The role of women as agents of revelation presented here is a motif that I first identified in Mark Allan Powell, Gospel of Mark, Inspire Series (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998). 56. On Jesus’s excursions into gentile territories and the motif of mission to gentiles in general, see Kelly R. Iverson, Gentiles in the Gospel of Mark: “Even the Dogs under the Table Eat the Children’s Crumbs,” LNTS 339 (London: T&T Clark, 2007). 57. Addison Wright popularized an interpretation of Mark 12:41–44 that suggests the widow is not an exemplar but a victim: the point is not that everyone should be like her but that no one should ever be like her (that is, a victim of financial exploitation by a corrupt and greedy religious establishment. See “The Widow’s Mites—Praise or Lament: A Matter of Context,” CBQ 44 (1982): 256–65. This interpretation has informed thousands of sermons but does not hold up to exegetical scrutiny. The widow may be a victim of the scribes, but she is also their foil, demonstrating authentic generosity in a manner Jesus approves. See Elizabeth S. Malbon, “The Poor Widow in Mark and Her Poor Rich Readers,” CBQ 53 (1991): 589–604; and Aernie, Narrative Portraits of Women, 83–88. 58. Weeden, Mark: Traditions in Conflict. 59. Suzanne Watts Henderson would soften the significance of this point, contending that Mark’s prevailing concern is with the participation of Jesus’s disciples in his christological mission, not their comprehension of his

christological status. See Christology and Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark, SNTSMS 135 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 60. See Narry Santos, Slave of All: The Paradox of Authority and Servanthood in the Gospel of Mark, JSNTSS 237 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2007). 61. Kelber, Kingdom in Mark. 62. Etienne Trocmé thinks the basic critique is ecclesiological: leadership in the community should not be limited to the original followers of Jesus. See The Formation of the Gospel according to Mark (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1975; French original, 1963). 63. Ernest Best, Following Jesus: Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark, JSNTSS 4 (Sheffield: University of Sheffield, 1981); C. Clifton Black, The Disciples according to Mark: Markan Redaction in Current Debate, JSNTSS 27 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989); and John R. Donahue, The Theology and Setting of Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark (Milwaukee: Marquette University, 1983). 64. Ira Brent Driggers, Following God through Mark: Theological Tension in the Second Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007). 65. Richard A. Burridge, Four Gospels, One Jesus? (London: SPCK, 1994), 48. 66. Michael F. Trainor, The Quest for Home: The Household in Mark’s Community (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2001). 67. James S. Hanson says the conflict is unresolved in Mark because such tension is characteristic of Christian existence, and the readers need to understand that the promise of God’s salvation is not dependent on the faithful following of disciples. See The Endangered Promises: Conflict in Mark, SBLDS 171 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000). 68. The tension between Mark’s apparent insistence on faith and tolerance of disbelief is evident in the comparison of two works: Christopher D. Marshall, Faith as a Theme in Mark’s Narrative (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1989); and Mary R. Thompson, The Role of Disbelief in Mark: A New Approach to the Second Gospel (New York: Paulist, 1989). 69. This was the view first developed in detail by Best, Following Jesus, and

expanded upon in Winn, Purpose of Mark’s Gospel. See also Ralph P. Martin, Mark: Evangelist and Theologian (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1973). 70. Robert C. Tannehill, “The Disciples in Mark: The Function of a Narrative Role,” in The Interpretation of Mark, ed. William Telford (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 134–57. 71. For a defense of the view that Mark’s Gospel does favor a substitutionary understanding of the atonement (and a defense of that doctrine itself), see Peter G. Bolt, The Cross from a Distance: Atonement in Mark’s Gospel (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2004). 72. See Frederick J. Murphy, An Introduction to Jesus and the Gospels (Nashville: Abingdon, 2005), 124. 73. See Holly J. Carey, Jesus’ Cry from the Cross: Towards a First-Century Understanding of the Intertextual Relationship between Psalm 22 and the Narrative of Mark’s Gospel, LNTS (London: T&T Clark, 2009). Kelli S. O’Brien thinks that allusions to Scripture in Mark’s ion emphasize the innocence of Jesus less than they do the guilt of Jewish leaders, but she also finds emphasis on exaltation through suffering. See The Use of Scripture in the Markan ion Narrative, LNTS 384 (New York: T&T Clark, 2010). See also Stephen P. Ahearne-Kroll, The Psalms of Lament in Mark’s ion Narrative: Jesus’ Davidic Suffering, SNTSMS 142 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2007). 74. The one possible exception is Mark 9:37, where Jesus says that whoever welcomes a little child in his name welcomes him. I doubt that this is to be taken too literally, but the metaphor does suggest some continuation of Jesus’s divine presence in the days beyond Easter. 75. In my guise as a Christian pastor, I have written a book very different from this one that discusses the significance of recognizing “the absence of Jesus” for healthy spirituality. See Powell, Loving Jesus, 54–59. I have also been known to edit the famous “Footprints” poem found in Christian bookstores such that Jesus tells the man who wonders why there was sometimes only one set of prints in the journey of his life, “Those were the times when I left you, and you were on your own. I told you I would do this. Why didn’t you believe me?”

Chapter Three: The Gospel of Matthew

1. Marshall D. Johnson, The Purpose of the Biblical Genealogies, SNTSMS 8 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1969). 2. Raymond E. Brown, The Birth of the Messiah: A Commentary on the Infancy Narratives in Matthew and Luke, rev. ed. (New York: Doubleday, 1993); Herman Hendrickx, The Infancy Narratives (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1984); Brian M. Nolan, The Royal Son of God: The Christology of Matthew 1–2 in the Setting of the Gospel, OBO 23 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979); Powell, Chasing the Eastern Star, 131–75. 3. On Matthew’s parables (distinctive and otherwise), see Marianne Blickenstaff, “While the Bridegroom Is with Them”: Marriage, Family, Gender, and Violence in the Gospel of Matthew, JSNTSS 292 (London: T&T Clark, 2005); Warren Carter and John Paul Heil, Matthew’s Parables: Audience-Oriented Perspectives, CBQMS 30 (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association, 1998); Ivor Harold Jones, The Matthean Parables: A Literary and Historical Commentary, NovTSup 80 (Leiden: Brill, 1995); Jan Lambrecht, Out of the Treasures: The Parables in the Gospel of Matthew, LTPM 10 (Louvain: Peeters, 1991); Wesley G. Olmstead, Matthew’s Trilogy of Parables: The Nation, the Nations, and the Reader in Matthew 21:28–22:14, SNTSMS 127 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 4. See, for example, Stephenson H. Brooks, Matthew’s Community: The Evidence of His Special Sayings Source, JSNTSS 16 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1987). 5. So Matthew is often called “the Teacher’s Gospel.” A popular and classic overview of the book is Paul Minear, Matthew: The Teacher’s Gospel (New York: Pilgrim, 1982). John Yueh-Han Yieh compares the Matthean Jesus to both Epictetus (Greco-Roman philosopher) and the Teacher of Righteousness (in the Dead Sea Scrolls) in One Teacher: Jesus’ Teaching Role in Matthew’s Gospel Report, BZNW 124 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004).

6. The Sermon on the Mount has become the subject of many books and commentaries in its own right. For a survey of important scholarship from the last generation, see Warren Carter, What Are They Saying about Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount? (New York: Paulist, 1994). A survey of theological interpretation in the twentieth century is found in Clarence Bauman, The Sermon on the Mount: The Modern Quest for Its Meaning (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1985). Terence Donaldson found the key to Matthew’s theology in the Sermon on the Mount in his Jesus on the Mountain: A Study of Matthean Theology, JSNTSS 8 (Sheffield: JSOT, 1985). Other studies worthy of special mention include Charles H. Talbert, Reading the Sermon on the Mount: Character Formation and Decision Making in Matthew 5–7 (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006); Carl G. Vaught, The Sermon on the Mount: A Theological Investigation, rev. ed. (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2002). 7. Dorothy Jean Weaver, Matthew’s Missionary Discourse: A Literary-Critical Analysis, JSNTSS 38 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1990). 8. Jack Dean Kingsbury, The Parables of Jesus in Matthew 13: A Study in Redaction Criticism (Richmond: John Knox, 1969). 9. William G. Thompson, Matthew’s Advice to a Divided Community: Mt. 17,22–18,35, AnBib 44 (Rome: Biblical Institute, 1970). 10. Fred W. Burnett, The Testament of Jesus-Sophia: A Redaction-Critical Study of the Eschatological Discourse in Matthew (Washington: University Press of America, 1981); Jeffrey A. Gibbs, Jerusalem and Parousia: Jesus’ Eschatological Discourse in Matthew’s Gospel (St. Louis: Concordia Academic, 2000); Alistair I. Wilson, When Will These Things Happen? A Study of Jesus as Judge in Matthew 21–25, PBM (Waynesboro, GA: Paternoster, 2005). 11. On the Matthean Beatitudes, see H. Benedict Green, Matthew: Poet of the Beatitudes, JSNTSS 203 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2001); Michael Crosby, Spirituality of the Beatitudes: Matthew’s Challenge to First-World Christians (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1982); Mark Allan Powell, “Matthew’s Beatitudes: Reversals and Rewards of the Kingdom,” CBQ 58 (1996): 460–79. 12. See Philip Matthias, The Perfect Prayer: Search for the Kingdom through the Lord’s Prayer (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 2005); Gerald O’Collins, The Lord’s Prayer (New York: Paulist, 2007); Kenneth W. Stevenson, The Lord’s Prayer: A

Text in Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004). 13. See Jeffrey P. Greenberg, Timothy Larsen, and Stephen R. Spencer, eds., The Sermon on the Mount through the Centuries: From the Early Church to John Paul II (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007). 14. Though nominally an Anglican, Jefferson actually espoused Deism, distinguishing between Jesus himself and “the charlatanism and superstition” that marked the religion erected in his name. He was especially hard on the apostle Paul (whom Jefferson called “the first great corrupter”) and on belief in sacraments, miracles, or anything else that smacked of the supernatural. See Edwin S. Gaustad, Sworn on the Altar of God: A Religious Biography of Thomas Jefferson (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996). 15. Benjamin W. Bacon, Studies in Matthew (London: Constable, 1930). 16. The idea is developed further theologically by Dale C. Allison, Jr., in The New Moses: A Matthean Typology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). 17. Studies on the ion and resurrection narratives in Matthew include Daniel M. Gurtner, The Torn Veil: Matthew’s Exposition of the Death of Jesus, SNTSMS 139 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2007); John Paul Heil, Death and Resurrection of Jesus: A Narrative-Critical Reading of Matthew 26–28 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991); Keith Howard Reeves, The Resurrection Narrative in Matthew: A Literary-Critical Examination (Lewiston, NY: Mellen, 1993); Donald Senior, The ion of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1985). 18. Literary critical studies of Matthew include, above all, Jack Dean Kingsbury, Matthew as Story, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988). See also Jeannine K. Brown, The Disciples in Narrative Perspective: The Portrayal and Function of the Matthean Disciples, AcBib 9 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002); Warren Carter, Matthew: Storyteller, Interpreter, Evangelist (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1996); David B. Howell, Matthew’s Inclusive Story: A Study in the Narrative Rhetoric of the First Gospel, SNTSS 42 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1990); Powell, Chasing the Eastern Star is the principal work to employ reader-response criticism in an effort to develop a “postmodern phenomenology of reading” that can be applied to texts the reader regards as Scripture.

19. Jack Dean Kingsbury, Matthew: Structure, Christology, Kingdom (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975). 20. Other structural outlines for Matthew have also been proposed. For a summary, see David R. Bauer, The Structure of Matthew’s Gospel: A Study in Literary Design, JSNTSS 31 (Sheffield: Almond, 1989). 21. A broader discussion of the distinctiveness of Matthew is found in David Sim and Boris Repschinski, eds., Matthew and His Christian Contemporaries, LNTS 333 (London: T&T Clark, 2008). The volume contains eight essays that compare and contrast Matthew with Paul, Mark, Luke-Acts, John, Hebrews, James, the Didache, and Ignatius of Antioch. 22. Bauer (Structure) offers a list of fifteen patterns not discussed here. Chiastic arrangements have held special interest for many scholars. See Peter F. Ellis, Matthew: His Mind and His Message (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1974); and Heil, Death and Resurrection of Jesus. 23. See also Janice Capel Anderson, Matthew’s Narrative Web: Over and Over and Over Again, JSNTSS 91 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1994). 24. See Chrys C. Cargounis, Peter and the Rock, BZNW 58 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990); Arlo J. Nau, Peter inMatthew: Discipleship, Diplomacy, and Dispraise (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1992); R. Brown, K. Donfried, and J. Reumann, eds., Peter in the New Testament: A Collaborative Assessment by Protestant and Roman Catholic Scholars (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1973); Pheme Perkins, Peter: Apostle for the Whole Church (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000). 25. Robert H. Gundry, Peter: False Disciple and Apostate according to Saint Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015), vii. 26. Two studies of Matthew’s ecclesiology are Hubert Frankemölle’s Jahwebund und Kirche Christi, NA 10 (Munster: Aschendorff, 1974); and Michael H. Crosby, House of Disciples: Church, Economics, and Justice in Matthew (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1988). The former (not available in English) grounds the concept in Old Testament covenant theology, while the latter focuses on the impact of Greco-Roman household communities. 27. An oral comment of A. K. M. Adam, offered as a reflection on my work on this subject in Powell, Chasing the Eastern Star, 125–26. The full quote began,

“Powell thinks that Matthew . . .” 28. At least one influential study holds that the Jewish opponents of Jesus in Matthew serve primarily as foils for addressing problems in leadership in the Christian church. See David E. Garland, The Intention of Matthew 23, NovTSup 52 (Leiden: Brill, 1979). Compare Kenneth G. C. Newport, The Sources and “Sitz im Leben” of Matthew 23, JSNTSS 117 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995); Boris Repschinski, The Controversy Stories in the Gospel of Matthew: Their Redaction, Form and Relevance for the Relationship between the Matthean Community and Formative Judaism, FRLANT 189 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000). 29. On this hotly debated topic, see Robert Banks, Jesus and the Law in Synoptic Tradition, SNTSMS 28 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1975); Gerhard Barth, “Matthew’s Understanding of the Law,” in Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew, ed. G. Bornkamm, G. Barth, and H. J. Held, NTL (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1963); and John P. Meier, Law and History in Matthew: A Redactional Study of Mt. 5:17–48, AnBib 71 (Rome: Biblical Institute, 1976). For a summary, see Donald Senior, What Are They Saying about Matthew?, rev. ed. (New York: Paulist, 1996), 62–73. 30. Matthew’s use of the Old Testament and his understanding of what constitutes fulfillment have generated almost as much controversy as the question of his attitude toward the law. See Robert H. Gundry, The Use of the Old Testament in St. Matthew’s Gospel with Special Reference to the Messianic Hope, NovTSup 18 (Leiden: Brill, 1967); G. D. Kilpatrick, The Origins of the Gospel according to St. Matthew (Oxford: Clarendon, 1946); and Krister Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968). For a summary, see Senior, What Are They Saying about Matthew?, 51–61. 31. The theme of judgment (reward and punishment) in Matthew is explored in Blaine Charette, The Theme of Recompense in Matthew’s Gospel, JSNTSS 79 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1992). 32. For Moses see Allison, The New Moses, and for Wisdom, see Burnett, Testament of Jesus-Sophia; Celia Deutsch, Hidden Wisdom and the Easy Yoke: Wisdom, Torah, and Disciples in Matthew 11:25, 30, JSNTSS 18 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1987); s Taylor Gench, Wisdom in the Christology

of Matthew (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1997); M. Jack Suggs, Wisdom, Christology, and Law in Matthew’s Gospel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970). On other Old Testament precedents for the Matthean Christ, see Young S. Chae, Jesus as Eschatological Davidic Shepherd: Studies in the Old Testament, Second Temple Judaism, and the Gospel of Matthew, WUNT 2/116 (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2006); Clay Alan Ham, The Coming King and the Rejected Shepherd: Matthew’s Reading of Zechariah’s Messianic Hope (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2005); Leroy A. Huizenga, The New Isaac: Tradition and Intertextuality in the Gospel of Matthew, NovTSup 131 (Leiden: Brill, 2009); Joel Willits, Matthew’s Messianic Shepherd-King: In Search of “The Lost Sheep of the House of Israel,” BZNW 147 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007). 33. On the apocalyptic flavor of Matthew, see Gibbs, Jerusalem and Parousia; David E. Orton, The Understanding Scribe: Matthew and the Apocalyptic Ideal, JSNTSS 25 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989); David C. Sim, Apocalyptic Eschatology in the Gospel of Matthew, SNTSMS 88 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Wilson, When Will These Things Happen? Jonathan Pennington breaks with near-consensus of scholars that “kingdom of heaven” is a Matthean circumlocution for “kingdom of God” to suggest the phrase highlights the apocalyptic tension that currently exists between heaven and earth (God and humanity), while looking forward to its eschatological resolution. See his Heaven and Earth in the Gospel of Matthew, NovTSup 126 (Leiden: Brill 2007). 34. See Mark Allan Powell, “The Plot and Subplots of Matthew’s Gospel.” NTS 39 (1992): 187–204. 35. The theme is foundational to Mark Allan Powell, God with Us: A Pastoral Theology of Matthew’s Gospel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995). Compare David D. Jupp, Matthew’s Emmanuel: Divine Presence and God’s People in the First Gospel, SNTSMS 90 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 36. This is essentially the view of Robert H. Gundry, which informs his Matthew: A Commentary on His Handbook for a Mixed Church under Persecution, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994). 37. Notable exceptions include John Meier, The Vision of Matthew: Christ, Church, and Morality in the First Gospel, TI (New York: Paulist, 1979); and Sjef van Tilborg, The Jewish Leaders in Matthew (Leiden: Brill, 1972).

38. Birger Gerhardsson claims that in 4:1–11, Matthew uses scribal exegesis similar to that practiced in schools of the Pharisees. M. D. Goulder places Matthew in a rabbinic tradition similar to that of Hillel and Shammai. O. Lamar Cope avoids the historical identification but sees Matthew and his community as advocating a theological approach similar to that of rabbinic scribes. David E. Orton prefers the model of “apocalyptic scribes” such as those responsible for Daniel and certain Qumran writings. See Gerhardsson, The Testing of God’s Son: An Analysis of Early Christian Midrash, ConBNT 2 (Lund: Gleerup, 1966); Goulder, Midrash and Lection in Matthew (London: SPCK, 1974); Cope, Matthew: A Scribe Trained for the Kingdom of Heaven, CBQMS 5 (Washington DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1976); and Orton, The Understanding Scribe. See also Aaron M. Gale, Redefining Ancient Borders: The Jewish Scribal Framework of Matthew’s Gospel (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2005). 39. J. Andrew Overman, Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism: The Social World of the Matthean Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); Anthony J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). This is also the general inclination of essays collected in David Balch, ed., Social History of the Matthean Community: CrossDisciplinary Approaches (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991). 40. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community. 41. David Sim, The Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism: The History and Social Setting of the Matthean Community, SNTSMS (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998). For an argument that Matthew’s community was thoroughly committed to a gentile mission, one that had been authorized by the historical Jesus, see James LaGrand, The Earliest Mission to “All Nations” in the Light of Matthew’s Gospel (Atlanta: Scholars, 1995). 42. This was the classic position of W. D. Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1966); and of Douglas Hare, The Theme of Jewish Persecution of Christians in the Gospel according to St. Matthew, SNTSMS 6 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1967). It has been argued more recently by Paul Foster, Community, Law and Mission in Matthew’s Gospel (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2004). 43. Davies (Setting) sees the immediate occasion for the Gospel as the addition

of a famous eighteenth benediction to the liturgical prayers said in Jewish synagogues, condemning Christians as heretics. 44. Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992). 45. Amy-Jill Levine, The Social and Ethnic Dimensions of Matthean Social History, SBEC 14 (Lewiston, NY: Mellen, 1988). 46. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community. 47. Jack Dean Kingsbury, Matthew, 2nd ed., PC (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 99–100. Gale devotes one chapter to the apparent wealth of the Matthean community in Redefining Ancient Borders. 48. Benedict T. Viviano, Matthew and His World: The Gospel of the Open Jewish Christians: Studies in Biblical Theology, NTOA 61 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007). 49. Gale, Redefining Ancient Borders; Overman, Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism; Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community. 50. For more on the relationship between Matthew and the Didache, see the essays in Huub van de Sandt and Jürgen K. Zangenberg, eds., Matthew, James, and the Didache: Three Related Documents in Their Jewish and Christian Settings, SBLSS 45 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008). For a view that turns the source theory on its head, see Alan J. P. Garrow, The Gospel of Matthew’s Dependence on the Didache, JSNTSS 254 (London: T&T Clark, 2004). 51. Roger Mohrlang, Matthew and Paul: A Comparison of Ethical Perspectives, SNTSMS 48 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1984). 52. John P. Meier, “Antioch,” in Antioch and Rome: New Testament Cradles of Catholic Christianity, by R. Brown and J. Meier (New York: Paulist, 1983); Carter, Matthew: Storyteller, Interpreter, Evangelist; Sim, Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism. 53. Gundry (Matthew, 599–609) accepts Matthean use of Mark but still dates the Gospel prior to 70 CE.

54. See Kingsbury, Matthew, PC, 93–107. 55. Davies, Setting. 56. Marshell Carl Bradley, Matthew: Poet, Historian, Dialectician, StBL 103 (New York: Lang, 2007). 57. Powell, God with Us, 28–61. 58. One theory that has been advanced is that the Matthean divinization of Jesus is modeled after the personification of wisdom in the Old Testament. See Burnett, Testament of Jesus-Sophia; Deutsch, Hidden Wisdom and the Easy Yoke; Gench, Wisdom in the Christology of Matthew; Suggs, Wisdom, Christology, and Law in Matthew’s Gospel. 59. On this interpretation, see Stanton, Gospel for a New People, 207–31. For a contrary view, see Ulrich Luz, “The Final Judgment (Matt 25:31–46): An Exercise in ‘History of Influence’ Exegesis,” in Treasures New and Old: Contributions to Matthean Studies, ed. David R. Bauer and Mark Allan Powell, SS (Atlanta: Scholars, 1996). For a survey of interpretation of the age from the patristic period to the present, see Sherman W. Gray, The Least of My Brothers: Matthew 25:31–46: A History of Interpretation, SBLDS 114 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1989). 60. Meier, Vision of Matthew. He is dependent upon Rolf Walker, Die Heilsgeschichte im ersten Evangelium (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1967). 61. Kingsbury, Matthew: Structure, Christology, Kingdom, 25–39. 62. Frankemölle (Jahwebund) believes Matthew understands the relationship between the church and its risen Lord as analogous to that between Israel and Yahweh in Old Testament theology, articulated by the Deuteronomist and the Chronicler. 63. Kingsbury, Matthew: Structure, Christology, Kingdom. 64. Powell, God with Us, 21n36. 65. See Mark Allan Powell, “Binding and Loosing: Asserting the Moral

Authority of Scripture in Light of a Matthean Paradigm,” Ex Auditu 19 (2003): 81–96. 66. See Klyne Snodgrass, “Matthew and the Law,” in Bauer and Powell, Treasures New and Old. 67. Two ELCA bishops have told me that it was my work on this topic (specifically, my article “Binding and Loosing” in Ex Auditu) that led them and some of their colleagues to reverse their position on acceptance of gay partnerships and thus to the 2009 policy changes that allow for the blessing of gay unions and the ordination of noncelibate gay individuals in the denomination. For them, the question was whether biblical condemnations of same-sex sexual activity engaged in by persons presumed to be heterosexual (as all persons were presumed to be in biblical times) should be “bound” as applicable to homosexual persons who would engage in such activity in mutually committed relationships analogous to marriage. I indicated that Genesis 2:18 would suggest otherwise. In any case, they decided the prohibitions should not be viewed as binding for persons in circumstances never envisioned by the biblical writers, and those prohibitions were subsequently “loosed” by the denomination (and, according to Jesus, by God in heaven). 68. Studies on Matthew’s concept of discipleship include Stephen Barton, Discipleship and Family Ties in Mark and Matthew, SNTSMS 80 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Jeannine K. Brown, Disciples in Narrative Perspective; M. Palachuvatti, “The One Who Does the Will of My Father”: Distinguishing Character of Disciples according to Matthew; An Exegetical Study, TGT 54 (Rome: Editrice Pontifica Università Gregoriana, 2007); Henry Pattarumadathil, Your Father in Heaven: Discipleship in Matthew as a Process of Becoming Children of God, AnBib 172 (Rome: Editrice Pontifico Biblico, 2008); Michael J. Wilkins, The Concept of Disciple in Matthew’s Gospel as Reflected in the Use of the Term “Mathētēs,” NovTSup 59 (Leiden: Brill, 1988). 69. Important work employing “empire criticism” (or “imperial-critical study”) on the Gospel of Matthew has been done by Warren Carter. See his Matthew and Empire: Initial Explorations (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001); Matthew and the Margins: A Socio-Political and Religious Reading (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis: 2000). See also John Riches and David C. Sim, eds., The Gospel of Matthew in Its Roman Imperial Context (London: T&T Clark, 2005). A study of

Matthew informed by liberation theology is George T. Montague, Companion God: A Cross-Cultural Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew (New York: Paulist, 1989). 70. For other biblical texts that present Satan as the ruler of earthly kingdoms, see John 12:31; 14:30; 16:11; 2 Cor 4:4; Eph 6:12; 1 John 5:19. 71. Matthew consistently presents the power of earthly rulers as thwarted in certain respects: Herod the king is tricked by the magi (2:16), Herod the tetrarch is coerced by Herodias (14:6–11), and Pilate is manipulated by the religious leaders and the crowd (27:20–26). In every case, the tyrants act out of fear, and in every case they either fail to accomplish what they wanted to accomplish or are pressured to issue commands contrary to their own will or desire. See Dorothy Jean Weaver, “Power and Powerlessness: Matthew’s Use of Irony in the Portrayal of Political Leaders,” in Bauer and Powell, Treasures New and Old. 72. I have claimed that Matthew’s Gospel represents a sixth understanding of “Christ and culture,” one that H. Richard Niebuhr failed to take into in his classic Christ and Culture (New York: Harper & Row, 1951). I call the model “Christ beneath Culture,” and it is essentially an inversion of Niebuhr’s “Christ above Culture” typology. According to this view, God works through the church to effect justice and curb sin, but “sin” is inextricably caught up with the acquisition of power, so the church must remain powerless (refusing to use power to dominate or coerce) in order to fulfill its mission in the world. This, I suspect, has been the strategy adopted by numerous martyrs (generally ignored by Niebuhr), and it would fit more closely with the view of Martin Luther King Jr. than would any of Niebuhr’s other typologies. 73. I have discussed Matthew’s covert hostility toward education in Powell, Chasing the Eastern Star, esp. 153–54; 182–84. I regard it as analogous to the more overt hostility to wealth in the Gospel of Luke. Both derive from opposition to sources of oppressive power. To my knowledge, no other scholar has ever noted this motif in Matthew or commented on my notation of it (which, of course, could mean that the theme is less worthy of attention than I surmised). 74. The magi, of course, would never have been considered “wise men” by Matthew or his community (NRSV translation of magoi notwithstanding). Granted, they might have been considered wise in Persia or even in some segments of the Greco-Roman world, but Matthew would not have regarded

expertise in astrological lore as making one “wise and intelligent.” More likely, he would have agreed with Philo of Alexandria, who refers to magi as experts in nonsense and as the “most foolish of all men” (Vita Moyis 1 XLVIII). See Powell, Chasing the Eastern Star, 148–56; 166–71. 75. Of course, Matthew does esteem Sophia herself highly (11:19), recognize that Solomon was a wise man favored by God (12:42), identify Jesus as one who possesses wisdom (13:54), and refer mysteriously to wise people (sophoi) whom Jesus will send to Israel after the resurrection (23:34). This all parallels what might be said of the Gospel’s take on royalty and political power: the royal power of God is a good thing, there were good kings once in the sacred past (12:3, 42), Jesus can be identified in some sense as the true king (25:34, 40; cf. 21:5), and someday (probably after the parousia) his followers will sit on thrones (19:28). Still, the setting of the story (the time of Jesus’s life and ministry) is one in which God rejects both rulers and scholars. 76. For what is presented here, see Mark Allan Powell, “Literary Approaches to the Gospel of Matthew,” 44–82 in Powell, ed., Methods for Matthew, 74–77. Otherwise, on Matthew’s characterization of women, see Glenna Jackson, “Have Mercy on Me”: The Story of the Canaanite Woman in Matthew 15:21–28, JSNTSS 228 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2002); Stuart L. Love, Jesus and Marginal Women: The Gospel of Matthew in Social-Scientific Perspective (Cambridge, UK: Clark, 2009). 77. For feminist studies on Matthew, see Emily Cheney, She Can Read: Feminist Reading Strategies for Biblical Narrative (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994); Amy-Jill Levine and Marianne Blickenstaff, eds., A Feminist Companion to Matthew (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2001); Elaine M. Wainwright, Towards a Feminist Critical Reading of the Gospel according to Matthew, BZNW 60 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1991); Shall We Look for Another? A Feminist Re-Reading of the Matthean Jesus (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1998). Blickenstaff offers a feminist resistant reading of the patriarchal violence of certain Matthean parables in her “While the Bridegroom Is with Them.”

Chapter Four: The Gospel of Luke (and the Book of Acts)

1. Geoffrey F. Nuttall, The Moment of Recognition: Luke as Story-Teller (London: The University of London Athlone, 1978). John Drury likens Luke’s style to midrash in Tradition and Design in Luke’s Gospel: A Study in Early Christian Historiography (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1976). 2. Following the Farrer Theory for Gospel composition (see figure 4 in chapter 1), Mark Goodacre posits that Luke had copies of both Mark and Matthew, such that what is ascribed to Q here would have been material Luke drew from Matthew’s Gospel. See his Case against Q. Michael D. Goulder, who likewise did not accept the Q hypothesis, suggested a scheme wherein Luke uses Mark and Matthew to compose a Gospel structured for calendrical lectionary reading. See Luke: A New Paradigm, 2 vols., JSNTSS 20 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989). Goodacre critiques Goulder’s hypothesis in his Goulder and the Gospels: An Examination of a New Paradigm, LNTS 133 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996). 3. Dennis Hamm, The Beatitudes in Context: What Luke and Matthew Meant (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1990); Meghan Mckenna, Luke: The Book of Blessings and Woes (Hyde Park, NY: New City, 2009). 4. On this section, see Helmuth L. Egelkraut, Jesus’ Mission to Jerusalem: A Redaction-Critical Study of the Travel Narrative in the Gospel of Luke, Luke 9:51–19:48, EH (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1976); David P. Moessner, Lord of the Banquet: The Literary and Theological Significance of the Lukan Travel Narrative (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989); János Székely, Structure and Theology on the Lucan “Itinerarium” (Lk 9.51–19.28) (Budapest: Szent Jeromos Katolikus Bibliatársulat, 2008). Studies with a more specific focus include Maria Y. T. Dô, The Lucan Journey: A Study of Luke 9.28–36 and Acts 1.6–11 as an Architectural Pair, EUS 23/895 (Bern: Lang, 2010); James A. Metzger, Consumption and Wealth in Luke’s Travel Narrative, BIS 88 (Leiden: Brill, 2007). 5. On these two chapters, see especially R. Brown, Birth of the Messiah; and Hendrickx, Infancy Narratives. 6. On these, see Stephen Farris, The Hymns of Luke’s Infancy Narratives: Their Origin, Meaning, and Significance, JSNTSS 9 (Sheffield: JSOT, 1985).

7. So Hans Conzelmann, The Theology of St. Luke, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982; German original, 1957). 8. So Robert C. Tannehill, The NarrativeUnity of Luke-Acts: A Literary Interpretation, 2 vols., FF (Philadelphia and Minneapolis: Fortress, 1986, 1990), 1:15–44; Farris, Hymns of Luke’s Infancy Narrative. 9. The scholar most responsible for discerning these parallels is Charles H. Talbert. See his Literary Patterns, Theological Themes, and the Genre of LukeActs (Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1974). See also Dô, Lucan Journey. 10. See especially Mikeal C. Parsons and Richard I. Pervo, Rethinking the Unity of Luke and Acts (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993); also, Andrew Gregory and C. Kavin Rowe, eds., Rethinking the Unity and Reception of Luke and Acts (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2010). 11. Patricia Walters argued for two separate authors in The Assumed Authorship of Luke and Acts: A Reassessment of the Evidence, SNTSMS 145 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). 12. The most persuasive case for reading Luke-Acts as a single, continuing narrative is offered in Tannehill, Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts. 13. For a brief summary on the “levels of unity” that might be detected for Luke and Acts, see Mark Allan Powell, What Are They Saying about Acts? (New York: Paulist, 1991), 5–9. 14. For example, Douglas McComiskey proposes that Luke intentionally organized his narrative in a series of four parallel cycles. See Lukan Theology in the Light of the Gospel’s Literary Structure, PBM (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2004). 15. Modern literary analyses of Luke and Acts abound, but some of the most significant include Paul Borgman, The Way according to Luke: Hearing the Whole Story of Luke-Acts (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006); Robert L. Brawley, Centering on God: Method and Message in Luke and Acts, LCBI (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1990); John Darr, On Character Building: The Reader and the Rhetoric of Characterization in Luke-Acts, LCBI (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992); Jack Dean Kingsbury, Conflict in Luke: Jesus, Authorities, Disciples (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991); William S. Kurz, Reading Luke-Acts: Dynamics of Biblical Narrative (Louisville: Westminster John Knox,

1993); Tannehill, Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts. 16. Ernst Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary, 14th ed. (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971; German original, 1965); B. S. Easton, “The Purpose of Acts,” 31–118 in Early Christianity: The Purpose of Acts and Other Papers, ed. F. C. Grant (Greenwich, CT: Seabury, 1954). 17. Karl Allen Kuhn, Luke: The Elite Evangelist, PSNS (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 2010); The Kingdom according to Luke and Acts: A Social, Literary, and Theological Introduction (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2015). 18. Yong-Sung Ahn distinguishes between Jesus’s relationship to the temple and his relationship to the city of Jerusalem in his postcolonial study, The Reign of God and Rome in Luke’s ion Narrative: An East Asian Global Perspective, BIS 80 (Leiden: Brill, 2006). 19. See Kindalee P. DeLong, Surprised by God: Praise Responses in the Narrative of Luke-Acts (Berlin: deGruyter, 2009). 20. See A. D. Crump, Jesus the Intercessor: Prayer and Christology in Luke-Acts (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992); Joel B. Green, The Theology of the Gospel of Luke (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 58–60; Robert J. Karris, Prayer and the New Testament: Jesus and His Communities at Worship (New York: Crossroad, 2000), 40–81; Geir Otto Holmas, Prayer and Vindication in Luke-Acts: The Theme of Prayer within the Context of the Legitimating and Edifying Objective of the Lukan Narrative, LNTS 433 (New York: T&T Clark, 2011); Allison Trites, “The Prayer-Motif in Luke-Acts,” in Perspectives on Luke-Acts, ed. Charles H. Talbert (Danville, VA: Association of Baptist Professors of Religion, 1978), 168–86. 21. Robert J. Karris, Eating Your Way through Luke’s Gospel (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2006). 22. Mark Allan Powell, “Table Fellowship,” in Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, ed. Joel B. Green (Grand Rapids: InterVarsity, 2013), 925–31. 23. I have elsewhere indicated a likelihood that all prostitutes in Judea and Galilee at the time of Jesus were sex slaves, ranging between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Accordingly, the Greek word pornai should perhaps be translated “teenaged sex slaves” rather than “prostitutes” in the Gospels. Further, the word

hamartōloi (usually translated “sinners”) is sometimes a euphemism for pornai and could perhaps be translated “teenaged sex slaves” sometimes as well. Relevant ages include Matt 9:10–11; 11:19; 21:31–32; Luke 7:36–50; 15:1– 2 (Luke 15:30 could be an exception since the reference is to pornai in another geographical location). See Mark Allan Powell, “Jesus and the Pathetic Wicked: Re-visiting Sanders’s View of Jesus’ Friendship with Sinners,” JSHJ 13/2–3 (2015): 188–208. 24. Robert B. Sloan, Jr., The Favorable Year of the Lord: A Study of Jubilary Theology in the Gospel of Luke (Austin: Schola, 1977). 25. David A. Neale treats some aspects of the “ministry to the excluded” motif in None but the Sinners: Religious Categories in Luke, JSNTSS 58 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1991). 26. See note 23 above. 27. See Mary Ann Bevis, ed., The Lost Coin: Parables of Women, Work, and Wisdom (London: Sheffield Academic, 2002). This volume contains a number of feminist studies on parables found in all three of the Synoptic Gospels. 28. Lorretta Dornisch has provided a women’s commentary on the Gospel that is sensitive to these issues. See A Woman Reads the Gospel of Luke (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1996). 29. William H. Shepherd, Jr., The Narrative Function of the Holy Spirit as a Character in Luke-Acts, SBLDS 147 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1994); Roger Stronstad, The Charismatic Theology of St. Luke (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1984). 30. Darrell Bock, Proclamation from Prophecy and Pattern: Lucan Old Testament Christology, JSNTSS 12 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1987); Craig A. Evans and James A. Sanders, Luke and Scripture: The Function of Sacred Tradition in Luke-Acts (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993); Kenneth Duncan Litwak, Echoes of Scripture in Luke-Acts: Telling the History of God’s People Intertextually, JSNTSS 282 (London: T&T Clark, 2005); John T. Squires, The Plan of God in Luke-Acts, SNTSMS 76 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1993). 31. Robert J. Karris, “Missionary Communities: A New Paradigm for the Study of Luke-Acts,” CBQ 41 (1979): 80–97.

32. See, for instance, Peter J. Scaer, The Lukan ion and the Praiseworthy Death, NTM 10 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2005). 33. Peter Doble, The Paradox of Salvation: Luke’s Theology of the Cross, SNTSMS 87 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Robert J. Karris, Luke, Artist and Theologian: Luke’s ion as Literature (New York: Paulist, 1985); and Jerome Neyrey, The ion according to Luke: A Redaction Study of Luke’s Soteriology, TI (New York: Paulist, 1985). See also Donald Senior, The ion of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1989); Joseph Tyson, The Death of Jesus in Luke-Acts (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1986). 34. For discussion and bibliography on all of the positions cited, see Craig S. Keener, Acts: An Exegetical Commentary, 4 vols. (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012–2015), 1.407–09. 35. The classic statement of this view is Philipp Vielhauer, “On the ‘Paulinism’ of Acts,” in Studies in Luke-Acts, ed. L. Keck and J. Martyn (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980; German original, 1950). 36. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “The Authorship of Luke-Acts Reconsidered,” in Luke the Theologian: Aspects of His Teaching (New York: Paulist, 1989), 1–26. 37. See Ernst Käsemann, Jesus Means Freedom (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1970), 121; “The Problem of the Historical Jesus,” in Essays on New Testament Themes (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982; German original, 1954), 29. 38. Marianne Palmer Bonz, The Past as Legacy: Luke-Acts and Ancient Epic (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000); Octavian D. Baban, On the Road Encounters in Luke-Acts: Hellenistic Mimesis and Luke’s Theology of the Way, PBM (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2006). 39. For what it’s worth, Luke the physician was apparently a gentile; see Col 4:11, 14. 40. One strong er of Jewish authorship for Luke-Acts was Jacob Jervell. See his Luke and the People of God (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1972). 41. Henry J. Cadbury, Style and Literary Method of Luke, HTS 6 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1920), 39–72. Cadbury’s most influential

work was The Making of Luke-Acts (London: SPCK, 1958). 42. See, especially, Kuhn, Kingdom according to Luke and Acts. 43. This point would be contested by proponents of minority source theories (Farrer or Griesbach) who assume Luke did have a copy of Matthew’s Gospel that served as his actual source for material mistakenly ascribed to Q. 44. Charles Williams, A Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, BNTC (London: A&C Black, 1957), 18–19; Johannes Munck, The Acts of the Apostles, AB (Garden City, NJ: Doubleday, 1967), liv. A thorough discussion and bibliography may be found in Keener, Acts, 1:383–40. 45. John Knox, Marcion and the New Testament (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1942). 46. Joseph B. Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts: A Defining Struggle (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2006). 47. Richard I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 5, 20. See also Richard I. Pervo, Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists (Santa Rosa, CA: Polebridge, 2006). Again, see the discussion in Keener, Acts, 1:383–401. 48. Alexandru Neagoe takes this very seriously and contends that “the trial narratives” in Luke and Acts are written to offer a defense of the Christian faith. See The Trial of the Gospel: An Apologetic Reading of Luke’s Trial Narratives, SNTSMS 116 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 49. This is perhaps the key argument of I. Howard Marshall’s excellent Luke: Historian and Theologian (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1970). 50. See Powell, What Are They Saying about Acts?, 13–19. 51. This motive provides the premise for Conzelmann’s impressive synthesis (Theology of St. Luke). 52. Views on this topic vary broadly. See Robert L. Brawley, Luke-Acts and the Jews: Conflict, Apology, and Conciliation, SBLMS 33 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1987); Robert L. Maddox, The Purpose of Luke-Acts, SNTW (Edinburgh: T&T Clark,

1985); David Ravens, Luke and the Restoration of Israel, JSNTSS 119 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995); Jack Sanders, The Jews in Luke-Acts (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987); Joseph Tyson, ed., Luke-Acts and the Jewish People: Eight Critical Perspectives (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1988); Stephen G. Wilson, The Gentiles and the Gentile Mission, SNTSMS 23 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1973); Luke and the Law, SNTSMS 50 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). 53. Charles H. Talbert, Luke and the Gnostics: An Examination of the Lucan Purpose (Nashville: Abingdon, 1966). 54. So, Cadbury, Making of Luke-Acts, 299–316; and Conzelmann, Theology of St. Luke. This thesis is opposed rather vigorously by Richard J. Cassidy in Jesus, Politics, and Society: A Study of Luke’s Gospel (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1978). On related political issues in Luke, see Mark Allan Powell, What Are They Saying about Luke? (New York: Paulist, 1989), 82–102. 55. Philip Esler and David Tiede develop different models according to which they believe Luke addressed identity crises brought on by the social upheavals of his day. See Esler, Community and Gospel in Luke-Acts (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1987); and Tiede, Prophecy and History in LukeActs (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980). 56. Published in German in 1957, and later published in English (by Fortress) as The Theology of St. Luke. Conzelmann’s synthesis of Luke’s theology remains significant, but other important s of Lukan theology include Darrell L. Bock, A Theology of Luke and Acts: God’s Promised Program, Realized for All Nations (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2012); J. Green, Theology of the Gospel of Luke; Jacob Jervell, The Theology of the Acts of the Apostles, NTT (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1996); I. Howard Marshall, Luke: Historian and Theologian; Robert F. O’Toole, The Unity of Luke’s Theology: An Analysis of Luke-Acts, GNS 9 (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1984). 57. Following Conzelmann, Ernst Käsemann observed, “You do not write the history of the Church (i.e., the book of Acts) if you are expecting the end of the world to come any day” (“Problem of the Historical Jesus,” in Essays on New Testament Themes, 28).

58. John T. Carroll, Response to the End of History: Eschatology and Situation in Luke-Acts, SBLDS 92 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1988); A. J. Mattill, Luke and the Last Things: A Perspective for the Understanding of Lukan Thought (Dillsboro, NC: Western North Carolina Press, 1979). 59. Luke’s ecclesiology and theology of mission are the subject of Graham Twelftree, People of the Spirit: Exploring Luke’s View of the Church (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2009). 60. This accent on the individual’s relationship to Christ fosters a theology with heavy emphasis on “decision.” See Joel B. Green, Conversion in Luke-Acts: Divine Action, Human Response, and the People of God (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2015); Fernando Méndez-Moratalla, The Paradigm of Conversion in Luke, LNTS 252 (London: T&T Clark, 2004); Guy D. Nave, The Role and Function of Repentance in Luke-Acts, AcBib 4 (Atlanta: Scholars, 2002). 61. Two studies on “Jesus as Lord” in Luke have concluded that the third Gospel uses this term in service of what is typically called a “high” Christology. See H. Douglas Buckwalter, The Character and Purpose of Luke’s Christology, SNTSMS 89 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1996); and C. Kavin Rowe, Early Narrative Christology: The Lord in the Gospel of Luke (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2006). Rowe shows how the title establishes a “shared identity” between Jesus and God; Buckwalter sees the Lukan Jesus as the divine Lord who humbles himself to serve, in a way analogous to that presented in the hymn in Philippians 2:5–11. 62. Mark L. Strauss, The Davidic Messiah in Luke-Acts: The Promise and Its Fulfillment in Lukan Christology, JSNTSS 110 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995). 63. Constantino Ziccardi combines Luke’s identification of Jesus as both Messiah (= King of Israel) and Son of God to argue for a strong relationship in Lukan thought between Jesus and the kingdom of God (= eternal, universal reign of Jesus Messiah, Son of God). See The Relationship of Jesus and the Kingdom of God according to Luke-Acts (Rome: Pontifica Università Gregoriana, 2008). 64. Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, 132–44. 65. Paul S. Minear, To Heal and to Reveal: The Prophetic Vocation according to Luke (New York: Seabury, 1976), 102–21.

66. Frederick W. Danker, Luke, 2nd ed., PC (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 67– 71. 67. Talbert, Literary Patterns, 125–41. 68. Charles Talbert, “The Concept of Immortals in Mediterranean Antiquity,” JBL 94 (1975): 419–36. 69. Danker, Luke, 28–46. Compare Jonathan S. Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors: Roman Palestine and the Gospel of Luke, WUNT 2/259 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009). 70. See Anton Wessels, Images of Jesus: How Jesus Is Perceived and Portrayed in Non-European Cultures (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986). 71. The significance of Jesus’s resurrection for Lukan soteriology is emphasized by Kevin L. Anderson in “But God Raised Him from the Dead”: The Theology of Jesus’ Resurrection in Luke-Acts, PBM (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2006). 72. Thus, scholars like Helmuth Flender and Eric Franklin regarded the ascension rather than the parousia as the definitive eschatological event for Luke: salvation typically associated with the last days is available now. Flender, St. Luke: Theologian of Redemptive History (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967); Franklin, Christ the Lord: A Study in the Purpose and Theology of Luke-Acts (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1975). 73. Mark Allan Powell, “Salvation in Luke-Acts,” WW 12 (1992): 5–10. 74. Mikeal Parsons, The Departure of Jesus in Luke-Acts, JSNTSS 21 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1987). 75. Flender, St. Luke; Franklin, Christ the Lord. 76. Gerhard Krodel, Acts, PC (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 4–5. 77. See especially Mark Allan Powell, “The Religious Leaders in Luke: A Literary-Critical Approach,” JBL 109 (1990): 103–20. Compare J. Massyngbaerde Ford, My Enemy Is My Guest: Jesus and Violence in Luke (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1984); David B. Gowler, Host, Guest, Enemy, and Friend: Portraits of the Pharisees in Luke-Acts (New York: Peter Lang, 1991); J.

Patrick Mullen, Dining with Pharisees, Interfaces (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2004). 78. Hans Conzelmann, Acts of the Apostles, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), xlvii. 79. Paul Walaskay, “And So We Came to Rome . . .”: The Political Perspective of Luke-Acts, SNTSMS 49 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1983). 80. Philip Esler, Community and Gospel. 81. Richard J. Cassidy, Jesus, Politics, and Society; and Society and Politics in the Acts of the Apostles (Eugene OR: Wipf & Stock, 1987). See also Richard J. Cassidy and Philip J. Scharper, eds., Political Issues in Luke-Acts (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2015). 82. Kuhn, Kingdom according to Luke and Acts, 64. 83. Ernst Haenchen, “The Book of Acts as Source Material for the History of Early Christianity,” in Keck and Martyn, Studies in Luke-Acts, 278. 84. Joseph Tyson, “The Problem of Jewish Rejection in Luke-Acts,” in Tyson, Luke-Acts and the Jewish People. 85. Maddox, Purpose of Luke-Acts; S. Wilson, Gentiles and the Gentile Mission in Luke-Acts. 86. J. Sanders, Jews in Luke-Acts, 317. 87. Robert L. Brawley, Luke-Acts and the Jews. 88. David L. Tiede, “‘Glory to Thy People Israel’: Luke-Acts and the Jews,” in Tyson, Luke-Acts and the Jewish People; Tannehill, Narrative Unity, 1:298–301. 89. J. Bradley Chance, Jerusalem, the Temple, and the New Age in Luke-Acts (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1988); Franklin, Christ the Lord; Donald Juel, Luke-Acts: The Promise of History (Atlanta: John Knox, 1983); Mattill, Last Things.

90. Jacob Jervell, The Unknown Paul: Essays on Luke-Acts and Early Christian History (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1984). See also Jervell, Luke and the People of God: Theology of the Acts of the Apostles, 18–94. Compare J. Green, Theology of the Gospel of Luke, 68–75. 91. A different take on Luke’s interest in the eventual restoration of Israel is offered by David Ravens, Luke and the Restoration of Israel. 92. The attitude toward rich and poor in this Gospel has been investigated from numerous perspectives with varying results. See John Gillman, Possessions and the Life of Faith: A Reading of Luke-Acts, ZS (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1991); Christopher M. Hays, Luke’s Wealth Ethics: A Study in Their Coherence and Character, WUNT 2/275 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010; Luke T. Johnson, The Literary Function of Possessions in Luke-Acts, SBLDS 39 (Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1977; Halvor Moxnes, The Economy of the Kingdom: Social Conflict and Economic Relations in Luke’s Gospel, OBT (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988); Walter Pilgrim, Good News to the Poor: Wealth and Poverty in Luke-Acts (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1981); and David Seccombe, Possessions and the Poor in Luke-Acts, SNTSU (Linz: A. Fuchs, 1982). 93. See Matthew S. Rindge, Jesus’ Parable of the Rich Fool: Luke 12:13–34 among Ancient Conversations on Death and Possessions, SBLECL 6 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011). 94. Indeed, Stefan Nordgaard proposes that Luke changed his mind over time, moving from a chiefly ascetic position in the Gospel to a somewhat bourgeois position in Acts. See Possessions and Family in the Writings of Luke: Questioning the Unity of Luke’s Ethics (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2017). 95. Kyoug-Jim Kim, Stewardship and Almsgiving in Luke’s Theology (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998). 96. Jane Schaberg, “Luke,” in The Women’s Bible Commentary, ed. Carol A. Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 275– 92. 97. Elisabeth Tetlow, Women and Ministry in the New Testament (New York: Paulist, 1980).

98. Turid Karlsen Seim, The Double Message: Patterns of Gender in Luke-Acts (Nashville: Abingdon, 1994). 99. Fiorenza, In Memory of Her. 100. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, “Theological Criteria and Historical Reconstruction: Martha and Mary; Luke 10:38–42,” CHSP 53 (1987): 1–12. 101. Elizabeth V. Dowling, Taking Away the Pound: Women, Theology, and the Parable of the Pounds in the Gospel of Luke, LNTS 324 (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 211; see also 190–92. 102. Dowling, Taking Away the Pound, 189–90. Dowling’s book offers a comprehensive review of the characterization of women in Luke’s Gospel, and of scholarship regarding Luke’s presentation of women. 103. Jane Kopas, “Jesus and Women: Luke’s Gospel,” TToday 42 (1986): 192– 202; Rosalie Ryan, “The Women from Galilee and Discipleship in Luke,” BTB 15 (1985): 56–59. 104. Barbara Reid, Choosing the Better Part? Women in the Gospel of Luke (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1996). Likewise, Dowling argues that Luke’s narrative seems to be in line with the cultural expectations that limit the power and voice of women but contains seeds of resistance that allow for alternative readings (Taking Away the Pound, 213). See also J. M. Arlandson, Women, Class, and Society in Early Christianity: Models from Luke-Acts (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1997); Amy-Jill Levine and Marianne Blickenstaff, eds., A Feminist Companion to Luke (Cleveland: Pilgrim, 2004). 105. Tannehill, Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts, 1.201–04. 106. Schuyler Brown, Apostasy and Perseverance in the Theology of Luke, AnBib 36 (Rome: Biblical Institute, 1969); Richard J. Dillon, From EyeWitnesses to Ministers of the Word: Tradition and Composition in Luke 24, AnBib 82 (Rome: Biblical Institute, 1978). 107. Ernst Käsemann noted this tendency and labeled it with the unnecessarily pejorative term “early Catholicism.” See, for example, Jesus Means Freedom, 116–29. For an early rebuttal, see Werner Georg Kümmel, “Current Accusations against Luke,” ANQ 16 (1975): 131–45.

108. J. A. Bengel, New Testament Word Studies, 2 vols. (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 1971; original 1864), 1:740. Thanks to Charles Puskas for this reference. 109. See Susan R. Garrett, The Demise of the Devil: Magic and the Demonic in Luke’s Writings (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989). 110. Again, the foremost acc is Ernst Käsemann. See, for instance, “Ministry and Community in the New Testament,” in Essays on New Testament Themes, 63–94. 111. Mark Allan Powell, Introducing the New Testament, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2018), 228–29.

Chapter Five: The Gospel of John

1. Numerous academic studies on John have focused on particular characters (or on characterization) in the Gospel: David R. Beck, The Discipleship Paradigm: Readers and Anonymous Characters in the Fourth Gospel, BIS 27 (Leiden: Brill, 1997); Cornelis Bennema, Encountering Jesus: Character Studies in the Gospel of John (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2009); Bradford B. Blaine, Jr., Peter in the Gospel of John (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2007); William Bonney, Caused to Believe: The Doubting Thomas Story as the Climax of John’s Christological Narrative (Leiden: Brill, 2002); Colleen M. Conway, Men and Women in the Fourth Gospel: Gender and Johannine Characterization, SBLDS 167 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1999); Philip Esler and Ronald Piper, Lazarus, Mary and Martha: Social-Scientific Approaches to the Gospel of John (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2006); Nicolas Farelly, The Disciples in the Fourth Gospel: A Narrative Analysis of Their Faith and Understanding (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010); s Taylor Gench, Encounters with Jesus: Studies in the Gospel of John (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007); Stan Harstine, Moses as a Character in the Fourth Gospel:A Study of Ancient Reading Techniques, JSNTSS 229 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2002); Susan E. Hylan, Imperfect Believers: Ambiguous Characters in the Gospel of John (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2009); Michael W. Martin, Judas and the Rhetoric of Comparison in the Fourth Gospel, NTM 25 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2010).

2. We pay scant attention to literary-critical studies of John in this book. Some of the most important works are Jo-Ann A. Brant, Dialogue and Drama: Elements of Greek Tragedy in the Fourth Gospel (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2004); R. Alan Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel: A Study in Literary Design, FF (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983); Margaret Davies, Rhetoric and Reference in the Fourth Gospel, JSNTSS 69 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1992); Gail R. O’Day, Revelation in the Fourth Gospel: Narrative Mode and Theological Claim (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986); James L. Resseguie, The Strange Gospel: Narrative Design and Point of View in John, BIS 56 (Leiden: Brill, 2001); Jeffrey Lloyd Staley, The Print’s First Kiss: A Rhetorical Investigation of the Implied Reader in the Fourth Gospel, SBLDS 82 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1987); Mark W. G. Stibbe, John as Storyteller: Narrative Criticism and the Fourth Gospel, SNTSMS 73 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1992); Mark W. G. Stibbe, ed., The Gospel of John as Literature: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century Perspectives, NTTS 17 (Leiden: Brill, 1993). 3. Demetrius R. Dumm, A Mystical Portrait of Jesus: New Perspectives on John’s Gospel (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2001); Jey Kanagaraj, “Mysticism” in the Gospel of John (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998). 4. Richard Bauckham and Carl Mosser, eds., The Gospel of John and Christian Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007). 5. Margaret Beirne, Women and Men in the Fourth Gospel: A Discipleship of Equals, JSNTSS 242 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2003); Conway, Men and Women in the Fourth Gospel; s Taylor Gench, Back to the Well: Women’s Encounters with Jesus in the Fourth Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2004); Robert Gordon Maccini, Her Testimony Is True: Women at Witnesses according to John, JSNTSS 125 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996). 6. Important feminist studies of John include Amy-Jill Levine, ed., A Feminist Companion to John, 2 vols. (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2001); Sandra M. Schneiders, Written That You May Believe: Encountering Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, rev. ed. (New York: Herder & Herder, 2003). 7. See James D. G. Dunn’s well-titled article, “Let John Be John,” in The Gospel and the Gospels, ed. Peter Stuhlmacher (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 293– 322.

8. The title of a book by Robert Kysar offers an apt description: John, the Maverick Gospel, 3rd ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007). 9. D. Moody Smith, John among the Gospels: The Relationship in TwentiethCentury Research, 2nd ed. (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2001). Smith is known as the champion of the view that John is independent of the other Gospels, though in actuality he does not insist that John did not know the Synoptics (or traditions behind them): the distinctiveness of the Gospel is sufficient to establish it as an independent witness regardless of the level of acquaintance with other materials. 10. Puskas and Crump list these narratives as ones John has in common with the Synoptic Gospels: the call of the disciples (1:33–51); the cleansing of the temple (2:13–22); the healing of the official’s son (4:46–53); the feeding of the multitude, followed by a sea-crossing miracle (6:1–21); Peter’s confession (6:66–69); the anointing at Bethany (12:1–8); the entry into Jerusalem (12:12– 15); the Last Supper, with a prophecy of betrayal (13:1–11); and the basic story of the ion. See Introduction to the Gospels and Acts, 154. 11. For example, a woman wipes Jesus’s feet with her hair (John 12:3–8; Luke 7:36–50); Jesus knows two sisters named Mary and Martha (John 11:1–44; Luke 10:38–42); Pilate declares Jesus innocent three times (John 18:38; 19:4, 6; Luke 23:4, 14–15, 22). See John Amedee Bailey, The Traditions Common to the Gospels of Luke and John (Leiden: Brill, 1963); D. M. Smith, John among the Gospels, 85–110. 12. Puskas and Crump list nine events that occur in the same sequence in the Gospels of Mark and John: (1) the work of the Baptist; (2) Jesus’s departure to Galilee; (3) the feeding of a multitude; (4) walking on water; (5) Peter’s confession; (6) the departure to Jerusalem; (7) entry into Jerusalem and anointing (order reversed in John); (8) a final supper, with predictions of betrayal and denial; (9) arrest and ion narrative. See Introduction to the Gospels and Acts, 154–55. 13. Raymond E. Brown, An Introduction to the Gospel of John, ed. Francis J. Moloney (New York: Doubleday, 2003), 90–114; C. H. Dodd, Historical Traditions in the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1963); A. Denaux, John and the Synoptics (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1992).

14. See Thomas L. Brodie, The Quest for the Origin of John’s Gospel: A SourceOriented Approach (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). 15. Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971; German original, 1941). Bultmann thought this original “Signs Source” contained seven signs, comprising the material behind 2:1–11; 4:46–54; 5:1–15; 6:5–15, 16–21; 9:1–12; 11:1–44; an eighth sign (21:1–14) was added by the author of the postscript (chapter 21). Bultmann also proposed that John had a source written in Aramaic for the Johannine discourses, and a pre-formed but non-Synoptic ion narrative. This was all thoroughly critiqued by D. Moody Smith, The Composition and Order of the Fourth Gospel: Bultmann’s Literary Theory (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965). 16. Robert T. Fortna, The Gospel of Signs: A Reconstruction of the Narrative Source Underlying the Fourth Gospel (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1970); The Fourth Gospel and Its Predecessor: From Narrative Source to Present Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988); Willem Nicol, The Sēmeia in the Fourth Gospel: Tradition and Redaction (Leiden: Brill, 1972); Gilbert van Belle, The Signs Source in the Fourth Gospel: Historical Survey and Critical Evaluation of the Sēmeia Hypothesis (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1994); and Urban C. von Wahlde, The Earliest Version of John’s Gospel: Recovering the Gospel of Signs (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1989). 17. The stages in figure 42 are based on a popular proposal in Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John, 2 vols., AB 29, 29A (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1966–70). For other proposals, including those of such significant scholars as C. K. Barrett, Marie-Emile Boismard, Rudolf Bultmann, Oscar Cullmann, Wolfgang Langbrandtner, Barnabas Lindars, J. Louis Martyn, Georg Richter, John A. T. Robinson, and D. Moody Smith, see Gerard S. Sloyan, What Are They Saying about John? (New York: Paulist, 1991), 3–49; and Raymond E. Brown, The Community of the Beloved Disciple (New York: Paulist, 1979), 171–82. 18. On this text see Larry Joseph Kreitzer and Deborah W. Rooke, eds., Ciphers in the Sand: Interpretations of the Woman Taken in Adultery (John 7.53–8.11), BibSem 74 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000). 19. See Craig A. Evans, Word and Glory: On the Exegetical and Theological Background of John’s Prologue, JSNTSS 89 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic,

1993); Elizabeth Harris, Prologue and Gospel: The Theology of the Fourth Evangelist, JSNTSS 107 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1994); and Peter M. Phillips, The Prologue to the Fourth Gospel: A Sequential Reading, LNTS 294 (London: T&T Clark, 2006). Ela Nutu offers a deconstructive, psychoanalytical analysis that draws heavily on gender studies and film criticism in Incarnate Word, Inscribed Flesh: John’s Prologue and the Postmodern, BMW 6 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007). 20. On the Hellenistic background (especially Philo), see Harris, Prologue and Gospel, 196–201; on the Jewish background, see Evans, Word and Glory. 21. Some recent studies have likened John’s presentation of Jesus as the incarnate Word of God to the Old Testament personification of wisdom, which is also said to have been present with God at creation (Prov 8:22–31; John 1:1–3) and to be the source of life (Prov 8:35; 1 John 5:12). See D. Moody Smith, The Theology of the Gospel of John, NTT (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 17–18. See also Martin Scott, Sophia and the Johannine Jesus, JSNTSS 71 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1992). 22. Bultmann (John) saw the beloved disciple as an ideal figure. R. Alan Culpepper thinks he was a historical figure but in John’s narrative is identified with the “implied author” of the Gospel so as to become a literary representation of the dominant point of view. See Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel. 23. The earliest identification of “the beloved disciple” as the apostle John comes from Irenaus, Bishop of Lyons (ca. 180). 24. Floyd V. Filson, “Who Was the Beloved Disciple?” JBL 68 (1949): 83–88; Joseph N. Sanders, “Those Whom Jesus Loved,” NTS 1 (1954): 29–41. 25. The latter is the preference of James H. Charlesworth in the most exhaustive study of this topic to date, The Beloved Disciple: Whose Witness Validates the Gospel of John? (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1995). 26. Joseph A. Grassi suggests a possible connection with Mary Magdalene in The Secret Identity of the Beloved Disciple (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist, 1992). James P. Carse nominates the Samaritan woman in The Gospel of the Beloved Disciple (San Francisco: Harper, 1997). A more complicated proposal is offered by Sandra M. Schneiders in “‘Because of the Woman’s Testimony . . .’: Reexamining the Issue of Authorship in the Fourth Gospel,” NTS 44.4 (Oct

1998): 513-35. Schneiders does not argue that the beloved disciple is to be equated with any one, specific woman in the life of Jesus, but rather is a paradigm represented by several characters (especially, though not exclusively, women). 27. Paul Diel and Jeannine Solotareff, Symbolism in the Gospel of John (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988); Jörg Frey, Jan G. van der Watt, and Ruben Zimmerman, eds., Imagery in the Gospel of John: , Forms, Themes, and Theology of Johannine Figurative Language, WUNT 200 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebek, 2006); Craig R. Koester, Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel: Meaning, Mystery, and Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); Dorothy A. Lee, The Symbolic Narratives of the Fourth Gospel: The Interplay of Form and Meaning, JSNTSS 95 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1994). 28. See David Mark Ball, “I Am” in John’s Gospel: Literary Function, Background, and Theological Implications, JSNTSS 124 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996); and Phillip B. Harner, The I-Am of the Fourth Gospel: A Study in Johannine Usage and Thought (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971). 29. On the function of such language, see the interdisciplinary study by Norman R. Petersen, The Gospel of John and the Sociology of Light (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1993). Petersen thinks John’s Gospel makes use of “special language,” ordinary words understood in a particular way by the Johannine community so as to become an anti-language, functioning socially to distinguish the Johannine believers from their opponents. 30. But see Wai-Yee Ng, Water Symbolism in John: An Eschatological Interpretation, StBL 15 (New York: Peter Lang, 2001). Ng thinks that water symbolizes anticipation of the soteriological and eschatological blessings Jesus brings. 31. Scholars who note this seldom appreciate that John (and only John) does present Jesus (3:22; 4:2)—or at least his disciples (4:3)—as engaged in baptizing others. This has always seemed to me to provide a stronger endorsement of the ritual for Christian practice than would be provided by any of Jesus himself being baptized. 32. Bultmann (John) viewed the Johannine community as essentially nonsacramental, while Oscar Cullmann held that John was profoundly interested in

the sacraments. See Cullmann, Early Christian Worship (London: SCM, 1953). For an example of a mediating view, see G. R. Beasley-Murray, Gospel of Life: Theology in the Fourth Gospel (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991), 85–101. 33. Culpepper, Anatomy, 152–65; Tom Thatcher, The Riddles of Jesus in John: A Study in Tradition and Folklore, SBLMS (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000). 34. Mary L. Coloe studies temple imagery in John as expressive of God’s indwelling, applied both to Jesus and to the Johannine community. See God Dwells with Us: Temple Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2001). Compare Paul M. Hoskins, Jesus as the Fulfillment of the Temple in the Gospel of John, PBM (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2006); Alan R. Kerr, The Temple of Jesus’ Body: The Temple Theme in the Gospel of John, JSNTSS 220 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2002). 35. The phenomenon of irony is much more complex than the obvious example in 11:50 suggests. For a basic introduction see Culpepper, Anatomy, 165–80; and Paul D. Duke, Irony in the Fourth Gospel (Atlanta: John Knox, 1985). On the hermeneutical implications of Johannine irony, see O’Day, Revelation in the Fourth Gospel. 36. William S. Kurz, The Farewell Addresses in the New Testament, ZS (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1990), 71–120; Fernando F. Segovia, The Farewell of the Word: The Johannine Call to Abide (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991); George L. Parsenios, Departure and Consolation: The Johannine Farewell Discourses in Light of Greco-Roman Literature, NovTSup 117 (Leiden: Brill, 2005); John Carlson Stube, A Graeco-Roman Rhetorical Reading of the Farewell Discourse, LNTS 309 (London: T&T Clark, 2006); Bruce Woll, Johannine Christianity in Conflict: Authority, Rank, and Succession in the First Farewell Discourse (Chico, CA: Scholars, 1981). 37. Studies on the Spirit in John include Tricia Gates Brown, The Spirit in the Writings of John: Johannine Pneumatology in Social-Scientific Perspective, JSNTSS 253 (Sheffield Academic, 2004); Gary M. Burge, The Anointed Community: The Holy Spirit in the Johannine Tradition (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987); George Johnston, The Spirit Paraclete in the Gospel of John, SNTSMS 12 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1970); Hans Windisch, The Spirit-Paraclete in the Fourth Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress,

1968); and John Wijngaards, The Spirit in John, ZS (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1988). 38. See Raymond F. Collins, These Things Have Been Written: Studies on the Fourth Gospel, LTPM 2 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 157; Daniel J. Harrington, John’s Thought and Theology: An Introduction, GNS (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1990); and Nicol, Sēmeia in the Fourth Gospel. 39. On the Johannine ion see Beasley-Murray, Gospel of Life, 34–58; Godfrey Nicholson, Death as Departure: The Johannine Descent-Ascent Schema, SBLDS 63 (Chico, CA: Scholars, 1983); Ignace de la Potterie, The Hour of Jesus: The ion and Resurrection of Jesus according to John (New York: Alba House, 1989); Donald Senior, The ion of Jesus in the Gospel of John (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1991). 40. For discussion and debate, see C. K. Barrett, The Gospel of John and Judaism (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1975); Raymond Bieringer, Didier Pollefeyt, and Frederique Vandecasteele-Vanneuville, eds., Anti-Judaism and the Fourth Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001); John Bowman, The Fourth Gospel and the Jews (Pittsburgh: Pickwick, 1975); C. G. Lingad, The Problems of Jewish Christians in the Johannine Community (Rome: Editrice Pontifica Univeristà Gregoriana, 2001); Stephen Moyer, Your Father the Devil? A New Approach to John and “the Jews” (Carlisle: Paternoster, 1997). 41. This translation is encouraged by the usually authoritative “BAGD lexicon”: see Frederick Danker, ed., A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, 3rd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), 478. It has also been defended rather vigorously by such scholars as Richard Doran, Bruce Malina, and Neil Elliott. Amy-Jill Levine reviews and critiques all of the arguments in her The Misunderstood Jesus: The Church and the Scandal of the Jewish Jesus (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2006). Ultimately, she concludes that, while scholars should indicate that first-century Judaisms are not the same as twenty-first-century ones, the use of geographical nomenclature for a religious or ethnic group does more harm than good: “removing Jews from the New Testament does a disservice to Jews, Jesus, church, and synagogue” (166). 42. See Adele Reinhartz, Befriending the Beloved Disciple: A Jewish Reading of the Gospel of John (New York: Continuum, 2001). Reinhartz, a Jewish scholar

who is the daughter of Holocaust survivors, approaches John as a conversation partner. Using reader-response criticism, she explores possible “resistant readings” and “sympathetic readings” of the work, but ultimately opts for “an engaged reading”: John’s Christology and exclusivism make true friendship between her and the beloved disciple nearly impossible, but mutual respect and understanding are viable goals. 43. On the Johannine love command, see further in R. E. Brown, Community of the Beloved Disciple; Victor Paul Furnish, The Love Command in the New Testament (Nashville: Abingdon, 1972), 132–58; Fernando F. Segovia, Love Relationships in the Fourth Gospel (Atlanta: John Knox, 1982); and Sjef van Tilborg, Imaginative Love in John, BIS 2 (Leiden: Brill, I993). 44. For more on this project, see Doris L. Bergen, Twisted Cross: The German Christian Movement in the Third Reich (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996). 45. For an exhaustive study of traditions concerning this person, see R. Alan Culpepper, John the Son of Zebedee: The Life of a Legend (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1994). 46. This was the view of Raymond E. Brown (Introduction to the Gospel of John) and of Martin Hengel, The Johannine Question (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1989). Andreas J. Köstenberger, by contrast, argues that the Gospel and all three letters were written by John the son of Zebedee. See A Theology of John’s Gospel and Letters: The Word, the Christ, the Son of God (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2009). 47. Oscar Cullmann, The Johannine Circle (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976); R. Alan Culpepper, The Johannine School, SBLDS 26 (Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1975). 48. The Jesus Seminar, for instance, did not find a single verse in the entire Gospel of John that it was willing to print in red type, indicating that Jesus actually said the words. One verse, John 4:44, was printed in pink type, indicating that Jesus might have said the words; everything else was gray (quite dubious) or black (definitely inauthentic). See Robert W. Funk, Roy W. Hoover, and the Jesus Seminar, The Five Gospels: The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus (New York: Macmillan, 1993). On the historicity of John, see also the

classic study by Dodd, Historical Tradition. An apology for John’s historical reliability has been offered by Craig L. Blomberg, The Historical Reliability of John’s Gospel: Issues and Commentary (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2001). 49. Paul N. Anderson, The Fourth Gospel and the Quest for Jesus: Modern Foundations Reconsidered, LNTS 321 (New York: T&T Clark, 2006). The John, Jesus, and History Group of the Society of Biblical Literature devoted itself to studying the implications of this recognition and published three volumes of essays: Paul Anderson, Felix Just, and Tom Thatcher, eds., John, Jesus, and History, 3 vols. (Atlanta, Society of Biblical Literature, 2014–16). 50. As a participant in such discussions, I tried to tease out the implications of this point by asking scholars to imagine what might have happened if John’s Gospel had been lost to history only to be discovered now: “Imagine! A book on the life and teachings of Jesus that is almost as early as the Synoptic Gospels, that claims to be based in part on eyewitness testimony, that contains some material that is almost certainly very primitive, that may very well be independent of the other Gospels while corroborating what they say at many points, and that offers what is ultimately a rather different (though not wholly incompatible) spin on the Jesus story! . . . Obviously, the implications of such a discovery would be phenomenal, suring even the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls or of the noncanonical Gospels. Of course, nothing quite like that scenario has actually occurred, but many historians seem to be saying, ‘We do have such a book . . . perhaps we should not ignore it.’” See Mark Allan Powell, “The De-Johannification of Jesus: The Twentieth Century and Beyond,” in Anderson et al., John, Jesus, and History, 1:132. 51. Studies particularly attentive to Greco-Roman rhetoric and cultural anthropology may be found in Jerome H. Neyrey, The Gospel of John in Cultural and Rhetorical Perspective (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009). 52. For example, Herman C. Waetjen suggests a first edition of the Gospel was produced in Alexandria and a second edition in Ephesus. See The Gospel of the Beloved Disciple: A Work in Two Editions (London: T&T Clark, 2005). 53. Sjef van Tilborg, Reading John in Ephesus, NovTSup 83 (Leiden: Brill, 1996). 54. J. Louis Martyn links the consolidation of the Johannine community to the

introduction into synagogue liturgies of an “Eighteenth Benediction” condemning Christians as heretics, but just when and where this benediction was actually used is disputed. See History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel, 2nd ed. (Nashville: Abingdon, 1979). 55. John A. T. Robinson, The Priority of John, ed. J. F. Coakley (London: SCM, 1985). But even Robinson grants that the Gospel may have been edited to achieve its final form at a later date. 56. A text-critical problem at John 20:31 prevents us from knowing with certainty whether the evangelist originally wrote “come to believe” (as the NRSV indicates) or “continue to believe.” 57. Jerome H. Neyrey attributes the breach to John’s Christology, which also propelled Christians into a radical devaluation of “the world.” See An Ideology of Revolt: John’s Christology in Social-Science Perspective (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988). 58. Alexander Tsuterov claims John presents Jesus as a new Moses, ratifying a new, better, and more inclusive covenant. See Glory, Grace, and Truth: Ratification of the Sinaitic Covenant according to the Gospel of John (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2009). John A. Dennis believes John appropriates Jewish restoration theology to present the Christian community as the new Israel in accord with key principles of that theological movement. See Jesus’ Death and the Gathering of True Israel: The Johannine Appropriation of Restoration Theology in the Light of John 11:47–52, WUNT 2/217 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006). 59. Urban von Wahlde, The Johannine Commandment: 1 John and the Struggle for the Johannine Tradition (New York: Paulist, 1990). 60. See Perkins, Gnosticism and the New Testament. 61. All of this is summarized well by Edward Adams in Parallel Lives of Jesus: A Guide to the Four Gospels (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2011). Other works on Johannine Christology include Paul N. Anderson, The Christology of the Fourth Gospel: Its Unity and Disunity in the Light of John 6 (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997); Pamela E. Kinlaw, The Christ Is Jesus: Metamorphosis, Possession, and Johannine Christology, AcBib 18 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005); James F. McGrath, John’s Apologetic

Christology: Legitimation and Development in Johannine Christology, SNTSMS 111 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 62. See Marianne Meye Thompson, The Humanity of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988). She argues that the Gospel of John assumes the humanity of Jesus without seeking to prove it. 63. But Stephen Voorwind believes the emotions attributed to Jesus in John correspond to those attributed to the God of Israel in the Pentateuch. See Jesus’ Emotions in the Fourth Gospel, LNTS 284 (London: T&T Clark, 2005). 64. One example of how the two natures get played off against each other in Johannine studies is in discussions of the term “Son of (the) Man.” Compare Francis Moloney, The Johannine Son of Man, 2nd ed. (Rome: Ateneo Salesiano, 1979); and Delbert Burkett, The Son of the Man in the Gospel of John, JSNTSS 56 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1991). For Moloney, the title emphasizes the humanity of Jesus; for Burkett, it is an enigmatic synonym for “Son of God” (“the Man” referring to God, not humanity). See also Benjamin E. Reynolds, The Apocalyptic Son of Man in the Gospel of John, WUNT 249 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008). 65. They note, for instance, the Samaritan concept of Moses as one who ascended to heaven, saw God, and returned to reveal God to humanity. The language that this Gospel uses at certain points (3:13, 31; 5:20; 6:46; 7:16) is very close to that used in Samaritan writings, except that now the claim is that Jesus (not Moses) is the revealer from heaven. See Marie-Emile Boismard, Moses or Jesus: An Essay in Johannine Christology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992); Thomas F. Glasson, Moses in the Fourth Gospel (Naperville, IL: A. R. Allenson, 1963); and Wayne A. Meeks, The Prophet-King: Moses Traditions and the Johannine Christology (Leiden: Brill, 1967). 66. Cornelius Bennema, The Power of Saving Wisdom: An Investigation of Spirit and Wisdom in Relation to the Soteriology of the Fourth Gospel, WUNT 2/148 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002); Sharon Ringe, Wisdom’s Friends: Community and Christology in the Fourth Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1999). 67. Carter, Telling Tales about Jesus, 245. 68. Parallels between John’s concept of “the Word” and traditional notions of

divine wisdom were noted early in Charles H. Talbert, Reading John: A Literary and Theological Commentary on the Fourth Gospel and the Johannine Epistles (New York: Crossroad, 1992), 68–70. 69. Andreas J. Köstenberger and Scott R. Swain, Father, Son, and Spirit: The Trinity and John’s Gospel, NTSB 24 (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2008). 70. The different ways in which elements of John’s Christology (preexistence, incarnation, divine and human natures) were interpreted in early Christianity are thoroughly investigated in T. E. Pollard, Johannine Christology and the Early Church, SNTSMS 13 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1970). 71. I have said (specifically when addressing adolescents, though that may not matter), “For John, to have eternal life means to be in love forever. If you have this life, there will never be a time when you are not loved, or when you are not loving.” 72. The concept was developed by C. H. Dodd in his work on parables, though he was also a Johannine scholar. See The Parables of the Kingdom, rev. ed. (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1961; original, 1935). 73. Beasley-Murray, Gospel of Life, 1–14; David Asonye Ihenacho, The Community of Eternal Life: The Study of the Meaning of Life for the Johannine Community (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2001). 74. Robin Scroggs, Christology in John and Paul, PC (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 96–99. 75. The Lazarus story has been the subject of many studies. See Brendan Byrne, Lazarus: A Contemporary Reading of John 11:1–46, ZS (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1991). Esler and Piper, Lazarus, Mary, and Martha; Wendy E. Sproston North, The Lazarus Story within the Johannine Tradition, JSNTSS 212 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2001). 76. Frederick Herzog, Liberation Theology: Liberation in the Light of the Fourth Gospel (New York: Seabury, 1977); Wes Howard-Brook, Becoming Children of God: John’s Gospel and Radical Discipleship (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2003); Robert Karris, Jesus and the Marginalized in John’s Gospel, ZS (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1990); Francisco Lozada, Jr. and Tom Thatcher, eds., New Currents through John: A Global Perspective, SBLRBS 54 (Atlanta:

Society of Biblical Literature, 2006); Musa W. Dube and Lance B. Richey, Roman Imperial Ideology and the Gospel of John CBQMS 43 (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 2007); David Rensberger, Johannine Faith and Liberating Community (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1988); Jeffrey L. Staley, John and Postcolonialism: Travel, Space, and Power (Sheffield: Sheffield University Press, 2002); Tom Thatcher, Greater Than Caesar: Christology and Empire in the Fourth Gospel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009). 77. Marianne Meye Thompson, The God of the Gospel of John (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001). 78. Beasley-Murray, Gospel of Life, 15–33; Marinus de Jonge, Jesus, Stranger from Heaven and Son of God (Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1977). 79. J. Terence Forestell, The Word of the Cross: Salvation as Revelation in the Fourth Gospel (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1974). 80. Adams, Parallel Lives, 118. 81. Jocelyn McWhirter thinks that John alludes to biblical texts about marriage and draws on them to depict Jesus’s relationship with his followers in of marriage. See The Bridegroom Messiah and the People of God: Marriage in the Fourth Gospel, SNTSMS 138 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 82. Mark L. Appold, The Oneness Motif in the Fourth Gospel (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1976); Mary L. Coloe, Dwelling in the Household of God: Johannine Ecclesiology and Spirituality (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2007); Kanagaraj, “Mysticism” in the Gospel of John; Matthew Vellanickal, The Divine Sonship of Christians in the Johannine Writings (Rome: Biblical Institute, 1977). 83. Wayne A. Meeks, “The Man from Heaven in Johannine Sectarianism,” JBL 91 (1972): 44–72; the idea is developed with greater social-scientific precision in Neyrey, Ideology of Revolt. The appropriateness of the label is challenged by Kare Sigvald Fuglseth in Johannine Sectarianism in Perspective: A Sociological, Historical, and Comparative Analysis of the Temple and Social Relationships in the Gospel of John, Philo, and Qumran, NovTSup 119 (Leiden: Brill, 2005) and by Timothy J. M. Ling in The Judaean Poor and the Fourth Gospel, SNTSMS 136 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006).

84. R. E. Brown, Community of the Beloved Disciple, 59–91. 85. Andreas J. Köstenberger, The Missions of Jesus and His Disciples according to the Fourth Gospel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). 86. Jerome H. Neyrey uses sociological models to analyze the developing theology of the Johannine community as expressive of its experience of alienation and estrangement, but he sees the ultimate mood as “more one of revolt against discredited systems than sectarian defense” (An Ideology of Revolt, 205). 87. See Teresa Okure, The Johannine Approach to Mission: A Contextual Study of John 4:1–42, WUNT 31 (Tübingen: Mohr, 1988). 88. Elaine Pagels, The Johannine Gospel in Gnostic Exegesis: Heraclon’s Commentary on John (Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1973). 89. Most discussions of the law in John concur that this Gospel intends to present Jesus as one who was faithful to Torah. See A. E. Harvey, Jesus on Trial: A Study in the Fourth Gospel (Atlanta: John Knox, 1977); and Severino Pancaro, The Law in the Fourth Gospel: The Torah and the Gospel, Moses and Jesus, Judaism and Christianity according to John (Leiden: Brill, 1975). 90. R. E. Brown, John, 1:lxxi. Brown notes that John’s vocabulary is confusing to modern readers. He uses “Israel” to refer to what we might call the Jewish people, and uses the phrase “the Jews” as “almost a technical term for the religious authorities, particularly those in Jerusalem who are hostile to Jesus.” 91. James H. Charlesworth, ed., John and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 2nd ed. (New York: Crossroad, 1990). 92. C. K. Barrett argued that Peter and the beloved disciple had equal but distinct roles for the community, the former viewed as the head of its evangelistic and pastoral work, the latter as the guarantor of its tradition. See his The Gospel according to St. John, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1978). 93. Ritva H. Williams argues that Jesus’s relationship with his brothers in John is marked by envy and increasing hostility even while his relationship with his (never named) mother is characterized by deep and abiding loyalty. See Kinship Relations in the Gospel of John, CBQMS 42 (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical

Association, 2007). 94. Noting John’s accent on the divinity of Christ, Ernst Käsemann considered the Gospel to be “naively docetic,” picturing Jesus as “God striding over the earth.” See The Testament of Jesus (London: SCM, 1968). Today, most scholars recognize tendencies in the Gospel that explain how such ideas could have developed within the Johannine community, but maintain that the work in its current form repudiates docetism. See Udo Schelle, Antidocetic Christology in the Gospel of John (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992). M. M. Thompson (Humanity of Jesus) believes the Gospel is more concerned with affirming paradox than with combating docetism. 95. R. E. Brown (Community of the Beloved Disciple, 71–91) distinguishes three groups of those whom John would regard as “other Christians” with varying degrees of tolerance: Christian-Jews within the synagogues, Jewish Christians of inadequate faith (represented by James), and Christians of apostolic churches (represented by Peter). 96. Pollard, Johannine Christology.

Chapter Six: The Other Gospels

1. For the texts of several significant works, see Robert J. Miller, ed., The Complete Gospels, 4th ed. (Salem, OR: Polebridge, 2010); Bart D. Ehrman and Zlatko Plêse, The Other Gospels: s of Jesus from Outside the New Testament (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013); J. K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993). Also see the classic collections in James Robinson, Nag Hammadi Library; and Meyer, Nag Hammadi Scriptures. Except where noted (Gospel of the Savior, Gospel of Thomas, Epistle of the Apostles, Gospel of Philip), quotations of documents in this chapter are from Miller. 2. See, especially, Elaine Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels (New York: Random House, 1976).

3. See F. F. Bruce, The Canon of Scripture (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1988); Harry Y. Gamble, The New Testament Canon: Its Making and Meaning (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985); Lee Martin McDonald, The Biblical Canon: Its Origin, Transmission, and Authority (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2007). 4. For assessment of these works and their significance for theology, see Tony Burke, Secret Scriptures Revealed: A New Introduction to the Christian Apocrypha (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013); Bart D. Ehrman, Lost Scriptures: Books That Did Not Make It into the New Testament (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003); J. K. Elliott, The Apocryphal Jesus: Legends of the Early Church (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996); Paul Foster, ed., The Non-canonical Gospels (London: T&T Clark, 2007); Helmut Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels: Their History and Development (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1990). 5. For decades, Christian bookstores have been replete with works of “historical fiction” that combine canonical data, church traditions, and imaginative speculation to construct s of biblical events that are intended to inspire readers devotionally while also endorsing theological perspectives favored by the author. See, for example, Marjorie L. Holmes, Two from Galilee: The Story of Mary and Joseph (Old Tappan, NJ: Fleming H. Revell, 1972); Paul L. Maier, Pontius Pilate: A Novel, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 2014). 6. This point was one of the main reasons the work was rejected by Jerome, who contended that both Joseph and Mary were lifelong virgins and that the so-called siblings of Jesus were actually his cousins. 7. The claim was probably intended to dispel charges leveled against Christianity by the pagan Celsus, who insisted that Jesus’s supposed messianic credentials were repudiated by his lower-class status. Similarly, the Protoevangelium’s of Mary being honored by an invitation to spin threads for the temple veil is a response to Celsus’s derogatory remark that Jesus was so poor his mother had to spin for a living. See further Ehrman and Plêse, The Other Gospels, 11–12. 8. On the very complicated textual history of the work (and, thus, on the different versions that exist), see Ehrman and Plêse, The Other Gospels, 3–7. 9. Miller, Complete Gospels, 380.

10. Ehrman and Plêse, The Other Gospels, 7. 11. Citations of the Gospel of the Savior are from Ehrmann and Plêse, The Other Gospels, 219–25 (no versification attends this translation). 12. See R. Miller, Complete Gospels, 394. The assumption, then, is that these events were first the subject of imaginative theological speculation and only later grounded in history. This argument is most closely associated with John Dominic Crossan, The Cross That Spoke: The Origins of the ion Narrative (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988). He updates his position somewhat in his Four Other Gospels: Shadows on the Contours of Canon (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1992), 85–127. On the independence of the Gospel of Peter from the canonical Gospels, see also H. Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, 216–40. 13. R. Miller, Complete Gospels, 280–81. 14. Fred Lapham, An Introduction to the New Testament Apocrypha (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 120; Hans-Josef Klauk, Apocryphal Gospels: An Introduction (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 108. 15. Ehrman and Plêse, The Other Gospels, 155–60. 16. Compare John Dominic Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1991); N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis, Fortress, 1996). Generally speaking, the view that Thomas is independent of the canonical Gospels allows for more canonical material to be accepted as historically authentic, in accord with the criteria of multiple attestation. This would seem congruent with the interests of conservative evangelical scholars, but the latter have been slow to realize it. 17. The words Thomas and Didymus both mean “twin” and would have been nicknames rather than proper names, so the Gospel of Thomas claims to be written by someone named Judas, who was sometimes called either “Thomas” or “Didymus,” apparently because he had a twin brother or sister. We know that Jesus had a brother named Judas (or Jude), to whom the letter of Jude in the New Testament is ascribed (see also Mark 6:3). The identification of Thomas (a “Jude” who was a twin) with Jude the brother of Jesus is explicit in the apocryphal Acts of Thomas, a work that was probably written in Edessa in Syria (where the Gospel of Thomas was found) sometime in the third century. In that

book, the fact that Jesus and his brother Thomas looked alike is a cause of confusion when the risen Lord appears to people and is mistaken for his brother. See Ehrman, Lost Scriptures, 122–34. 18. All citations of the Gospel of Thomas are from Ehrman and Plêse, The Other Gospels, 161–73. 19. R. Miller, Complete Gospels, 281–83. 20. Origen (Hom. 1 on Luke) and Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.25.6) are also aware of a Gospel of Thomas that they consider to be heterodox. 21. R. Miller, Complete Gospels, 345. 22. Ehrman and Plêse, The Other Gospels, 203. 23. Ehrman, Lost Scriptures, 73. All my citations from the work are from the version presented in this collection (Lost Scriptures, 74–77). 24. Citations from the Gospel of Philip are from Ehrman, Lost Scriptures, 39–44. 25. Most English editions of the Gospel of Philip translate the word “companion,” following the industry standard set by Wesley W. Isenberg in James Robinson, Nag Hammadi Library. Ehrman’s Lost Scriptures (which I am otherwise employing) uses a translation by David Carlidge and David Dungan that renders the word “lover” in the first age and “consort” in the second. This strikes me as tendentious and unnecessarily sensational, but it would likewise be tendentious of me not to indicate that the word can mean “spouse.” 26. In that case, they probably would have believed that the divine spirit that inhabited the human man was married to the church or to the Holy Spirit. The latter is identified as female in the Gospel of Philip in a memorable way: “Some say that Mary was impregnated by the Holy Spirit. They err. They do not know what they say. When has a woman become pregnant by a woman?” (17). 27. Jane Schaberg, The Resurrection of Mary Magdalene: Legends, Apocrypha, and the Christian Testament (New York: Continuum, 2004), 154.

List of Abbreviations

AB

Anchor Bible

AcBib

Academia Biblica

AnBib

Analecta Biblica

ANQ

Andover Newton Quarterly

ASBT

Arcadia Studies in Bible and Theology

BETL

Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium

BibSem

Biblical Seminar

BIS

Biblical Interpretation Series

BMW

Bible in the Modern World

BNTC

Black’s New Testament Commentaries

BTB

Biblical Theology Bulletin

BZNW

Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft

CBET

Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology

CBQ

Catholic Biblical Quarterly

CBQMS

Catholic Biblical Quarterly–Monograph Series

CHSP

Center for Hermeneutical Studies

CMBI

Cambridge Methods in Biblical Interpretation

ConBNT

Coniectanea biblica: New Testament series

EH

Europäische Hochschulschriften

EUS

European University Studies

FB

Forschung zur Bibel

FF

Foundations and Facets

FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments GBS

Guides to Biblical Scholarship

GNS

Good News Studies

HTS

Harvard Theological Studies

Int

Interpretation

IRT

Issues in Religion and Theology

JBL

Journal of Biblical Literature

JSHJ

Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus

JSNTSS

Journal for the Study of the New Testament—Supplement Series

LCBI

Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation

LEC

Library of Early Christianity

LNTS

Library of New Testament Studies

LTPM

Louvain Theological and Pastoral Monographs

LTT

Library of Theological Translations

NA

Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen

NovTSup Novum Testamentum, Supplements NTL

New Testament Library

NTM

New Testament Monographs

NTOA

Novum Testamentum et Orbus Antiquus

NTS

New Testament Studies

NTSB

New Studies in Biblical Theology

NTT

New Testament Theology

NTTS

New Testament Tools and Studies

OBO

Orbis biblicus et orientalis

OBT

Overtures to Biblical Theology

PC

Proclamation Commentaries

PBM

Paternoster Biblical Monographs

PSNS

Paul’s Social Network Series

SBEC

Studies in Bible and Early Christianity

SBLDS

Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series

SBLECL

Society of Biblical Literature Early Christianity and Its Literature

SBLMS

Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series

SBLRBS

Society of Biblical Literature Resources for Biblical Study

SBLSS

Society of Biblical Literature Semeia Studies

SNTSMS Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series SNTSU

Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt

SNTW

Studies of the New Testament and Its World

SS

Symposium Series

StBL

Studies in Biblical Literature

TGT

Tesi Gregoriana: Teologia

TI

Theological Inquiries

TST

Toronto Studies in Theology

TToday

Theology Today

WUNT

Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament

WW

Word and World

ZS

Zacchaeus Studies

Glossary

Abba. the Aramaic word for “Father” used by Jesus and, so, employed by some of his followers (Gal 4:6). Antitheses. the six statements of Jesus in Matthew 5:21–48 in which he states his own view over and against that which people “have heard said.” apocalyptic. a dualistic perspective that regards the present as an evil age soon to be ended by divine intervention. Apocrypha. ancient writings that are similar to those found in the Bible but are not regarded as Scripture. apocryphal Gospels. see “noncanonical Gospels.” apostle. “one who is sent”; used for certain leaders among the earliest followers of Jesus, especially the twelve disciples and Paul. See also “disciple.” apostolic. having to do with the earliest followers of Jesus and/or the apostle Paul; apostolic writings are ones produced by people who knew Jesus or Paul (or, at least, writings that are in line with the thinking of such people). apostolic tradition. oral or written materials that are believed to bear a close connection to Jesus, his original disciples, or the missionary Paul, or believed to be congruent with what those people taught. archaeology. the study of human history and prehistory through the excavation of sites and the analysis of artifacts and other physical remains. ascension. the event in which Jesus Christ left the physical earth and went up into heaven, as reported in Luke 24:50–51 and Acts 1:9. ascetic. religiously strict or severe, especially with regard to self-denial or

renunciation of worldly pleasures. atonement. an action that makes amends for sins, such that guilty persons may be restored to fellowship with God. baptism. a religious rite involving symbolic washing with water; it sometimes signifies repentance, purification, or acceptance into the community of God’s people. BCE. an abbreviation meaning “before the common era”; in academic studies BCE is typically used for dates in place of BC (before Christ). beatitude. generally, any statement of divine blessing, but the term is often applied more specifically to the blessings offered by Jesus in Matthew 5:3– 12 and Luke 6:20–23. Beelzebul. slightly corrupted version of the Hebrew name for a Philistine god (1 Kgs 1:2); the term is used as another name for Satan in the New Testament (Matt 10:25; 12:24). beloved disciple. an unnamed follower of Jesus whose written testimony is said to be incorporated into the Gospel of John (21:20, 24). Church tradition has associated this individual with the apostle John, one of Jesus’ twelve disciples. Benedictus. a hymn found in Luke 1:67–79, expressing the words of Zechariah on hearing he would be the father of John the Baptist. benefactor. in Roman society, a powerful person who provides benefits for others and to whom service, loyalty, and gratitude are due. Boanerges. Aramaic for “sons of thunder”; a nickname Jesus gives to two of his disciples, the brothers James and John (Mark 3:17). Book of Glory. the second half of John’s Gospel (13:1–20:31), so-called because it deals with the last week of Jesus’ life when the time for Jesus to be “glorified” had come (17:1). Book of Signs. the first half of John’s Gospel (1:19–12:50), so-called because it relates stories of remarkable things Jesus does, which are repeatedly

called “signs.” canon. literally, “rule” or “standard”; used by religious groups to refer to an authoritative list of books that are officially accepted as Scripture. CE. an abbreviation meaning “common era”; in academic studies CE is typically used for dates, in place of AD (anno domini). centurion. a Roman army officer, typically in charge of 100 men. chiasm. an organizing device for speaking or writing that arranges items in an “a, b, b, a” pattern, for example, “light and darkness, darkness and light.” Christ. “anointed one”; the man known as “Jesus the Christ” eventually came to be called simply “Jesus Christ”; see also “Messiah.” Christology. a branch of theology that focuses on the person and work of Jesus Christ, understood as an eternal divine figure; see also “Historical Jesus Studies.” codex. a manuscript that is written on bound pages (like a book) rather than on one sheet rolled up like a scroll. Community Discourse. a speech by Jesus in Matthew 18 dealing with life in the church, forgiveness, and discipline. composition analysis. the study of how units are arranged within a particular book—order or placement, sequence, and overall structural layout. corrective Christology. the theory that explains the motif of the messianic secret in Mark’s Gospel as an attempt to correct false understandings of messiahship. covenant. in the Bible, an agreement or pact between God and human beings that establishes the of their ongoing relationship. creed. a confessional statement summarizing key articles of faith.

crucifixion. a Roman form of execution by which the condemned person was fastened to a wooden stake and left to die a slow and torturous death. cultural anthropology. an academic discipline that seeks to understand a culture (and its literature) by way of comparison with what is known about other cultures. Cynicism. a philosophical system that emphasized radical authenticity, repudiation of shame, simplicity of lifestyle, and a desire to possess only what is obtained naturally and freely. Dead Sea Scrolls. a collection of Jewish documents copied and preserved between 250 BCE and 70 CE; see also Essenes; Qumran. deconstruction. a method employed by postmodern biblical critics to demonstrate that interpretations of texts are based on subjective criteria and so possess no intrinsic claim to legitimacy. delay of the parousia. in theological studies, a term used for the problem faced by second-generation Christians who had to grapple with the fact that Jesus had not returned to his (original) followers as expected. demon. an evil (or “unclean”) spirit capable of possessing people and incapacitating them with some form of illness or disability. See “exorcism.” denarius. a silver Roman coin equal to the typical wage for a day’s labor. Diatessaron. a Gospel harmonization produced by the second-century Syrian Christian Tatian; it combined material from the four Gospels into one continuous narrative, eliminating the need for separate Gospels. Didache. a second-century Christian writing intended to serve as a manual for community life. disciple. “one who learns”; used broadly for anyone who follows Jesus and more narrowly for someone who belongs to his hand-picked group of closest followers (the “twelve disciples”); see also “apostle.” Discourse Gospel. an ancient writing about Jesus that does not present stories of his life, but rather speeches that he is reputed to have given.

Examples: Gospel of Judas; Gospel of Mary. Compare “Sayings Gospel.” Docetism. the belief that Jesus was not actually a human being but only appeared to be one. dualism. the tendency to separate phenomena into sharply opposed categories, with little room for anything in between (e.g., to regard everything as either “good” or “evil”). dynamic equivalence. a thought-for-thought approach to translation that tries to produce a message that will have the same effect as the original rather than reproducing the message word-for-word. Compare “formal equivalence.” earthly Jesus. the man Jesus who lived physically on earth for a set period of time, in distinction to the post-Easter figure who interacts spiritually with his followers through faith. See “pre-Easter Jesus.” ecclesiology. beliefs and ideas about the nature and function of the church, or of Christian community in general. elect. the people who are believed to have been chosen by God for salvation or some predetermined destiny. See Mark 13:20. emendation analysis. the study of alterations that an author probably made to source material—additions, omissions, and other changes that reveal the author’s priorities and preferences. Emmanuel. Hebrew name meaning “God with us”; it was first used in Isaiah 7:14 and later applied to Jesus in Matthew 1:23. Epicureanism. a philosophical system that emphasized free will, questioned fate, and encouraged the attainment of true pleasure through avoidance of anxiety, concentration on the present, and enjoyment of all things in moderation. Eschatological Discourse. a speech by Jesus in Matthew 24–25 dealing with the end times, the second coming, and the final judgment. eschatology. study or focus on “last things,” such as the return of Christ,

final judgment, or other phenomena associated with the end times. Essenes. ascetic, separatist Jews who lived in private communities; they are probably to be identified with the group that lived at Qumran and preserved a library of manuscripts now known as the Dead Sea Scrolls. eternal life. in biblical , life that is endless both qualitatively and quantitatively; life filled with value and meaning that has already begun, will continue after death, and last forever. Eucharist. a Greek word meaning “thanksgiving”; the ritual meal observed by Christians in a manner that commemorates Jesus’ Last Supper with his disciples; also called “Lord’s Supper” and “Holy Communion.” eunuch. a castrated male; often a religious devotee (Matt 19:12) or an attendant in a royal court (Acts 8:27). evangelical. pertaining to or in keeping with the Christian gospel and its teachings. evangelist. in New Testament studies, an author of any one of the four Gospels; Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John are the four evangelists. excommunication. the practice of expelling unrepentant persons from the church, so called because the excluded person is no longer allowed to commune, to take part in the Lord’s Supper. exegesis. scholarly study of the Bible with an emphasis on the explication of texts using various academic approaches (called exegetical methods). exorcism. the act of casting a demon out of a person or thing, thereby liberating the possessed entity from the control or influence of the evil or unclean spirit. expected reading. in narrative criticism, an interpretation that may be ascribed to a text’s implied reader. Compare “unexpected reading.” Farewell Discourse. in the Gospel of John, a final speech given by Jesus on the night of his arrest (13–16).

Farrer Theory. a proposed solution to the Synoptic Puzzle/Problem that does away with any need to posit a Q source: Mark was written first; Matthew used Mark as a source; and Luke used both Mark and Matthew. feminist criticism. an academic approach that seeks to understand texts from a feminist perspective. form criticism. an academic approach that attempts to classify literary materials by type or genre and identify the purposes for which such materials were usually intended. formal equivalence. an approach to translation that tries to produce a document that corresponds to the original with word-for word accuracy. Compare “dynamic equivalence.” Four-Source Hypothesis. a variation on the proposal usually called the TwoSource Hypothesis, emphasizing that Matthew and Luke not only each made use of Mark and Q but also drew separately on source material called M and L. framework. in form criticism, the portion of a Gospel text that the author is believed to have had added to what was inherited from earlier sources. fulfillment citation. a form-critical category for a declaration that something has happened in order to fulfill what was prophesied in the Scriptures (e.g., Matt. 2:15). genre. a type or form of literature (e.g., poetry, letter, narrative). gentile. a person who is not Jewish. gentile mission. the intentional effort of Paul and other Jewish followers of Jesus to evangelize non-Jews, proclaiming the gospel of Christ to pagans and converting them to what would become known as the Christian religion. Gethsemane. the site of an orchard on the Mount of Olives just outside Jerusalem; the place where Jesus was arrested (Mark 14:32–52; John 18:1– 14).

Gloria in Excelsis. a liturgical hymn used in many churches, based on the angel’s song in Luke 2:14. Golden Rule. a traditional name given to the words of Jesus in Matthew 7:12, “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you.” Golgotha. Aramaic word meaning “skull”; the name of the place where Jesus was crucified. Gnosticism. a religious movement or perspective that regarded “spirit” as fundamentally good and “matter” as fundamentally evil. gospel. literally, “good news”; the word was first used to describe the essential content of Christian proclamation and, later, was applied to books that present semi-biographical s of Jesus (“the Gospels”). grace. the free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of undeserved blessings. Great Commission. a traditional name given to concluding words of Matthew’s Gospel, where Jesus tells his followers to go and make disciples of all nations and promises to be with them always (Matt 28:18–20). Great Omission. in Lukan studies, a reference to Mark 6:45–8:20, none of which is paralleled in Luke’s Gospel. See “Little Omission.” Greco-Roman world. the lands and culture around the Mediterranean Sea during the period from Alexander the Great through Constantine (roughly 300 BCE to 300 CE). Griesbach Hypothesis. a minority proposal that offers one solution to the Synoptic Puzzle/Problem: Matthew was written first, Luke used Matthew, and Mark used both Matthew and Luke. Hellenism. the influence of Greek and Roman culture, philosophy, and modes of thought; for example, Jewish people were said to be “Hellenized” when they adopted Greco-Roman customs or came to believe propositions derived from Greek philosophy. Hellenistic. affected by Hellenism; i.e., the influence of Greek and Roman

culture, philosophy, and modes of thought. hermeneutics. philosophical reflection on the process of biblical interpretation, including consideration of what the goal of interpretation should be, of different ways in which biblical ages might be regarded as meaningful, and of the ways in which authority is ascribed to biblical texts. heresy. false teaching, or teaching that does not conform to the official standards of a religious community. hermeneutics of suspicion. in feminist criticism, an assumption that texts produced by men are inherently biased in ways that feminists should detect and possibly resist. historical criticism. broadly, academic study that deals with matters pertinent to the historical composition of a writing (author, date and place of writing, intended audience, etc.); increasingly the term is used more precisely to refer to investigations concerning what can be verified as authentic historical data in accord with accepted criteria of such analysis. historical Jesus. the figure of Jesus who emerges from an analysis of sources in accord with generally accepted principles of historical science. Historical Jesus Studies. a branch of historical research that focuses on the life and work of the man Jesus, to the extent that this can be reconstructed from the available sources; see also Christology. historical present. in grammar, the use of a present tense verb to describe an action that occurred in the past; a common phenomenon in the Gospel of Mark. honor. the positive status one has in the eyes of those one considers to be significant. See “shame.” “I am” Sayings. ages in John’s Gospel in which Jesus describes himself with metaphors: 6:35, 51; 8:12; 9:5; 10:7, 9, 11, 14; 11:25; 14:6; 15:1, 5. ideological criticism. a field of academic study that explores how texts are understood when they are read from particular ideological perspectives (e.g., feminist, evangelical, Jungian, Marxist).

immortality of the soul. the idea from Greek philosophy that each person has a soul that continues to live after his or her body dies. implied reader. in narrative criticism, an imaginary figure who receives the text in the manner that appears to be expected of them. incarnation. the Christian doctrine that God became a human being in the person of Jesus Christ. infancy narrative. the first two chapters of either Matthew or Luke, which relate events associated with the birth and upbringing of Jesus. intercalation. a literary device in which one story or narrative is inserted into the middle of another. irony. a form of speech in which an author or character intends a different meaning than that which the words would usually convey. itinerant radicalism. the lifestyle attributed to Jesus’s disciples (especially in Q) according to which they renounce all worldly security and travel about as missionaries. Jamnia. a city where councils were held toward the end of the first century to define the religion that would come to be known as Judaism. Jerusalem council. a meeting of leaders in the early church to discuss acceptance of gentiles into the new faith community (Acts 15); also called” apostolic council.” Jesus Seminar. a group of scholars that have tried to determine which sayings and deeds attributed to Jesus can be regarded as historically authentic. Journey to Jerusalem. a long section of Luke’s Gospel (9:51–19:40) that presents stories and teaching of Jesus as he and his disciples travel from Galilee to Jerusalem. Judaism. a general term for the religious systems and beliefs of the Jewish people; in Jesus’s day, there were varieties of Judaism, though all of these had certain fundamental ideas and practices in common.

justification. in theological studies, the act of being put into a right relationship with God. justification by grace. the idea or doctrine that God has acted graciously through Jesus Christ in a manner that allows people to be put right with God through faith (i.e., by trusting in God’s gracious, unmerited favor). kingdom of God or kingdom of heaven. phrases typically used to describe the phenomenon of God ruling, wherever and whenever that might be; sometimes, the phrases refer to a more precise manifestation of God’s reign, for example “in heaven” or “at the end of time.” koinē. the variety of Greek in which the New Testament was written, a variety more representative of the common people than of the educated class. L material. material that is found only in Luke’s Gospel, meaning that Luke did not derive it from Mark’s Gospel or from the Q source, but from a variety of other, unknown sources. Last Supper. a final over meal Jesus ate with his disciples on the night he was arrested; the context that gave rise to Christian celebrations of “the Lord’s Supper” (aka Eucharist, Holy Communion). law. in the New Testament, this term is often shorthand for “the law of Moses” or any regulations that the Jewish people understood as delineating faithfulness to God in of the covenant God had made with Israel. lectionary. a prescribed list of Scripture ages to be read on certain days. legion. (1) a unit of 3,000–6,000 men in the Roman army; (2) the name of a group of demons exorcised by Jesus (Mark 5:1–14). liberation theology. a movement in Christian theology, developed mainly by twentieth-century Latin American Roman Catholics, that emphasizes liberation from social, political, and economic oppression as an anticipation of ultimate salvation. Little Omission. in Lukan studies, a reference to Mark 9:41–10:12, none of which is paralleled in Luke’s Gospel. See “Great Omission.”

Logos. in Greek philosophy, a word referring to ultimate truth or reason; in John’s Gospel, the term is used for the eternal divine entity that takes on human flesh to become Jesus Christ (1:1–4, 14; Logos is translated “Word” in the NRSV). loose (a law). to discern God’s will by determining that a commandment, while valid, does not apply to a particular situation. M material. material that is found only in Matthew’s Gospel, meaning that Matthew did not derive it from Mark’s Gospel or from the Q source, but from a variety of other, unknown sources. magi. astrologers or sorcerers associated with Persian religion. Magnificat. a hymn found in Luke 1:46–55, expressing the words of Mary on hearing she would give birth to Jesus. mammon. money and things that money can buy. manuscript. in biblical studies, an ancient handwritten document containing a book or portion of the Bible. Markan priority. the theory that Mark’s Gospel was written first and used as a source by both Matthew and Luke. messiah. an Aramaic word meaning “anointed one”; it designated a promised and expected deliverer of the Jewish people; see also “Christ.” messianic secret. the motif in Mark’s Gospel according to which Jesus’s identity appears to be intentionally shrouded in mystery. minuscules. late biblical manuscripts written in cursive with upper- and lowercase letters, a style developed in the ninth century. Missionary Discourse. a speech by Jesus in Matthew 10 dealing with mission, persecution, and radical faithfulness. misunderstanding. a literary motif, prominent in John’s Gospel, according to which characters miss the point because they take literally words that are intended to be understood symbolically.

mujerista criticism. an academic approach that seeks to understand texts from the perspective of Hispanic women. mysticism. a Christian tradition in which believers seek union with God through prayer and contemplation in a manner that transcends intellectual explanation. Nag Hammadi. a village in Egypt where gnostic writings (including the Gospel of Thomas) were discovered in 1945. narrative criticism. an academic approach that draws on modern literary analysis to determine the effects that biblical stories are expected to have on their readers. Narrative Gospel. an ancient writing about Jesus that recounts events from his life and ministry. Examples: Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas. noncanonical Gospels. ancient writings not included in the New Testament that recount words of Jesus and/or episodes from his life. Nunc Dimittis. a liturgical hymn used in many churches based on the song of Simeon found in Luke 2:29–32. oral tradition. material ed on by word of mouth; early Christians relied on oral tradition as well as on written sources when writing the Gospels. pagan. as an adjective, having to do with Greco-Roman religion and culture as viewed from the perspective of Jews and Christians, who tended to associate what was “pagan” with erratic religious beliefs and an immoral lifestyle. pagans. nonconverted Romans, often associated by Jews and Christians with idolatry, polytheism, erratic religious beliefs, and an immoral lifestyle. Palm Sunday. the day one week before Easter when Jesus entered Jerusalem mounted on a donkey, to the acclaim of crowds waving palm branches (John 12:12–15). Palestine. a post-70 CE term that the Romans used for the geographical region that the Jewish people viewed as their homeland.

papyrus. a cheap but brittle type of writing material made from plant fibers; plural, papyri. parable. figurative stories or sayings that convey spiritual truth through reference to mundane and earthly phenomena. Parables Discourse. a speech by Jesus in Matthew 13 consisting primarily of parables and dealing with mysteries of the kingdom of heaven. Paraclete. a term for the Holy Spirit used in the Gospel of John and in 1 John, often translated in English Bibles as “Comforter,” “Counselor,” “Advocate,” or “Helper.” paraphrase. a nonliteral approach to translation that attempts to render a similar message in a popular or understandable style. parousia. the second coming of Christ. ion. in Christian theology, a term used to refer to the suffering and death of Jesus Christ. Pax Romana. Latin phrase meaning “Roman peace”; a three-hundred-year period (including the New Testament era) during which the Roman empire exercised such dominance within its geographical area that warfare with other nations was limited. Pentateuch. the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. Pentecost. a Jewish harvest festival at which, according to Acts 2, the Holy Spirit came upon 120 early followers of Jesus, empowering them for mission and causing them to speak in tongues. persecution. a program or campaign to exterminate, drive away, or subjugate people based on their hip in a religious, ethnic, or social group. Pharisees. one of the major Jewish groups active during the Second Temple period; the Pharisees were largely associated with synagogues and placed high value on faithfulness to Torah; most rabbis and many scribes were

Pharisees. phylactery. a small case containing texts of Scripture worn on the forehead or left arm by pious Jews in obedience to Exodus 13:9, 16; Deuteronomy 6:8; 11:18. Platonism. an orientation that emphasized the reality of a transcendent world of “ideals” that stand behind everything that is physical or earthly. polyvalence. multiple meanings; the capacity for a text to mean different things to different people or in different contexts. post-Easter Jesus. the eternal, divine figure of Jesus who is thought to dwell in heaven with God or in the hearts of faithful followers. postcolonial criticism. a field of academic study that seeks to read texts from the perspective of marginalized and oppressed people. postmodern philosophy. a relativistic approach to life and thought that denies absolutes and objectivity. praetorium. a Roman governor or general’s headquarters. pre-Easter Jesus. usually, a synonym for “the earthly Jesus” (not a reference to the preexistent divine being who became incarnate as Jesus). preexistence. the Christian doctrine that the person now known as Jesus Christ existed (as the Son of God) before he became the man Jesus who lived and died on earth. priests. in Second Temple Judaism, people authorized to oversee the sacrificial system in the Jerusalem temple; closely associated with the Sadducees. pronouncement story. in the Gospels, an anecdote that is crafted to preserve the memory of something Jesus said. purity codes. regulations derived from Torah that specified what was “clean” or “unclean” for the Jewish people, enabling them to live in ways that would mark them as distinct from the general population.

prophecy. in the Gospels, this term usually refers to an inspired saying thought to predict or foreshadow events that occur at a later time. Pythagoreanism. an orientation that emphasized the value of intelligent reasoning, memory, and radical honesty, all in service of a quest to attain harmony of ideas, and of body and soul. Q source. according to the Two-Source Hypothesis, a now lost collection of Jesus’s sayings that was used as a source for the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. Qumran. site in Judea near the Dead Sea where it is believed the Essenes had their monastic community; the Dead Sea Scrolls were found here. rabbis. Jewish teachers, many of whom had disciples or followers; closely associated with the Pharisees. ransom. (1) redemption of a prisoner or slave for a price, or (2) in Judaism, the offering of a substitute sacrifice. reader-response criticism. an academic approach that focuses on how texts might be understood by readers who engage them in different contexts. realized eschatology. the belief that blessings and benefits typically associated with the end times can be experienced as a present reality. redaction criticism. an academic approach that tries to discern the intentions of authors by analyzing how they arranged and edited their source materials. redemption. a theological term derived from commerce (where it means “purchase” or “buying back”); associated with the concept that human salvation was costly to God, requiring the death of Jesus. reign of God. an alternative translation of the biblical phrase, “Kingdom of God” (considered more accurate by most biblical scholars). resistant reading. an approach to interpretation that self-consciously defies perspectives that may have informed the author’s work.

resurrection. generally, life after death; more specifically, the post-death entrance of Jesus Christ or his followers into a new, transformed existence in which they will live forever. revelation. in theology, the disclosure (usually by God) of things that could not be known otherwise. rhetorical criticism. an academic approach that focuses on strategies employed by biblical authors to achieve particular purposes. Sabbath. a day of the week set aside for worship and for rest from normal endeavors; for Jews, the Sabbath is the last day of the week (Saturday); for most Christians, it is the first (Sunday). sacrament. a ritual action (such as baptism or Holy Communion) through which God is believed to deliver divine benefits. sacrifice. in Second Temple Judaism, the offering of something valuable (e.g., crops from a field or an animal from one’s flock) as an expression of worship. Sadducees. one of the major Jewish groups during the Second Temple period; the Sadducees were closely associated with the temple in Jerusalem and were concerned with maintaining the sacrificial system; most priests appear to have been Sadducees. salvation history. a theological concept of how God has related to humanity in different periods of time. Samaritans. Semitic people who lived in Samaria at the time of Jesus and claimed to be the true Israel, descendants of the tribes taken into captivity by the Assyrians. sanctification. in theological studies, the act or process of being made holy or sinless. Sanhedrin. a ruling body of the Jewish people during the time of Roman occupation; composed of the high priest, chief priests, and other powerful Jewish leaders, the Sanhedrin was granted authority for matters of legislation that did not require direct Roman involvement.

Sayings Gospel. an ancient writing about Jesus that does not present stories of his life but collects things he is reputed to have said. Examples: Q, Gospel of Thomas. Compare “Discourse Gospel.” scribes. Jewish professionals skilled in teaching, copying, and interpreting Jewish law; closely associated with the Pharisees. scriptoriums. schools where biblical manuscripts were mass produced. Scripture. the sacred writings of a religion, believed to be inspired by God and viewed as authoritative for faith and practice. Second Temple Judaism. a general term for the diverse culture, practices, and beliefs of Jewish people during the Second Temple period (515 BCE–70 CE). Septuagint. a Greek translation of the Old Testament produced during the last three centuries BCE; the Septuagint included fifteen extra books that Protestants call “the Apocrypha” (eleven of these are classed as “deuterocanonical writings” by Roman Catholics). The term Septuagint is often abbreviated LXX. Sermon on the Mount. traditional name given to the teaching of Jesus found in Matthew 5–7; it includes such well-known material as the Beatitudes, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Golden Rule. Sermon on the Plain. traditional name given to the teaching of Jesus found in Luke 6:20–49; it offers parallels to some of the material found in the better-known Sermon on the Mount. shame. negative status, implying disgrace and unworthiness. See “honor.” signs. in the New Testament, often a term for miracles, because they demonstrate a manifestation of supernatural power and sometimes reveal some truth about God; used especially in the Gospel of John. Signs Gospel. according to some theories, a now lost book containing numbered miracle stories that may have served as a source for the Gospel of John.

sin. any act, thought, word, or state of being contrary to the will of God. Sitz im Leben. German for “setting in life”; in biblical studies, the situation in which a biblical text would have been meaningful for the early church (e.g., liturgical worship, catechetical instruction). social location. a person’s social identity in of factors such as age, gender, race, nationality, social class, marital status, and so forth. social history. the science of determining the social effects of historical transitions on people. sociological criticism. academic approaches that draw upon the social sciences to analyze New Testament documents in light of phenomena that characterized the social world in which they were produced. sociology of knowledge. the study of how different societies define knowledge and its acquisition. source criticism. an academic approach that tries to identify and sometimes reconstruct materials that the biblical authors used in composing their documents. Stoicism. a philosophical system that emphasized the attainment of virtue through acceptance of fate, based on the notion that all things are predetermined and that there is logic to all that transpires in the universe. substitution. an understanding of atonement or justification according to which Jesus dies on the cross to take the penalty for sin that humans rightly deserved. supersessionism. the idea or teaching that Christians have replaced Jews as the chosen people of God. synagogue. a congregation of Jews who gather for worship, prayer, and Bible study, or the place where they gather for these purposes. syncretism. the combination or fusion of different religious or cultural beliefs and perspectives

Synoptic Gospels. the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, so called because their overlapping content allows them to be viewed as books that offer parallel s. Synoptic Puzzle or Synoptic Problem. the question of the literary relationship between the Synoptic Gospels; for example, which ones used one or more of the others as a source. Talmud. a collection of sixty-three books (including the Mishnah) that contain Jewish civil and canonical law based on interpretations of Scripture. temple. the principal site for sacrificial worship among the Jewish people; located in Jerusalem, the temple was destroyed in 70 CE. tetrarch. a ruler of a quarter of a province or region. text criticism. academic study of available manuscripts in order to determine the most reliable reading of a document for which no original has been preserved. text types. families into which most ancient manuscripts of the Bible can be classified. theios anēr. “divine man”; a person believed to have an especially close link to the spiritual realm and, typically, one to whom miracles are attributed. theology of the cross. a way of understanding the gospel that views faith in Christ as an immersion into a life of service and sacrifice, marked by vulnerability and recognition of one’s failings. See “theology of glory.” theology of glory. a way of understanding the gospel that views faith in Christ as a means to self-betterment, success, and the attainment of power. See “theology of the cross.” tradition. in form criticism, the portion of a Gospel text that the author is believed to have inherited from an earlier source. Travel Narrative. the section of Luke’s Gospel (9:51–19:44) that places numerous stories within the framework of Jesus’s journey to Jerusalem.

Trinity. Christian doctrine that God is “three in one,” existing as only one God but also as three persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Torah. the law of Moses, as contained in the Pentateuch; or, frequently, a synonym for “Pentateuch” (referring, then, to the first five books of the Hebrew Bible). Transfiguration. an event narrated in the Synoptic Gospels in which the physical appearance of Jesus is momentarily altered to allow his disciples a glimpse of his heavenly glory (Mark 9:2–8). Two-Source Hypothesis. the dominant proposal that offers a solution to the Synoptic Puzzle/Problem: Mark was written first; Matthew and Luke each made use of a copy of Mark, and also each made use of a now lost source, called Q. See also “Four-Source Hypothesis.” two natures of Christ. Christian doctrine that Jesus Christ was simultaneously fully divine and fully human. unclean spirit. a demon; a spiritual being that inhabits people and causes them to become sick or disabled. unexpected reading. in narrative criticism, an interpretation that could not be ascribed to a text’s implied reader but is produced when factors extrinsic to the text cause the reader to resist or ignore the text’s signals. variant. in text criticism, an alternative reading of a text, ed by some manuscripts. vellum. a type of leather on which some biblical manuscripts were copied. Vulgate. a Latin translation of the Bible produced by Jerome in the fourth century; it was virtually the only Bible used in western Christianity for over a one thousand years. “we ages.” texts in the book of Acts in which the author uses the firstperson plural in his narration, indicating that he was with Paul and others at the time. Wirkungsgeschichte. a German word meaning “history of influence”; an

academic disciple that documents and explains how texts have been read throughout history. wisdom literature or wisdom tradition. biblical and other ancient materials that focus on commonsense observations about life; examples include the books of Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes. womanist criticism. an academic approach that seeks to understand texts from the perspective of African American women. Zealots. radical anti-Roman Jews who advocated armed rebellion against the Roman forces.

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Index of Biblical and Other Ancient Writings

OLD TESTAMENT

Genesis 1:27 . . . . . . 45 1:31 . . . . . . 171, 211 2:18 . . . . . . 266n67 7:11 . . . . . . 79 21:1–2 . . . . . . 220

Exodus 1:15–22 . . . . . . 125 3:14 . . . . . . 191 13:16 . . . . . . 301 13:19 . . . . . . 301

Leviticus 5:7 . . . . . . 90

19:18 . . . . . . 121, 195 25:8–54 . . . . . . 146

Numbers 11:31 . . . . . . 220

Deuteronomy 4:24 . . . . . . 210 6:5 . . . . . . 121 6:8 . . . . . . 301 11:18 . . . . . . 301 18:15 . . . . . . 159 (2x) 32:39 . . . . . . 191

1 Samuel 1 . . . . . . 220 21:1–6 . . . . . . 98, 140

2 Samuel 7:5–16 . . . . . . 159

1 Kings 1:2 . . . . . . 294 17:17–24 . . . . . . 160

2 Kings 2:9–12 . . . . . . 160 2:23–25 . . . . . . 209

Psalms 22 . . . . . . 91, 260n73 22:1 . . . . . . 91 22:7 . . . . . . 91 22:18 . . . . . . 91 23 . . . . . . 43, 251n34 89 . . . . . . 159 103:19 . . . . . . 74 119:147 . . . . . . 43

Proverbs 1:20–23 . . . . . . 226 1:20–21 . . . . . . 204

3:19 . . . . . . 204 8:22–31 . . . . . . 278n21 8:22 . . . . . . 204 8:27–30 . . . . . . 205 8:35–36 . . . . . . 205 8:35 . . . . . . 278n21

Isaiah 7:14 . . . . . . 296 40–55 . . . . . . 135 42:1–4 . . . . . . 159 (2x) 46:4 . . . . . . 191 49:1–6 . . . . . . 159 50:4–11 . . . . . . 159 52:7 . . . . . . 74 52:13–53:12 . . . . . . 159 53:4 . . . . . . 159 53:12 . . . . . . 159 61:1–2 . . . . . . 146

Jeremiah

31:15 . . . . . . 125 39:1–9 . . . . . . 125

Daniel 7:3 . . . . . . 82 7:13–14 . . . . . . 159

Joel 2:32 . . . . . . 171

Micah 5:2 . . . . . . 17, 107 7:6 . . . . . . 226

Zechariah 9:9 . . . . . . 104

Malachi 2:14 . . . . . . 244 4:5 . . . . . . 160

Wisdom 7:25–26 . . . . . . 205 9:10 . . . . . . 205

NEW TESTAMENT

Matthew 1–2 . . . . . . 102, 260n2 1:1–4:16 . . . . . . 103 1:1–17 . . . . . . 29, 103 1:1–16 . . . . . . 136 1:1 . . . . . . 135 1:2–17 . . . . . . 96 1:6 . . . . . . 135 1:16–21 . . . . . . 135 1:17 . . . . . . 160 1:18–2:23 . . . . . . 100 1:18–25 . . . . . . 96, 135, 136, 147 1:18 . . . . . . 118 1:20–25 . . . . . . 189 1:20–21 . . . . . . 136

1:21 . . . . . . 124, 135, 163 1:22–23 . . . . . . 103, 107, 135, 136 1:23 . . . . . . 108, 114 (2x), 136, 296 1:25 . . . . . . 135 2 . . . . . . 48 2:1–12 . . . . . . 30, 96, 105, 137, 221 2:1 . . . . . . 135 2:2 . . . . . . 116 2:4–6 . . . . . . 17, 107, 127 2:4 . . . . . . 98 2:5–6 . . . . . . 103, 107, 135 (2x) 2:7–8 . . . . . . 135 2:8 . . . . . . 117 2:10–11 . . . . . . 136 2:11 . . . . . . 114, 115, 116 2:12–18 . . . . . . 135 2:13–22 . . . . . . 136 2:13–21 . . . . . . 96 2:13 . . . . . . 136 2:15 . . . . . . 103, 118, 136, 297 2:16–18 . . . . . . 136

2:16 . . . . . . 125, 267n71 2:17–18 . . . . . . 103, 125, 136 2:19–23 . . . . . . 136 2:21 . . . . . . 125 2:23 . . . . . . 103, 107 (2x), 135, 136 3–7 . . . . . . 102 3–4 . . . . . . 102 3:4 . . . . . . 43 3:7–10 . . . . . . 25 3:9 . . . . . . 126 3:11 . . . . . . 147 3:16 . . . . . . 147 3:17 . . . . . . 118 4:1–11 . . . . . . 25, 30, 100, 264n38 4:1 . . . . . . 147 4:8–9 . . . . . . 125 4:9–10 . . . . . . 117 4:10 . . . . . . 115, 117 4:12–17 . . . . . . 184 4:14–16 . . . . . . 103 4:17–11:1 . . . . . . 103

4:17 . . . . . . 75, 99, 102, 120 4:19 . . . . . . 44 4:23–25 . . . . . . 102 4:23 . . . . . . 111 5–7 . . . . . . 100, 102, 261n6, 303 5:1–7:27 . . . . . . 133 5:1–14 . . . . . . 103 5:3–12 . . . . . . 25, 294 5:3–10 . . . . . . 100 5:3 . . . . . . 32 5:5 . . . . . . 126 5:11 . . . . . . 112 5:13–16 . . . . . . 114 5:13–14 . . . . . . 118 5:13 . . . . . . 100, 212 5:15 . . . . . . 25 5:16 . . . . . . 117 5:17–48 . . . . . . 263n29 5:17–20 . . . . . . 96 5:17 . . . . . . 107 (2x), 112, 122 5:18 . . . . . . 26, 107, 116

5:20 . . . . . . 122 5:21–48 . . . . . . 107, 293 5:21–24 . . . . . . 96 5:25–26 . . . . . . 26 5:27–28 . . . . . . 96 5:28 . . . . . . 119 5:31–32 . . . . . . 104 5:33–38 . . . . . . 96 5:38–39 . . . . . . 122 5:39–48 . . . . . . 25 5:39 . . . . . . 100 5:43 . . . . . . 96 5:44 . . . . . . 195 5:47 . . . . . . 106 6:1–18 . . . . . . 96 6:5 . . . . . . 106 6:7 . . . . . . 106 6:9–13 . . . . . . 25, 44, 100. 144 6:9–10 . . . . . . 114 6:10 . . . . . . 74 6:19–21 . . . . . . 25

6:22–23 . . . . . . 25 6:24 . . . . . . 26 6:25–33 . . . . . . 25 6:25–32 . . . . . . 106 6:25 . . . . . . 233 6:30 . . . . . . 122, 123 6:33 . . . . . . 75 7:1–5 . . . . . . 25 7:6 . . . . . . 96 7:7–11 . . . . . . 25 7:7–8 . . . . . . 232 7:11 . . . . . . 148 7:12 . . . . . . 25, 100, 121, 297 7:13–14 . . . . . . 26 7:15–20 . . . . . . 25 7:15 . . . . . . 100, 112 7:21–23 . . . . . . 107 7:22–23 . . . . . . 26 7:24–27 . . . . . . 25 7:28 . . . . . . 101 8–10 . . . . . . 102

8–9 . . . . . . 98, 102 8:2 . . . . . . 116 8:5–13 . . . . . . 105, 126 8:5–10 . . . . . . 25, 100 8:10 . . . . . . 123 8:11–12 . . . . . . 26 8:12 . . . . . . 105 8:13 . . . . . . 25, 100 8:17 . . . . . . 103 8:19–22 . . . . . . 25 8:20 . . . . . . 126 8:21 . . . . . . 115 8:26 . . . . . . 99, 122, 123, 124, 177 8:28–33 . . . . . . 103 8:28 . . . . . . 98 9:2 . . . . . . 98 9:4 . . . . . . 105 9:8 . . . . . . 116 9:9 . . . . . . 108 9:10–11 . . . . . . 270n23 9:10 . . . . . . 106

9:11 . . . . . . 106 9:13 . . . . . . 121, 124 9:15 . . . . . . 115 9:18 . . . . . . 100, 114, 115, 116 9:20–22 . . . . . . 98, 140 9:32–34 . . . . . . 104 9:35 . . . . . . 102, 111 9:37–38 . . . . . . 25 10 . . . . . . 100, 102, 300 10:1–42 . . . . . . 98 10:3 . . . . . . 108 10:5–6 . . . . . . 96, 106, 116 10:5 . . . . . . 105 10:7–8 . . . . . . 118 10:8 . . . . . . 106, 112 10:9–15 . . . . . . 25 10:9–10 . . . . . . 126 10:9 . . . . . . 99 10:11–15 . . . . . . 116 10:16 . . . . . . 106, 114, 118, 126 10:17 . . . . . . 110, 111, 112

10:18 . . . . . . 106 10:19 . . . . . . 25 10:22 . . . . . . 112 10:23 . . . . . . 112 10:24–25 . . . . . . 126 10:24 . . . . . . 25 10:25 . . . . . . 294 10:26–33 . . . . . . 25 10:26 . . . . . . 232 10:28 . . . . . . 210 10:34–36 . . . . . . 25 10:37–38 . . . . . . 26 10:37 . . . . . . 176 10:40 . . . . . . 108, 114, 117 10:42 . . . . . . 116, 126 11–13 . . . . . . 102 11–12 . . . . . . 102 11:1 . . . . . . 101, 102 11:2–16:20 . . . . . . 103 11:2–11:1 . . . . . . 103 11:2–19 . . . . . . 25

11:13–14 . . . . . . 160 11:13 . . . . . . 26 11:19 . . . . . . 21, 106, 147, 267n75, 270n23 11:21–23 . . . . . . 25 11:25–27 . . . . . . 21, 25 11:25 . . . . . . 116, 126 (2x), 127, 263n32 11:28–30 . . . . . . 96, 122 11:30 . . . . . . 263n32 12:3 . . . . . . 267n75 12:6 . . . . . . 114 12:7 . . . . . . 121 12:9 . . . . . . 111 12:12 . . . . . . 119 12:14 . . . . . . 61 12:17–21 . . . . . . 103, 107, 159 12:22–30 . . . . . . 25 12:22–24 . . . . . . 104 12:24 . . . . . . 294 12:28–39 . . . . . . 193 12:28–34 . . . . . . 122 12:28–32 . . . . . . 147

12:28 . . . . . . 75, 114 12:32 . . . . . . 25 12:34 . . . . . . 105 (2x) 12:38–42 . . . . . . 25, 104 12:42 . . . . . . 267n75 12:43–45 . . . . . . 25 12:50 . . . . . . 116, 225 13 . . . . . . 100, 102, 261n8, 301 13:14–15 . . . . . . 103 13:16–17 . . . . . . 25 13:19 . . . . . . 125 13:21 . . . . . . 112 13:33 . . . . . . 26 13:24–30 . . . . . . 96, 105, 107, 126 13:24–26 . . . . . . 126 13:35 . . . . . . 103 13:36–52 . . . . . . 96 13:36–43 . . . . . . 105, 197, 126 13:37–39 . . . . . . 126 13:38–39 . . . . . . 108 13:51 . . . . . . 126

13:52 . . . . . . 110 13:53 . . . . . . 101 13:54 . . . . . . 111, 267n75 13:58 . . . . . . 99 14–18 . . . . . . 102 14–17 . . . . . . 102 14:1 . . . . . . 98 14:3 . . . . . . 125 14:6–11 . . . . . . 267n71 14:13 . . . . . . 125 14:21 . . . . . . 44 14:28–31 . . . . . . 96, 104 14:31 . . . . . . 122, 123, 124 14:32–33 . . . . . . 99, 118 14:33 . . . . . . 114, 115, 116, 124 15:1–2 . . . . . . 99 15:2 . . . . . . 3 15:6 . . . . . . 119 15:8–9 . . . . . . 117 15:10–20 . . . . . . 72 15:12–13 . . . . . . 108

15:13–14 . . . . . . 169 15:13 . . . . . . 105, 126 15:14 . . . . . . 25, 232, 108, 119 15:17 . . . . . . 107 15:21–28 . . . . . . 105, 126, 267n76 15:24 . . . . . . 105, 116 15:25 . . . . . . 114, 115, 116 15:28 . . . . . . 123 15:31 . . . . . . 117 16:1–4 . . . . . . 104 16:2–3 . . . . . . 26 16:4 . . . . . . 105 16:8 . . . . . . 122, 123 16:12 . . . . . . 99, 119, 126 16:16 . . . . . . 11, 118 16:17–20 . . . . . . 104 (2x) 16:17–19 . . . . . . 96, 118 16:18–19 . . . . . . 2, 127 16:18 . . . . . . 114, 116, 117, 118, 124, 214 16:19 . . . . . . 119, 120 16:21–28:20 . . . . . . 103

16:21 . . . . . . 102 (2x) 16:28 . . . . . . 75 17:5 . . . . . . 118 17:9–13 . . . . . . 99 17:10–13 . . . . . . 160 17:10 . . . . . . 127 17:13 . . . . . . 126 17:14–20 . . . . . . 62, 62 17:14–18 . . . . . . 140 17:20 . . . . . . 122, 123, 125, 233 17:22–18:35 . . . . . . 261n9 17:22–23 . . . . . . 102 17:24–27 . . . . . . 96, 104, 105, 110 18 . . . . . . 100, 102, 294 18:1–4 . . . . . . 126, 128 18:3 . . . . . . 75 18:5 . . . . . . 114 18:6–7 . . . . . . 26 18:6 . . . . . . 126 18:10–14 . . . . . . 34 18:10 . . . . . . 126

18:12–14 . . . . . . 26 18:14 . . . . . . 34, 126 18:15–20 . . . . . . 34 (3x), 96 18:15–18 . . . . . . 104 18:15 . . . . . . 26, 36 18:17 . . . . . . 18, 106, 116, 117 18:18–20 . . . . . . 2 18:18 . . . . . . 119, 120 18:20–22 . . . . . . 26 18:20 . . . . . . 91, 108, 114, 115 18:21–35 . . . . . . 124 18:21–22 . . . . . . 34, 96, 104 18:23–35 . . . . . . 43, 96 18:26 . . . . . . 117 19–23 . . . . . . 102 19–25 . . . . . . 102 19:1 . . . . . . 101 19:3–9 . . . . . . 107 19:7 . . . . . . 127 19:9 . . . . . . 104 19:12 . . . . . . 296

19:13–15 . . . . . . 126 19:14 . . . . . . 75 19:28 . . . . . . 128, 267n75 19:30 . . . . . . 126 (2x) 20:1–16 . . . . . . 96 20:16 . . . . . . 126 (2x) 20:17–19 . . . . . . 102 20:20–21 . . . . . . 117 20:20 . . . . . . 99, 114, 115 20:25–28 . . . . . . 126 20:25–26 . . . . . . 106 20:25 . . . . . . 126 20:26–27 . . . . . . 125, 128 20:27 . . . . . . 126 20:28 . . . . . . 125, 164 20:29–34 . . . . . . 103 21–25 . . . . . . 261n10 21:4–5 . . . . . . 103 21:5 . . . . . . 104, 267n75 21:6–7 . . . . . . 104 21:15–16 . . . . . . 117

21:16 . . . . . . 115, 126 21:21 . . . . . . 233 21:28–22:14 . . . . . . 260n3 21:28–32 . . . . . . 96 21:31–32 . . . . . . 106, 270n23 21:33–46 . . . . . . 118 21:35 . . . . . . 112 21:43 . . . . . . 105 22:1–14 . . . . . . 26 22:7 . . . . . . 112 22:24 . . . . . . 127 22:34–40 . . . . . . 100, 113 22:36 . . . . . . 121 22:39 . . . . . . 232 22:40 . . . . . . 121 22:42 . . . . . . 127 23 . . . . . . 263n28 2(x) 23:1–12 . . . . . . 126 23:2–3 . . . . . . 105, 110 23:4–7 . . . . . . 25 23:4 . . . . . . 122

23:5 . . . . . . 2 23:8–12 . . . . . . 96 23:13–36 . . . . . . 25 23:15–22 . . . . . . 97 23:15–16 . . . . . . 126 23:15 . . . . . . 119 23:21 . . . . . . 108 23:23 . . . . . . 121 23:32–33 . . . . . . 169 23:33 . . . . . . 105, 108 23:34 . . . . . . 110, 112, 267n75 23:37–39 . . . . . . 26 24–25 . . . . . . 100, 102, 296 24:1–2 . . . . . . 107 24:3–25:46 . . . . . . 107 24:9 . . . . . . 112 24:10 . . . . . . 112 24:11 . . . . . . 112 24:12 . . . . . . 112 24:14 . . . . . . 127 24:17–18 . . . . . . 26

24:20 . . . . . . 107 24:26–28 . . . . . . 26 24:37–41 . . . . . . 26 24:37–39 . . . . . . 189 24:43–51 . . . . . . 25 24:45–46 . . . . . . 126 25:1–13 . . . . . . 97, 107 25:14–30 . . . . . . 26, 224 25:31–46 . . . . . . 97, 107, 108, 116, 265n59 25:32 . . . . . . 116 25:34–40 . . . . . . 116 25:34 . . . . . . 267n75 25:37–40 . . . . . . 114 25:40 . . . . . . 91, 126 (2x), 267n75 26–27 . . . . . . 53 26–28 . . . . . . 102, 262n17 26:1–2 . . . . . . 101 26:11 . . . . . . 115 26:17 . . . . . . 183, 225 26:26–28 . . . . . . 114 26:28 . . . . . . 11, 124, 150, 164

26:36–44 . . . . . . 228 26:41 . . . . . . 124 26:47–56 . . . . . . 140 26:51 . . . . . . 199 26:63–66 . . . . . . 118 27:3–10 . . . . . . 97 27:6 . . . . . . 127 27:9–10 . . . . . . 103 27:15–26 . . . . . . 125 27:20–26 . . . . . . 267n71 27:24–25 . . . . . . 97 27:25 . . . . . . 105 27:40 . . . . . . 118 27:43 . . . . . . 118 27:51 . . . . . . 220 27:52–53 . . . . . . 97, 100 27:54 . . . . . . 118 27:55–56 . . . . . . 127 27:55 . . . . . . 124 27:57 . . . . . . 100 27:61 . . . . . . 124, 127

27:62–66 . . . . . . 97, 100 28:1–10 . . . . . . 65, 124 28:1–3 . . . . . . 127 28:8 . . . . . . 127 (2x) 28:9 . . . . . . 114, 117, 127 28:10 . . . . . . 127 28:11–20 . . . . . . 100 28:11–15 . . . . . . 97 28:16–20 . . . . . . 88, 97, 142 28:17 . . . . . . 114, 117, 124 (2x) 28:19–20 . . . . . . 114, 115, 124 28:19 . . . . . . 105, 114, 116 (2x), 124 28:20 . . . . . . 91, 107, 108, 115, 116

Mark 1:1–8 . . . . . . 40 1:1 . . . . . . 59, 62, 63, 67, 71, 159 1:2–16 . . . . . . 169 1:2–3 . . . . . . 72 1:2 . . . . . . 66 1:3 . . . . . . 57

1:4 . . . . . . 140, 142 1:8–12 . . . . . . 147 1:9–11 . . . . . . 78, 189 1:10 . . . . . . 62 1:11 . . . . . . 62 (2x), 67, 82 1:14–15 . . . . . . 74, 76 1:14 . . . . . . 12, 57, 183, 184 1:15 . . . . . . 60, 63, 75, 76, 77, 99 1:16–20 . . . . . . 29, 67, 86, 87, 183 1:17 . . . . . . 90 1:18 . . . . . . 61 1:19–20 . . . . . . 198 1:20 . . . . . . 61 1:21–28 . . . . . . 30, 33 1:21–27 . . . . . . 97 1:22 . . . . . . 67 1:23–26 . . . . . . 29 1:23–25 . . . . . . 67 1:24 . . . . . . 62, 82 1:27 . . . . . . 62, 83 1:29–31 . . . . . . 85 (2x)

1:32 . . . . . . 63 1:34 . . . . . . 67 1:35–38 . . . . . . 97 1:40–42 . . . . . . 29, 77 1:41 . . . . . . 66, 99, 141 1:43–44 . . . . . . 67 1:45 . . . . . . 80 2:1–3:6 . . . . . . 255n18 2:2–5 . . . . . . 98 2:7 . . . . . . 62, 83 2:10–12 . . . . . . 159 2:10 . . . . . . 67, 82 2:13–17 . . . . . . 147 2:13–14 . . . . . . 183 2:14 . . . . . . 29, 108, 226 2:15–17 . . . . . . 77 2:15 . . . . . . 18 2:17 . . . . . . 29, 124 2:19 . . . . . . 163 2:20 . . . . . . 33, 61, 91, 115, 157 2:26 . . . . . . 98, 140

2:27 . . . . . . 29 3:1–5 . . . . . . 29 3:5 . . . . . . 66 (2x), 99 (2x), 141 (2x) 3:6 . . . . . . 61 3:9 . . . . . . 63 3:11–12 . . . . . . 67 3:11 . . . . . . 62, 82 3:14–19 . . . . . . 98 3:14–15 . . . . . . 89 3:16–19 . . . . . . 108 3:17 . . . . . . 66, 140, 294 3:21 . . . . . . 65, 130, 141 3:22–30 . . . . . . 65 3:24 . . . . . . 29 3:29 . . . . . . 147 3:31–35 . . . . . . 29, 65, 141 4 . . . . . . 256n22 4:1–20 . . . . . . 58 4:3–9 . . . . . . 71, 73 4:3–8 . . . . . . 29 4:10–12 . . . . . . 57, 67

4:11 . . . . . . 67, 76 4:13–20 . . . . . . 73 4:16–17 . . . . . . 89 4:17 . . . . . . 73 4:19 . . . . . . 73 4:21 . . . . . . 66 4:26–29 . . . . . . 60, 71, 76, 97, 130 4:26–27 . . . . . . 75 4:30–32 . . . . . . 76 4:33–34 . . . . . . 89 4:35–41 . . . . . . 86 4:37–41 . . . . . . 29 4:40 . . . . . . 99, 124, 177 4:41 . . . . . . 62, 83 4:48 . . . . . . 223 5:1–20 . . . . . . 257n43 5:1–15 . . . . . . 29 5:1–14 . . . . . . 299 5:2–5 . . . . . . 98 5:7 . . . . . . 62, 82 5:9 . . . . . . 32, 66, 99

5:15 . . . . . . 66 5:22–24 . . . . . . 65 5:22–24a . . . . . . 29 5:22 . . . . . . 100 5:24b–34 . . . . . . 98 5:25–34 . . . . . . 65 5:26 . . . . . . 139 5:30 . . . . . . 32, 99 5:35–43 . . . . . . 65 5:35–42 . . . . . . 29 5:35 . . . . . . 140 5:41 . . . . . . 66, 140 5:43 . . . . . . 67 6:1–6 . . . . . . 139 6:1 . . . . . . 62 6:2–3 . . . . . . 62, 83 6:3 . . . . . . 219, 287n17 6:5 . . . . . . 66, 99, 141 6:6 . . . . . . 66, 99, 141 6:7–13 . . . . . . 63, 65, 67, 89, 98 6:7 . . . . . . 67 (2x)

6:8 . . . . . . 99, 140 6:13 . . . . . . 63 (2x) 6:14–29 . . . . . . 63 (2x), 65 6:14 . . . . . . 98, 140 6:30–44 . . . . . . 58, 72, 183 6:30 . . . . . . 63 (2x), 65, 67 6:31 . . . . . . 66 6:34 . . . . . . 66, 141 6:35–44 . . . . . . 29 6:38 . . . . . . 32, 99 6:45–8:26 . . . . . . 129, 131 6:45–8:20 . . . . . . 297 6:45–52 . . . . . . 58, 86 6:47–52 . . . . . . 104, 130 6:48–51 . . . . . . 29 6:51–52 . . . . . . 99, 118 6:53–56 . . . . . . 130 7 . . . . . . 256n32 7:1–23 . . . . . . 130 7:2–5 . . . . . . 66 7:3–4 . . . . . . 70, 99

7:11 . . . . . . 66, 140 7:14–23 . . . . . . 72 7:17–23 . . . . . . 89 7:18–19 . . . . . . 69 7:19 . . . . . . 72, 107 7:24–30 . . . . . . 67, 72, 84, 130 7:31–8:9 . . . . . . 84 7:31–37 . . . . . . 60, 97, 99, 130, 141 7:34 . . . . . . 66, 140 7:36 . . . . . . 67 7:37 . . . . . . 43 8:1–10 . . . . . . 130 8:1–9 . . . . . . 72 8:11–13 . . . . . . 130 8:11–12 . . . . . . 81 8:14–21 . . . . . . 67, 86, 130, 177 8:17 . . . . . . 159 8:21 . . . . . . 99 8:22–26 . . . . . . 60, 63, 87, 97, 99, 130, 141 8:23 . . . . . . 32, 99 8:27–30 . . . . . . 81

8:27–29 . . . . . . 104 8:29–30 . . . . . . 85 8:29 . . . . . . 86, 118 8:30 . . . . . . 67 8:31–33 . . . . . . 77, 86, 87, 177 8:31–32 . . . . . . 194 8:31 . . . . . . 61, 62, 82, 87, 91 8:33 . . . . . . 67, 141 8:34–38 . . . . . . 73, 87, 89 8:34 . . . . . . 44, 73, 84 8:38 . . . . . . 82 9:1 . . . . . . 29, 75, 76, 92 9:2–8 . . . . . . 30, 58, 305 9:7 . . . . . . 62, 67, 82 9:9–13 . . . . . . 99, 131 9:9 . . . . . . 67 9:11–13 . . . . . . 160 (2x) 9:12–34 . . . . . . 86 9:12 . . . . . . 32, 99 9:14–29 . . . . . . 62, 64 9:16 . . . . . . 32, 99

9:17–19 . . . . . . 67 9:18 . . . . . . 100 9:21–24 . . . . . . 139 9:21 . . . . . . 32, 99 9:30–31 . . . . . . 87 9:31 . . . . . . 61, 62, 82, 91, 194 9:32–34 . . . . . . 87 9:32 . . . . . . 141 9:33–34 . . . . . . 67 9:33 . . . . . . 32, 99 9:35–37 . . . . . . 87, 89 9:36–37 . . . . . . 67 9:37 . . . . . . 157, 260n74 9:38–40 . . . . . . 97 9:41–10:12 . . . . . . 129, 131, 299 9:41–48 . . . . . . 131 9:41 . . . . . . 82 9:43 . . . . . . 205 9:47 . . . . . . 75, 76 9:49–50 . . . . . . 131 9:49 . . . . . . 60

9:50b . . . . . . 60 9:51–19:40 . . . . . . 33 10:1–12 . . . . . . 131 10:2–5 . . . . . . 77 10:3 . . . . . . 32, 99 10:6–12 . . . . . . 77 10:11 . . . . . . 66 10:12 . . . . . . 66 10:13 . . . . . . 67 10:14 . . . . . . 66, 75, 99, 141 10:15 . . . . . . 75, 76 10:17–31 . . . . . . 73 10:17–22 . . . . . . 84 10:18 . . . . . . 67 10:21 . . . . . . 66, 99, 141 10:23–24 . . . . . . 76 10:23 . . . . . . 75 10:25 . . . . . . 76 10:29 . . . . . . 176 10:30 . . . . . . 76 10:32–52 . . . . . . 33

10:32–45 . . . . . . 257n40 10:32–34 . . . . . . 61, 87, 91 10:33–34 . . . . . . 62, 82, 194 10:35–41 . . . . . . 86 10:35–40 . . . . . . 87, 131, 141 10:35 . . . . . . 99 10:36 . . . . . . 140 10:37–38 . . . . . . 67 10:38–39 . . . . . . 62, 67, 79, 197 10:39 . . . . . . 63, 88 10:41–45 . . . . . . 87, 139 10:42–45 . . . . . . 85, 89 10:43–44 . . . . . . 73, 87 10:43 . . . . . . 73 10:45 . . . . . . 2, 11, 61, 62, 77, 89, 90, 150 10:46–52 . . . . . . 87, 103 10:46 . . . . . . 66 11:1–10 . . . . . . 30, 58 11:7 . . . . . . 104 11:12–21 . . . . . . 63 11:12–14 . . . . . . 65, 131, 141

11:12 . . . . . . 66 11:15–19 . . . . . . 65 11:15–17 . . . . . . 9, 29, 241 11:20–25 . . . . . . 131, 141 11:20–21 . . . . . . 65 11:22–23 . . . . . . 233 11:23–25 . . . . . . 257n35 12:1–9 . . . . . . 63, 71 12:6–8 . . . . . . 61 12:13–17 . . . . . . 29 12:15 . . . . . . 66 12:18 . . . . . . 66 12:28–34 . . . . . . 100, 113 12:31 . . . . . . 195, 232 12:40 . . . . . . 84 12:41–44 . . . . . . 73, 97, 258n57 12:42 . . . . . . 66 12:44 . . . . . . 84 13 . . . . . . 60, 92, 255n18 13:1–2 . . . . . . 60 13:3–7 . . . . . . 60

13:5–8 . . . . . . 92, 93 13:7–13 . . . . . . 92 13:8 . . . . . . 60 13:9–13 . . . . . . 60, 63, 73 13:9 . . . . . . 88 13:10 . . . . . . 67 13:11–13 . . . . . . 70 13:11 . . . . . . 92 13:13 . . . . . . 82. 92 13:14–20 . . . . . . 60 13:14 . . . . . . 70, 71, 256n29 13:18 . . . . . . 107 13:20 . . . . . . 92, 295 13:21–23 . . . . . . 60 13:21–22 . . . . . . 92, 93 13:22–33 . . . . . . 92 13:22 . . . . . . 73, 81, 193 13:24–30 . . . . . . 60 13:24–27 . . . . . . 73 13:26–27 . . . . . . 11, 92, 206 13:26 . . . . . . 82, 159

13:28–30 . . . . . . 92 (2x) 13:30 . . . . . . 61, 71 13:32–37 . . . . . . 60, 61 13:32–33 . . . . . . 93 13:32 . . . . . . 66 13:35 . . . . . . 93 14–16 . . . . . . 255n13 (2x) 14–15 . . . . . . 58 14:3–9 . . . . . . 131, 183 14:7 . . . . . . 33, 91, 115, 157 14:8 . . . . . . 84 14:9 . . . . . . 12, 84 14:10–11 . . . . . . 87 14:12 . . . . . . 183 14:13–20 . . . . . . 18 14:14 . . . . . . 32, 99 14:17–21 . . . . . . 89 14:24 . . . . . . 89, 90 14:25 . . . . . . 75 14:26–28 . . . . . . 89 14:27 . . . . . . 177

14:28 . . . . . . 70, 88, 142 14:29–31 . . . . . . 67, 89, 177 14:32–52 . . . . . . 297 14:32–42 . . . . . . 61, 73 14:32–41 . . . . . . 67 14:34 . . . . . . 66 14:36 . . . . . . 62, 66, 67, 140, 197 14:37–41 . . . . . . 141 14:41 . . . . . . 177 14:43–52 . . . . . . 139 14:43–45 . . . . . . 61, 67 14:44–45 . . . . . . 87 14:47 . . . . . . 199 14:50 . . . . . . 61, 177 14:51–52 . . . . . . 60, 61, 68, 97 14:51 . . . . . . 87 14:61–64 . . . . . . 83 14:61–62 . . . . . . 62, 82, 85 14:62 . . . . . . 82 14:63 . . . . . . 2 14:65 . . . . . . 61

14:66–72 . . . . . . 61, 67, 87 15 . . . . . . 255n13 15:6–14 . . . . . . 62 15:16–20 . . . . . . 62, 131 15:16 . . . . . . 66 15:21–39 . . . . . . 183 15:21 . . . . . . 69, 199 15:22 . . . . . . 66, 140 15:24 . . . . . . 91 15:29–32 . . . . . . 62 (2x) 15:29 . . . . . . 91 15:32b . . . . . . 62 15:33–34 . . . . . . 62 15:34 . . . . . . 66, 91, 140, 194 15:37–39 . . . . . . 78 15:38 . . . . . . 62 15:39 . . . . . . 62 (2x), 66, 67, 83 15:40 . . . . . . 227 15:43 . . . . . . 100 16:1 . . . . . . 227 16:7 . . . . . . 65, 70, 88, 89, 142

16:8 . . . . . . 58, 59 16:9–20 . . . . . . 39, 59 (2x)

Luke 1–2 . . . . . . 134 (2x) 1:1–52 . . . . . . 133 1:1–4 . . . . . . 31, 71, 131, 138, 141, 151, 155 1:3 . . . . . . 151 1:5–25 . . . . . . 131, 148, 220 1:5–8 . . . . . . 143 1:5 . . . . . . 142 1:8 . . . . . . 144, 148 1:14 . . . . . . 144 1:15 . . . . . . 148 1:20 . . . . . . 149 1:24–25 . . . . . . 147 1:26–56 . . . . . . 136, 147 1:26–38 . . . . . . 131, 135, 136, 148 1:30–35 . . . . . . 189 1:31 . . . . . . 135 1:32–33 . . . . . . 173

1:32 . . . . . . 136 1:35 . . . . . . 135, 148, 161 1:39–56 . . . . . . 131 1:41–55 . . . . . . 147 1:41 . . . . . . 148 1:42 . . . . . . 166 1:45 . . . . . . 166 1:46–55 . . . . . . 29, 134 (2x), 136, 148 (2x), 1:46 . . . . . . 144 1:47 . . . . . . 166 1:48 . . . . . . 166 1:53 . . . . . . 174 1:54–55 . . . . . . 135 1:57–80 . . . . . . 131 1:64 . . . . . . 144 1:67–79 . . . . . . 29, 134, 136, 148, 294 1:67 . . . . . . 148 1:69 . . . . . . 158, 166 1:71 . . . . . . 166 1:74 . . . . . . 145 1:76–79 . . . . . . 173

1:76 . . . . . . 166 1:77 . . . . . . 166 1:79 . . . . . . 162 2:1–20 . . . . . . 131 2:1–7 . . . . . . 135 2:1–5 . . . . . . 136, 220 2:1–2 . . . . . . 142 2:2–5 . . . . . . 136 2:4–6 . . . . . . 135 2:4 . . . . . . 135 2:7 . . . . . . 136 2:8–20 . . . . . . 137 2:10 . . . . . . 162 2:11 . . . . . . 135, 149, 158, 164 (2x), 166 2:13–14 . . . . . . 144 2:14 . . . . . . 134, 136, 162 (2x), 165, 166, 169, 170, 171, 297 2:15 . . . . . . 135 2:16 . . . . . . 135 2:20 . . . . . . 136, 144 2:21–38 . . . . . . 131 2:22–49 . . . . . . 142

2:22–38 . . . . . . 143 2:23–27 . . . . . . 169 2:25–35 . . . . . . 148 2:25–27 . . . . . . 148 2:27 . . . . . . 166 2:28 . . . . . . 122, 145 2:29–32 . . . . . . 134, 136, 300 2:29 . . . . . . 162 2:30 . . . . . . 166 2:32 . . . . . . 169, 171 2:34 . . . . . . 173 2:36–38 . . . . . . 147, 148 (2x) 2:37 . . . . . . 145 2:38 . . . . . . 149 2:39 . . . . . . 135 2:41–52 . . . . . . 131, 223 2:41–51 . . . . . . 142 2:41–50 . . . . . . 143 2:41–49 . . . . . . 34 2:41 . . . . . . 38, 135, 142 2:42 . . . . . . 144

2:43 . . . . . . 38 2:48 . . . . . . 135 3:1–6 . . . . . . 133 3:1–3 . . . . . . 140 3:1–2 . . . . . . 142 3:3 . . . . . . 166 3:6 . . . . . . 166, 171, 173 3:7–9 . . . . . . 25 3:10–14 . . . . . . 131 3:11 . . . . . . 174, 175 3:12–14 . . . . . . 175 3:21–22 . . . . . . 138 3:21 . . . . . . 144 3:22 . . . . . . 148 3:23–38 . . . . . . 29, 132, 136, 169 3:31 . . . . . . 135 4:1–13 . . . . . . 25 4:1 . . . . . . 148 4:6 . . . . . . 125 4:7–8 . . . . . . 145 4:8 . . . . . . 145, 148

4:14–23 . . . . . . 132 4:14–21 . . . . . . 146 4:14 . . . . . . 148 4:15 . . . . . . 145 4:16–30 . . . . . . 139, 141 4:16–27 . . . . . . 138 4:18 . . . . . . 2, 146, 148, 165, 174, 207 4:21 . . . . . . 149, 164 4:23–31 . . . . . . 144 4:25–30 . . . . . . 132 4:25–27 . . . . . . 171 4:25–26 . . . . . . 148 4:27 . . . . . . 148 4:31–37 . . . . . . 148 4:31 . . . . . . 148 4:38 . . . . . . 148 5:1–11 . . . . . . 132 5:3 . . . . . . 148 5:4–11 . . . . . . 183 5:5 . . . . . . 158 5:9 . . . . . . 148

5:10 . . . . . . 244 5:11 . . . . . . 174 5:17–26 . . . . . . 138 5:17 . . . . . . 143 5:19–26 . . . . . . 148 5:21–22 . . . . . . 169 5:25 . . . . . . 145 5:26 . . . . . . 145, 164 5:27–32 . . . . . . 147 5:27 . . . . . . 226 5:28 . . . . . . 174 5:29–6:11 . . . . . . 138 5:30–32 . . . . . . 169 5:30 . . . . . . 145 6:4 . . . . . . 140 6:6 . . . . . . 166 6:9 . . . . . . 166 6:10 . . . . . . 165 6:12–16 . . . . . . 148 6:12 . . . . . . 144 6:17 . . . . . . 143

6:20–8:3 . . . . . . 133 (2x) 6:20–49 . . . . . . 133, 303 6:20–26 . . . . . . 133 6:20–23 . . . . . . 25, 294 6:20–21 . . . . . . 174 6:20 . . . . . . 32, 75, 174 6:22 . . . . . . 110 6:24–25 . . . . . . 174 6:27–36 . . . . . . 25, 175 6:27 . . . . . . 172, 195 6:37–42 . . . . . . 25 6:37 . . . . . . 172 6:39 . . . . . . 232 6:40 . . . . . . 24, 161, 179 6:43–45 . . . . . . 25 6:47–49 . . . . . . 25 7:1–10 . . . . . . 25, 138, 148, 169 7:5 . . . . . . 175 7:6 . . . . . . 233 7:11–19 . . . . . . 132, 147 7:11-17 . . . . . . 132, 138, 147, 148, 160

7:11–15 . . . . . . 29 7:16 . . . . . . 145 7:18–35 . . . . . . 25 7:19 . . . . . . 165, 167 7:22 . . . . . . 174 7:34 . . . . . . 147 7:35–50 . . . . . . 132, 146, 147, 148, 270n23, 277n11 7:36 . . . . . . 169 7:37 . . . . . . 166 7:40–43 . . . . . . 132 7:44–46 . . . . . . 145 7:45 . . . . . . 2 7:48 . . . . . . 165 7:50 . . . . . . 166 7:51 . . . . . . 148 7:55 . . . . . . 148 8:1–3 . . . . . . 132, 147, 148 8:2–3 . . . . . . 175 8:4–9:50 . . . . . . 133 8:12 . . . . . . 166 8:14 . . . . . . 174

8:17 . . . . . . 232 8:19–21 . . . . . . 141 8:24 . . . . . . 158 8:29 . . . . . . 148 8:34 . . . . . . 141 8:36 . . . . . . 166 8:42–48 . . . . . . 139 8:45 . . . . . . 158 8:48 . . . . . . 165, 166 8:49 . . . . . . 140 8:50 . . . . . . 166 9:3 . . . . . . 140, 157 9:7 . . . . . . 140 9:11–17 . . . . . . 146 9:11–12 . . . . . . 144 9:18 . . . . . . 144 9:20 . . . . . . 159, 178 9:22 . . . . . . 149, 150, 177 9:24 . . . . . . 166 9:27 . . . . . . 75 9:28–36 . . . . . . 268n4

9:28 . . . . . . 144 9:31 . . . . . . 135, 143, 159 9:33 . . . . . . 158 9:37–43 . . . . . . 139 9:37–42 . . . . . . 64 9:44 . . . . . . 150 9:45 . . . . . . 141 9:46 . . . . . . 177 9:49–50 . . . . . . 177 9:49 . . . . . . 158 9:51–19:48 . . . . . . 268n4 9:51–19:44 . . . . . . 133, 142, 160, 304 9:51–19:40 . . . . . . 134, 135, 143, 299 9:51–19:28 . . . . . . 138, 268n4 9:51–18:14 . . . . . . 133 9:51–56 . . . . . . 132, 147 9:51–55 . . . . . . 177 9:51 . . . . . . 142, 143 9:53 . . . . . . 142, 143 9:57–60 . . . . . . 25 9:58 . . . . . . 24

9:61–62 . . . . . . 174 10:1-12 . . . . . . 138 10:1–10 . . . . . . 144 10:2–16 . . . . . . 25 10:5–7 . . . . . . 146 10:17–20 . . . . . . 132 10:17–18 . . . . . . 179 10:19 . . . . . . 148 10:21–24 . . . . . . 25 10:25–37 . . . . . . 29 10:27 . . . . . . 232 10:28 . . . . . . 169 10:29–37 . . . . . . 132 , 147 10:30–37 . . . . . . 37 10:30 . . . . . . 143 10:37 . . . . . . 169 10:38–42 . . . . . . 132, 147, 176, 275n100, 277n11 10:41 . . . . . . 158 11:1 . . . . . . 144 11:2–4 . . . . . . 25, 144 11:5–8 . . . . . . 132, 144

11:9–13 . . . . . . 25 11:9–10 . . . . . . 232 11:13 . . . . . . 148 11:14–23 . . . . . . 25 11:20 . . . . . . 75 11:24–26 . . . . . . 25 11:27–38 . . . . . . 176 11:28 . . . . . . 148 11:29–32 . . . . . . 25, 193 11:31 . . . . . . 148 11:32 . . . . . . 148 11:33–36 . . . . . . 25 11:37–54 . . . . . . 146 11:37–52 . . . . . . 25 11:37 . . . . . . 169 11:39 . . . . . . 158 11:41 . . . . . . 169, 174 12:1 . . . . . . 177 12:2–12 . . . . . . 25 12:13–34 . . . . . . 274n93 12:13–21 . . . . . . 132, 175

12:13–15 . . . . . . 174 12:16–21 . . . . . . 174 12:21 . . . . . . 165 12:22–34 . . . . . . 25 12:22 . . . . . . 233 12:31 . . . . . . 75 12:33 . . . . . . 174, 175 12:39–46 . . . . . . 25 12:42 . . . . . . 158 12:47–48 . . . . . . 132 12:51–53 . . . . . . 25 12:54–56 . . . . . . 26 12:57–59 . . . . . . 26 13:1–9 . . . . . . 132 13:2 . . . . . . 148 13:4 . . . . . . 143 13:10–17 . . . . . . 132, 148 13:13 . . . . . . 145 13:18–19 . . . . . . 148 13:20–21 . . . . . . 26, 148 13:22 . . . . . . 142, 143

13:23–30 . . . . . . 26 13:23 . . . . . . 166 13:24 . . . . . . 166 13:28 . . . . . . 75 13:29 . . . . . . 146 13:33–35 . . . . . . 143 13:33 . . . . . . 142, 149 13:34–35 . . . . . . 26, 154 13:51 . . . . . . 158 14:1–6 . . . . . . 132 14:1–4 . . . . . . 148 14:1 . . . . . . 169 14:7–24 . . . . . . 175 14:7–14 . . . . . . 132, 145 14:7–11 . . . . . . 145 14:12–14 . . . . . . 145 14:13 . . . . . . 174 14:14 . . . . . . 169 14:15–24 . . . . . . 26, 145 14:21 . . . . . . 174 14:26–27 . . . . . . 26

14:26 . . . . . . 176 14:28–33 . . . . . . 132 14:33 . . . . . . 174 15:1–7 . . . . . . 26 15:1–2 . . . . . . 145, 147, 270n23 15:2–7 . . . . . . 169 15:4–7 . . . . . . 148 15:8–10 . . . . . . 132, 147, 148 15:11–32 . . . . . . 132 15:23 . . . . . . 146 15:25–32 . . . . . . 145 15:28 . . . . . . 148 15:30 . . . . . . 270n23 16:1–12 . . . . . . 132 16:6–9 . . . . . . 141 16:6 . . . . . . 148 16:7 . . . . . . 148 16:13–15 . . . . . . 174 16:13 . . . . . . 26, 165 16:14 . . . . . . 169 16:16–17 . . . . . . 26

16:19–31 . . . . . . 132, 174, 175 16:19–30 . . . . . . 145 16:22 . . . . . . 174 16:28–30 . . . . . . 165 17:1–4 . . . . . . 26 17:11 . . . . . . 134, 142, 143, 153 17:13 . . . . . . 158 17:15 . . . . . . 145 17:16 . . . . . . 145 17:18 . . . . . . 145 17:20–21 . . . . . . 75, 232 17:23–27 . . . . . . 26 17:25 . . . . . . 149 17:26–30 . . . . . . 189 17:33–37 . . . . . . 26 17:34 . . . . . . 148 17:35 . . . . . . 148 18:1–8 . . . . . . 132, 144 18:1 . . . . . . 144 18:2–5 . . . . . . 147 18:6 . . . . . . 158

18:9–14 . . . . . . 132, 144, 147, 169 18:11 . . . . . . 145 18:13 . . . . . . 2 18:15–24:10 . . . . . . 133 18:16 . . . . . . 75 18:18–25 . . . . . . 175 18:19 . . . . . . 67 18:22–30 . . . . . . 165 18:22 . . . . . . 174 18:24 . . . . . . 75 18:25 . . . . . . 174 18:26 . . . . . . 167 18:28–33 . . . . . . 174 18:29 . . . . . . 176 18:31 . . . . . . 142, 143 18:42 . . . . . . 165, 167 18:43 . . . . . . 145 (2x) 19:1–10 . . . . . . 132, 147, 165 19:5 . . . . . . 164 19:8 . . . . . . 174, 175 19:9 . . . . . . 164, 165, 167

19:10 . . . . . . 2, 146, 150, 264, 167 19:11–27 . . . . . . 26 19:11 . . . . . . 142, 143, 177 19:28 . . . . . . 142, 143 19:37 . . . . . . 138, 145 19:41–44 . . . . . . 132, 142, 143, 154 19:41 . . . . . . 142 19:45–48 . . . . . . 138 19:45–46 . . . . . . 141 19:47 . . . . . . 61 20:23 . . . . . . 148 20:27–39 . . . . . . 138 21:1–4 . . . . . . 174 21:4 . . . . . . 148 21:11 . . . . . . 148 21:20–24 . . . . . . 154 21:20 . . . . . . 143 21:24 . . . . . . 143, 149 21:36 . . . . . . 144 22:7 . . . . . . 183 22:15–16 . . . . . . 225

22:16 . . . . . . 149 22:19 . . . . . . 138, 146 22:20 . . . . . . 11 22:24–27 . . . . . . 139 22:24 . . . . . . 177 22:27 . . . . . . 145 22:28 . . . . . . 162, 177 22:31–34 . . . . . . 141, 177 22:31–33 . . . . . . 177 22:31–32 . . . . . . 133 22:32 . . . . . . 144 22:35–38 . . . . . . 133 22:35–36 . . . . . . 157 22:37 . . . . . . 159 22:40 . . . . . . 144 22:43–44 . . . . . . 39 22:45 . . . . . . 177 22:47–53 . . . . . . 139 22:50 . . . . . . 199 22:54–62 . . . . . . 178 22:54 . . . . . . 138

22:64–64 . . . . . . 138 22:66–23:13 . . . . . . 138 22:69 . . . . . . 159 23:4 . . . . . . 277n11 23:6–12 . . . . . . 133 23:13–16 . . . . . . 133 23:14–15 . . . . . . 277n11 23:18 . . . . . . 138 23:22 . . . . . . 277n11 23:28–31 . . . . . . 133 23:28 . . . . . . 143 23:32 . . . . . . 38 23:33–47 . . . . . . 183 23:34 . . . . . . 133, 169, 179 23:39 . . . . . . 229 23:42–43 . . . . . . 150 23:43 . . . . . . 133, 165 23:46 . . . . . . 133, 179 23:47 . . . . . . 138, 144, 145 23:48 . . . . . . 2 24:1–43 . . . . . . 142

24:1–10 . . . . . . 65 24:7 . . . . . . 149, 150 24:11–53 . . . . . . 133 24:11 . . . . . . 176 24:13–35 . . . . . . 133 24:13–32 . . . . . . 65 24:13 . . . . . . 143 24:18 . . . . . . 143 24:19 . . . . . . 162 24:25–27 . . . . . . 11, 149 24:26 . . . . . . 149, 150 24:27 . . . . . . 160 24:30–35 . . . . . . 146 24:33 . . . . . . 143 24:34 . . . . . . 65 24:36–53 . . . . . . 88 24:36–49 . . . . . . 65, 133 24:41–43 . . . . . . 143 24:44 . . . . . . 150, 160 24:45–47 . . . . . . 138, 149 24:47 . . . . . . 143, 171

24:49 . . . . . . 34, 142, 143, 148 24:50–53 . . . . . . 133 24:50–51 . . . . . . 160, 293 24:52–53 . . . . . . 143 24:52 . . . . . . 145 24:53 . . . . . . 144, 145

John 1–3 . . . . . . 11 1:1–18 . . . . . . 187 (2x), 200 1:1–4 . . . . . . 299 1:1–3 . . . . . . 278n21 1:1–2 . . . . . . 189 1:1 . . . . . . 66, 188, 203, 204 1:3 . . . . . . 211 1:5 . . . . . . 191 1:10 . . . . . . 211 1:11–12 . . . . . . 210 1:12 . . . . . . 210 1:14 . . . . . . 2, 11, 204 (2x), 208, 209, 211, 299 1:18 . . . . . . 188, 203, 205, 208

1:19–12:50 . . . . . . 187, 294 1:20 . . . . . . 201 1:24–37 . . . . . . 213 1:29 . . . . . . 11, 162, 191, 208, 210, 211, 216 1:31 . . . . . . 213 1:33–51 . . . . . . 277n10 1:35–51 . . . . . . 182, 183 1:35–37 . . . . . . 201 1:35–36 . . . . . . 201 1:36 . . . . . . 191 1:38 . . . . . . 201 1:47 . . . . . . 213 1:49 . . . . . . 201, 213 2:1–12 . . . . . . 185 2:1–11 . . . . . . 29, 182 (2x), 209, 210, 277n15 2:1–10 . . . . . . 191 2:4 . . . . . . 187, 204 2:11 . . . . . . 184, 193 2:13–22 . . . . . . 183, 277n10 2:13–17 . . . . . . 184 2:13 . . . . . . 9, 183 (2x), 184

2:19–22 . . . . . . 183 2:19–21 . . . . . . 192 2:23 . . . . . . 185, 193 2:24–25 . . . . . . 204 3:1–21 . . . . . . 182 3:2 . . . . . . 193, 201 3:3–5 . . . . . . 183, 210 3:3 . . . . . . 75, 163, 207 3:4 . . . . . . 192 3:5 . . . . . . 191 3:10 . . . . . . 213 3:13 . . . . . . 283n65 3:14–17 . . . . . . 194 3:14 . . . . . . 194 3:16–17 . . . . . . 210, 211 3:16 . . . . . . 206, 208, 210 3:18 . . . . . . 207 3:19 . . . . . . 191 3:22–24 . . . . . . 184 3:22–23 . . . . . . 201 3:22 . . . . . . 185, 279n31

3:26 . . . . . . 201 3:27–30 . . . . . . 201 3:29 . . . . . . 163 3:31 . . . . . . 191, 283n65 3:33–34 . . . . . . 208 3:33 . . . . . . 208 3:34 . . . . . . 208 4:1–42 . . . . . . 182, 285n87 4:1–14 . . . . . . 192 4:2 . . . . . . 203, 279n31 4:3 . . . . . . 279n31 4:6 . . . . . . 204 4:9 . . . . . . 194 4:10–15 . . . . . . 191, 210 4:20–22 . . . . . . 213 4:22 . . . . . . 194 4:24 . . . . . . 208 4:26 . . . . . . 191 4:31–34 . . . . . . 192 4:31 . . . . . . 201 4:39–42 . . . . . . 213

4:42 . . . . . . 11, 149, 158 4:44 . . . . . . 281n48 4:46–54 . . . . . . 185, 209, 277n15 4:46–53 . . . . . . 277n10 4:48 . . . . . . 194 4:54 . . . . . . 184, 193 5:1–18 . . . . . . 182 5:1–15 . . . . . . 277n15 5:1–9 . . . . . . 185 5:1 . . . . . . 184 5:2–7 . . . . . . 191 5:10–13 . . . . . . 185 5:17 . . . . . . 208 5:19–47 . . . . . . 193 5:19 . . . . . . 204 5:20 . . . . . . 204, 283n65 5:24 . . . . . . 205 5:30 . . . . . . 204 5:33–35 . . . . . . 213 5:38 . . . . . . 210 5:39–47 . . . . . . 194

6:1–21 . . . . . . 277n10 6:1–15 . . . . . . 183 6:1–13 . . . . . . 185 6:1 . . . . . . 185 6:2–14 . . . . . . 209 6:2 . . . . . . 193 6:4 . . . . . . 183 (2x) 6:5–15 . . . . . . 277n15 6:5–13 . . . . . . 191 6:14 . . . . . . 193 6:15–25 . . . . . . 185 6:16–21 . . . . . . 277n15 6:20 . . . . . . 191 6:25–7:1 . . . . . . 193 6:25 . . . . . . 201 6:26 . . . . . . 204 6:28–58 . . . . . . 191 6:32–35 . . . . . . 192, 210 6:35 . . . . . . 190, 209, 298 6:39 . . . . . . 206 6:40 . . . . . . 206

6:44 . . . . . . 206 6:46 . . . . . . 204, 283n65 6:51–52 . . . . . . 192, 209 6:51 . . . . . . 11, 190. 209, 298 6:53–56 . . . . . . 183, 191 6:54 . . . . . . 206 6:56 . . . . . . 210 6:66–69 . . . . . . 277n10 7:5 . . . . . . 214 7:6–8 . . . . . . 204 7:7 . . . . . . 211 7:10 . . . . . . 184 7:14–52 . . . . . . 193 7:16 . . . . . . 283n65 7:21–23 . . . . . . 185 7:28–29 . . . . . . 208 7:30 . . . . . . 187 7:31 . . . . . . 193 7:33–36 . . . . . . 192 7:36 . . . . . . 186 7:37–39 . . . . . . 191, 193

7:39 . . . . . . 187 7:53–8:11 . . . . . . 39, 182, 186, 278n18 8–20 . . . . . . 184 8:11–12 . . . . . . 209 8:12–59 . . . . . . 193 8:12 . . . . . . 190, 191, 298 8:20 . . . . . . 187 8:21–22 . . . . . . 192 8:23 . . . . . . 191 8:24 . . . . . . 191 8:25 . . . . . . 204 8:28 . . . . . . 191, 194, 204 8:31–32 . . . . . . 202, 207 8:31 . . . . . . 185 8:32 . . . . . . 5 8:37 . . . . . . 186 8:42 . . . . . . 210 8:44 . . . . . . 195 8:48 . . . . . . 213 8:51–53 . . . . . . 192 8:56–58 . . . . . . 192

8:58 . . . . . . 191 9:1–41 . . . . . . 182 9:1–12 . . . . . . 277n15 9:1–7 . . . . . . 185 9:2 . . . . . . 201 9:3 . . . . . . 209 9:5 . . . . . . 190, 298 9:7 . . . . . . 191 9:16 . . . . . . 193, 194 9:22 . . . . . . 110, 194, 291, 213 9:24–29 . . . . . . 209 9:28 . . . . . . 194 9:38–41 . . . . . . 209 10:1–18 . . . . . . 193 10:7 . . . . . . 190, 298 10:9 . . . . . . 190, 210, 298 10:10 . . . . . . 205 10:11 . . . . . . 163, 190, 194, 298 10:14 . . . . . . 190, 298 10:15 . . . . . . 194, 205 10:16 . . . . . . 215

10:17–18 . . . . . . 194 10:22–39 . . . . . . 193 10:22–23 . . . . . . 184 10:28 . . . . . . 206 10:30 . . . . . . 204 10:38 . . . . . . 194, 204 10:41 . . . . . . 201 11:1–46 . . . . . . 284n75 11:1–44 . . . . . . 182, 185, 277n11, 277n15 11:2 . . . . . . 186 11:8 . . . . . . 201 11:12 . . . . . . 192 11:16 . . . . . . 232 11:23–25 . . . . . . 210 11:23–24 . . . . . . 207 11:25 . . . . . . 190, 298 11:26 . . . . . . 207 11:33–35 . . . . . . 204 11:36 . . . . . . 189 11:38–44 . . . . . . 209 11:44 . . . . . . 192

11:47–52 . . . . . . 282n58 11:50 . . . . . . 279n35 11:55 . . . . . . 183 (2x) 11:59 . . . . . . 192 12:1–8 . . . . . . 183, 277n10 12:3–8 . . . . . . 277n11 12:3 . . . . . . 186 12:12–15 . . . . . . 277n10, 300 12:12 . . . . . . 184 12:13 . . . . . . 213 12:14 . . . . . . 43 12:16 . . . . . . 187 12:17–18 . . . . . . 209 12:18 . . . . . . 193 12:23–36 . . . . . . 193 12:23–24 . . . . . . 187 12:23 . . . . . . 188 12:27 . . . . . . 188, 204 12:31 . . . . . . 211, 266n70 12:32–24 . . . . . . 194 12:35 . . . . . . 191

12:42 . . . . . . 110, 194, 201, 213 12:46 . . . . . . 191 12:48 . . . . . . 207 12:49 . . . . . . 204 12:50 . . . . . . 204 13:1–20:31 . . . . . . 187, 284 13–17 . . . . . . 193 13–16 . . . . . . 296 13:1–20 . . . . . . 182 (2x) 13:1–11 . . . . . . 277n10 13:1 . . . . . . 183, 187, 188, 194, 208 13:3–15 . . . . . . 2, 211 13:3–10 . . . . . . 191 13:3–4 . . . . . . 208 13:19 . . . . . . 191 13:21 . . . . . . 204 13:23 . . . . . . 190 (2x) 13:23–25 . . . . . . 214 13:24–25 . . . . . . 190 13:34–35 . . . . . . 195, 210 13:35 . . . . . . 215

13:36 . . . . . . 186 14–16 . . . . . . 193 14:3 . . . . . . 183, 206 14:5 . . . . . . 186 14:6 . . . . . . 190, 209, 298 14:8–9 . . . . . . 2, 209 14:10–11 . . . . . . 204 14:12–13 . . . . . . 211 14:13–14 . . . . . . 211 14:13 . . . . . . 204 14:14 . . . . . . 91 14:15 . . . . . . 210 14:16–17 . . . . . . 193 14:16 . . . . . . 39, 44, 208 14:18 . . . . . . 183 14:20 . . . . . . 91 14:21 . . . . . . 210 14:23 . . . . . . 91, 206, 210 14:25–26 . . . . . . 193 14:26 . . . . . . 193 (2x) 14:28 . . . . . . 183, 204

14:30–31 . . . . . . 208 14:30 . . . . . . 194, 211 266n70 14:31 . . . . . . 186, 204 15–17 . . . . . . 186 15:1 . . . . . . 190, 298 15:3 . . . . . . 210 15:4–10 . . . . . . 210 15:5 . . . . . . 190, 211, 298 15:7 . . . . . . 193, 210, 211 15:10 . . . . . . 210 15:11 . . . . . . 211 15:12 . . . . . . 195, 210 15:13 . . . . . . 194, 210, 211 15:16 . . . . . . 210, 211 15:17 . . . . . . 195, 210 15:18–19 . . . . . . 211 15:26 . . . . . . 193 (3x) 16:2 . . . . . . 110, 194, 201, 213 16:5 . . . . . . 186 16:7 . . . . . . 193 16:8–11 . . . . . . 193

16:11 . . . . . . 211, 266n70 16:12–15 . . . . . . 193 (2x) 16:13 . . . . . . 193 16:20 . . . . . . 211 16:23–24 . . . . . . 211 16:23 . . . . . . 208 16:27 . . . . . . 210 16:33 . . . . . . 212 17 . . . . . . 228 17:1–26 . . . . . . 182 17:1 . . . . . . 187 (2x), 204, 294 17:4 . . . . . . 204 17:5 . . . . . . 194, 204 17:8 . . . . . . 208 17:13 . . . . . . 211 17:14 . . . . . . 211 17:15–16 . . . . . . 212 17:16 . . . . . . 211 17:18 . . . . . . 212 17:20–23 . . . . . . 211, 212 17:20–21 . . . . . . 215

17:22 . . . . . . 204 18:1–14 . . . . . . 297 18:5 . . . . . . 191 18:6 . . . . . . 191, 194 18:10 . . . . . . 199 18:15–16 . . . . . . 190 18:20 . . . . . . 197 18:28 . . . . . . 183 18:36 . . . . . . 183, 211 18:38 . . . . . . 208, 277n11 19:4 . . . . . . 277n11 19:6 . . . . . . 277n11 19:10–11 . . . . . . 194 19:15 . . . . . . 195 19:17–37 . . . . . . 183 19:23 . . . . . . 192 19:26–27 . . . . . . 190, 199, 214 19:26 . . . . . . 190 19:28 . . . . . . 204 19:30 . . . . . . 204 19:31–34 . . . . . . 192

19:33 . . . . . . 204 19:34–35 . . . . . . 190 19:34 . . . . . . 191 (2x) 19:35 . . . . . . 190, 199 20:4 . . . . . . 190, 214 20:8 . . . . . . 190, 214 20:11–29 . . . . . . 65 20:19–29 . . . . . . 88 20:21 . . . . . . 212 20:22 . . . . . . 193 20:24–29 . . . . . . 182 20:24–25 . . . . . . 221 20:26–29 . . . . . . 241 20:28 . . . . . . 66, 188, 203 20:29 . . . . . . 194 20:30–31 . . . . . . 184, 185, 194 20:30 . . . . . . 187, 193 20:31 . . . . . . 202, 203, 205, 282n56 21 . . . . . . 186, 188, 206 21:1–25 . . . . . . 187 21:1–23 . . . . . . 88

21:1–14 . . . . . . 277n15 21:1–8 . . . . . . 183 21:1–6 . . . . . . 185 21:1–4 . . . . . . 229 21:2 . . . . . . 189, 232 21:6 . . . . . . 192 21:7 . . . . . . 190, 214 21:8 . . . . . . 192 21:9–13 . . . . . . 191 21:11 . . . . . . 191, 192 21:14 . . . . . . 197 21:15–17 . . . . . . 210 21:20–23 . . . . . . 188 21:20 . . . . . . 199, 294 21:21–23 . . . . . . 190, 206 21:22–23 . . . . . . 183 21:23 . . . . . . 190, 206 21:24 . . . . . . 190, 198, 199 (2x), 294 21:25 . . . . . . 186 Acts 1:1–5 . . . . . . 138, 141

1:1 . . . . . . 137, 154, 162 1:3–4 . . . . . . 66 1:4 . . . . . . 142, 143 1:6–11 . . . . . . 160, 268n4 1:6–7 . . . . . . 149 1:6 . . . . . . 177 1:8 . . . . . . 143 (2x), 154, 193 1:9 . . . . . . 293 1:11 . . . . . . 149 1:12–26 . . . . . . 143 1:14 . . . . . . 179 1:16 . . . . . . 149 . . . . . . 1:17 . . . . . . 178 1:22 . . . . . . 149 1:23–26 . . . . . . 226 1:25 . . . . . . 178 2 . . . . . . 301 2:1–13 . . . . . . 138 2:1–4 . . . . . . 143, 193 2:5–41 . . . . . . 143 2:14–40 . . . . . . 138

2:21 . . . . . . 167, 168, 171 2:23 . . . . . . 149 2:33 . . . . . . 167 2:36 . . . . . . 80, 167 2:38 . . . . . . 167 2:39 . . . . . . 171 2:40 . . . . . . 167 2:41 . . . . . . 173. 179 2:42–47 . . . . . . 143 2:42 . . . . . . 146 2:44–45 . . . . . . 174 2:47 . . . . . . 167 3–4 . . . . . . 198 3:1–10 . . . . . . 138 3:1–8:1 . . . . . . 143 3:2 . . . . . . 167 3:6 . . . . . . 168 3:16 . . . . . . 167 (2x) 3:17 . . . . . . 169 3:18 . . . . . . 149 3:20–21 . . . . . . 168

3:22 . . . . . . 159 4:1–8:3 . . . . . . 138 4:4 . . . . . . 173, 179 4:5 . . . . . . 143 4:9 . . . . . . 165, 167 4:12 . . . . . . 167, 168 4:16 . . . . . . 143 4:18–20 . . . . . . 178 4:19–20 . . . . . . 172 4:30 . . . . . . 91 4:32–37 . . . . . . 143, 174, 179 4:37 . . . . . . 175 5:12–16 . . . . . . 178, 179 5:14 . . . . . . 179 5:16 . . . . . . 143 5:28 . . . . . . 143 5:29 . . . . . . 172 5:31 . . . . . . 158, 167 5:34–39 . . . . . . 169 5:41 . . . . . . 178 6:7 . . . . . . 143, 173, 179

7:25 . . . . . . 167 7:37 . . . . . . 159 7:51–53 . . . . . . 173 7:56 . . . . . . 159, 168 7:59–60 . . . . . . 178 8:4–25 . . . . . . 147 8:9–24 . . . . . . 241 8:14–25 . . . . . . 143 8:27 . . . . . . 144 8:30–35 . . . . . . 159 9:1–9 . . . . . . 161 9:2 . . . . . . 144 9:13 . . . . . . 144 9:15 . . . . . . 171 9:16 . . . . . . 149 9:21 . . . . . . 144 9:27–30 . . . . . . 143 9:31 . . . . . . 179 9:34 . . . . . . 168 9:36–43 . . . . . . 138, 178 10:1–23 . . . . . . 138

10:1–4 . . . . . . 171 10:2 . . . . . . 175 10:4 . . . . . . 175 10:31 . . . . . . 175 10:34–43 . . . . . . 12 10:38 . . . . . . 162 10:39 . . . . . . 144 10:42 . . . . . . 149 10:43 . . . . . . 168 11:1–18 . . . . . . 143 11:14 . . . . . . 167, 168 11:15 . . . . . . 167 11:17 . . . . . . 167 (2x) 11:18 . . . . . . 167, 171 11:19–26 . . . . . . 143 11:21 . . . . . . 179 11:24 . . . . . . 179 11:27–30 . . . . . . 143 12:1–2 . . . . . . 197 12:12 . . . . . . 68 (2x), 70 12:15 . . . . . . 69

12:24 . . . . . . 179 12:25 . . . . . . 143 13:1–19:20 . . . . . . 138 13:13 . . . . . . 69, 70, 144 13:17 . . . . . . 167 13:23 . . . . . . 158, 167 13:26 . . . . . . 167 (2x), 168 13:27–30 . . . . . . 151 13:27 . . . . . . 144, 149 13:31 . . . . . . 144 13:32–39 . . . . . . 167 13:38–39 . . . . . . 167 13:39 . . . . . . 167 13:44–46 . . . . . . 172 13:46 . . . . . . 149 13:47–48 . . . . . . 149 13:47 . . . . . . 149, 167 13:8–12 . . . . . . 209 14:1 . . . . . . 179 14:9 . . . . . . 165, 167 14:22 . . . . . . 149

14:26 . . . . . . 149 15 . . . . . . 143, 298 15:1–29 . . . . . . 143 15:1 . . . . . . 167 15:11 . . . . . . 167 15:13–21 . . . . . . 214 15:14 . . . . . . 171 15:23 . . . . . . 70 15:36–39 . . . . . . 69 15:41 . . . . . . 70 16:4 . . . . . . 143 16:5 . . . . . . 179 16:7 . . . . . . 91, 168 16:10–17 . . . . . . 151 16:18 . . . . . . 168 16:30–31 . . . . . . 167 17:3 . . . . . . 149 17:6 . . . . . . 179, 212 17:22–31 . . . . . . 162 17:22–23 . . . . . . 169 17:26 . . . . . . 149

17:28 . . . . . . 151 17:31 . . . . . . 149 17:32 . . . . . . 169 18 . . . . . . 201 18:5–6 . . . . . . 172 18:12–16 . . . . . . 169 18:14–15 . . . . . . 172 18:15–16 . . . . . . 177 18:22 . . . . . . 144 18:24–26 . . . . . . 201 19 . . . . . . 201 19:1–7 . . . . . . 201 19:11–16 . . . . . . 201 19:11–12 . . . . . . 178 19:20 . . . . . . 179 19:21–21:17 . . . . . . 138 19:21 . . . . . . 144, 149 19:23–41 . . . . . . 201 19:35–41 . . . . . . 169 20:5–15 . . . . . . 151 20:7–12 . . . . . . 178

20:13–35 . . . . . . 200 20:16 . . . . . . 144 20:22 . . . . . . 144 21:1–18 . . . . . . 151 21:4–13 . . . . . . 144 21:17–20 . . . . . . 138 21:17 . . . . . . 144 21:18 . . . . . . 219 21:20 . . . . . . 173 21:26 . . . . . . 138 21:27–23:11 . . . . . . 144 21:30 . . . . . . 138 21:36 . . . . . . 138 22:10 . . . . . . 149 22:15 . . . . . . 171 23:1–26:32 . . . . . . 138 23:2 . . . . . . 138 23:6–9 . . . . . . 138 23:10–35 . . . . . . 169 23:11 . . . . . . 149 24:5 . . . . . . 224

25:1 . . . . . . 144 25:3 . . . . . . 144 25:7 . . . . . . 144 25:9 . . . . . . 144 25:10 . . . . . . 149 25:15 . . . . . . 144 25:20 . . . . . . 144 25:24 . . . . . . 144 26:4 . . . . . . 144 26:10 . . . . . . 144 26:17 . . . . . . 171 26:20 . . . . . . 144 26:23 . . . . . . 171 27:1–28:16 . . . . . . 151 27:20 . . . . . . 167 27:23 . . . . . . 167 (2x) 27:24 . . . . . . 149 27:31 . . . . . . 167 27:34 . . . . . . 167 27:35 . . . . . . 138 27:43 . . . . . . 138

27:44 . . . . . . 167 28:2 . . . . . . 169 28:10 . . . . . . 169 28:17 . . . . . . 144 28:23–28 . . . . . . 138, 172 28:28 . . . . . . 167 28:30–31 . . . . . . 179

Romans 1:4 . . . . . . 80 1:15 . . . . . . 12 5:1–11 . . . . . . 89 5:6–11 . . . . . . 151 6:3 . . . . . . 79 10:4 . . . . . . 112 14:7 . . . . . . 74 14:17 . . . . . . 76 15:21 . . . . . . 159

1 Corinthians 1:26–2:5 . . . . . . 179

2:2 . . . . . . 83 2:16 . . . . . . 72 4:20 . . . . . . 74, 76 5:7 . . . . . . 219 6:20 . . . . . . 90 7:23 . . . . . . 90 12:12–27 . . . . . . 158 12:27 . . . . . . 91 14:29–31 . . . . . . 91 15:1–8 . . . . . . 12 15:3–4 . . . . . . 127 15:50 . . . . . . 76

2 Corinthians 4:4 . . . . . . 266n70 5:14–21 . . . . . . 151 5:17 . . . . . . 79 8:23 . . . . . . 244 11:25 . . . . . . 43 12:1 . . . . . . 91 12:10 . . . . . . 179

Galatians 1:19 . . . . . . 219 1:21 . . . . . . 70 2:7–8 . . . . . . 69 2:9 . . . . . . 198, 214 (2x) 2:11–14 . . . . . . 69, 112 2:13 . . . . . . 112 2:19–20 . . . . . . 91

Ephesians 6:12 . . . . . . 266n70

Philippians 2:5–11 . . . . . . 273n61 2:6–11 . . . . . . 80 3:8–9 . . . . . . 91

Colossians 3:1 . . . . . . 91 3:12 . . . . . . 43

4:10 . . . . . . 69 4:11 . . . . . . 271n39 4:14 . . . . . . 150, 153, 271 b. 39

1 Timothy 2:11–14 . . . . . . 85

2 Timothy 4:11 . . . . . . 69, 150

Philemon 17 . . . . . . 244 24 . . . . . . 69, 150

Hebrews 5:1–9 . . . . . . 163 9:28 . . . . . . 159

1 Peter 2:22–25 . . . . . . 159 5:13 . . . . . . 68, 70

1 John 1:1 . . . . . . 208 2:15 . . . . . . 212, 215 2:17 . . . . . . 206 2:18 . . . . . . 214 2:19 . . . . . . 202, 204 2:22 . . . . . . 203 2:28 . . . . . . 206 3:2 . . . . . . 206 3:23 . . . . . . 195 4:5–7 . . . . . . 215 4:9 . . . . . . 210 4:18 . . . . . . 210 4:21 . . . . . . 195 5:3–4 . . . . . . 212 5:11–12 . . . . . . 206 (2x) 5:12 . . . . . . 278n21 5:19 . . . . . . 266n70

2 John

1 . . . . . . 197, 198 7 . . . . . . 203 (2x), 204, 214 10–11 . . . . . . 203

3 John 1 . . . . . . 197, 198 10 . . . . . . 203

Revelation 1:1 . . . . . . 197, 198 1:4 . . . . . . 197 1:9 . . . . . . 198 9:13 . . . . . . 187

NON-CANONICAL GOSPELS

Apocryphon of James 4:8 . . . . . . 235 5:3–5 . . . . . . 235 6:10–12 . . . . . . 235 6:16 . . . . . . 235

Dialogue of the Savior 14:1–4 . . . . . . 236 23:1–2 . . . . . . 236 26:1–2 . . . . . . 236

Epistle of the Apostles 12 . . . . . . 241 13 . . . . . . 241 14 . . . . . . 242 16–17 . . . . . . 242 17 . . . . . . 242 24 . . . . . . 242 26 . . . . . . 242

Gospel of the Hebrews 1:1–2 . . . . . . 225 4a . . . . . . 225 5 . . . . . . 226 6b . . . . . . 225 7 . . . . . . 226

8 . . . . . . 226

Gospel of Judas 1:1 . . . . . . 236 1:9 . . . . . . 237 1:11 . . . . . . 237 1:14 . . . . . . 237 1:19 . . . . . . 237 2:3 . . . . . . 237 2:5–6 . . . . . . 237 2:20 . . . . . . 237 3:4 . . . . . . 238 3:12 . . . . . . 239 4:2-5 . . . . . . 238 4:14–18 . . . . . . 238 5:18–19 . . . . . . 238 5:33–6:3 . . . . . . 239

Gospel of Mary 9:16–25 . . . . . . 240 10:1–13 . . . . . . 240

Gospel of Peter 4:1 . . . . . . 231 5:5–6 . . . . . . 231 9:2–10:4 . . . . . . 230

Gospel of Philip 22 . . . . . . 243 26 . . . . . . 244 32 . . . . . . 244 51 . . . . . . 243 52 . . . . . . 243 54 . . . . . . 243 55 . . . . . . 244 56 . . . . . . 243 127 . . . . . . 244

Gospel of Thomas 2 . . . . . . 232 3 . . . . . . 232, 234 5 . . . . . . 232

11 . . . . . . 233 21 . . . . . . 232 22 . . . . . . 227, 232, 234 25 . . . . . . 232 29 . . . . . . 234 34 . . . . . . 232 36 . . . . . . 233 48 . . . . . . 233 56 . . . . . . 234 60 . . . . . . 232 97 . . . . . . 233 98 . . . . . . 233 109 . . . . . . 233 114 . . . . . . 234

Infancy Gospel of Thomas 4:1 . . . . . . 222 6:3 . . . . . . 223 6:5 . . . . . . 223 6:12 . . . . . . 223 6:20–7:2 . . . . . . 223

14:5 . . . . . . 222

Protoevangelium of James 16:3–7 . . . . . . 220 19:13–17 . . . . . . 221 19:19 . . . . . . 221

OTHER ROMAN, JEWISH OR CHRISTIAN WRITINGS

Bava Batra 23b . . . . . . 120

Clement of Alexandria, Miscellanies 3.4.3 . . . . . . 227 3.66.1–2 . . . . . . 227 3.99.2–93.1 . . . . . . 227 5 . . . . . . 226

Cyril of Jerusalem, Catecheses 4.46 . . . . . . 235 6.31 . . . . . . 235

Didymus the Blind, Commentary on the Psalms 184 . . . . . . 226

Eusebius, Historia ecclesiastica 3.25.6 . . . . . . 287n20 3.39 . . . . . . 68, 109 6.14.7 . . . . . . 182

Eusebius, Theophania 4.22 . . . . . . 224

Hippolytus of Rome, Refutations 5.7.20 . . . . . . 235

Jerome, Commentary on Ephesians 3 . . . . . . 226

Jerome, Commentary on Ezekiel 6 . . . . . . 226

Josephus, Jewish War 5.212–14 . . . . . . 257n44

Justin Martyr, Apology 67.3 . . . . . . 257n37

Origen, Homily 1 on Luke Hom. 1 . . . . . . 287n20

Philo of Alexandria, Vita Moysis I XLVIII . . . . . . 267n74

Index of Modern Authors

Achtemeier, Paul J., 258n50, 258n51 Adam, A. K. M., 254n55, 263n27 Adams, Edward, 282n61, 284n80 Aernie, Jeffrey W., 258n55 Ahearne-Kroll, Stephen P., 260n73 Ahn, Yong-Sung, 269n18 Aland, Barbara, 251n24 251n25 Aland, Kurt, 251n24, 351n25 Allison, Dale C., Jr., 262n16, 263n32 Ambrozic, Aloysius M., 257n42 Anderson, Janice Capel, 248n15, 253n46, 262n23 Anderson, Kevin L., 273n71 Anderson, Paul N., 281n49, 282n50, 282n61 Appold, Mark L., 284n82 Arav, Rami, 247n4 Arlandson, J. M., 275n104 Arnal, William E., 250n7

Aune, D. E., 258n50 Aus, Roger David, 257n43

Baban, Octavian D., 271n38 Bacon, Benjamin W., 101, 102, 262n15 Bailey, James L., 250n18 Bailey, John Amedee, 277n1 Bailey, Randall C., 253n49 Balch, David, 248n14, 264n39 Ball, David Mark, 279n28 Banks, Robert, 263n29 Barnes, Ralph W., 196 Barrett, C. K., 278n17, 280n40, 285n92 Barth, Gerhard, 263n29 Barton, Stephen, 266n68 Bauckham, Richard, 276n4 Bauer, David R., 262n20, 262n22, 265n59, 266n66, 267n71 Bauman, Clarence, 261n6 Beasley-Murray, G. R., 279n32, 280n39, 283n73, 284n78 Beck, David R., 276n1 Beck, Ernest, 255n13

Beck, Robert R., 257n39 Beekman, John, 251n34 Beirne, Margaret, 276n5 Belo, Fernando, 252n45 Bengel, Johann Albrecht, 179, 251n26, 275n108 Bennema, Cornelius, 276n1, 283n66 Bergen, Doris L., 281n44 Best, Ernest, 259n63, 259n69 Betsworth, Sharon, 258n55 Betz, Otto, 258n50 Bevis, Mary Ann, 270n27 Bieringer, Raymond, 280n40 Bilezekian, Gilbert, 255n8 Black, C. Clifton, 252n39, 256n23, 259n63 Black, David Alan, 249n4 Blaine, Bradford B., Jr., 276n1 Blevins, James L., 258n48 Blickenstaff, Marianne, 260n3, 267n77, 275n104 Blomberg, Craig L., 281n48 Blount, Brian K., 253n49 Bobertz, Charles A., 257n36

Bock, Darrell L., 270n30, 272n56 Boismard, Marie-Emile, 278n17, 283n65 Bolt, Peter G., 260n71 Bonney, William, 276n1 Bonz, Marianne Palmer, 271n38 Booth, Roger P., 256n32 Booth, Wayne, 254n56 Borg, Marcus, 18, 19 Borgman, Paul, 269n15 Bornkamm, Günther, 263n29 Bowman, John, 280n40 Bradley, Marshall Carl, 265n56 Brandon, S. G. F., 256n31 Brant, Jo-Ann A., 276n2 Brawley, Robert L., 173, 269n15, 272n52, 274n87 Broadhead, Edwin J., 255n12, 255n13 Brock, Rita Nakashima, 258n55 Brodie, Thomas L., 277n14 Brooks, Stephenson H., 260n4 Brown, Jeannine K., 262n18, 266n68 Brown, Michael Joseph, 253n49

Brown, Raymond E., 260n2, 262n24, 265n52, 268n5, 277n13, 278n17, 281n43, 281n46, 284n84, 285n90, 285n95 Brown, Schuyler, 275n106 Brown, Tricia Gates, 280n37 Bruce, F. F., 286n3 Buckwalter, H. Douglas, 272n61 Bultmann, Rudolf, 250n17, 277n15, 278n17, 278n22, 279n32 Burge, Gary M., 280n37 Burke, Tony, 286n4 Burkett, Delbert, 254n6, 283n64 Burnett, Fred W., 261n10, 263n32, 265n58 Burridge, Richard A., 88, 249n24, 259n65 Byrne, Brendan, 284n75

Cadbury, Henry J., 152, 153, 271n41, 272n54 Callow, John, 252n34 Camery-Hoggatt, Jerry, 254n7 Carey, Holly J., 260n73 Cargounis, Chrys C., 262n24 Carlidge, David, 287n25 Carroll, John T., 272n58

Carse, James P., 278n26, Carter, Warren, 204, 248n19, 257n38, 260n3, 261n6, 262n18, 265n52, 266n69, 283n67 Cassidy, Richard J., 172, 272n54, 274n81 Chae, Young S., 263n32 Chance, J. Bradley, 173, 274n89 Charette, Blaine, 263n31 Charlesworth, James H., 248n12, 278n25, 285n91 Cheney, Emily, 267n77 Chilton, Bruce, 257n42 Coakley, J. F., 282n55 Collins, John J., 247n6, 249n22 Collins, Raymond F., 280n38 Coloe, Mary L., 279n34, 284n82 Conway, Colleen M., 276n1, 276n5 Conzelmann, Hans, 156, 157, 268n7, 271n51, 272n54, 272n56, 272n57, 273n78 Cook, Michael, 256n20 Cope, O. Lamar, 264n38 Cossley, James G., 256n29 Crosby, Michael H., 261n11, 262n26 Crossan, John Dominic, 18, 19, 247n4, 248n20, 286n12, 287n16

Croy, N. Clayton, 254n3 Crump, A. D., 269n20 Crump, David, 258n49, 277n10, 277n12 Cullmann, Oscar, 278n17, 279n32, 281n47 Culpepper, Alan R., 276n2, 278n22, 279n33, 279n35, 281n45, 281n47

Danker, Frederick W., 273n66, 273n69, 280n41 Danove, Paul L., 254n7 Dart, John, 255n16, 269n15 Davies, Margaret, 276n2 Davies, W. D., 264n42, 265n43, 265n55 DeLong, Kindalee P., 269n19 Denaux, A., 277n13 Dennis, John A., 282n58 deSilva, David A., 248n17 Deutsch, Celia, 265n58 Dewey, Joanna, 254n7, 255n16, 355n18, 258n55 Dibelius, Martin, 250n17 Diel, Paul, 279n27 Dillon, Richard J., 275n106 Dô, Maria Y. T., 268n4, 269n9

Doble, Peter, 270n33 Dodd, C. H., 277n13, 281n48, 283n72 Donahue, John R., 255n13, 259n63 Donaldson, Terence, 261n6 Donfried, Karl, 262n24 Doran, Richard, 280n41 Dornisch, Lorretta, 270n27 Dowd, Sharyn Echols, 257n35 Dowling, Elizabeth V., 176, 275n101, 275n102, 275n104 Driggers, Ira Brent, 88, 259n64 Drury, John, 268n1 Dube, Musa W., 284n76 Duke, Paul D., 279n35 Dumm, Demetrius R., 276n3 Dungan, David L., 249n4, 287n25 Dunn, James D. G., 277n7

Easton, B. S., 269n16 Edwards, Richard, 250n8, 250n9 Egelkraut, Helmuth L., 268n4 Ehrman, Bart D., 239, 241, 252n44, 285n1, 286n4, 286n7, 286n8, 286n10,

286n11, 287n15, 287n17, 287n18, 287n22, 287n23, 287n24, Elliott, J. K., 285n1, 286n4 Elliott, John H., 248n13 Elliott, Neil, 280n41 Ellis, Peter F., 262n22 Esler, Philip F., 172, 248n14, 272n55, 274n80, 276n1, 284n75 Eugene Peterson, 43 Evans, Craig A., 247n6, 270n30, 278n19, 278n20

Farelly, Nicolas, 276n1 Farmer, William R., 250n15, 250n16 Farris, Stephen, 268n6 Felder, Cain Hope, 253n49 Feldman, Louis H., 248n12 Fetterley, Judith, 253n48 Fiensy, David A., 4, 248n11 Filson, Floyd V., 278n24, Fiorenza, Elizabeth Schüssler, 18, 19, 176, 253n46, 253n47, 258n55, 275n99, 275n100 Fitzmyer, Joseph A., 271n35 Flender, Helmuth, 273n72, 273n75

Ford, J. Massyngbaerde, 273n77 Forestell, J. Terence, 284n79 Fortna, Rober T., 277n16 Foskett, Mary F., 253n49 Foster, Paul, 265n42, 286n4 Fowler, Robert M., 252n38, 254n7 Frankemölle, Hubert, 262n26, 266n62 Franklin, Eric, 173, 273n72, 274n89 Frediksen, Paula, 18, 20 Freedman, David Noel, 247n3 Frey, Jörg, 279n27 Freyne, Sean, 4, 247n9 Fuglseth, Kare Sigvald, 284n83 Fullmer, Paul M., 255n8 Funk, Robert W., 281n48 Furnish, Victor Paul, 281n43

Gale, Aaron M., 264n38, 265n49 Gamble, Harry Y., 286n3 Garland, David E., 263n28 Garrett, Susan R., 254n1, 275n109

Garrow, Alan J. P., 265n50 Gaustad, Edwin S., 261n14 Geddert, Timothy J., 255n10 Geir, Otto Holmas, 269n20 Gench, s Taylor, 263n32, 265n58, 276n1, 276n5 Gerhardsson, Birger, 264n38 Gibbs, Jeffrey A., 261n10, 263n33 Gillman, John, 274n92 Glasson, Thomas F., 283n65 Goodacre, Mark, 249n4, 250n13, 250n14, 268n2 Goulder, Michael D., 264n38, 268n2 Gowler, David B., 273n77 Grant, F. C., 269n16 Grassi, Joseph A., 278n26 Gray, Sherman W., 265n59 Green, H. Benedict, 261n11, Green, Joel B., 247n3, 269n20, 270n22, 272n56, 272n59, 274n90 Greenberg, Jeffrey P., 261n13 Gregg, Brian Hay, 249n6, 250n9 Gregory, Andrew, 269n10 Greig, J. C. G., 258n47

Griesbach, Johann Jakob, 27, 250n16, 251n27 Guest, Deryn, 253n52 Gundry, Robert H., 104, 262n25, 263n30, 264n36, 265n53 Gurtner, Daniel M., 262n17

Haenchen, Ernst, 172, 250n20, 269n16, 274n83 Ham, Clay Alan, 263n32 Hamm, Dennis, 268n3 Hanson, James S., 259n67 Hardesty, Nancy A., 252n37 Hare, Douglas, 264n42 Harner, Phillip B., 279n28 Harrington, Daniel J., 280n38 Harris, Elizabeth, 278n19, 278n20 Harris, Stephen L., 249n2 Harstine, Stan, 276n1 Harvey, A. E., 285n89 Hatina, Thomas, 257n33 Hays, Christopher, 274n92 Heil, John Paul, 260n3, 262n17, 262n22 Held, Hans J., 263n29

Henderson, Suzanne Watts, 259n59 Hendrickx, Herman, 260n2, 268n5 Hengel, Martin, 248n12, 256n24, 256n26, 256n28, 281n46 Herzog, Frederick, 284n76 Hoffmann, Paul, 250n10 Holmes, Marjorie L., 286n5 Hooker, Morna D., 258n52 Hoover, Roy W., 281n48 Hornsby, Teresa, 253n52 Horrell, David, 248n13 Horsley, Richard, 18, 20 Hoskins, Paul M., 279n34 Howard-Brook, Wes, 284n76 Howell, David B., 262n18 Huizenga, Leroy A., 263n32 Hylan, Susan E., 276n1

Ihenaco, David Asonye, 283n73 Incigneri, Brian, 256n26 Isenberg, Wesley W., 287n25 Iser, Wolfgang, 254n56

Iverson, Kelly R., 258n56

Jackson, Glenna, 267n76 Jervell, Jacob, 173, 271n40, 272n56, 274n90 Johnson-DeBaufre, Melanie, 250n9 Johnson, Luke T., 274n92 Johnson, Marshall D., 260n1 Jonge, Marinus de, 284n78 Jordan, Clarence J., 251n34 Juel, Donald H., 173, 254n5, 258n46, 258n53, 274n89 Jupp, David D., 264n35 Just, Felix, 281n49

Kähler, Martin, 255n14 Kaminouchi, Alberto de Mingo, 257n40 Kanagaraj, Jey, 276n3, 284n82 Karris, Robert J., 269n20, 270n31, 270n33, 284n76 Käsemann, Ernst, 271n37, 272n57, 275n107, 275n110, 285n94 Kazen, Thomas, 256n32 Kazmierski, Carl R., 258n53 Keck, Leander E., 271n35, 274n83

Kee, Howard Clark, 248n16, 256n27 Keenan, John P., 253n54 Keener, Craig S., 271n34, 271n44, 271n47 Kelber, Werner H., 88, 255n13, 256n31, 257n42, 259n61 Kennedy, George, 252n39 Kermode, Frank, 254n7 Kerr, Alan R., 279n34 Kilpatrick, G. D., 263n30 Kim, Kyoug-Jim, 274n95 Kingsbury, Jack Dean, 83, 101, 102, 255n7, 256n20, 258n53, 258n54, 261n8, 262n18, 262n19, 265n47, 265n54, 266n61, 63, 269n15, 294n25 Kinlaw, Pamela E., 282n61 Kinukawa, Hisako, 258n55 Klauk, Hans-Josef, 287n14 Kloppenborg, John S., 250n10, 250n11 Knox, John, 154, 271n45 Koester, Craig R., 279n27 Koester, Helmut, 286n4, 286n12 Kopas, Jane, 275n103 Köstenberger, Andreas J., 281n46, 283n69, 284n85 Kreitzer, Larry Joseph, 278n18

Krodel, Gerhard, 273n76 Kuan, Jeffrey Kah-Jin, 253n49 Kubo, Sakae, 251n29, 251n34, 252n36 Kuhn, Karl Allen, 153, 172, 269n17, 271n42, 274n82 Kümmel, Werner Georg, 250n16, 275n107 Kurz, William S., 269n15, 280n36 Kysar, Robert, 277n8

LaGrand, James, 262n41 Lambrecht, Jan, 260n3 Langbrandtner, Wolfgang, 278n17 Lapham, Fred, 287n14 Larsen, Timothy, 261n13 Lee, Dorothy A., 279n27 Levine, Amy-Jill, 111, 253n46, 265n45, 267n77, 275n104, 276n6, 280n41 Lindars, Barnabas, 258n52, 273n64, 278n17 Lindermann, A., 249n6 Ling, Timothy J. M., 284n83 Lingad, C. G., 280n40 Litwak, Kenneth Duncan, 270n30 Love, Stuart L., 267n76

Lozada, Francisco, J., 284n76 Luker, Lamontte M., 248n18 Luz, Ulrich, 252n40, 252n42, 265n59

Maccini, Robert Gordon, 276n5 MacDonald, Dennis R., 255n8 Mack, Burton L., 252n39, 255n8 Maddox, Robert L., 172, 272n52, 274,n85 Magness, J. Lee, 254n5 Maier, Paul L., 286n5 Malbon, Elizabeth Struthers, 255n7, 258n53, 259n57 Malina, Bruce J., 248n17, 280n41 Maloney, Elliott C., 257n41, 257n42 Marcus, Joel, 256n22 Marshall, Christopher D., 259n68 Marshall, I. Howard, 271n49, 272n56 Marshall, Jonathan S., 273n69 Martin, Michael W., 276n1 Martin, Ralph P., 259n69 Martyn, J. Louis, 271n35, 274n83, 278n17, 282n54 Marxsen, Willi, 256n27, 256n28

Matera, Frank J., 254n6, 255n13 Matthias, Philip, 261n12 Mattill, A. J., 173, 272n58, 274n89 McComiskey, Douglas, 269n14 McDonald, Lee Martin, 286n3 McGann, Diarmuid, 253n54 McGrath, James F., 282n61 Mckenna, Meghan, 268n3 McKnight, Edgar V., 252n38 McWhirter, Jocelyn, 284n81 Meager, John C., 255n15 Meeks, Wayne A., 283n65, 284n83, Meier, John P., 18, 20, 26, 250n12, 263n29, 264n37, 265n52, 266n60 Méndez-Moratalla, Fernando, 272n60 Metzger, Bruce M., 251n21, 251n22, 251n23, 251n24, 251n29 Metzger, James A., 268n4 Meyer, Marvin, 247n7, 286n1 Michie, Donald, 254n7, 255n18 Miller, Robert J., 223, 234, 238, 285n1, 286n9, 286n12, 286n13, 287n19, 287n21 Miller, Susan, 258n55

Minear, Paul, 261n5, 273n65 Mohrlang, Roger, 265n51 Moloney, Francis J., 277n13, 283n64 Montague, George T., 266n69 Moore, Stephen D., 248n15, 252n38, 253n46, 254n55 Moser, Carl, 276n4 Moxnes, Halvor, 274n92 Moyer, Stephen, 280n40 Mullen, J. Patrick, 273n77 Munck, Johannes, 271n44 Murphy, Frederick J., 248n18, 260n72 Myers, Ched, 257n38

Nau, Arlo J., 262n24 Nave, Guy D., 272n60 Neagoe, Alexadru, 271n48 Neale, David A., 270n25 Neirynck, Frans, 255n18 Newheart, Michael Willett, 257n43 Newport, Kenneth G. C., 263n28 Newsom, Carol A., 275n96

Neyrey, Jerome H., 270n33, 282n51, 282n58, 284n83, 284n86 Ng, Wai-Yee, 279n30 Nicholson, Godfrey, 280n39 Nickle, Keith, 63, 255n17 Nicol, Willem, 278n16, 280n38 Niebuhr, H. Richard, 267n72 Nolan, Brian M., 260n2 Nordgaarde, Stefan, 274n94 North, Wendy E. Sproston, 284n75 Nuttall, Geoffrey F., 268n1 Nutu, Ela, 278n19

O’Brien, Kelli S., 260n73 O’Collins, Gerald, 261n12 O’Day, Gail, 276n2, 280n35 O’Toole, Robert F., 272n56 Okure, Teresa, 285n87 Olmstead, Wesley G., 260n3 Orton, David E., 263n33, 264n38 Overman, J. Andrew, 264n39, 265n49

Pagels, Elaine, 285n88, 286n2 Palachuvatti, M., 266n68 Pallares, José Cárdenas, 254n54 Pancaro, Severino, 285n89 Parker, Neil R., 256n20, 257n33 Parsenios, George L., 280n36 Parsons, Mikeal C., 137, 269n10, 273n74 Pattarumadathil, Henry, 266n68 Paul, Shailey, 252n44 Pearson, Birger A., 249n23 Pennington, Jonathan, 264n33 Perkins, Pheme, 262n24, 282n60 Perrin Norman L., 249n2, 258n51 Perrin, Nicholas, 250n14 Pervo, Richard I., 137, 154, 269n10, 271n47 Petersen, Norman R., 279n29 Peterson, Eugene, 252n35 Phillips, J. B., 252n35, 252n36 Phillips, Peter M., 278n19 Pilgrim, Walter, 274n92 Piper, Ronald, 276n1, 284n75

Plêse, Zlarko, 239, 285n1, 286n7, 286n8, 286n10, 286n11, 287n15, 287n18, 287n22 Pollard, T. E., 283n70, 285n96 Pollefeyt, Didier, 280n40 Potterie, Ignace de, 280n39 Powell, Mark Allan, 247n3, 249n2, 249n3, 252n38, 252n43, 253n46, 254n56, 254n58, 257n45, 258n55, 260n75, 261n11, 262n18, 263n27, 264n34, 264n35, 265n57, 265n59, 266n64, 266n65, 266n66, 267n71, 267n73, 267n74, 267n76, 269n13, 270n22, 270n23, 271n50, 272n54, 273n73, 273n77, 275n11, 282n50 Puskas, Charles, 258n49, 275n108, 277n10, 277n12

Rabinowitz, Peter J., 254n56 Räisänen, Heikki, 258n48 Ravens, David, 272n52, 274n91 Reed, Jonathan L., 4, 247n4, 247n5, 247n8 Reeves, Keith Howard, 262n17 Reid, Barbara, 176, 253n51, 275n104 Reinhartz, Adele, 280n42 Rensberger, David, 284n76 Repschinski, Boris, 262n21, 263n28 Resseguie, James L., 254n56, 276n2 Reumann, John, 262n24 Reynolds, Benjamin E., 283n64

Rhoads, David, 248n15, 254n7, 255n18 Riches, John, 266n69 Richey, Lance B., 284n76 Richter, Georg, 278n17 Rindge, Matthew S., 274n93 Ringe, Sharon L., 275n96, 283n66 Robbins, Vernon K., 252n39, 255n11, Robinson, James M., 247n7, 250n6, 250n10, 286n1, 287n25 Robinson, John A. T., 278n17, 282n55 Roetzel, Calvin J., 248n21 Rogers, J., 251n34 Rohrbaugh, Richard L., 248n13, 248n17 Rooke, Deborah W., 278n18, Roskam, Hendrika N., 256n27 Roth, Wolfgang, 256n21 Rousseau, John J., 247n4 Rowe, C. Kavin, 269n10, 272n61 Runesson, Anna, 253n53 Russell, D. S., 248n22

Sakenfeld, Katherine Doob, 247n3

Saldarini, Anthony, 111, 264n39, 264n40, 265n46, 265n49 Samuel, Simon, 257n38 Sanders, E. P., 18, 20, 248n18 Sanders, Jack, 172, 173, 272n52, 274n86 Sanders, James A., 270n30 Sanders, Joseph N., 278n24 Santos, Nancy, 259n60 Sawicki, Marianne, 4, 248n10 Scaer, Peter J., 270n32 Schaberg, Jane, 174, 244, 275n96, 287n27 Scharper, Philip J., 274n81 Schelle, Udo, 285n94 Schildgen, Brenda Deen, 255n9 Schneiders, Sandra M., 252n37, 277n6, 279n26 Schweitzer Albert W., 249n1 Scott, Martin, 278n21 Scroggs, Robin, 284n74 Seccombe, David, 274n92 Seeley, David, 254n55, Segovia, Fernando F., 253n49, 280n36, 281n43 Seim, Turid Karlsen, 174, 176, 275n98

Senior, Donald, 262n17, 263n29, 263n30, 270n33, 280n39 Shepherd, Tom, 255n13 Shepherd, William H., Jr., 270n29 Sim, David C., 110, 262n21, 264n33, 264n41, 266n69 Sloan, Robert B., 270n24 Sloyan, Gerard S., 248n20, 278n17 Smith, D. Moody, 277n9, 277n11, 277n15, 278n17, 278n21 Smith, Mitzi, 253n50 Smith, Stephen H., 255n7 Snodgrass, Klyne, 266n66 Solotareff, Jeannine, 279n27 Specht, Walter F., 251n29, 251n34, 252n36 Spencer, Stephen R., 261n13 Squires, John T., 270n30 St. Clair, Annette, 253n50 Staley, Jeffrey L., 276n2, 284n76 Stambaugh, John, 248n14 Stanton, Graham N., 111, 254n57, 265n44, 265n59 Stein, Robert H., 249n4, 250n19 Stendahl, Krister, 263n30 Stevenson, Kenneth W., 261n12

Stibbe, Mark W. G., 276n2 Stone, Ken, 253n52 Strauss, Mark L., 273n62 Streeter, B. H., 249n5 Stronstad, Roger, 270n29 Stube, John Carlson, 280n36 Stuhlmacher, Peter, 277n7 Such, W. A., 256n29 Suggs, M. Suggs, 263n32 Sugirtharajah, R. S., 253n49, 253n53 Swain, Scott R., 283n69 Székely, János, 268n4

Talbert, Charles H., 249n24, 261n6, 268n9, 270n20, 272n53, 273n67, 273n68, 283n68 Tannehill, Robert C., 173, 259n70, 268n8, 269n12, 269n15, 274n88, 275n105 Taylor, Kenneth, 252n35, 252n36 Taylor, Vincent, 250n17, 256n25 Taylor, Walter F., Jr., xii Telford, William R., 256n19, 258n48, 259n70 Tetlow, Elisabeth, 174, 176, 275n97

Thatcher, Tom, 279n33, 281n49, 284n76 Thompson, Marianne Meye, 282n62, 284n77, 285n94 Thompson, Mary R., 259n68 Thompson, William G., 261n9 Tiede, David L., 173, 248n21, 272n55, 274n88 Tolbert, Mary Ann, 253n49, 257n33, 257n34 Tomson, Peter J., 248n20 Trainor, Michael F., 259n66 Trexler, Richard C., 252n41 Trites, Allison, 269n20 Trocmé, Etienne, 259n62 Tsuterov, Alexander, 282n58 Tuckett, Christopher, 250n7, 250n9, 258n48 Twelftree, Graham, 257n43, 272n59 Tyndale, William, 39, 251n31 Tyson, Joseph B., 154, 173, 271n33, 271n46, 274n84, 274n88

Upton, Bridget Gilfillan, 254n2

Vaage, Leif E., 250n7 Valantasis, Richard, 250n10

van Belle, Gilbert, 278n16 van de Sandt, Huub, 265n50 van der Watt, Jan, 279n27 van Oyen, Geert, 255n13 van Tilborg, Sjef, 264n37, 281n43, 282n53 Vandecasteele-Vanneuville, Frederique, 280n40 Vander Broek, Lyle D., 250n18 Vaught, Carl G., 261n6 Vellanickal, Matthew, 284n82 Vermes, Geza, 18, 21, 247n6 Vielhauer, Philip, 271n35 Viviano, Benedict T., 265n48 von Wahlde, Urban C., 278n16, 282n59 Voorwind, Stephen, 283n63

Waetjen, Herman C., 282n52 Wainwright, Elaine M., 253n46, 268n77 Walaskay, Paul, 172, 274n79 Walker, Alice, 253n50 Walker, Rolf, 266n60 Walters, Patricia, 269n11

Weaver, Dorothy Jean, 261n7, 267n71 Weeden, Theodore J., 86, 87, 88, 258n51, 259n58 Weidermann, Heinz, 196 Wessels, Anton, 273n70 Whiston, William, 247n1 Wijngaards, John, 280n37 Wilkins, Michael J., 266n68 Williams, Charles, 271n44 Williams, Ritva H., 285n93 Willits, Joel, 263n32 Wilson, Alistair I., 261n10, 264n33 Wilson, Stephen G., 173, 272n52, 274n85 Windisch, Hans, 280n37 Winn, Adam, 257n38, 259n69 Witherington, Ben, III, 18, 21 Woll, Bruce, 280n36 Wrede, William, 80, 81, 258n47 Wright, Addison, 258n57 Wright, N. T., 18, 21, 249n2, 287n16 Wycliffe, John, 251n31

Yieh, John Yueh-Han, 261n5

Zangenberg, Jürgen K., 265n50 Ziccardi, Constantino, 273n63 Zimmerman, Ruben, 279n27