Children in Early Christian Narratives 9780567235466, 9780567661951, 9780567657251

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LIBRARY OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES

521 formerly the Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement series

Editor Chris Keith

Editorial Board Dale C. Allison, John M.G. Barclay, Lynn H. Cohick, R. Alan Culpepper, Craig A. Evans, Robert Fowler, Simon J. Gathercole, John S. Kloppenborg, Michael Labahn, Love L. Sechrest, Robert Wall, Steve Walton, Robert L. Webb, Catrin H. Williams

Children in Early Christian Narratives

Sharon Betsworth

Bloomsbury T&T Clark An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY

Bloomsbury T&T Clark An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc Imprint previously known as T&T Clark 50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP UK

1385 Broadway New York NY 10018 USA

www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2015 Paperback edition first published 2016 © Sharon Betsworth, 2015 Sharon Betsworth has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: HB: PB: ePDF: ePUB:

978-0-56723-546-6 978-0-56767-198-1 978-0-56765-725-1 978-0-56765-735-0

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Betsworth, Sharon. Children in early Christian narratives / Sharon Betsworth. pages cm ISBN 978-0-567-23546-6 (hardback) – ISBN 978-0-567-65725-1 (epdf) 1. Children in the Bible. 2. Children–Biblical teaching. 3. Bible. Gospels–Criticism, interpretation, etc. 4. Bible. Apocrypha–Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. Title. BS2446.B48 2015 225.8’30523–dc23 2014030476 Series: Library of New Testament Studies, volume 521 Typeset by Fakenham Prepress Solutions, Fakenham, Norfolk NR21 8NN Printed and bound in Great Britain All scriptural quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible unless otherwise noted. New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright 1989, Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This book is dedicated to my husband, Thomas Devine

CONTENTS Acknowledgmentsix Abbreviationsxi Chapter 1 INTRODUCTION1 Chapter 2 CHILDREN IN THE ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN CONTEXT5 Introduction5 The Ideology of the Family and the Paterfamilias6 Family Relationships 13 The Child’s Life 17 Rituals and Religion 21 Education29 Transition to Adulthood 34 Mortality36 Conclusion37 Chapter 3 THE REIGN OF GOD BELONGS TO THESE: CHILDREN IN THE GOSPEL OF MARK39 Genre and Literary Themes 39 The Reign of God and New Family of Jesus 45 47 The Child of Jairus The Child of the Syrophoenician Woman 52 The Child of Herodias 56 The Child of the Faithful Father 62 The Reign of God and Children 65 Children, Passion, and Resurrection 69 Conclusion72 Chapter 4 JESUS AND THE CHILD IN THE GOSPEL OF MATTHEW73 Genre, Audience, and Themes 74 The Genealogy and Birth of Jesus 75 Jesus the Child 79 Young Daughters and Sons in Matthew 84 The Official’s Daughter 84 The Daughter of Herodias 85 The Daughter of the Canaanite Woman 88 An Epileptic Son and His Father 91 The Child in the Midst 92 Bringing the Children to Jesus and Children’s Praises 96 Conclusion97

viii Contents

Chapter 5 JESUS (AND) THE ONLY CHILD IN THE GOSPEL OF LUKE99 Genre and Audience 100 Mary, the Unmarried Virgin and Mother of Jesus 101 The Birth of Jesus 106 Jesus as a Boy in the Temple 108 Jesus’ Miracles Involving Only Children 112 113 The Widow’s Only Son The Only Daughter of Jairus 115 A Father’s Only Son 118 Jesus (and) the Only Child 120 The Child by His Side 123 Jesus and Infants 124 Conclusion126 Chapter 6 LOGOS AND LIFE: CHILDREN IN THE GOSPEL OF JOHN127 128 Structure and Themes The Prologue 129 The Son of the Royal Official 134 The Boy in the Crowd 137 Conclusion141 Chapter 7 JESUS AS A CHILD: THE INFANCY GOSPEL OF THOMAS143 145 Manuscript Traditions and Summary History of the Text 147 Genre: Gospel, Novel, or Ancient Biography? 148 Relationship to the Canonical Gospels 150 The Childhood of Jesus 153 Boys, Girls, and Jesus in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas156 Conclusion163 Chapter 8 MARY AS A CHILD: THE PROTEVANGELIUM OF JAMES165 A Narrative Summary of the Protevangelium of James166 167 History of the Text Literary Sources and Influences 170 Genre: Encomium or Ancient Novel? 172 The Childhood of Mary 177 The Child and Mother Mary 182 Conclusion183 Chapter 9 CONCLUSION185 Bibliography189 Index199

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The African proverb “it takes a village to raise a child,” is certainly apt for the writing of this book on children in early Christian narratives. The idea for the book was planted several years ago as I was seeking to publish my first book, The Reign of God Is Such as These: A Socio-literary Analysis of Daughters in the Gospel of Mark. I had conceived of that book as an extension of my interest in women in the Gospels, but Jon Berquist rightly saw it as a book on children in the Gospels. He asked if I would like to expand it beyond children in the Gospel of Mark. I decided to publish it as it was, but that conversation introduced me to the blossoming field of children in the biblical world. When I approached Dominic Mattos at Bloomsbury about a book on children in the Gospels, he encouraged me to consider not only the canonical Gospels but also the Infancy Gospel of Thomas and the Protevangelium of James. I am grateful for his suggestion; this book is a much fuller account of children in early Christian narratives than one simply focusing on the Synoptics or even the four canonical Gospels would have been. I am grateful to my students at Oklahoma City University, who, through various classes on the Gospels in general and specifically children in the Gospels, enriched my understanding of these narratives that I thought I knew so well. They provided keen insights, some of which are incorporated (and noted) in the pages which follow. The opportunity to present this material in many churches over the past few years has helped me to gain a better understanding of the texts as well. The staff and faculty of the Wimberly School of Religion at Oklahoma City University also deserve my thanks. They have been very supportive, especially in the last phase of the writing process. I could not have accomplished this task without the help of the staff at the Dulaney-Browne Library at OCU, especially Kristen Burkholder, Access Services Librarian, and the late Robert “Ed” Bryant, Interlibrary Loan Specialist, who died, suddenly, weeks after I completed the manuscript. They provided me with a wealth of books, essays, and articles, many of which were delivered directly to my office. In the final stages of the writing process, many colleagues, friends, and family members read chapters and portions of chapters, assisting in the editing process. I would first like to thank my colleague Reidar Aasgaard who provided very helpful feedback on the Infancy Gospel of Thomas and Protevangelium of James material. His expertise in these areas greatly improved the chapters. My colleague John Starkey read Chapter 5, making several helpful suggestions, for which I am greateful. I especially want to thank my students and friends Shannon Rodenberg and Molly Kate Been. Their careful editing and insights have been greatly appreciated. My parents Roger and Joan Betsworth once again have read through each chapter and some chapters more than once. They have always supported my work

x Acknowledgments

and been my conversation partners in all my scholarly endeavors. This book would not be what it is without my immediate family, those who have lived and breathed this work with me for many months and years. I am grateful beyond measure to my husband, Tom, who not only read portions but more importantly has been a source of constant encouragement and support. He helped me to keep going when the going got tough. And I would be remiss if I did not mention my “sous-editor,” our Border Collie, Bodhi, who has been my daily companion beside my desk. To all of you, I say, thank you.

ABBREVIATIONS AB BDAG

Anchor Bible Walter Bauer, Frederick W. Danker, William F. Arndt, and F. William Gingrich, A Greek–English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 3rd edn, 2000) CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly EXPTIM Expository Times LCL Loeb Classical Library LXX Septuagint JAAR Journal of the American Academy of Religion JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JJS Journal of Jewish Studies JRS Journal of Roman Studies JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament JTS Journal of Theological Studies NETS New English Translation of the Septuagint NOVT Novum Testamentum NTS New Testament Studies NRSV New Revised Standard Version RESQ Restoration Quarterly SBL Society of Biblical Literature SR Studies in Religion/Sciences religieuses WW Word and World Abbreviation of books of the Bible and other ancient texts follow those used in The SBL Handbook of Style.

Chapter 1 I N T R O DU C T IO N

Childhood songs about Jesus and children are common to many readers of the Gospels, but, beyond “Jesus loves the little children” and pastoral paintings of Jesus embracing children, is there much to say about children in the Gospels? Are there even very many children in the Gospels to say anything about? This book seeks to answer these questions, and quite simply the answer is, yes, there is more to the story of Jesus and children than the simple refrain divulges. Children, obscure or marginal though they may seem, are present in all of the canonical Gospels, and are the subject in their own right of two non-canonical Gospels. The children’s presence informs each Gospel’s understanding of Jesus and his identity and message. The four canonical Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and two non-canonical Gospels, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas and the Protevangelium of James, are the subject of my investigation into children in early Christian narratives. By “children” I am referring to “non-adult” children and following the definition of James Murphy: “non-adult children are largely defined in physically developmental and social terms as those who have not yet ‘come of age,’ but particularly with those still dependent on the adult world around them.”1 In the ancient world, regardless of status as a citizen, freed person or slave, upper or lower class, male or female, “children were almost always dependent upon and situated within a structured family setting, whether a narrowly defined conjugal unit of father, mother, and child, or a much broader household structure that encompassed step-parent, foster-parent, a master over an apprentice, or child-minders.”2 With this definition and social locating of children in mind, the first task of this book will be to examine the lives of children in the ancient world. This is the main theme of Chapter 2. Instead of only presenting information about children in the ancient world, a topic about which many scholars have written, the chapter will 1. A. James Murphy, Kids and Kingdom: The Precarious Presence of Children in the Synoptic Gospels (Eugene: Pickwick Publications, 2013), 7. 2. Ibid., 66. Emphasis original. Murphy has found no evidence among Jewish sources from 300 b.c.e. to 200 c.e. that children acted independently or autonomously from their caregivers.

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have a dual focus.3 First, I will discuss the ideology of the paterfamilias and family in the ancient world and some practices of childrearing, both of which leave the impression that children were not valued in the ancient world. I will show how this view stands in contrast to the evidence that children were valuable members of their families and communities. Second, I will examine several components of a child’s life such as stages of development, family constellation, ritual and religion, education, transition to adulthood, and mortality. Rather than intending to be a comprehensive treatment of childhood in the ancient world, my goal here is to highlight those aspects of childhood that are reflected in the narratives containing children in the Gospels. In Chapters 3–8, I will analyze the narratives in the Gospels in which children are characters. I will take each Gospel on its own terms, seeking to identify the ways that children are a part of the literary structure of that particular Gospel. Although several narratives have parallels in two or more Gospels, for example, the story of Jairus’ daughter found in Mark 5.21–43, Matthew 9.18–26, and Luke 8.40–56, I will nevertheless discuss each occurrence in each Gospel. The way the stories are redacted or composed in each case adds a specific emphasis to the Gospel writer’s story of Jesus. I will discuss the genre of each Gospel as well, focusing especially on the ancient novel, ancient biography, and encomium. Rather than expounding upon them here, over the course of the book I will address certain characteristics of each genre that are applicable to particular Gospels and more especially to the narratives of children in that Gospel. There is a variety of words in Greek that are used to refer to non-adult children, and I will introduce these terms in the discussion of each Gospel as well. These terms are important because they are one of the ways the Gospel writers make subtle changes in their sources to put a slightly different spin on a narrative. In some ways, it may be more accurate to say this is a book about girls and boys in the Gospels, rather than “children” generically. Except for the scenes in the Synoptics in which Jesus places a child in the midst of the disciples and when people bring their children to Jesus, almost all of the narratives containing children in the Synoptics, John, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, and the Protevangelium of James specify if a child is a boy or girl. With the exception of Jesus and Mary, however, children in the Gospels are minor characters who do not have recurring roles in the narrative. I will briefly discuss some of Jesus’ other teachings and parables about children. I am also aware of the many “hidden” children in the biblical narratives: children in crowds, at religious festivals, at banquets and meals, or accompanying a widow making her offering at the Temple. I have opted, 3. Among the resources which have been valuable for this study are Mary Harlow and Ray Laurence, eds, A Cultural History of Childhood and Family in Antiquity (New York: Berg Publishers, 2012); Beryl Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003); Thomas Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). Other sources are noted below in Chapter 2.

Introduction

3

however, to keep my focus somewhat narrow in this book with the objective of demonstrating the significance of the children who are present or otherwise the focus of the action in the Gospel narratives. Let me give a brief overview of how each chapter will unfold. Chapter 3 concerns children in the earliest canonical Gospel, the Gospel of Mark. The focus will be upon the narratives of Jairus’ daughter (5.21–43), Herodias’ daughter (6.14–29), the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter (7.24–30), the boy with the spirit (9.14–29), and two teachings containing children (9.33–7; 10.13–16). I will demonstrate that children in Mark’s Gospel are incorporated into the narrative in the same manner as their adult counterparts, and that they contribute to the main themes in the Gospel, including the reign of God. The central theme in Chapter 4 is Matthew’s depiction of Jesus as a child, and how that informs the other child narratives and Matthew’s understanding of discipleship. I discuss in detail Matthew 1–2; the healing of three children (9.18–26; 15.21–8; 17.14–20); Matthew’s version of Herodias’ daughter (14.1–12); and Jesus’ teachings with and about children (18.1–20; 19.13–15). In Chapter 5, as I turn to the Gospel of Luke, the story of Mary will be in the fore initially, since she is likely to have been a teenager when the story opens. I will work through the only canonical narrative of Jesus as a boy, and then consider how Luke depicts Jesus as identifying with the children whom he heals (7.11–17; 8.40–56; 9.37–43). Of particular interest will be Luke’s use of the theme of the “only child.” Many biblical interpreters are at a loss to find anything to say about children in the Gospel of John. Chapter 6 will explore how two children are just as important in the “signs” of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel as the adult characters are: the royal official’s son (4.46–54) and the boy with the barley loaves and fish at the miracle of the abundance of bread (6.1–15). I will also discuss themes related to children in the Prologue. In Chapters 7 and 8, I will discuss two of the non-canonical Gospels: The Infancy Gospel of Thomas and the Protevangelium of James. The former is the story of Jesus as a child. In Chapter 7, I will make a distinction between Jesus as a human child and the Child Jesus, that is, how the Gospel depicts Jesus’ divine nature. I will also examine why there are no girls in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas when they are prominent in the Synoptic Gospels. Chapter 8 discusses the Protevangelium of James, which is the story of Mary’s childhood, the mother of Jesus. I will compare Mary’s childhood to what is known about the life of a girl in the ancient world and her transition to adulthood. To be sure, the Gospels reflect their context in the Roman Empire and children’s place in that social and historical context. As such, the Gospels are a set in a world in which children were not valued by certain segments of society but were accepted in other realms. The Gospels seek to rewrite the cultural narrative that depicts children as unimportant and to lift up the story of the family, quintessentially reflected in Jesus’ redefinition of family, in which children are cherished. That said, there is a tension in the Gospels: On one hand, the Gospels present the new family of Jesus as inclusive of the rich and the poor, those at the center and the marginalized, able-bodied persons and disabled persons, as well as men, women, children, and male, female, and child slaves; on the other hand, they

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describe the disruption which the Jesus movement brings to biological families including children. This theme will be a part of my consideration as well. This project of discovering the place of children in the Gospels is also set within a twenty-first-century context in which, like the Roman Empire, children are valued by certain segments of society but are not deemed important in other realms. As I will note at various places in the book, many biblical interpreters do not notice the children in these early Christian narratives, or they discuss them only from the perspective of their insignificance in the ancient world. Few biblical scholars have taken seriously the role that children play in the Gospels or the broader biblical narrative. This book seeks to discover who the children are and what their stories are. To that end, I am engaging in a form of biblical interpretation that is defined as “Childist Interpretation.” According to Kathleen Gallagher Elkins and Julie Faith Parker, Childist Interpretation focuses on the agency and action of children and youth in the text, instead of seeing them primarily as passive or victimized.  Along with feminist and womanist approaches, childist interpretation examines the construction and function of certain kinds of biblical characters while challenging traditional hegemonic assumptions about what makes a character important.4

Indeed, in the canonical Gospels, few of the children speak or are spoken to and most of them are not recurring characters in the stories. But boys and girls, dependent sons and daughters, young children and teenagers, are just as significant in the Gospel narratives as their adult counterparts. Jesus does indeed love the little children, but there is much more to the story than that.

4. Kathleen Gallagher Elkins and Julie Faith Parker, “Children in the Biblical Narrative and Childist Interpretation,” in The Oxford Handbook to Biblical Narrative, ed. Danna Nolan Fewell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, Forthcoming). See also Julie Faith Parker, Valuable and Vulnerable: Children in the Hebrew Bible, Especially the Elisha Cycle (Providence: Brown University, 2013), 16–18.

Chapter 2 CHILDREN IN THE ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN CONTEXT

Introduction When reading and researching about children in the ancient Mediterranean context, a contradiction arises in both primary sources and secondary sources regarding how children were viewed. On one hand, there is an understanding of the child in the ancient world as one who was not valued, who was in a sense a “nobody.” After all, the paterfamilias had the right of life and death over his offspring, which has sometimes been taken to mean he could kill them at any time. In addition, infanticide and exposure (abandonment) were realities in the ancient world. On the other hand, there are primary source inscriptions, funerary monuments, poems, letters, and more that demonstrate that children were valued members of the family. Scholars such as Beryl Rawson, Carolyn Osiek, and Margaret MacDonald have made this a central theme of their work on children in the ancient world.1 Yet how can children be both subjected to death by their father and be considered valued by the family and society? In this chapter, I will examine this apparent contradiction in the status of the child in the ancient world, specifically in the Roman Republic and imperial context of the first century b.c.e. through approximately the third century c.e. I will suggest that the ideology of the paterfamilias and of the family more generally in the Roman world, as espoused by the elite statesmen and writers such as Cicero, Seneca, Plutarch, and others, may indeed paint a picture of children as undervalued, if not downright disposable, entities in the society. These elite, citizen men often used children to represent much or all of what they desired not to be. Indeed, the citizen man was defined over against the child. In contrast to this view, it is clear from many primary sources that children were in fact valued members of their families, if not of the society as a whole. I will begin with an overview of the family, including how family was defined, whom the term included, and the rights afforded to the paterfamilias under the 1. Beryl Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 1; Carolyn Osiek and Margaret Y. MacDonald, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), 70.

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law. This will demonstrate that there was an ideology of the paterfamilias and the family more broadly, some of which comes from jurists of the late imperial period. This ideology often leads to the impression that children were of no value as children, but were only valued for the adults they would become. This ideological view will then be corroborated by examples from the writings of elite, citizen men, which have often served as the primary source of information for understanding ancient society. Next, I will consider some of the social customs related to children, particularly exposure, infanticide, and wet-nursing, which easily suggest to twenty-first-century readers a lack of care for children. From there, I will turn to examine the other side of the story, the places which provide a clear picture of the value of children, including the imperial ideology in which the child held an important position and the ways in which children were valued within their families. After setting the stage in this fashion, I will examine various facets of childhood in the ancient world: 1) Family relationships including the parent/ child relationship, sibling relationships, orphans, and others who related to the family such as slaves, nurses, and paidagogos;2 2) the stages of life; 3) religion in the Greek, Roman, Jewish and Christian contexts; 4) education, including formal schooling, occupational training in the home or through apprenticeships, and play; and 5) child mortality. The information will come from a variety of sources including legal material, historical texts, letters, medical texts, and inscriptions. I will seek to distinguish between the practices of the various social classes of the ancient world when possible, while also recognizing that some aspects of child rearing and childhood transcended these boundaries.3 This exploration of the lives of children in the imperial period is certainly not intended to be comprehensive, but rather discusses those aspects of childhood which will be pertinent to the study of children in the Gospels.

The Ideology of the Family and the Paterfamilias In the world of the Roman Empire, the family was the fundamental social, political, and economic unit. According to Roman law, the familia (household) 2. A paidagogos was a slave who accompanied a child, usually a boy, to school and back home and oversaw his studies. 3.  Many of the primary sources extant from this period are from elite circles. However, as Aline Rousselle points out, many observations about upper-class families can be applied to a diverse group of families. She argues that children across the social scale were brought up in a similar manner (“The Family Under the Roman Empire: Signs and Gestures,” in A History of the Family: Volume One, Distant Worlds, Ancient Worlds, ed. André Burguière, et al. [Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1996], 272–3). Reidar Aasgaard further notes that racial and ethnic factors did not impact the basic conditions under which children lived (The Childhood of Jesus: Decoding the Apocryphal Infancy Gospel of Thomas [Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2009], 94). Residence (urban or rural), wealth, social status, and citizenship (if one was free-born, freed, or a slave) were likely more significant factors in a person’s life.



Children in the Ancient Mediterranean Context

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consisted of those persons who were subject to or under the legal authority of the paterfamilias, usually the eldest male in the extended family. His household included his wife, sons, and daughters who were legally under his power, and their children and grandchildren.4 It could also include freedmen and freedwomen as well as slaves. The name of the household was usually that of the original founder. If a woman was the head of her own household and therefore no longer under the control of her father or any other male, she could be considered a materfamilias. However, in such a case the household so named for her ceased with her death.5 The paterfamilias was at the top of the family hierarchy, and he had patria potestas (legal authority) over members of his household. Those over whom the paterfamilias had power were called alieni juris (in another’s right), including prepubescent sons and daughters.6 All prepubescent males (generally under 14 years old) and females throughout their lives were required to have a legal, male guardian, who was appointed by the father.7 The guardian was required for all manner of legal transactions. If a father died and did not designate a guardian for a child, the mother could petition the governor to appoint a guardian.8 The power of the paterfamilias over the family members under his authority is the defining feature of the ideology of the family in the Roman world, and it is the basis for much of the misperception regarding the place of children in the ancient world. Some of the ancient writers exalted the untrammeled power of the paterfamilias. For example, Gaius declares that in Roman law the power of the paterfamilias was unmatched among other peoples.9 The father was one who had ius vitae necisque (the power of life and death) over his family members. This has been understood quite literally; the father first provided life through his sperm and then through the provisions to maintain life, which he graciously bestowed upon his family. His power of death meant he could kill any member of his family at any time. Brent D. Shaw, however, has convincingly argued that this was not, 4.  In legal terms, such children were referred to as “sons-in-power” and “daughters-in-power.” 5.  Dig. 50.16.195.2. The Digest of Justinian was compiled by Justinian, Roman emperor from 527 to 565 c.e. Though it is a sixth-century document, it contains legislation from the classical period of Jurists, 31 b.c.e. to 235 c.e. Justinian tried to restate all of Roman law in a manageable and consistent form by editing original laws to be shorter and clearer, removing repetition and noting when and to which emperor the legislation was attributed (The Oxford Dictionary of the Classical World, s.v. “Digest of Justinian”). 6.  Dig. 1.6.1. 7. Ulpian 11.1, 28; Gai. Inst. 1.444–5. Both Gaius and Ulpian are among the jurists summarized in the Digest of Justinian; however, not all of their rulings are included. Gaius’ rulings date to the mid-second century c.e.; Ulpian wrote in the late second to early third century. 8. See P.Tebt. 0326. In this Tebtunis papyrus, circa 266 c.e., Aurelia Sarapias requests that the governor allow her brother to be the guardian for her young daughter since her husband, the girl’s father, died without a will. 9. Gai. Inst. 1.55.

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in fact, the case.10 Under Roman law the paterfamilias did not have the right to kill members of his family. To be sure, infanticide and exposure of infants were realities of the time. Yet, as Shaw discusses, there is only very slight evidence for a historical and legal status of power of life and death.11 Most of the references to the power of the father over life and death come from later sources. The writers of these later laws and legal commentaries, as late as the fourth through sixth centuries c.e., “believe that ‘they’ (that is, earlier Romans) had attributed some such legal power to the father of the family. All these later writers, however, either assume or explicitly state that this power was no longer in force at the time that they were composing their own texts.”12 There was a provision in the law, ius occidendi (right of slaying), in which a father had the right to kill a daughter, even if she was not under his control, if he found her in his house committing adultery.13 In such a case, the father was required to kill the lover as well as the daughter. The offended husband also had the right to kill the lover, as long as the lover was from a defined group, such as pimps, actors, criminals, and so on. The husband, however, did not have the right to kill his wife.14 These provisions were not a part of patria potestas, as the provision for the husband to kill the offender indicates. Rather, this was an aspect of adultery law created independently of the power of the father. The power of the father was very real; an elite father displeased with a son could order that son to live on a “particular country estate,”15 but the father’s power within the household was limited to routine, albeit potentially harsh, discipline.16 It is not only the ideology of the paterfamilias which gives the impression that children were considered unimportant in the Roman world. The very words used to describe young children implied they were “less than” adults, specifically lacking speech. Young children were called nh/pioi (nepioi) in Greek and infantes in Latin, both of which refer to non-speakers. The concepts are akin to the word “barbarian,” which indicated that a person did not speak Greek. “The child’s inability to communicate in the way adults do made [the child] a symbol of non-participation in the rational world of the adult citizen.”17 Furthermore, the 10. Brent D. Shaw, “Raising and Killing of Children: Two Roman Myths,” Mnemosyne 54, no. 1 (2001): 31–77. 11. Ibid., 59. 12. Ibid., 63. 13.  Dig. 48.5.21, 24. 14.  Thomas A. J. McGinn, Prostitution, Sexuality, and the Law in Ancient Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 203–4. 15. Thomas Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 28. 16. Shaw, “Raising and Killing Children,” 75. For a discussion on the views of the punishment of sons versus slaves, see Richard Saller, “Corporal Punishment, Authority, and Obedience in the Roman Household,” in Marriage, Divorce, and Children in Ancient Rome, ed. Beryl Rawson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 144–65. 17. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 21–2.



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use of pai=v (pais) for both children and slaves indicates that children, like slaves, were powerless (or vice-versa). The writings of elite, citizen men frequently speak of children in unflattering and dismissive ways. In both the Greek and Roman worldview, the adult male citizen was positioned at the center of the public sphere. All persons were defined in terms of their relationship to men and if they possessed the qualities that were considered typical of adult male citizens or “men.” For this reason, the elderly, women, slaves, and children, that is, those who did not possess such qualities, were considered in various ways to be marginal.18 For the Greeks, the application of lo/gov (logos, reason) and the avoidance of bi/a (bia, violence) were two key elements that held the classical city-state together. Women and old men could potentially have some measure of the reason characteristic of men; on the other hand, barbarians and slaves had none. The child was also characterized by a lack of reason. Marcus Aurelius and Seneca, both of whom were Stoics, used the child as a symbol of the “irrationality of an unphilosophical adult.”19 At one point, Marcus Aurelius ponders, “Whose soul inhabits me at the moment? A child’s, a [youth’s], a woman’s, a tyrant’s, a dumb ox’s, or a wild beast’s?”20 Presumably he considered all of these categories in some way as “less than” the ideal man he was striving to be. Seneca presumes the child is unable to reason, but once he can, he is something different than he was before: “A person, once a child, becomes a youth; his peculiar quality is transformed; for the child could not reason, but the youth possesses reason.”21 There was a variety of other negative connotations associated with children. For Cicero, a boy could not be praised, but only the child’s potential: “it is a difficult matter to praise a boy; for praise must then be given to hope, not to achievement.”22 Since children are more likely to be frightened than men, they were viewed like women “as symbols of human fear as well as physical frailty.”23 If a rhetorician wanted to insult an opponent in his writing or speaking, he called that person a child, a boy.24 Some portions of the Septuagint also depict children negatively as those who cannot reason (Wis. 12.25), and who are filled with folly and in need of discipline (Prov. 22.15; Sir. 30.1–30). Some of the commonplace social customs of the Roman world regarding the birthing and rearing of infants also increase the perception among twenty-firstcentury people that children were of little value in the ancient world.25 Two such realities was infanticide and exposure of newborns; another was the practice of wet-nursing. Infanticide and exposure of infants occurred in both Greek and 18. Ibid., 22. 19. Ibid., 24. 20. Marcus Aurelius Meditations 4.23. 21. Sen. Ep. 118.14. 22. Cic. De Rep. fragment p. 285.2. 23. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 18. 24. Cic. Phil. 13.24. 25. In my experience, these two practices deeply impress undergraduate students as suggesting the lack of care of children despite various scholars’ and my own claims that children were valued.

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Roman communities into the period of the Roman Empire. They were among the options that parents had for limiting the number of children in the family. Children with birth defects were often victims of infanticide. Seneca remarks that weak and abnormal children are drowned, while Cicero compares the swiftness of killing the inhabitants of a besieged city to the haste with which one kills a deformed infant.26 Granted their remarks may fall more into the realm of rhetoric rather than being a reflection of reality, particularly on the part of Cicero. A family might have decided not to rear a child for other reasons and exposed it in lieu of infanticide. An upper-class family might have wanted to avoid dividing the family property among too many offspring. Lower-class families might not have been able to afford to raise all of their children. Since an illegitimate child brought humiliation and shame to a family, such a child might also be exposed. Yet exposure was not necessarily de facto infanticide. Whoever had the task of exposing the baby often did so in locations where others would take the child, such as temples, trash dumps, and well-traveled intersections.27 Those who took up exposed children could raise them either as slaves or as free persons, but the child’s status remained as it was at birth.28 If there was sufficient evidence, the child could reclaim her or his birth status at a later time.29 Persons who raised exposed children often did so with specific economic or personal gains in mind. For example, some slave dealers were willing to raise a child in order to sell him or her as a slave;30 often these children, both girls and boys, became prostitutes.31 Some legal documents suggest girls were abandoned more frequently than boys. Twice as many contracts for the nursing of exposed girls have been found than for exposed boys.32 Literary sources also suggest that it was more acceptable to abandon a girl rather than a boy. Posidippus, a late-fourth-century b.c.e. comic Greek poet, wrote: “A son is always raised, even if one is poor; but a daughter

26. Sen. Ira 1.15.2; Cic. Leg 3.8.19. Here Cicero references the Twelve Tables Law III. 27. Osiek and MacDonald, A Woman’s Place, 53. 28. The status of a child followed the father in the case of legal marriage, thus a child born to a legally married couple was a legal citizen. For a child born outside of legal marriage, however, the status of the mother determined the status of the child. An exception to this rule was when the mother was a citizen and the father was foreigner. Then the child followed the status of the father and was considered a foreigner (Ulpian 5.8–9). 29. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 118. 30. In this way, exposure benefited the Roman economy as it produced a significant supply of slaves. In the first century c.e. demand for slaves was great, as many as half a million or more per year (William V. Harris, “Child-Exposure in the Roman Empire,” JRS 84 [1994]: 18.). 31. Justin Martyr Apologia i 1.27–9. 32. Osiek and MacDonald, A Woman’s Place, 100. For an example of such a contract, see BGU 4.1106 cited in Mary R. Lefkowitz and Maureen B. Fant, Women’s Life in Greece and Rome: A Source Book in Translation, 2nd ed. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992), 270.



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is exposed, even if one is rich.”33 Likewise, in an oft-quoted letter from the first century b.c.e., an Egyptian man wrote to his pregnant wife: “If you chance to bear a child, and it is a boy, let it be; if it is a girl, expose it.”34 Several scholars contend, however, that infanticide and exposure do not equate to a low valuation of children in the Roman Empire. Rawson states that infanticide “should be seen as one of several means of birth-control available in antiquity,”35 while Laurence asserts that pre-modern societies used abandonment and infanticide as means to deliver children from a life of poverty or disability.36 Mary Harlow notes that by abandoning one child, a family might be able to provide more adequately for other children in the family.37 It is certain that not everyone in the ancient world agreed with the practices, and indeed both Jewish and Christian writers denounce them.38 Even aside from the practices of exposure and infanticide, the life of a newborn was tenuous. The fragility of the infant was recognized by the delay in naming the child. Infants were not given a name until the eighth day for girls or the ninth day for boys. Approximately five per cent of babies may have died within the first month. Those who died within the first six months, or up to the time a baby cut its first teeth, were buried alongside the house, rather than cremated as older children and adults were.39 This suggests a different understanding of the infant vis-à-vis the family and community than that of even the six-month to year-old child.40 As many 33.  Hermaphroditus fr. 11 Kock. Cited in Emiel Eyben, “Family Planning in GrecoRoman Antiquity,” Ancient Society 11/12 (1980): 5–82, (16). 34. Oxyrhynchus papyrus 744. Lefkowitz and Fant, Women’s Life in Greece and Rome, 187. Donald Engels, however, argues against a high rate of female infanticide. Basing his findings upon statistical analyses of sex ratios, life expectancy, birth rate, etc., he attempts to show that a high rate of female infanticide was “demographically impossible” (“The Problem of Female Infanticide in the Greco-Roman World,” Classical Philology 75 [1980]: 112–20). Beryl Rawson concurs with this assessment (Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 117). 35. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 117. 36. Ray Laurence, “Childhood in the Roman Empire,” History Today 55, no. 10 (2005): 22. 37. Mary Harlow, “Family Relationships,” in A Cultural History of Childhood and Family in Antiquity, ed. Mary Harlow and Ray Laurence (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 21. 38. Philo Spec. Leg. 3.20.110, 114–15, 117; Virt. 25.131–2; Josephus Ag. Ap. 2.202ff. For a broader discussion of Josephus’ material on children see Adele Reinhartz and Kim Shier, “Josephus on Children and Childhood,” SR 41, no. 3 (2012): 364–75; Did. 2.2; 5.2 (Kurt Niederwimmer, The Didache: A Commentary, Hermeneia—a Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), 90. 39. Laurence, “Childhood in the Roman Empire,” 22. 40. Wiedemann explains that children were not buried in the communal cemetery outside of the city limits because they were not a part of the community. Their burial at the edge of the wall of the house indicated that they had been at the “edge” of the household. Also, unlike adults, they were buried at night (Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 179).

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as 30 per cent of children may have died in their first year. Few memorials have been found of children so young, again suggesting that the very young child’s death was not commemorated in the same fashion as the older child.41 To be sure, the heartache of losing a baby was likely just as strong then as now, but the infant does not seem to have been as fully integrated into society and the family as the older child. The high infant mortality rate in Rome increased the marginality of infants. Another aspect of Roman culture that may suggest a lack of care for children is the practice of wet-nursing. Infants were often given over to nurses who were hired from outside of the family or who were slaves of the family to care for and breastfeed the infant. Women believed that breastfeeding was a factor in aging, and that it inhibited a woman’s ability to have additional children.42 Upperclass women, who married younger than their lower-class counterparts, rarely would breastfeed their own infants, since they could afford wet-nurses. Even poor women and slave women used wet-nurses so that they could continue to work outside the home.43 While at the time there was concern about whether wet-nursing was in fact appropriate,44 it was considered one of the best practices in child-rearing. Several authors recommend ways to insure that the best nurse is selected. Soranus, for example, recommends a woman between 20 and 40 years old and describes in some detail what the condition of her breasts should be. Furthermore, “she should be self-controlled, sympathetic, and not ill-tempered, a Greek and tidy.”45 Nevertheless, for some in our era, and in ancient Rome as well, handing over one’s child for another to nurse him or her could indicate a lack of affection for the child. There is, however, another side to the story of children in the ancient Roman world. In contrast to the ideology of the paterfamilias, there was an imperial ideology of which children were an essential part. An important attribute of the emperor was to be concerned with the welfare of children and the well-being of their parents. In the early years of the empire, there were several pieces of legislation regarding children. One significant reason for the legislation was a concern with the decreasing birth rate. Under Augustus, two laws, lex Iulia de maritandis ordinibus and lex Papia Poppaea, encouraged citizens to marry and bear children; they also penalized citizens if they did not. The legislation mandated the length of time after a death, divorce, or repudiation by which a woman must remarry; the inheritance rights from one’s spouse based upon the number of children a couple

41. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 104. 42. Laurence, “Childhood in the Roman Empire,” 22. 43. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 123. 44. Tacitus Dial. 28, 29. 45. Soranus Gynecology 2.12.19.



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had;46 punishments for adultery;47 and incentives for women to have children.48 There was also legislation regarding the manumission of slave children, providing for their release “at ages younger than the legal norm.”49 Furthermore, the emperor was obliged to care for the weak, represented by women and children who were otherwise without support. Thus, there were state programs to help poor and orphaned children.50 Indeed, Rawson states that by the second century children had more prominence than prior to that point or thereafter in the empire.51 This was evident especially through these forms of legislations concerned with children and families.

Family Relationships In addition to these positive actions by the empire itself, children were certainly valued within their families as well.52 Throughout a child’s life, the child would be surrounded by parents, siblings, extended family, and other persons who were a part of the oikos or domus (home); probably the Roman child, however, just called them mei (my people). A wide variety of persons would make up the child’s social sphere both inside and outside the family. In addition to those with whom the child lived, there were a number of opportunities to interact with extended family and community members through marriage and funeral rituals, banquets and dinner parties, and religious observations. Among the highest-held Roman virtue was pietas: loyalty between gods, country, parents, and family. Pietas was a sense of “reciprocal affection and 46.  The legislation took into account the rate of mortality among children. Parents were eligible to inherit from one another if three infants survived until the naming day (eight or nine days), two children survived until age three, or if one child survived to puberty (Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 97, 141). 47.  In order for citizen women to have full inheritance rights, they had to have children between ages 20 and 50. Citizen men had to have children between ages 25 and 60 (Ulpian 26.2). Rawson suggest, that this range must then likely reflect the realistic age span for childbearing and rearing (Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 96). Lex Iulia also contained the anti-adultery legislation mentioned above, which included ius occidendi. 48. A freeborn woman with three children or a freedwoman with four children would be released from the formal supervision of a guardian (Ulpian 11.18A). 49. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 70. 50. The welfare program for children was called the alimenta, which I will discuss further below. 51. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 69. 52. “Value,” of course, is a subjective term. Children could be valued for what they could bring to the family in terms of labor or wages; they could be valued for their later contribution to the household as adults, supporting the family and/or aging parents, or they could be valued for their intrinsic worth as persons.

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obligation shared by family members,”53 and a great deal of evidence indicates that in society the “core loyalties and affections were between spouses and between parents and children.”54 Legislation reinforced these relationships; for example, fathers and sons were expected to support each other in court, and they were prohibited from witnessing against one another. A young child might be used in court but only to provide an emotional appeal for a father.55 Yet for a variety of reasons parents and children may not have had the opportunity to establish close, long-lasting relationships. High mortality rates, the late age of marriage for males (usually around 30 years old), and the risk inherent in childbirth for women reduced the likelihood of a parent–child relationship lasting more than 14 years or so. By some estimates, 25 per cent of ten year olds would have lost a father; 15 per cent of children the same age would have lost a mother. By 15 years old, 33 per cent of teenagers would have lost their father and 25 per cent their mother.56 Parents and children might be separated for other reasons as well: Fathers might be away on business or at war, and mothers might leave children in the care of wet-nurses, slaves, or other caregivers. Though a father had legal right of custody, many factors impacted where and by whom the child was raised. A child might be raised by biological parents, step-parents, slaves, or members of the extended family. This might add to the conclusion that children were not valued, since parents may not have developed a close bond with their children. Nevertheless, the historical record demonstrates affection between parents and their children. One such example is Cicero’s affection for his daughter, Tullia. Throughout his letters to his friend Atticus, he refers to her affectionately, calling her “my darling little Tullia” at age six and “my little Tullia” even when she was a widow at age 19.57 He expresses concern over her poor health following an unsuccessful pregnancy and is distressed over the difficulties his arranged marriages have caused her. 58 When Tullia died in her late twenties, likely from complications of childbirth, Cicero became distraught and withdrew entirely from public life for several months.59 In the Roman world, citizen men and women married to bear legitimate children primarily for practical purposes—as progeny to carry on the family name and cult, as a labor supply, as heirs to maintain the family property, as caretakers to support aged parents and to make arrangements for a proper funeral at their parents’ death. Given infant and child mortality rates, however, a woman might need to give birth to five or six living children in order to be survived by 53.  Saller, “Corporal Punishment, Authority and Obedience in the Roman Household,” 147. 54. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 217. 55. Ibid., 223. 56. Ibid., 338. 57. Cic. Att. 1.5, 4.1. 58. Cic. Att. 11.6, 11.17. 59. Cic. Att. 12.15, 12.23, 13.23.



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enough children to provide for her and her spouse as they aged. Most children would have one or two living siblings, but a significant age gap could exist between them. Thus, close sibling relationships could be difficult to establish.60 Other family relationships were less common; only a minority of children would have grown up having a relationship with a grandparent, but a child’s aunts and uncles might have played a role in her or his life. Cousins were also part of the family and within the sphere of pietas, but they are rarely mentioned in the ancient sources. Again, Cicero provides an example both of siblings separated by years and of cousins who did grow up as age peers. His daughter Tullia was 11 to 14 years older than his son, Marcus. By the time Marcus was born, Tullia was already betrothed, and she was married when he was not much more than a toddler.61 Cicero’s son was close in age to his paternal cousin, who was only a year and half older. Cicero often functioned as a surrogate parent for his nephew, young Quintus, even arranging the boy’s toga virilis (rite of passage into adulthood) along with his own son’s.62 Children were more likely to have a surviving mother than father since men were often ten years or so older than their wives. By the mid-teenage years, a third of children would have lost their father. Legally, a non-adult child was an orphan if his or her father died. The child’s mother would likely continue raising the child, but she did not have legal rights that the father had. The law required that a male guardian be appointed for an orphan child as a means of protection, though family circumstances probably dictated the form such guardianship took. Ordinarily, the mother or another family member arranged for a guardian who could take care of the legal interests of the child until puberty. If a child’s mother was not able to care for her or him, or if the child had lost both parents, the child might be informally fostered with relatives, friends, or other persons who might take her or him in. Upper-class, propertied families were often able to support and educate an orphan until adulthood through the larger family network. Poorer orphans did not fare as well, having less access to such networks. Their future was less well assured, and those taken in by relatives or friends may have, in essence, become servants of those who housed them.63 The state did not engage in a foster care programs or support orphanages for parentless children, nor did it seek to remove orphans from their family circle. However, it was a part of the emperor’s obligation to provide support for those who otherwise might be left destitute, including widows and orphans. The early 60. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 244, 249. 61.  Ibid., 247–8. That said, Cicero betrothed his daughter at age seven. She was married at age 12 and was widowed by age 18. She married the second time at 20 or 21 and divorced a few years later, only to remarry and divorce once more before her death around age 27 (D.  R. Shackleton Bailey, “Introduction” in Cicero: Letters to Atticus, Vol. I. LCL [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990], 16). 62. Cic. Att. 9.6.1, 9.17.1, 9.19.1 (concerning giving his son the toga); 6.1.12 (regarding giving his nephew the toga). 63. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 250–1.

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emperors were aware of two destabilizing issues facing the empire: poverty and depopulation. Augustus tried to boost the birthrate through legislation against celibacy, childlessness, and marital separation, as well as incentives for women to have children.64 The state also responded to the recurrent and persistent issues of social need. Emperor Nerva (96–98 c.e.) sought to alleviate the problems of poverty and population decline, especially in the rural areas, by combining a remedy for both problems into one solution. The alimenta (welfare) program offered concrete and immediate help to the problem of child poverty. It provided a distribution of corn (sometimes referred to as the “corn dole”) or a monetary allowance for food to orphans or poor families with children. The plan also helped small farmers by making low-interest loans available for the maintenance of their farms.65 Nerva’s successor Trajan (98–117 c.e.) continued the program. Girls were allowed to participate in the alimenta from the beginning, but there was a clear preference for boys. Under Hadrian (117–138 c.e.), age limits on the benefits were set; boys could receive benefits until age 18, but girls could only receive benefits until age 12, likely due to the assumption that they would soon marry or gain some form of employment.66 Subsequent emperors sought to rectify this inequity. Antoninus Pius (138–161 c.e.) dedicated an endowment to the memory of his deceased wife, Faustina the Elder, which was only for girls. Marcus Aurelius (161–180 c.e.) honored his wife, Antoninus’ daughter Faustina the Younger, in a similar fashion.67 The alimenta plan continued for more than a century through the reign of Septimius Severus (193–211 c.e.). Regardless of whether a child was an orphan, had only one surviving parent, or was fortunate enough to have both parents living, he or she might have had a variety of caregivers throughout his or her life. The elite often delegated the care of their children to servants, slaves, nurses, attendants, paidagogoi, or teachers. Free children of lower classes might be in the care of a nurse so that the parents would be available to work; a nurse might even care for slave children so their mothers could continue working as well. Many free children spent a good deal of their time among the slave community, in the care of slaves, and playing with slave children. They may have been raised with slave children who were fathered by their own father with a slave mother. A freeborn child’s close relationship with her or his slave playmate, however, would come to an abrupt end once the young person formally became an adult. The young adult could no longer treat the slave

64. Kurt Aterman, “Child Poverty in Ancient Rome: The ‘Alimenta Italiae’ of the ‘Good Emperors,’” Würzburger Medizinhistorische Mitteilungen / Im Auftrage der Würzburger Medizinhistorischen Gesellschaft und in Verbindung mit dem Institut für Geschichte der Medizin der Universität Würzburg 16 (1997): 155. 65. Ibid., 158. 66. Samuel X. Radbill, “Child Welfare in Ancient Rome,” Clinical Pediatrics 10, no. 4 (1971): 204. 67. Aterman, “Child Poverty in Ancient Rome,” 159.



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as an equal. A child’s relationship with her or his nurse, however, might continue well into adulthood.68 Slaves who were born into the household were referred to as vernae. Although they were the master’s property, they were generally treated better than other slave children. Vernae were often regarded as the substitute for a master’s own children or as an appendage of sorts to his children.69 Even after they had been given their freedom, they often were still a part of the household.70 A particularly attractive slave child might be kept by the master as an accessory, much as people today keep cute, small dogs in their handbags. These children were referred to as delicia/ deliciae, or “delights,” and “darlings.” Undoubtedly, the line between “indulgent affection and sexual exploitation must have been blurred.”71 All slaves, adults and children alike, were susceptible to sexual abuse, and the majority of slave children lived under extremely harsh conditions. Violence or the threat thereof was a reality. Moreover, a master could sell slave children if he chose. Having explored the range of persons and relationships a child might have growing up, I will now turn to explore various aspects of children’s everyday life.

The Child’s Life Then as now, stages of childhood were recognized, and the child experienced various rites of passage as she or he progressed through infancy, childhood, adolescence, and into adulthood. In this section, I will discuss the stages of life, children’s participation in rituals and religion, education, the transition into adulthood, and adults mourning the death of their children. These categories will at times overlap, and they certainly do not reflect all aspects of a child’s life. My goal here is to provide a broad overview of the life of children in the Roman era, highlighting particular aspects that are evident in Christian narratives about children, which I will discuss in the subsequent chapters. Ancient writers recognized stages in the growth and development of children. The first stage of life, infancy, was defined as birth to age seven.72 This name 68. For a discussion of the importance of the nurse in Roman society and related citations, see Beverly Roberts Gaventa, Our Mother Saint Paul (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007), 21–5. 69.  See Rawson for a description of an inscription two infant boys, the son of a freeborn woman and a verna in her household. It is clear from the inscription that the children were raised virtually as siblings (Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 259–61). 70. O. M. Bakke, When Children Became People: The Birth of Childhood in Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2005), 41. 71. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 261. 72. Stages of life beyond childhood and adolescence were recognized as well. In the late first century b.c.e., Varro designated the following: puer through age 15; adulescens through age 30; iuuenis through age 45; senior through age 60; and senex thereafter (Censorinus De die natali 14.2); Horace likewise muses over the “manner of each age”:

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comes from the Latin word infantia, which was literally the stage of not having the capacity for speech. This first stage included two important phases: birth through the cutting of teeth (about six months old) and teething through the loss of the baby teeth (about seven years old).73 Within infancy, ages three and five were considered significant. For example, parents had the right to inherit from each other if they had two children survive until each child was at least three years old.74 At five years old, a slave child could begin service to his or her master. Seven years old was the end of infancy and the beginning of childhood, which was even recognized in the law. A child younger than seven was not responsible for his or her actions, and by age seven a child was eligible for betrothal.75 At this age, the child might learn a specialized skill to make her or him more valuable in the household, such as reading, writing, and counting.76 Childhood ended with adolescence or puberty, which was considered 12 years old for girls and 14 years old for boys. During this time, the young person transitioned into adulthood. The birth of a child took place at home, and usually other women were present. A midwife was in charge of the birthing process, giving instructions to the mother. A male physician might be waiting in a nearby room in case he was needed. Soranus of Ephesus was one such Greek physician who practiced in Rome in the early second century c.e. In Gynecology, Soranus discusses methods of contraception and abortion as well as conception, birth, care for infants, and various other issues related to gynecology. When discussing newborns, he writes that the midwife usually announces the sex of the child and determines if the child is physically worth raising. Among the factors that she ought to consider include the mother’s health during the pregnancy and the length of the pregnancy. The baby should not have been born before seven months of pregnancy, and it was best for the child to be born near or after the end of nine months. Moreover, a healthy child was one that cried vigorously when the midwife placed her or him on the ground after announcing the infant’s sex. Finally, the baby ought to be “perfect in all its parts, members, and senses.”77 child, youth, man, and old man (Ars poetica 156–78). Both cited in Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 136. 73. Laurence, “Childhood in the Roman Empire,” 22. 74. The Mishnah, Jewish oral traditions codified around 200–220 c.e., also attaches significance to the age of three for girls in particular: If a girl child was violated before she was three and one day, it was thought that her hymen would spontaneously regenerate, thereby restoring her virgin status (Timothy J. Horner, “Jewish Aspects of the Protoevangelium of James,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 12, no. 3 [2004]: 321). 75.  Dig. states that both parties must understand what was being done, therefore they could not be under seven years old (23.1.14, 23.2.4). 76. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 153–4. 77. Soranus Gynecology 2.6.79. Soranus also describes the care that one ought to give to the newborn infant at some length in 2.8–2.23. Rawson notes that this kind of specialized healthcare “developed only for childbirth and early childhood indicates something of the priorities” of ancient society (Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 132).



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After birth, the midwife would lay the child down, and the parents would decide if the infant was worthy of being raised. Though legally this right belonged to the father, probably both parents were involved in the decision. Shaw has convincingly argued against the long-held notion that there was a formal ceremony that consisted of the paterfamilias raising the child from the ground in order to accept the child into the family.78 The ritual has been referred to as tollere liberum or suscipere liberum, but Shaw demonstrates that the phrases have the more ordinary meaning of rearing or raising a child. He contends that the hypothetical ritual raises a question: If a child was born of two legally married persons, was patria potestas created by the birth or the ritual? Shaw answers that the only requirement for a father to claim a child as his own was for the child to be born in the context of a legal marriage; no additional ritual was required.79 The normal expectation was that a child would be raised in the family.80 From the moment children were born, they were surrounded by rites and religious rituals. In Greek families, following a birth, the child was carried around the hearth and presented to the gods. The family made sacrifices and decorated the doorway of the house with garlands. A wreath of olive branches announced the birth of a boy while a garland of spun wool announced the birth of a girl.81 In Roman families, flowers adorned the front door, and the family offered sacrifices to the household deities and the goddesses of childbirth.82 If the child survived a week, a ritual would be held on the eighth day for girls and the ninth day for boys with immediate family and relatives, and the child would be given her or his name. In Jewish families boys were circumcised on the eighth day. Josephus, however, insisted that for Jewish families “the Law does not allow the birth of our children to be made occasions for festivity and an excuse for drinking to excess. It enjoins sobriety.”83 78. Shaw, “Raising and Killing Children,” 31–2, 44. 79. While I agree with Shaw’s argument, he does not address the assumption behind the supposed ritual. It assumes a father had to accept a child as his own because even though his legal wife gave birth to the child, that child might not be his biologically. The wife might have committed adultery and become pregnant by another male. Thus, the supposed ritual allowed the father to demonstrate that he accepted the paternity of the child. This assumption is misogynistic; it suggests that women were so likely to engage in extra-marital sex that a ritual had to be created for the father to claim the child as his own despite the couple’s legal marriage. This may say more about the nineteenth-century historians who “created” the ritual than the ritual does about the Romans. 80. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 105; Osiek and MacDonald, A Woman’s Place, 52–3. 81. Sarah B. Pomeroy, Families in Classical and Hellenistic Greece: Representations and Realities (New York: Clarendon Press, 1996), 68–70. 82. Ville Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” in A Cultural History of Childhood and Family in Antiquity, eds Mary Harlow and Ray Laurence (New York: Berg Publishers, 2010), 133. 83. Josephus Ag. Ap. 2.204.

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In the ancient world, there were expected patterns of naming that indicated a child’s social location and/or legal status.84 Children were usually identified by their own name and a patronymic that identified them with their father’s family. Traditionally, the maternal uncle gave the child her or his name, in accordance with the parents’ wishes.85 Elite Roman boys, who would one day carry on the family name, often had a cognomen (their father’s name) and a nomen (the family name), thus many males had similar names.86 A girl’s name was frequently the feminine form of her father’s name or her maternal grandfather’s family name, and sisters often shared the same name. In order to distinguish between sisters who had the same name, they might be called Major and Minor (elder and younger), or simply numbered: Tertia, Quarta, and Quinta (third, fourth, and fifth).87 Diminutives of these or the proper name were sometimes used affectionately.88 In other cases, a child might be given the name of a grandparent. Similarly, Jewish boys were often named after their grandfathers or fathers, and girls were named after their mothers or grandmothers.89 Sometimes a person was called by a matronymic, a name derived from the individual’s mother. Among well-born persons this could be considered derogatory, since slaves and illegitimate children used their mother’s name.90 In Jewish literature of the early Common Era, however, matronymics could indicate that the mother was from a higher social class than the father.91 Thus, when Jesus is referred to as the “son of Mary” in Mark 6.3, it may indicate that Mary was a person of status in that community.92 Tal Ilan also suggests that it was not uncommon for a male to use his mother’s name in informal situations, though 84.  A child’s legal status was the same as his or her father’s when the parents were legally married citizens. For children born outside of marriage, the mother’s status determined the status of the child. The exception to this rule was in the case of a citizen mother and a foreign father. The child was then considered a foreigner like the father (Ulpian 5.8–9). 85. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 111. 86. The Herodian family demonstrates this phenomenon. Several Herods are named in the Gospels and Acts, including Herod the Great, Herod Antipas, Herod Philip, Herod Archelaus, Herod Agrippa I and II. 87. Ray Laurence illustrates this point nicely, as well as the difficulties associated with all the girls in a family having the same name, in his video Four Sisters in Ancient Rome (at the time of publication found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQMgLxVxsrw). 88.  Sarah Pomeroy, Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves: Women in Classical Antiquity (New York: Schocken, 1995), 165; Judith P. Hallett, Fathers and Daughters in Roman Society: Women and the Elite Family (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), 77–8. 89. Hence, the surprise among the family of Elizabeth and Zechariah in Luke 1 when they state that the name of their newborn will be John, since no one in the family had that name. 90. Pomeroy, Families in Classical and Hellenistic Greece, 72. 91. Tal Ilan, “‘Man Born of Woman … ’ (Job 14.1): The Phenomenon of Men Bearing Metronymes at the Time of Jesus,” NovT 34, no. 1 (1992): 44–5. 92. Mark also makes no attempt to associate Jesus with a human father named Joseph.



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that would be less likely if he was in an official capacity.93 Women occasionally referred to themselves in private settings as “daughter of ” their mother or grandmother.94 While a slave child was legally the owner’s, and the master had the right to name the child, slaves generally took their mother’s name. If both parents were subsequently freed and their marriage became legal, then a child could take the father’s nomen.95 Those who were freed and later had children often used Latin names as a sign of their Roman-ness.96 From the time of Augustus, legally married Roman citizens could officially register the birth of their child within thirty days of the naming ceremony. This was done in accordance with the requirements of legislation such as lex Aelia Sentia and the lex Papia Poppaea that required evidence of age and status. Marcus Aurelius later allowed all freeborn Roman children to be registered regardless of whether they were born into legal marriages or not.97 Prior to the birth registrations, there was a great deal of uncertainty about when an individual had been born, and a person’s actual age was not very important. The initiation of the birth registers diminished this uncertainty regarding age. Rituals and Religion Children were involved in religious rituals from the day of their birth onward. Broadly speaking, children were active in religious life in three ways: 1) They were involved in rites of passage through which the children themselves were progressing; 2) they were active participants in rituals in which their families and communities were engaging; and 3) they had special tasks in certain public ceremonies and rites.98 There was, of course, a certain amount of fluidity and overlap between these areas. In the ancient world, a child was born into a world of rituals. Since childhood was a precarious time, wrought with the dangers of disease and death, as the child grew she or he would participate in rituals designed to gain divine protection from the evil spirits, which were thought to cause illnesses and even death.99 For example, on the day of purification for a freeborn boy, he was given a bulla (amulet), which was thought to have protective qualities. An elite child would have an amulet made of gold, while a lower-class child might have one made of leather.100 The boy wore it until he traded his toga of childhood for toga virilis (the attire of a man) and dedicated his bulla to his

93. Ilan, “Man Born of Woman,” 44–5. 94. Nossi Epigram 3 (I. M. Plant, Women Writers of Ancient Greece and Rome: An Anthology [Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2004], 64). 95. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 264. 96. Ibid., 174. 97. Ibid., 111–12. 98. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 147. 99. Ibid., 135. 100. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 111.

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household gods.101 Though it was not common for a girl to be given a bulla, Janet Tulloch notes the presence of a girl with a bulla on the Ara Pacis (Altar of Peace) dedicated in 9 b.c.e.102 Second, the activities related to the household cult functioned to socialize the children into their family’s traditions, teaching them “skills for their adult lives and for the preservation and continuity of the family cult.”103 There were rituals to incorporate members into the family, to safeguard the food supply, and to connect the family with the ancestors of the father. At the center of family life was the hearth, the place in the home for domestic offerings and rites integrating children into the family. For Roman families the Penates (household gods) were of primary importance. They also honored other gods associated with the family, in particular the Lares, who were thought to be spirits of the ancestors. The domestic cult was closely associated with the honor and prosperity of the father.104 In Greek households, Hestia was the goddess of the hearth, which was her place of honor in the home.105 Zeus was also revered in the home as the deity who protected the food supply.106 Both boys and girls worshipped the household gods as a part of their everyday life and participated in the rituals performed before and during daily meals in the home.107 The handling of food and drinking cups had religious overtones in the first century c.e., and the common belief was that a child should handle these items.108 Children also participated in rituals on special occasions, such as harvest festivals, banquets, and birthday celebrations.109 At banquets, children assisted in the offering at the family hearth to Vesta, and the Lares and Penates, which included items from the meal, incense and wine. Romans also marked the passage 101. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 135. 102. Janet H. Tulloch, “Visual Representations of Children and Ritual in the Early Roman Empire,” SR 41, no. 3 (2012): 416. 103. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 137. 104. John M. G. Barclay, “The Family as the Bearer of Religion in Judaism and Early Christianity,” in Constructing Early Christian Families, ed. Halvor Moxnes (London: Routledge, 1997), 67. 105. The god Zeus gave the virgin goddess the domain of the household instead of marriage, and she was considered the “senior goddess.” 106. Barclay, “The Family as the Bearer of Religion in Judaism and Early Christianity,” 67. He notes these functions were separate from the public and political rituals honoring Zeus. 107. Tulloch, “Visual Representations of Children,” 427. 108. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 181. 109. I. C. Mantle, “The Roles of Children in Roman Religion,” Greece & Rome 49, no. 1 (2002): 100. Examples Mantle cites include a wife and children (or slaves) assisting a farmer at a harvest sacrifice (Horace Ep. 2.1.139–44); the princess Lavinia assisting her father Latinus at the altar (Virgil Aen. 7.71–2); and a young daughter bringing a honeycomb for the household gods (Tibullus 1.10.23–4); Ovid requests that a boy burn incense and pour a wine libation for his wife’s birthday (Ovid Tristia 5.5.11–12).



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of time by celebrating their birthdays each year.110 The celebration was a means of honoring the deities protecting the person.111 Thus, birthday rituals included “prayers for divine protection, ritual food, and incense and fire on the domestic hearth.”112 As children took part in the birthday celebrations of family members, they would learn these rituals.113 If a freeborn child was not available to partici­pate in the rituals, slave children were sometimes called upon to be assistants.114 However, slave children were more likely to be present to clean up after the party. Unlike modern western societies that often shield children from death, ancient children participated in funerals; girls assisted with the preparation of the corpse and learned the rituals of lamentations, while boys were introduced to the proper sacrifices to offer for the dead. Children participated with other family members in funeral processions as well.115 They also had special roles in marriage ceremonies. In order to announce the marriage to the community, the wedding procession was a noisy event as the bride processed from her former home to that of her groom. In Athens, a child would hand out bread from a cradle-shaped basket to wedding guests and would accompany the groom before the ceremony. In Rome, the children’s participation in weddings was meant to bring good luck, cast out evil spirits, and ensure fertility. Some of the tasks included washing the bride’s feet, shouting obscenities, gathering nuts that the groom threw to them, carrying the torch for the new hearth, and also accompanying the bride to her new home.116 Finally, local and state public rituals were an important part of a child’s life and played a role in forming her or his civic identity. A family’s status and structure were the most significant determinants of their children’s participation in public religious rituals; usually the children who took part in ceremonies were from well-born families and had both parents living.117 These youngsters were considered especially well-suited for religious duties since they had not experienced the death of a parent.118 The roles for youngsters were often gender specific. Boys seemed to be favored over girls, perhaps because girls were vulnerable to sexual abuse when they attended public ceremonies.119 But girls did serve in public, demonstrating both their honor and piety as well as that of their family. Their activities often mirrored the domestic tasks they would engage in as women 110. An individual threw a party on his or her own behalf. Greeks on the other hand did not seem to celebrate their birthdays (Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 134). 111. Ibid., 135. 112. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 139. 113. Ibid., 139. 114. Mantle, “The Roles of Children in Roman Religion,” 106. 115. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 138. 116. Ibid., 138. 117. Tacitus Hist. 4.53; see also the quote below from Dio Cassius. 118. Mantle, “The Roles of Children in Roman Religion,” 91, 105. 119. Ibid., 103.

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in their households, such as washing the statue of Athena, “grinding corn to make cake offerings to Athena,” and weaving a robe for the goddess Artemis. Likewise, when boys assisted in sacrifices, their participation taught them the role of the adult male in the ceremony.120 For Greek children, especially boys, participating in athletic competitions was an important way for them to be involved in the festivities. The public religious rituals were family events, in which children participated with their parents in religious processions and other activities. Some events even had special rules for the children who attended. For example, during the Secular Games under Augustus, Suetonius states that young people could attend entertainment at night, but only if an adult relative accompanied them.121 Children’s choirs sang at religious festivals, the dedication of a temple, public funerals, or other public functions.122 Cassius Dio gives a brief description of such a choir at the dedication of a shrine to Augustus by Gaius Caligula in 37 c.e.: Boys of the noblest families, both of whose parents must be living, together with [girls] similarly circumstanced, sang the hymn, the senators with their wives and also the people were banqueted, and there were spectacles of all sorts.123

Children’s choirs participated in the Secular Games in 17 b.c.e. under Augustus and in 88 c.e. under Domitian. Their presence was considered to symbolize “the new peaceful and prosperous times.”124 Some funeral inscriptions indicate that children were members of the college of lyre-players in Rome, servants of priests, and dancers in religious processions as well.125 They were also involved in state ceremonies when the state seemed to be in crisis, and it seemed prudent to secure the favor of the gods.126 When the pax deorum (peace of the gods) was sought after a crisis, boys and girls in equal numbers would sing. If the crisis involved the renewal of the community or fertility, only girls would be asked to sing.127 Another role children had was as an acolyte for priests and others who made sacrifices. Boys who served as acolytes were called camilli and girls were called camillae.128 The children were required to be 12 years old or younger, and they 120. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 142. 121. Suetonius Augustus, 31.4. 122. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 144. 123. Dio Cassius Roman History 59.7.1. 124. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 145; Mantle, “The Roles of Children in Roman Religion,” 86. 125. Mantle, “The Roles of Children in Roman Religion,” 99. 126. Ibid., 88. 127. Livy History of Rome 27.37 (cited by Mantle, “The Roles of Children in Roman Religion,” 145). 128. Plutarch Numa 7.5; Macrobius 3.8.6–7; Servius Aeneid 11.543, 558 (cited by Mantle, “The Roles of Children in Roman Religion,” 91). Roman art also shows children participating in sacrificial rituals as camilli or camillae, refilling the patera (a shallow metal or ceramic bowl used in libations), holding the incense



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were, as noted, upper-class children who had both parents living. They usually helped the sacrificant by holding objects used in the offering: sacred cloths or utensils, such as an incense box; a dish, tray or basket of fruit; a jug or pitcher of wine for libation; a sacrificial dish; aspergillum for sprinkling water; a towel and sacred ribbons.129 One of the best-known positions to which a girl could be appointed was that of Vestal Virgin. It was “one career reserved for women” and “held considerable religious and public responsibility in Rome.”130 A Vestal Virgin dedicated 30 years of her life to the service of Vesta and took a vow of chastity. The first decade was a time of learning the responsibilities of the priesthood. Her second decade was primarily tending the flame of the hearth of Vesta. And in her final years, the Vestal taught the younger virgins their responsibilities. Regarding the requirements for the Vestal Virgins, Aulus Gellius states, It is unlawful for a girl to be chosen who is less than six, or more than ten years old; she must also have both father and mother living; she must be free too from any impediment in her speech, must not have impaired hearing, or be marked by any other bodily defect; she must not herself have been freed from paternal control, nor her father before her, even if her father is still living and she is under the control of her grandfather …131

At any given time at least one of the six Vestals was a prepubescent child.132 Wiedemann argues that children were a part of religious life because they were unimportant, marginal, not adult citizen males, and thus they were considered “not really there.” Their presence at the ceremonies was not a sign of importance but marginality because they “did not count” as citizens.133 They were in rituals, according to Wiedemann, because “as a marginal being, the child is only partially a member of citizen society; but that implies that he is nearer to the world of the gods than the adult male.”134 Ville Vuolanto argues against this perspective, stating that if children were used in religious ceremonies because they were marginal, then women, foreigners, and slaves should also appear frequently in the rituals and ceremonies, but this is not generally the case.135 The various ways in which children were active in the religious life of the empire reveals that they were considered an integral part of society. Children box for the priest, leading animals to sacrifice and playing flute. The latter are seen in both imperial sacrifices and in domestic scenes (Tulloch, “Visual Representations of Children and Rituals in the Early Empire,” 421–2). 129. Ibid., 94. 130. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 207. 131. Aulus Gellius Noct. Att. 1.12.1–4ff. 132. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 144. 133. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 185–6. 134. Ibid., 25. 135. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 148.

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were favored as assistants specifically because of their youth.136 Their lack of experience in society and the social world was an aspect of childhood that adults deemed important in religious activities.137 Moreover, the young were thought to have special insight into the world of the gods. Vuolanto states that children were thought to “possess oracular force and divine insight, and they were acknowledged to understand the wishes of the god(s), at least to the same extent as adults in the same community.” He goes on to say, “Children were … seen as perfect channels for divine contact through dreams, visions, and inspired utterances.”138 Participation in the public rituals gave children a “powerful sense of belonging to the community.”139 It was a means of socialization into that community, introducing them to the values of their society through the enactment of their religious duties. Jewish and Christian children would have had some similar experiences to their Greek and Roman counterparts as well as some distinctly different ones. The religious expressions of the Greeks and Romans were based upon tradition, that had little in the way of formal, sacred scripture. There were few writings that functioned as a foundation for worship, as a means of regulating prayer, or that sought to interpret sacrificial rituals.140 Like the Greek and Roman religious traditions, Judaism was steeped in custom and tied closely to the family, and children were an integral part of Jewish religious life. But it is distinctive from these other ancient religions by being a religion founded upon the sacred texts and the teachings of Torah. Torah explicitly commands the Israelites to keep the words of the tradition and to teach them to their children (Deut. 6.4–7).141 Another significant difference for a Jewish child was the lack of participation in state religious rituals. As a monotheistic religion, Jews were prohibited from worshipping other gods or participating in the imperial cult. Not only did the worship of one God distinguish Judaism from other religious expressions at that time, weekly Shabbat observances did as well. The Temple in Jerusalem was the center of Jewish worship until its destruction by the Romans in 70 c.e. Yet by the first century c.e., if not earlier, the synagogue had become central to Jewish life and worship for those outside of Jerusalem.142 The synagogue was not led by a rabbi but rather by an 136. Mantle, “The Roles of Children in Roman Religion,” 103. 137. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 149. 138. Ibid., 147–8; see also Prescendi, “Children and the Transmission of Religious Knowledge,” Children, Memory and Family Identity in Roman Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 85. 139. Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” 144; see also Prescendi, “Children and the Transmission of Religious Knowledge,” 80. 140. Barclay, “The Family as the Bearer of Religion in Judaism and Early Christianity,” 68. Some of the Homeric Hymns did function to a degree in this manner, such as the Hymn to Demeter, which describes the foundations of the cult. 141. Both Josephus Ap. Ag. 2.204 and Philo Spec. Leg. 1.314, 2.88, 4.149–50 also urge parents to teach the children the religious traditions. 142. Ross S. Kraemer, “Jewish Women and Women’s Judaism(s) at the Beginning of



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a0rxisunagw/goj (archisunagōgos, ruler or leader of the synagogue). While the majority of these were likely men, there is evidence to suggest that women may have functioned in this role as well.143 There is little evidence about the ways children were involved in the activities in the Temple. Deuteronomy 31.12 says that young children should be gathered along with men and women to hear the law, but it is hard to know how or if this was practiced. Some Mishnah texts indicate that boys old enough to “ride upon their father’s shoulders or hold his hand” as they ascended the Temple Mount were required to attend the three great festivals.144 Children were only allowed to enter the Temple court during the festivals. The exception was “when the Levites were singing,” the children “were not permitted to play instruments but only to sing.”145 In the synagogue, underage boys could read the Torah and provide an interpretation, but they “could not [recite] the Shema or Benedictions.”146 Children in the synagogue were probably to be seen and not heard, and there was some indication that people questioned if children should be brought to the synagogue at all.147 These limitations on children’s activities in the public religious realm may be due to the centrality of the family in a child’s moral and religious education. The home was the primary place of instruction for Jewish children. Thus, their religious activities may have been primarily centered in the home as well. For Christian children, the household was a central place in their religious experiences too.148 Much like the Roman or Greek child, for whom religious rituals began at birth, “prayer surrounded the life of a Christian child. One of the first instances of a child’s exposure to prayer was the occasion of its parents’ prayer at its birth.”149 The early Christians gathered in the domestic space of the household, the shared living space of freeborn and slave children and their parents. As such, house churches would have been teeming with the activities Christianity,” in Women and Christian Origins (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 63–6. She notes that a precise definition of “synagogue,” however, is difficult to ascertain for that time period. 143. Ibid., 64. See also Bernadette J. Brooten, Women Leaders in the Ancient Synagogue (Chico: Scholars Press, 1982). 144. O. Larry Yarbrough, “Parents and Children in the Jewish Family of Antiquity,” in Jewish Family in Antiquity, ed. by Shaye J. Cohen (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 47. He cites m. Hag. 1.1 on this point. 145. Ibid., 47. 146. Ibid. 147. Ibid., 48. 148. I recognize that in the period under discussion there was often no distinct line between Jews who followed Jesus and those who did not. I will refer to all Jesus followers, Jew or non-Jew, variously as “Jesus followers,” “Jesus believers,” or simply “Christians.” 149. Cornelia B. Horn and John W. Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me: Childhood and Children in Early Christianity (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2009), 294. They reference the Apology of Aristides on this point. Prayer would have also been a part of the rituals around the death of a child.

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of family life—births, childrearing, marriages, and death.150 One of the earliest established rituals of the nascent church was the shared meal. Regarding children’s participation at the meal, Cornelia Horn and John Martens remark, “To the extent that children were part of a given household in which such gatherings for the meal took place, nothing seems to preclude the assumption that they also participated in this meal.”151 Frescos in the earliest Christian cemeteries in Rome (around 200 c.e.) depict children participating in early Christian rites related to offerings and funerary banquets.152 O. M. Bakke suggests that if early Christians drew connections between the Lord’s Supper and the Passover meal, in which small children were active participants, the children may have participated in the Lord’s Supper at a young age as well.153 The Household Codes in Colossians and Ephesians provide direct evidence that children were present in the community gatherings, since the authors single out children for specific instructions. The exhortations also indicate “the high value placed on the child–parent relationship.”154 These codes, similar to those first formulated by Aristotle,155 describe an order for family relationships and place the Christian household within the patriarchal family structure of the Roman Empire.156 They reveal that the early Christians sought to demonstrate that their religious tradition was in keeping with the broader society and was as closely tied to family as Roman and Jewish religions were.157 What is interesting about the household codes within the context of the house church, however, are the “overlapping categories of identity” of the persons to whom the codes are addressed.158 They seem to address wives and husbands (Eph. 5.22–32; Col. 3.18–19), children and parents (Eph. 6.1–3; Col. 3.20), fathers (Eph. 6.4; Col. 3.21), and slaves and their masters (Eph. 6.5–9; Col. 3.22–4.1) in a straightforward manner. However, the reality of the household was that sometimes masters were the fathers of slave children, and adult slaves were also the parents of slave 150. Osiek and MacDonald, A Woman’s Place, 66–7. 151.  Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 291. For their full discussion on children’s participation in the Eucharist, see 291–4. 152. Tulloch, “Visual Representations of Children,” 425. 153. Bakke, When Children Became People, 257. 154. Margaret Y. MacDonald, “Reading the New Testament Household Codes in Light of New Research on Children and Childhood in the Roman World,” SR 41, no. 3 (2012): 377. 155. Aristotle Pol. 1.1253b. 156. Versions of the household codes are found in Eph. 5.21–6.9; Col. 3.18–4.1; 1 Tim. 2.8–3.13; Tit. 2.1–10; 1 Pet. 2.13–3.7. Many scholars suggest that these documents date to the latter portion of the first century c.e., a period in which the church was becoming more institutionalized and hierarchical. I will discuss this more in Chapter 7. 157.  This stands in contrast with Mark’s view of the family, as I will discuss in Chapter 4, which seems to overturn the patriarchal structure of the Greco-Roman family and instead places God at the head of the family (Mk 3.31–5; 10.29–31). 158. MacDonald, “Reading the New Testament Household Codes,” 378.



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children. Thus the admonitions to children, parents, fathers, and slaves may be speaking to more than one group at a time. The only pairing which appears static is the wife/husband pair, since slaves could not legally marry. That said, slave couples certainly behaved as if they were a married pair, and so may have heard these words as pertaining to them as well. Scholars have long debated whether infants or children were baptized in the early church. If a father converted to Christianity, it is reasonable to assume that his entire household did as well, since the father had the authority to choose the religion of his household. It is likely that children were baptized along with their parents in such cases. Tertullian of Carthage provides the only explicit evidence of the baptism of children in earliest years of the church, around 200 c.e. Other sources agree that infant baptism was widely practiced in the church from around 250 c.e. onward.159 For Christian children, however, the most significant aspect of being Christian may have been the culture of valuing the child as a child. A child was considered a person, not because of inherited wealth or status; nor was adult citizenship the center of social life in the church for the Christian. Neither was a child’s value determined by excelling in educational pursuits.160 In Wiedemann’s words, “any distinction imposed by secular society between those who mattered and those who did not, was artificial.”161 God’s care for children was understood to be the same as it was for slaves, women, non-Romans, and even adult males. Indeed, the narratives containing children in the Gospels that I will examine in the following chapters also bear out this point. Education If education is understood as not just formal schooling in literacy, philosophy, and rhetoric, then all children received some form of education, including training for their future role as adults and productive members of society. For this reason, the following discussion of education will include both formal schooling and learning that took place at home, which is where most children learned the skills necessary for life. The household was the first and primary location for most children’s education, and their parents were their first and often their only teachers. The father was viewed as the one who was primarily responsible for teaching his children and was thought to be the best teacher for them.162 Fathers were expected to teach 159. Bakke, When Children Became People, 223–4, 257. For a fuller discussion of the baptism of children in the early church see Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 273–91. 160.  For a discussion about the perceived repudiation of Greek education by some early Christians, see Christopher A. Frilingos, “No Child Left Behind: Knowledge and Violence in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 17, no. 1 (2009): 27–54. 161. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 200. 162. Ibid., 87.

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their children moral values, the use of language, and to teach their sons the skills of an artisan, builder, or other trade. Mothers also had a significant role in the education of both sons and daughters. They influenced not only the curriculum but also the youngsters’ “progress in speech and rhetorical style and in the development of character.”163 They also taught their daughters domestic tasks such as food preparation and household management. In addition, girls across the social spectrum learned to spin and weave, as well as other components of clothing production.164 A child’s level of formal education depended greatly upon a family’s means and their location. Schooling and literacy were more likely for upper-class children than for lower-class children, for urban children than for rural children, and the majority of children did not go to school. For those who could afford to pay to have others educate their children, there was a good deal of discussion regarding whether private education in the home with a tutor was better than educating the child in a school.165 The formal school was an invention of the Greek city and originally may have been created to teach children hymns to perform as a choir for religious festivals.166 Important elements of Greek education included the study of music—singing, poetry, or playing an instrument—and dancing. In the second century b.c.e., some Greek teachers went to Rome and introduced a broadly based liberal education, including philosophy, literature, and language. Romans initially rejected this system, and even legislated against it, because these skills were not thought to be appropriate for the elite. However, it eventually gained popularity by the end of the century.167 There is no evidence of schools existing in Rome before the first century b.c.e., but they likely did.168 Since Greek was the common language of the populace, and was even spoken among statesmen like Cicero, the curriculum relied on both Greek and Latin. There were three stages of the educational process: primary, secondary, and tertiary. However, the lines between these levels of education were fluid and overlapped, and children were not organized into classes according to age.169 The Romans valued education highly, especially for their sons. Parents hoped that their son’s education would bring him—and subsequently them—increased 163. MacDonald, “Reading the New Testament Household Codes,” 383. 164.  Nossi, a female poet, who likely came from a higher-status background, comments in her poetry about weaving a cloak for her mother (Epigram 3 in Plant, Women Writers of Ancient Greece and Rome, 64). On the other hand, an arithmetic exercise from Anthologia Graeca depicts a mother and her daughters spinning all day and barely making ends meet (Luise Schottroff, Lydia’s Impatient Sisters: A Feminist Social History of Early Christianity [Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1995], 94). 165. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 160. 166. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 163. 167. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 147–8, 170. 168. Ibid., 164. 169. Ibid., 165.



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wealth, social status, and influence.170 Boys of elite families who expected to be active in public life received rhetorical education in their early to mid-teens. Their education prepared them for potential careers as senators, lawyers, military officers, or administrative officials.171 Corporal punishment, however, was a reality of life for a school child; that a pupil would be beaten at school was assumed and frequently commented upon. For example, Menander states, “the man who has not been beaten is uneducated.”172 In general, educating boys was considered more valuable than educating girls. Few funerary inscriptions commemorate a girl’s “intellectual accomplishments;” rather they focus upon her “conventional, domestic qualities.”173 However, in the late Republic and early Empire, girls did receive an education both at home and in schools. For girls from elite families, literary skills were valued as a sign of a young woman’s high status, and female scribes were not uncommon in the Roman world.174 Slave children sometimes received an education as well. Educating a slave would not only contribute to the household, but could potentially lead to a higher sale price in the future.175 In predominately Jewish settings education played a somewhat different role. The home was the primary location for learning in the late Second Temple period. The memorization of Torah was one of the educational activities centered in the home, and thus the level of the children’s education would be similar to that of the parents. Most of the education was oral, and there was little emphasis on reading and writing.176 However, some Jewish writers of the period did encourage teaching children to read so that they could more fully understand the Torah.177 Yet 170. For an in-depth analysis of education in the Hellenistic world see Raffaella Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005). Although Cribiore discusses primarily evidence from Hellenistic and Roman Egypt due to the great amount of material available, she asserts that it still provides a depiction of the variety of educational practices around the Mediterranean at this time. 171. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 147. 172.  Cited in Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 28. This is evident in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas. See Chapter 7. 173. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 45. 174. Ibid., 90. Rawson discusses the first-century debate over the appropriateness of educating a girl or woman. She cites Musonius Rufus, who delivered several lectures indicating the lively nature of the debate in the late first-century c.e. They had titles such as “Women too should study philosophy” and “Daughters should have the same education as sons” (ibid., 201–2). 175. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 187. 176. Cecilia Wassen, “On the Education of Children in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” SR 41, no. 3 (2012): 354. 177. Testament of Levi 13.2; Josephus discusses the education of children, suggesting that both boys and girls need to be taught to read and to learn the law and traditions of their ancestors (Ag. Ap. 2.204).

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other than the synagogue, there does not seem to have been a formal setting for educating children prior to the first century b.c.e., when the Pharisees established schools. These schools were primarily to counter the attractiveness of the Greek schools with their emphasis on the grammatical, rhetorical, and philosophical aspects of education. Instead, in the Pharisaic schools the curriculum was limited to studying the scriptures in Hebrew, with no opportunity to learn to read or write the spoken languages of the time: Aramaic and koine Greek.178 The community at Qumran, however, did seem to have a higher appreciation for the formal education of children. Both the Rule of the Congregation (IQSa) and the Damascus Document (CD) contain information about the education of children in the community. IQSa outlines a progression in education, suggesting an “awareness of the differences in learning-ability among the children” and that children learn at a different pace from one another.179 Given that the community overall was highly educated, children’s training must have included both reading and writing. In addition, it is likely that both boys and girls were educated, since the girls would have to be familiar with the purity regulations and communal legislation in their role as married women in the community.180 Overall, however, Jewish schools did not become common until the third century c.e. Unlike Greek and Roman schools, which taught writing as a part of elementary education, Jewish schools did not. That was considered a specialized skill, a trade that was taught mainly to those who were in training to be scribes. Girls were later excluded from schools in the third century c.e. and literacy among Jewish women became uncommon. Christian children, like others, were educated at home, where they learned the proper way to live the virtuous life. In terms of the formal education of Christian children, Carolyn Osiek writes that “before the fourth century c.e. there is very little information about how Christians educated their children.” By that point, however, the discussion is mostly concerned with how to raise boys, though occasionally girls are mentioned. Her assumption is that Christians sent their children to regular schools where they studied the usual curriculum of Virgil and Homer, depending upon the language of instruction.181 But some Christian schools did exist. Cribiore notes that in the Christian school of advanced learning in Panopolis, religious works were studied alongside traditional texts. The Bodmer Papyri, the earliest of which dates to approximately 200 c.e., contain codices in which portions of the New Testament were bound together with works by Homer and Menander. The materials were copied by the students as they learned to read and write.182 Both free and slave children were expected to work and contribute to the household by doing chores and waiting on adults. Thus, their education also 178. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 193. 179. Wassen, “On the Education of Children in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” 393. 180. Ibid., 354–6. 181. Carolyn Osiek, “The Education of Girls in Early Christian Ascetic Traditions,” SR 41, no. 3 (2012): 401–2. 182. Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 200.



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included skills necessary for maintaining the household, farm, or those skills for which they could earn money for the family. In rural areas children engaged in agricultural work, tending the herds and flocks; working in vineyards; trimming and pruning the vines; and tending the olive groves. They would also weed the gardens and collect firewood.183 Lower-class children of 12 or 13 years old were sometimes apprenticed for six months to five years, either to family members or to an outside business. The contracts for those who worked in businesses outside of the family often contained harsh penalties for the parents if they ended the apprenticeship early. The evidence indicates that both free and slave boys were apprenticed but attests that only slave girls were.184 While there is more evidence that males received job training than there is for females, sub-elite girls must have received some form of training to earn a living and contribute to their families. Their training may have been more informal, learning from parents or other household members working in a trade. Rawson notes, “in this respect slave girls who got a formal training at their owner’s expense might be considered to have been more advantaged than poor freeborn girls.” Slave girls would have also received training in the household jobs they were expected to carry out.185 Fortunately, children’s lives did not consist only of work and formal schooling for those who were able to go to school. Children, as now and always, played. Not only is playing a form of recreation, but it is also a means for children to learn socialization and cultural expectations. Wiedemann notes that play was understood as practice for adult life.186 A variety of toys and games are known from the ancient world, including hoops, spinning tops, pushcarts, balls, and games with nuts, knucklebones, and dice.187 Children also had pets such as birds (nightingales, parrots, blackbirds); upper-class children might have had ponies, dogs, cats, goats, sheep, rabbits, and geese. Keeping pets was considered important for a child’s moral and emotional development.188 Girls also played with dolls (which may have evolved from the cult statuette-making industry). But the dolls were not 183. In the Greek romance novel Daphnis and Chloe, two adolescents of the same names are herders (sheep and goats respectively) when they are just reaching puberty. Other passing comments indicating some of children’s agriculture-related work are found in many sources, for example, Varro Res Rusticae 2.1.10; Ovid Fasti 4.511; Columella de Re Rusticae 11.2.44 (cited in Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 155). 184.  For an example of a contract apprenticing a slave girl to a woman to learn weaving see Oxyrhynchus papyrus 1647 in Lefkowitz and Fant, Women’s Life in Greece and Rome, 208. 185. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 194, 206. 186. The word for play, ludus, was also used to refer to adult games, religious ceremonies, and used for “school.” Moreover, the concept of “recess” is not a modern one; the ancients thought instruction should be interrupted by periods of play (Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 147). 187. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 128. 188. Laurence, “Childhood in the Roman Empire,” 23.

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baby dolls; rather, they were models of young women of marriageable age, perhaps even of a girl’s older betrothed or married sister.189 In this way, dolls encouraged the girl to identify with the ideal of being a wife, more so than as a mother who tended children. Just as girls’ play focused upon their later social roles, so too did boys’ games often contain elements of status differentiation, in which there would be clear winners and losers. Around age seven, children would begin engaging in adult games, which required reasoning and skill.190 Transition to Adulthood The transition from childhood into adulthood for individuals in the Roman Empire was a “flexible and fluid transition” since the “beginning of adulthood was a flexible concept among Romans.”191 Puberty was recognized as a stage in which the child began the transition to adulthood; for girls, 12 years old was considered the beginning of puberty while for boys it was 14.192 This was an ambiguous period for young people when they were no longer considered children but were also not adults.193 Citizen males of 16 to 25 were categorized as adult citizens; they could participate in military training and vote, but they were not allowed to hold public office or conduct business deals.194 For the citizen male, donning the toga virilis (attire of a man) at about age 16 was the preliminary ritual to full citizenship and was a symbol of “achieving adulthood and responsibility.”195 It was a ritual on the same social level as betrothals and marriage, to which one would invite the important members of the community as well as common folk.196 While the father was usually responsible for giving his son the toga virilis and its associated celebration, another male family member could as well. As mentioned, Cicero gave both his son Marcus and his nephew Quintus, at the request of Quintus’ father, their adult togas. Unlike the male transition from boyhood into manhood, which was a lengthy process marked by specific public rituals, a girl’s coming of age was marked by marriage, first intercourse, and motherhood. In the Greek context, devotion to Artemis marked the transition for girls from childhood into puberty, and through the rites of passage into marriage and motherhood. Into the second century c.e., devotion to the goddess Hera, whom women worshipped for protection after 189.  Baby dolls did not appear until in the nineteenth century in England (Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 149). 190. Ibid., 149–54. 191. MacDonald, “Reading the New Testament Household Codes,” 382. 192. Wiedemann notes that the law considered girls under 12 and boys under 14 “as not yet capable of undertaking the responsibility of marriage—or of committing adultery” (Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 114). 193. Laurence, “Childhood in the Roman Empire,” 26. 194. Ibid., 24 195. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 90. 196. Pliny Ep. 1.9.2; 10.116.1.



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marriage and during childbirth, may have also included puberty rites.197 Similarly, in the Roman context, elite girls dedicated their togas, the garments of children (and prostitutes), to Fortuna Virginalis at puberty and began wearing the stola (long pleated dress), the garment of respectable women.198 When a girl married, she also dedicated her dolls to the household gods or Venus. Marriage was considered the most important event in a young woman’s life, much as the toga virilis was for the young man. It signaled that the female was now an adult. Before marriage, a girl’s virginity was closely guarded, and after marriage fidelity to her husband was of utmost importance. Violating a young woman’s virginity threatened her family’s honor, her reputation, and her ability to find a suitable marriage partner. Among all levels of society a girl’s first marriage was arranged. During the reign of Augustus, the minimum age of marriage was set at 12 for girls and 14 for boys. Other legal documents and inscriptional information suggest that first marriages often took place between the ages of 12 and 15 since menarche usually occurred between 13 and 15. Based upon the examination of burial inscriptions, Shaw argues that only elite daughters married in their early teens.199 Among the families who betrothed their daughters for political or financial gain due to an alliance between the families, girls often married as young as the legal age of 12. Some of these girls were even married prior to the onset of menstruation, and these marriages were usually consummated.200 There is evidence that Jewish girls married between 12 and 18,201 though Ilan has found evidence that even women older than 20 were still considered marriageable.202 The same seems to be true of girls from lower-class families and Christian families, who married on average at age 17. Shaw states that this is a reflection of their social status rather than any particular Christian beliefs. He considers the poor quality of epigraphical inscriptions evidence that many Christians were part of the lower class of Roman society, and thus Christian girls married later than elite Roman girls.203 While young women married in their teens, men usually did 197. Ross Shepard Kraemer, Her Share of the Blessings: Women’s Religions among Pagans, Jews, and Christians in the Greco-Roman World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 23. In the Heraea, which were games held every four years in honor of the goddess, unmarried girls competed in races with one another. Kraemer suggests that these games may have been an ancient equivalent of the “beauty contest or marriage market” (ibid., 28). 198. Ibid. 199. Brent D. Shaw, “The Age of Roman Girls at Marriage: Some Reconsiderations,” JRS 77 (1987): 43. 200. Pomeroy, Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves, 164. 201.  David W. Chapman, “Marriage and Family in Second Temple Judaism,” in Marriage and Family in the Biblical World, ed. Ken M. Campbell (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2003), 186 cited by Mary Ann Beavis, “The Resurrection of Jephthah’s Daughter: Judges 11.34–40 and Mark 5.21–4, 35–43,” CBQ 72, no. 1 (2010): 57. 202. Ilan, “Jewish Women in Greco-Roman Palestine,” 7. 203. Shaw, “The Age of Roman Girls at Marriage,” 41, 43. On the social status of early Christians, see Carolyn Osiek and David L. Balch, Families in the New Testament

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not marry until they were in their mid-to-late twenties, therefore women tended to marry men who were at least ten years their senior. Mortality Sadly, the toga virilis and marriage would come only for those boys and girls who survived their childhood. Some statistics indicate that only 49 per cent of children reached their fifth birthday and 40 per cent “of the population survived to age 20.”204 There has been a long debate among Roman historians about whether and to what extent Romans were disturbed by the death of their children. Some suggest that Romans could only deal with such pervasive loss by being apathetic toward children, especially young ones.205 Indeed, Roman writers often chided persons for grieving the death of a child and indicated that it was inappropriate to do so. Cicero suggests that some believed that the death of a small child should not be grieved; rather, it should be dealt with calmly because an infant has not yet enjoyed the finer things of life.206 His words are reflected in his own life upon the birth of his daughter Tullia’s son. While Cicero was very fond of his daughter, and he expresses gratitude that she endured childbirth, his remarks about the child, who is on the brink of death, are cool and unemotional: “As for the thing that has been born, it is very weak.”207 But other evidence tells a different story. Writings and inscriptions from monuments commemorating deceased children suggest that parents did mourn their lost offspring, whether the child died by means of disease or as the result of an accident.208 In Consolation to his Wife, Plutarch addresses his and his wife’s grief over the loss of their youngest child and only daughter, Timoxen, whom he had named after his wife. He praises the two-year-old girl’s qualities and likewise commends his wife for being restrained in her grief. The letter illustrates both the customs around the mourning of children and the reality of parents’ grief.209 Most of the funerary monuments are for children from one or two years old to ten years old. Boys were more likely to be commemorated at younger ages than girls were. But by the time a girl was ten years old, and the family began anticipating marriage for her, or she was more useful for the family in terms of the work she could produce, so she was more likely to have a memorial erected in her memory.210 World: Households and House Churches (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1977), especially Chapter 4; Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul, 2nd edn (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003), Chapter 2. 204. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire, 16. 205. Laurence, “Childhood in the Roman Empire,” 21. 206. Cic. Tusc. 1.93–4. 207. Cic. Att. 10.18. 208. Laurence, “Childhood in the Roman Empire,” 21–2. 209. Plutarch Consolation to his Wife. 210. Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, 350–1.



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Funerary inscriptions indicate not only the parents’ grief over the loss of a child, but also their own regrets at losing the benefits of having their child grow to adulthood. Some parents express a sense of being cheated or defrauded when a child died young. The death of a child represented the loss of someone to care for parents in their old age. The loss of a son was also the loss of one to carry on the family name and the loss of an heir. Not infrequently, funerary inscriptions also express the feeling that the child did not live a complete life. For example, if a girl died before marriage, the inscription might suggest that her life was a waste, since she had no children. To be sure, while the death of a child was more common in the ancient world than in most western societies today, the grief over a child’s death was just as present and real for the parents.

Conclusion In this brief introduction to children and childhood in the Roman Empire, I have sought to dispel the commonly held belief that children were considered of no value in the Roman world. This belief is driven in part by the ideology of the paterfamilias as one who could kill his children and by the real practices of infanticide, exposure of infants, and wet-nursing as well as other child-rearing practices. No doubt life was difficult for children in the ancient world, and just surviving childhood was a feat in and of itself. Those who did survive could have multiple variations of what we now term “blended families,” as parents died, divorced, or were away for long periods of time, and guardians, nurses, and step-parents took over childcare. Children might have siblings but be separated in age from them. But children were integral members of their families and society, participating in religious rituals at home and in the community. Some children were able to be educated either at home or in schools, and, of course, children worked and played. The transition from childhood to adulthood varied, based upon age, gender, and cultural background, but ritual frequently marked the transition. In the chapters that follow, I will consider children in early Christian Gospels, beginning with the Gospel of Mark. I will discuss the passages containing children as characters in each Gospel while keeping in mind the lives of children in the Roman Empire.

Chapter 3 T H E R E IG N O F G O D B E L O N G S T O T H E SE : C H I L D R E N I N T H E G O SP E L O F M A R K

My discussion of children in the canonical Gospels will begin with the Gospel of Mark since it is the earliest of the four Gospels, written around 70 c.e., and the one from which Matthew and Luke drew a substantial amount of their material.1 I will first consider the genre of Mark, suggesting that it is most similar to the ancient Greek novel. A discussion of the structure of Mark’s Gospel will follow. Second, I will define one of the major themes in Mark’s Gospel, the reign of God, as well as several minor motifs, including how the settings function, and catchwords that appear across the narrative.2 I will examine Jesus’ actions of healing, teaching, and uncovering the reign of God. As I move into the passages that deal directly with family and children, I will demonstrate how the narratives about children in the Gospel of Mark are firmly rooted within the broader narrative context of the Gospels. Children are not a sideshow nor an afterthought, but they are thoroughly incorporated into the literary world of the Gospel.

Genre and Literary Themes As the Gospel writers sought to tell their respective stories about Jesus, they drew upon well-known literary forms from their historical context. The two ancient genres scholars usually discuss in relationship to the Gospels are the ancient novel and ancient biography. While the Gospel of Mark certainly contains elements of both, it bears a great deal of resemblance to the ancient novel.3 The ancient novel 1. For a discussion about the date and place of writing, see Joel Marcus, Mark 1–8, AB (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002). 2. I do not use “catchwords” in the sense that some redaction critics do, suggesting that a redactor used a particular word to connect two previously unconnected bodies of material. Rather, I see these words as part of the compositional process that creates a flow between the various portions of the narrative, especially if the narrative were composed aurally. 3. Resources on the ancient novel include: Ben Perry, The Ancient Romances: A Literary–Historical Account of Their Origins (Berkeley: University of California Press,

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was fiction that was written and read from the second century b.c.e. until the end of the fourth century c.e. The genre likely developed in Asia Minor with its influence reaching as far as Alexandria.4 The audience of the ancient novel was primarily those from the middle ranks of the society, not the elite, but neither those living at the bottom of the social scale.5 Paul Fullmer hypothesizes that Mark’s audience would have fallen in between, living at or near subsistence as small farmers, laborers, and so on.6 Themes and literary features common in the novels appear in the Gospels, including intense displays of emotion, crowds, courtroom trials, violence and torture, travel, and the divine realm.7 One of the literary techniques in the ancient novel that is especially prominent in Mark’s Gospel is intercalation.8 This is a literary device in which the author splits a story into two parts and inserts a second story in the middle of the first. Mary Ann Tolbert states that Mark uses intercalation “to forge a close symbolic, narrative, or chronological association between the inserted story and its encompassing episode.”9 The inserted story also creates suspense as the audience wonders how the initial story will resolve.10 Two of the passages with children as central characters utilize this technique: the stories of Jairus’ daughter (5.21–43) and Herodias’ daughter (6.6b–29). The Gospel of Mark can be divided into three sections: a prologue—from 1.1–15; division one—from 1.16–10.52; and division two from 11.1–16.8.11 Mark introduces two of the main themes of the Gospel in the prologue: Jesus as the

1967); Tomas Hägg, The Novel in Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991); Bryan P. Reardon, Collected Ancient Greek Novels (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008); Gareth L. Schmeling, The Novel in the Ancient World, rev. edn (Leiden: Brill Academic Publishing, 2003). I am not precluding that Mark contains elements of the biography, but my focus in this chapter will be on the novel. When I discuss the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, I will include those authors’ use of the biography form. 4. S. Wiersma, “The Ancient Greek Novel and its Heroines: A Female Paradox,” Mnemosyne XLIII, no. 43 (1990): 110–11. 5. Paul Fullmer, Resurrection in Mark’s Literary–Historical Perspective (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 12–14; Brigitte Marie Egger, “Women in the Greek Novel: Constructing the Feminine.” Unpublished Dissertation, University of California, Irvine, 1990. 6. Fullmer, Resurrection in Mark’s Literary–Historical Perspective, 13. 7. Ibid., Chapter 1. 8. Ibid., 45. 9. Mary Ann Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s Work in Literary-Historical Perspective (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 1996), 197. 10. Some scholars consider intercalation a sign that foreign material has been inserted into the Gospel. For example see Francis J. Moloney, “Mark 6.6b-30: Mission, the Baptist, and Failure,” CBQ 63, no. 4 (2001): 647. While this may be the case, my interest here is the intercalation as a literary feature of the final form of the Gospel. 11. Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel, 311–15.



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Son of God and the nearness of the reign of God.12 Division one can be further subdivided into two sections: 1.16–8.26 narrates Jesus’ ministry of preaching and healing in Galilee, and 8.27–10.52 chronicles his journey toward Jerusalem.13 Division two recounts Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem, his teaching in the Temple, the increasing opposition against him by the religious authorities, and his passion, death, and resurrection. The narratives containing children are most prominent in division one; as the plot turns toward Jesus’ last week in Jerusalem younger children disappear from visibility, though some young people of unspecified ages remain. Elsewhere I have discussed both the themes of Jesus as the Son of God and the reign of God in some detail, concluding, “the meaning of each unfolds over the course of the Gospel narrative, such that the audience only realizes fully who Jesus is and what the reign of God is at the end of the Gospel.”14 While the theme of the sonship of Jesus certainly impacts the children narratives in Mark, for my purposes here I will focus upon the reign of God.15 As Christopher Marshall has stated, the reign of God in the Gospel of Mark is the “definitive manifestation of [God’s] ruling power to put things right in the world, to bring in the promised age of eschatological salvation,” in which God “is approaching with strength (Isa. 40.10 LXX cf. Mk 1.7) to establish [God’s] dominion over sin, sickness, and hostile powers.”16 In Mark, the reign of God is manifested through Jesus’ actions 12. Throughout this book, I will use the traditional nomenclature and male pronouns for the Gospel writers, while recognizing the historical authors are unknown. “Mark” at times will refer to “the author” and at times to the Gospel as a whole (and so with Matthew, Luke, and John). 13. Donahue and Harrington consider 8.22–6 to be a transitional pericope, placing it in section two but not as a part of the action proper (John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, Sacra Pagina, no. 2 [Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2002], 49). 14. Sharon Betsworth, The Reign of God is Such as These: A Socio-Literary Analysis of Daughters in the Gospel of Mark (London: T&T Clark, 2010). See especially Chapters 4 and 5. 15. While “kingdom” is the traditional language used to translate basilei/a (basileia), I consider that language to be a holdover from a translation tradition that had its roots in a literal kingdom, namely England with the translation of the King James Bible (and its English-language forbearers). The original audience would have understood the basilei/a tou= qeou= to refer to the empire of God in contrast to the empire of Rome. While that perspective is certainly in keeping with the social-historical context of the Gospels, since I am primarily considering the literary context of children in the Gospels (though to be sure within a particular historical context), I prefer “reign” as a way to remind the reader that this entity is not a physical or historical place but a theological concept. I also want to remove the androcentric overtones that are inherent in “kingdom” and “empire.” I will also use “rule” to refer to the same entity at times. 16. Christopher D. Marshall, Faith as a Theme in Mark’s Narrative (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 34.

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of preaching, teaching, and healing; it is a time when all will be as God intends it to be: the paralyzed walk (2.1–12), the leper and chronically ill are healed (1.40–5; 5.24–34), the possessed are freed (5.1–20; 7.24–30; 9.14–29), the blind see (8.22–6; 10.46–52), the hungry are fed (6.30–44; 8.1–10), and the dead are brought back to life (5.35–43). God’s rule on earth has a spatial, temporal, and communal quality: It is something that one can be near (12.34) or enter into (9.47; 10.15; 10.23–5); it precedes Jesus’ life and ministry, yet it is made manifest in his life and ministry and comes to full fruition after his death and resurrection. It is also an entity to which a person can belong. Jesus’ teaching on the family in 3.31–5 establishes that those who are welcomed into the reign of God are those who do the will of God. The parable of the sower follows, broadening that definition with a description of different categories of people and their relationships to the rule of God. With a series of narratives, Mark then illustrates what kind of persons are members of the reign of God. Many of these are persons whom Jesus heals, including children. Therefore, the reign of God is both the community forming around Jesus, the early Christian community, and a future reality—God’s preferred future or the age to come.17 Secrecy is another theme in the Mark’s Gospel in which children are narratively included. The “messianic secret,” in which Jesus deliberately hides his identity, is the central theme in Mark’s theology of hiddenness.18 Related to the messianic secret, though not identical to it, are elements including the hidden nature of the reign of God, which is found most prominently in the parables in Mark 4.19 Of particular interest here is Jesus’ commands to silence in the miracle stories, another aspect of the hidden nature of the reign of God.20 One of the first persons Jesus heals is a leper, whom he strictly orders to tell no one of what has occurred (1.43).21 This command will recur in other scenes, including one with a child (5.43). Adela Yarbro Collins, however, argues that the silence commands do not function to protect Jesus’ identity; rather it is a rhetorical device demonstrating Jesus’ inability to conceal his supernatural power.22 In other words, try though he may, Jesus cannot, in fact, conceal the inbreaking of the reign of God. There are also several leitmotifs and literary features throughout the Gospel included in the narratives containing children. In particular, I will focus upon 17. See Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia–a Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 472. 18.  See Marcus for a brief historical overview of the messianic secret (Mark 1–8, 525–7). 19. Greg Steele, “The Theology of Hiddenness in the Gospel of Mark: An Exploration of the Messianic Secret and Corollaries,” ResQ 54, no. 3 (2012): 169. 20. 1.44; 5.43; 7.36; 8.26 (ibid., 169). 21. Jesus’ command to the man, “See that you say nothing to anyone,” does not result in the man’s silence. This is in contrast to the women at the end of Mark who are told to tell the story by the young man in the tomb, but “they said nothing to anyone for they were afraid” (16.8). 22. Collins, Mark, 374.



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the settings and a series of catchwords. The Gospel narrative shifts back and forth between public and private settings. The public settings include villages, synagogues, deserted places between villages, Jerusalem, and the Temple. Most of Jesus’ healings and exorcisms, conflicts with the religious authorities, and teachings occur in public settings. The private settings include a mountain and the Mount of Olives, where Jesus teaches his disciples apart from the crowds. One significant setting for Jesus’ healings, meals, and teachings is the house. This setting is at times a public setting and at times a private one, depending upon whether the crowds are present or whether there are only a few disciples.23 It is symbolic of the new community forming around Jesus (3.31–5). The house is both the place where children are healed (5.35–43), and where Jesus teaches about children (9.33–7; 10.10–16). Several catchwords in the Gospel of Mark appear in stories about children as well. Hearing (a0kou/w, akouō) is a significant theme in Mark’s Gospel, which is stressed through the repetition of the word forty-four times. It is a key way that people learn about Jesus and his healing activities and teachings. Early in the Gospel many come to Jesus for healing because they hear about what Jesus is doing (3.7–8). Likewise, the woman from the crowd had heard about Jesus and thus came to touch his garment (5.27). Yet in the parables, in Chapter 4, in which the author uses forms of the verb “to hear” 13 times, Jesus draws a distinction between those who hear with ears that truly listen, that is, those who understand the message of the Gospel and respond positively, and those who hear but do not understand. Thus, for Mark, hearing is a key component for the unfolding of the reign of God.24 Another key word worth noting is “unclean” (a0ka/qartov, akathartos). Several of the persons whom Jesus heals or exorcises are inhabited by spirits that cause distress to the person. Many of these spirits are referred to as “unclean.” In fact, all eleven uses of this word in the Gospel are in reference to “unclean spirits.”25 In this sense, unclean refers to “that which may not be brought into contact with the divinity.”26 Closely related to the word “unclean” is the phrase “cast out, send away” (e0kba/llw, ekballō).27 The majority of the times that it appears in the Gospel (12 out of 18 times) it refers to “casting out” demons. When it occurs in 23. Joanna Dewey, David Rhoads, and Donald Michie, Mark as Story: An Introduction to the Narrative of a Gospel, 3rd edn (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2012), 70–1. 24.  This theme is obviously in tension with the theme of secrecy. See Collins, Mark, 303; and Marcus, Mark 1–8, 526. 25. 1.23, 26 [two times]; 3.11, 30; 5.2, 8, 13; 6.7; 7.25; 9.25. Interestingly, though many commentators state that the woman from the crowd (commonly known as the “woman with the flow of blood”) is “unclean,” Mark uses neither a0ka/qartov, which can also have the sense of ritually unclean, nor koino/v/koino/w (defiled/defile; unclean) in reference to the woman. 26. BADG, 3rd edn, s.v. a0ka/qartov. 27. 1.12, 34, 39, 43; 3.15, 22, 23; 5.40; 6.13; 7.26; 9.18, 28, 38, 47; 11.15; 12.8; including two in the longer ending of Mark, 16.9, 17.

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this sense, it is usually either in a summary statement of Jesus’ activities or one of the characters is referring to casting out demons—the scribes (3.22), Jesus (3.23), or the disciples (9.28). The two specific characters who have demons or spirits “cast out” are children: the Syrophoenician girl (7.26) and the boy with the unclean spirit (9.18, 28). sw|/zw (sōzō) appears 15 times in Mark, including in the narrative of Jarius’ daughter (5.23).28 The word literally means “to save” in the sense of being released from a life-threatening illness, or cured.29 It is also used in Mark with regard to eternal life or entering the reign of God, that is, in the sense of “being saved.”30 The word occurs both in Jesus’ healing and his teaching. The line between “saved” and “healed” in Mark’s Gospel is quite faint, and both point to the larger reality of the reign of God, such that the physical restoration of the body (healing) and being saved (entering the reign of God) express nearly the same reality.31 There are certainly other themes in the Gospel to which I could point, such as discipleship and suffering, but these will suffice to demonstrate my main point: Children are firmly embedded in the Gospel narrative through main themes and motifs. I will now move into examining the particular texts in the Gospel in which children appear primarily as characters. Unlike the other Gospels, which refer to both non-adult children and children in the sense of offspring in Jesus’ sermons and teaching, including parables, Mark limits the role of children to “real” kids who interact with Jesus in some way. As I mentioned in the introduction, I will discuss the particular terms as I encounter them in the narratives. Mark’s use of te/knon (teknon, child or offspring), however, is ambiguous. It occurs nine times in the Gospel and most often it seems to refer to child or children in the sense of “offspring” rather than “non-adult child.”32 However, the use in 2.5 presents a challenge for childist interpreters.33 In the story of the paralytic, after Jesus heals the person who was paralyzed, he says, “Child, your sins are forgiven.”34 Cornelia Horn and John W. Martens interpret “child” as potentially referring to a non-adult child because te/knon can refer to a young person.35 I would instead interpret Jesus’ use of te/knon as a term of affection or endearment, just as he calls the women from the crowd “daughter” (5.34). In addition, the narrator does not specify that 28.  3.4; 5.23, 28, 34; 6.56; 8.35; 10.26, 52; 13.13, 20; 15.30 (three times); and in the longer ending of Mark, 16.16. 29. Marcus states that this would be the common meaning in the larger Greco-Roman context (Mark 1–8, 356). See also Collins, Mark, 279. 30. 8.35; 10.26; 13.13. 31. Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 101. 32. 2.5; 7.27 (two times); 10.24, 29, 30; 12.19; 13.12 (two times). 33. For a definition of “childist interpretation” see Chapter 1. 34. The NRSV translators have chosen to render the Greek as “son” here. 35. Cornelia B. Horn and John W. Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me: Childhood and Children in Early Christianity (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2009), 92, 262.



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parents brought the person to Jesus. The ones who bring him are simply referred to as “they” and “the four carrying.” Since other non-adult children are brought to Jesus specifically by parents, and since Jesus tells the paralytic to “return to your home,” suggesting the house he owns, it seems that Mark is considering the paralytic to be an adult rather than a young person. The healing of the paralytic does, however, reveal an important aspect about healing in the Gospel of Mark, which will impact the healing narratives containing children. The paralytic is brought to Jesus by an undefined set of four individuals. Perhaps they were slaves in an individual’s household; they could also be friends or family members. When Jesus sees the faith of those who brought the person, he pronounces healing upon the paralytic.36 Thus, Mark demonstrates that one person’s faith is efficacious for the healing of another. This will be apparent as well in the healing of three children later in the Gospel: the daughter of Jairus (5.21–4; 35–43), the daughter of the Syrophoenician woman (7.24–30), and the boy with the unclean spirit (9.14–29). Though children’s family structures may have varied in the Hellenistic world, as James Murphy points out, they were always under the supervision of a caretaker.37 The children in Mark’s Gospel are depicted in this manner as well. Those whom Jesus heals, as well as the daughter of Herodias, are all presented within the context of their families—a father, mother, or mother and stepfather is present or acting on the child’s behalf. Therefore, before I turn to these specific passages, I will first discuss how the Markan Jesus defines family and how the various character groups in the Gospel function, laying the groundwork for understanding the role of children in the Gospel.

The Reign of God and New Family of Jesus The reign of God that Jesus inaugurates in Mark’s Gospel is a “new social world in the making.”38 It begins with the call of the disciples (1.16–20; 2.13–14) and Jesus’ naming of “the Twelve” (3.13–19), those who will become his closest followers. The definition of who are members of the reign is further clarified in Chapter 3, when Jesus is in a house teaching his disciples. His biological family is outside and begins calling for him (3.31). They have heard of his activities and the crowds following him, and they go to find him, afraid he has gone out of his mind (3.21). When the crowd around Jesus tells him that his mother and brothers are outside asking for him, he asks who his mother and brothers are. He looks at 36.  The text does not indicate if “their faith” includes the paralytic’s faith as well. I would argue that since elsewhere in Mark “faith” (whether specified or implied through actions) refers to one who is the supplicant and not the one in need of healing that this is the case here as well. 37. A. James Murphy, Kids and Kingdom: The Precarious Presence of Children in the Synoptic Gospels (Eugene: Pickwick Publications, 2013), 51. 38. Collins, Mark, 237.

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those gathered around him in the house and declares, “Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother” (3.35). In this way, Jesus expands the notion of who is family. It is not necessarily those to whom one is related biologically but primarily those who act in accordance with God’s will. While Jesus does not proclaim a total rejection of his family or the biological family at this point, it sets the bar for “who’s in” and “who’s out.” Mark explicitly describes Jesus’ family as “outside” (3.31) versus those in the house around him (3.34). In addition, this scene is a part of an intercalation, in which the inside of the “sandwich” is about a house divided against itself (3.22–30). This makes it clear where Jesus’ family is at this point regarding doing the will of God, though it does not preclude them from joining his new family in the future. To be sure, Jesus’ teaching about family breaks with the norms for the Hellenistic world. As Jesus teaches the crowd, he begins by speaking about brothers,39 yet by the end of his teaching, he instead refers to the individual brother and sister. Thus, “sisters” are explicitly included and approved of as being among those who are “doing the will of God.”40 The female siblings of the family are equal to the male siblings, which was not the cultural norm.41 In addition, Jesus displaces the father as head of the family. There is no mention of a father within this passage concerning family. The Hellenistic society had great respect for the father, the paterfamilias, and he had great control over those in his power. However, in the reign of God, Jesus’ new family, God will be the head rather than a human father. The dominant cultural narrative of the family is being reshaped into a new reality. Following this teaching on the family, Jesus teaches the crowd by the sea about the nature of the reign of God. In the parable of the sower (4.3–9), Jesus compares four types of soil and the way seed reacts in each type of soil to four types of persons who hear the word of God, and their reactions. As Mary Ann Tolbert has described, the character groups in the Gospel correspond to the various types of soil: The Pharisees, scribes, and Jerusalem religious leaders are the seed sown along the path that is eaten by birds. The controversy with the scribes has been introduced prior to this parable, so that the reader readily recognizes this type of soil.42 The rocky soil refers to those who initially accept the word, endure for 39. Though the Greek a0delfoi/ (adelphoi) as a masculine plural form can refer to a mixed-gender group, so it could mean “brothers and sisters.” 40. Emerson B. Powery, “The Gospel of Mark,” in True to Our Native Land, ed. Brian Blount et al. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 129. 41. In addition, normally the disciples of a popular teacher of the law or philosophy and the teachers themselves would have been male. Suggesting that females could also be disciples, as Jesus’ definition of family does, would be a further divergence from the norm (Pheme Perkins, “The Gospel of Mark,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, ed. Leander E. Keck, vol. 8 [Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994], 567). 42. David Rhoads makes the important point, which I also assume throughout this book, that these are characters in Mark’s narrative world and ought not to be considered representative of Jewish leaders in the first century or now (David Rhoads, “Social



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a time, but then fall away when hardship comes along.43 Mark indicates that the disciples are among the rocky soil because, like the seed that initially springs to life, they “immediately” follow Jesus. The wordplay on Simon’s nickname, “Peter,” which means “rock,” also signals that they are going to be among the rocky soil.44 The thorny soil refers to those for whom the word is choked out by the cares of the world, and it is exemplified by Herod.45 The good soil refers to those who respond positively to Jesus. They are the minor characters, including most of the parents and children in the Gospel. They encounter Jesus briefly and then disappear from the narrative. The parable of the sower makes it clear that the authorities, elites, and even the disciples will not be the ones who recognize the reign of God inaugurated in the person of Jesus. Rather it will be the seed that falls in the good soil, the minor characters, who will bear the fruits of the God’s reign.

The Child of Jairus Mark 4.35–8.26 is a tightly woven narrative section that contains the accounts of four daughters (5.21–43; 6.14–29 and 7.24–30); hence I refer to these passages as the daughter cycle in Mark. The first narrative in the daughter cycle contains two characters, each referred to as “daughter,” an adult woman and a prepubescent girl. The story of the girl will be my focus here, and I will show how her story is closely connected to motifs earlier in the Gospel. It also foreshadows events to come. As the scene opens, Jesus is by the sea, where several important events have already taken place in the Gospel.46 The setting specifically links this narrative to the previous exorcism (5.1–20). A synagogue leader named Jairus comes to Jesus, begging him to heal his daughter.47 While most of the authorities in Mark’s Gospel do not understand Jesus’ message, Jairus is one of three who does.48 He is also the first of three parents who request healing for their child. In all three cases the sick child cannot seek healing for herself or himself, and in each case the parent must overcome obstacles in the process of securing Jesus’ help.49 Criticism: Crossing Boundaries,” in Mark and Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies, eds Janice Capel Anderson and Stephen D. Moore, 2nd edn [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008], 157). 43. Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel, 156. 44. Ibid., 154. 45. Ibid., 158. 46. For example, 1.16–20; 2.13–15; 4.1–34 (Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 172). 47. Jairus and Bartimaeus are the only two persons named in miracle stories in Mark (ibid., 713), but the name Jairus is not in all manuscripts. 48.  The other two include the scribe whom Jesus says is “not far from the reign of God” (12.28–34), and the centurion who witnesses Jesus’ death and proclaims, “Truly this man was God’s son” (15.39) (Dewey, Rhoads, and Michie, Mark as Story, 120–1). 49. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 365.

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The father falls before Jesus, begging him to heal his daughter. He does not claim that his daughter is dead, but rather that she is “at her last;” she is terminally ill and near death.50 This is not the stereotypical paterfamilias, who supposedly viewed children as disposable entities. Rather, Jairus is a parent who is going to extremes to save his daughter’s life. First, he has sought out Jesus, one whom most of his peers in the narrative have rejected. Second, his posture as he approaches Jesus is one of humility, falling before Jesus in a posture of petition.51 Third, and most importantly, he calls the girl by an affectionate term, “little daughter” (quga/trion, thugatrion, 5.23). This term is unique to Mark’s version of the story and appears in only one other place in the Gospel, when the woman from Syrophoenicia comes to Jesus begging healing for her “little daughter” (7.25).52 He specifically asks Jesus to lay his hands on her so that she might be cured (swqh|=, sōthē), in the sense of deliverance from a chronic illness. The woman will utter the word in her soliloquy in the same sense (5.28).53 In 5.34, it will take on the meaning of “healed,” a sense akin to “being saved.”54 Jesus goes with Jairus and a large crowd follows them. At this point the intercalated story of the woman from the crowd begins. I will make only a few brief comments on this portion of the story, since my focus here is on the child in the narrative.55 The story of the sick young girl and the ill woman are closely intertwined, but Mark provides a great deal more information about the woman than he does about the girl. The woman has no man to define her as Jairus’ daughter does, and thus the narrator must supply all of the information the reader needs to understand this story. The descriptor of the woman’s condition is the longest found in the Gospel of Mark, with the exception perhaps of the Gerasene man who is possessed by an unclean spirit (5.1–20). The woman is connected to the girl by the desperate nature of each one’s condition and their need for healing. The length of time the woman’s condition has lasted is the same number of years that the girl has been alive—12 years. Both the woman and the 50.  The Greek term e0sxa/twv (eschatōs) means “last,” but its use here as e0sxa/twv e2xei (eschatōs echei) is an idiomatic expression similar to the Latin phrase in extremis. It literally means “has it terminally” (ibid., 356). 51. See Collins, Mark, 279. 52. Matthew substitutes the term quga/thr, for quga/trion (9.18); Luke also uses quga/thr, but Jairus does not say the word, rather the narrator reports the action (8.41–2). 53. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 356. 54.  sw|\zw will also have this sense in 6.56. In 10.52, it is also used in a healing story; Jesus tells the blind man “Go, your faith has made you well,” language identical to his pronouncement to the woman (5.34). By the end of the Gospel, the chief priests and scribes will use it mockingly as Jesus hangs on the cross (15.30–1). 55. For an overview of previous scholarship on this portion of the text see Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 3–8. One interesting study since then is by Candida R. Moss, who takes the unique approach of comparing the woman with Jesus from the perspective of both having “porous bodies” (“The Man with the Flow of Power: Porous Bodies in Mark 5.25–34,” JBL 129, no. 3 [2010]: 507–19).



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girl are referred to as “daughter.” In the case of the woman, however, she is depicted as one without family.56 Jesus uses the term “daughter” affectionately, much as he called the paralytic “child.”57 This term, along with his commendation of her faith, draws the woman into his family of those who do the will of God. Interestingly, although Jesus has accepted “sisters” into his family, he does not call her “sister.”58 In fact, no one in the Gospel of Mark is put on the equal level of being a sibling with Jesus; rather, all those who are members of his family are “child,” “daughter,” or “children” (10.24). Hence, the woman is kept in a subordinate position vis-à-vis Jesus when he calls her “daughter.” In a dramatic narrative collision, the story of the two daughters comes to a climax. Just as Jesus pronounces that the woman’s faith has saved her and he calls her “daughter,” people come from the house of Jairus stating that his daughter is dead. The announcement of the girl’s death is bracketed on one side by Jesus’ declaration of the woman’s faith (5.34) and on the other side by his admonition to Jairus not to fear but to have faith (5.36). The woman’s faith is explicitly the example for Jairus, but Jesus does not wait for Jairus to respond; rather he continues on to the leader’s house. He allows no one to accompany him except for Peter, James, and John. This is the first instance in Mark in which these three disciples are taken aside by Jesus for a special purpose. The three will become his inner circle and be present with him at the Transfiguration (9.2), on the Mount of Olives (13.3; along with Andrew), and in the Garden of Gethsemane before his passion (14.33). Another crowd is present at the house—mourners who have already begun wailing for the girl. As Jesus approaches the crowd, the narrative begins to focus in more sharply upon the child who now apparently lies dead in her room. When the mourners laugh at Jesus for suggesting that the child is only sleeping and is not dead, he ejects the mourners from the house. The verb used here is e0kba/llw, the 56. Adela Yarbo Collins states that the ailment is “no doubt” gynecological (Mark, 280). Scholars commonly refer to her as being shunned from the community due to her condition based upon readings of Leviticus 15.25–30. Shaye J. D. Cohen has demonstrated, however, that neither a menstruating woman nor a woman with a vaginal discharge was excluded from the community in the Second Temple Period (“Menstruants and the Sacred in Judaism and Christianity,” in Women’s History and Ancient History, ed. Sarah B. Pomeroy [Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991], 273–99). As I noted above, Mark does not use language of “uncleanness” or “impurity.” A 12-year illness, however, certainly does have the potential to isolate a person from family and community. Primarily, however, Mark highlights the woman’s poverty, resulting from her outlay of resources for various physicians. 57.  In the Hebrew Bible and later Jewish literature “my daughter” is a common respectful and affectionate way to address a female regardless of her age or family relationship, for example, Ruth 2.8; 3.10 (Marcus, Mark 1–8, 360). 58. “Sister” was also used as an affectionate address between adults who were not biological siblings. See Tobit 5.21; 7.11, 15. Edna also calls her son-in-law Tobias “brother” (10.12).

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same verb often used for exorcisms, including in the story of the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter.59 Thus, Mark links the story of Jairus’ daughter not only to Jesus “casting out” or sending away the man with leprosy whom he healed (1.40–5), but also to the other young daughter who will be healed (7.26). He then takes the child’s mother and father and the disciples with him, and he goes into the room where the girl is lying. When he enters the room with the mother and father, it is startling to realize that the girl in her death may have been all alone. Unlike her days as an unmarried girl, being closely guarded by her mother or other caregivers, in her moments after death her mother apparently abandons her for the comfort of the mourners. Jesus takes the girl by the hand, just as her father requested and in the same manner as Simon’s mother-in-law (1.29–31). He says in Aramaic, “Talitha cum,” which Mark immediately translates as “Little girl, I say to you, get up!”60 The use of the Aramaic phrase has the effect of increasing “the sense of mystery about the miracle that is about to occur.”61 Mark will again include an Aramaic word when Jesus’ utters “Ephphatha” to heal the man who is deaf and has impaired speech (7.34). These are the only two occurrences of Aramaic in a healing story, and both take place in private locations.62 At this point the girl is immediately healed and begins to walk, and Mark then discloses that she is 12 years old. Jesus commands those gathered to silence and to give her something to eat. The first command continues the “secrecy” motif in the Gospel, while the latter demonstrates that the girl is really alive and not an apparition or ghost.63 The food motif also links this 59. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 372. 60.  Many commentators at this point also discuss that the girl would have been impure since she was dead and that would in turn defile Jesus. For examples, see Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 3 n. 11. Amy-Jill Levine, however, rightly states in her discussion of the Matthean parallel that impurity is not the point of the story, rather it is the healing of previously ill individuals (“Discharging Responsibility: Matthean Jesus, Biblical Law, and Hemorrhaging Woman,” in A Feminist Companion to Matthew, ed. Amy-Jill Levine [Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press, 2001], 77). Murphy points out that these are the only two words that Jesus speaks to any child in the Gospels. Otherwise, he is not depicted as speaking to children, or teaching them (Kids and Kingdom, 133). 61. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 363. See also Collins, Mark, 285–6. 62.  In the later story, Jesus will also command silence upon those present. The secluded location, “mysterious words,” and command to silence, each found in both scenes, are probably not accidental. Marcus, drawing upon Theissen, says, “in the magical papyri, injunctions to silence frequently occur before or after occult formulae, in order to guard their secrecy” (Marcus, Mark 1–8, 363). These Aramaic words are in contrast to the Aramaic phrase Jesus utters in the public space of his crucifixion (Mk 15.34), the moment at which the reign of God begins to come into fruition—a moment of extreme pain turned into hope and healing. I appreciate Shannon Rodenberg drawing my attention to this point. 63. Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel, 170.



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narrative to the scene of the “dancing daughter” (6.14–29) and the feeding miracle that follows (6.30–44).64 Yet aside from her age at the end of the story, Mark provides very little information about the girl. The nature of the girl’s illness is not described, unlike in the previous two healing stories. She is nameless, but that was not uncommon in antiquity.65 It was both an androcentric world that privileged male experience over female experience and a literary culture that did not disclose the names of respectable females, among whom Jairus’ daughter would certainly be counted. The exception to this rule was well-known females, such as Herodias, Mary the mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene. Information about her can only be extracted from what is known about her father. In the Hellenistic world, this was an appropriate manner in which to introduce a child, particularly one who was still under the power of the father. From the description of her father’s initial encounter with Jesus, she clearly is a cherished child in her family. She has both her mother and father living. The family is well to do, so she may have had some level of education. They are also a pious Jewish family. Though she would not have been required to attend the festivals in Jerusalem, she may have done so with her family. In the synagogue, though, she would likely have sat quietly, perhaps wishing she could read the Torah as the boys did. Likely, the most important aspect of the description of the girl is her age. As a 12-year-old, she was on the brink of puberty. Her family may have already betrothed her, though she would probably not marry for a few more years. Since she is depicted as an only child,66 they may have anticipated the children she would eventually bear would carry on their family traditions. Despite the fact that Mark provides only limited information about the girl herself, narratively she is the central focus of the action at the end of this passage. The author maintains a focus on the girl in 5.39–43 by referring to her directly seven times: She is called “child” or “little child” (paidi/on, paidion) four times (5.39, 40 [twice], 41); Jesus calls to her “Talitha cum,” and “little girl” (kora/sion, korasion, 5.41, 42).67 The girl’s resuscitation also foreshadows Jesus’ resurrection. As mentioned, the three disciples Jesus brings with him into her room are also present at the Transfiguration and in Gethsemane; both scenes point to Jesus’ resurrection. The language around the healing of the girl makes this connection even more concrete. In 5.41, Jesus commands the girl to “get up” or “rise,” using a form of e0gei/rw (egeirō), which also can mean awake from sleep. Elsewhere, Mark uses the passive forms of e0gei/rw to refer to the resurrection of the dead (12.26), and to Jesus’ resurrection (16.6).68 However, in v. 42, when the girl “gets up,” the 64. Collins, Mark, 286. 65. In addition, as mentioned, very few people are named in any of Mark’s miracles stories. 66. Luke will clarify this in his version of the story with the insertion specifically of the adjective monogenh\v (monogenēs, only, 8.42). 67. Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 110. 68. Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 178.

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language shifts to a0ne/sth (anestē). Forms of the verb a0ni/sthmi (anistēmi, raise up, arise) are used in the three passion predictions (8.31; 9.31; 10.34) and after the Transfiguration when Jesus commands his disciples not to tell anyone of the event until after he was raised from the dead (9.9). The linguistic connections demonstrate that the same power that raised Jesus from the dead was also active in bringing the daughter of Jairus back to life.69 Joel Marcus observes that this may be the central reason for Jesus’ secrecy command to those present for the healing: If the healing of Jairus’ daughter foreshadows Jesus’ resurrection, that healing is, in a sense, premature at this point in the story. It must therefore remain a secret until Jesus himself has arisen, just as the Transfiguration, which shows Jesus in his resurrection glory, must stay under wraps until the Son of Man has risen from the dead (9.9).70

This girl’s story is the first narrative in Mark about a child and is a part of one of the lengthiest, most well-crafted narratives in the Gospel. The story includes motifs, settings, and catchwords found earlier in the Gospel, insuring that the audience will understand that children whom Jesus heals are an integral part of the Gospel narrative. It also looks forward to what is yet to come: The description of the girl’s illness, that she was “near her last,” faintly echoes the reversal of the social order of which Jesus will speak in 9.35 and 10.31: “the last shall be first,” and the “least/ greatest.” 71 The diminutives in Greek paidi/on and kora/sion anticipate Jesus’ teaching about the “little ones” in 9.42. And finally, her story foreshadows Jesus’ own resurrection.

The Child of the Syrophoenician Woman At this time, I am going to move on to discuss the other girl whom Jesus heals, or, more specifically, exorcises: The Syrophoenician girl (7.24–30). I will then return to the narrative of the Herodias’ daughter in 6.14–29. The second parent who comes to Jesus on behalf of a child is a Greek woman from the region of Syrophoenicia. There are clear echoes back to the story in 5.21–43. Like Jairus, the woman has a little daughter (7.25) who needs healing, and she comes and bows down at Jesus’ feet; like the woman from the crowd, she comes without a male companion, and she comes to Jesus because she has heard about what he is doing. Like Jairus’ daughter, she meets Jesus in a house, a private setting in keeping with ancient notions of the proper place for a respectable woman.72 Due to these 69. Susan Miller, Women in Mark’s Gospel (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 62; Marcus, Mark 1–8, 370–1. 70. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 373. 71. Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1988), 202–3. 72. Mary Ann Tolbert, “Mark,” in The Women’s Bible Commentary, ed. Sharon Ringe



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similarities between the previous parent who requested healing from Jesus, and the woman from the crowd who received healing as well, the audience will likely expect that Jesus will also heal this child. The obstacle would seem to be that Jesus and the woman are not in the same place as the child, so there might be a delay due to travel, just as in the case with Jairus’ daughter. But the obstacle instead turns out to be Jesus. Mark subtly suggests that something different is going to happen here with the introduction of further information about the woman: “Now [de\, de] the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin.” de\ is a weak conjunction which may function like “and,” or it may suggest a slight contrast with what has gone before, such as “now” or “but.”73 It can also add a new feature to the story, almost as an aside, as it does here. The inclusion of de\ and the information about the woman that follows suggest something about the woman’s background affects Jesus’ response. In fact, Jesus does not agree to go with her, but instead challenges her request. He tells her that it is not right to take the children’s bread, meaning that which was given to the Jewish people, and throw it to the dogs, meaning the Gentiles. Commentators have performed a variety of linguistic gymnastics to avoid the implication that Jesus threw a racial or ethnic slur at the woman, calling her child and her people dogs (which is still an insult in the Middle East today).74 The woman cleverly retorts that even the dogs eat the children’s crumbs from under the master’s table. Jesus’ reluctance to heal the girl is confusing. As others have pointed out, Jesus has already healed a Gentile, so that it cannot merely be her race that leads to his rebuff.75 He has already healed a child at the request of a parent, and he has already provided healing for women. I do not believe that Jesus is simply testing her faith, trying to make it more manifest.76 As Jennifer Glancy argues, it is not any single aspect of her identity, gender, religion, region where she lives, Greek identity, Syrophoenician heritage, relative wealth and privilege, or, I would add, that she is an apparently single mother asking on behalf of her female child; rather “the complexity of the woman’s cultural identity is in play when … she falls at Jesus’ feet.”77 He has not yet encountered someone like her, and it initially trips up his worldview. Moreover, unlike in the encounter with Jairus’ daughter, Jesus and Carol Newsom, 1st edn (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 269. 73.  Herbert Weir Smyth, Greek Grammar (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984), 644. 74. See Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 11–12 for a discussion of various ways this verse has been understood. 75.  Joel F. Williams, Other Followers of Jesus (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 119. 76. Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel, 185. 77. Jennifer A. Glancy, “Jesus, the Syrophoenician Woman, and Other First Century Bodies,” Biblical Interpretation 18, no. 4–5 (2010): 360; cf. David Rhoads, who argues that gender is not essential to the episode as it is in the scene of the woman from the crowd (“Jesus and the Syrophoenician Woman in Mark : A Narrative-Critical Study,” JAAR 62, no. 2 [1994]: 367).

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does not even go to the place where this child is lying. On one hand, this should not surprise the audience. The healing of the woman from the crowd has demonstrated that Jesus can heal without willfully touching the person, as long as faith is present.78 The exorcism-at-a-distance of the girl depicts Jesus’ power as even greater than in the previous scene.79 Jesus’ compassion has stretched far enough to exorcise the demon from her, but not so far that he is willing to accompany a single Greek woman to her home to touch her female child. While the Markan Jesus is certainly a boundary breaker in many regards, there are still some cultural boundaries that he will not transgress.80 Yet as Elizabeth Struthers Malbon says, “Mark seems to go out of the way to present Jesus learning from a Gentile woman in a Gentile place about the inclusivity of God’s realm.”81 As unkind and difficult as Jesus’ words and actions are in this passage, narratively, the exchange is a part of Mark’s literary and linguistic mastery that in its own “little” way keeps the focus on the girl. Though the girl only appears at the end of the story, at home on the bed with the demon vanquished, she is the one around whom the action revolves. Though a silent, mostly absent character, she is nevertheless the emotional focus of the story. Mark keeps the focus of the narrative on the girl, despite her lack of physical presence or voice, through the use of diminutives. The girl is first introduced as quga/trion (7.25) and at the end of the passage she is called paidi/on (7.30). In between these two diminutives are six other diminutives: daimo/nion (daimonion, demon, vv. 26, 29); kuna/rion (kunarion, dog, vv. 27, 28);82 yixi/on (pshichion, crumbs, v. 28); and paidi/on (v. 28).83 When Jesus speaks of “children” (te/knon) and “bread” (a2rton, or food) the woman instead speaks of “little children” and “crumbs.” Thus, she cleverly takes control of the conversation, retaining the focus on her daughter. Her “little daughter” is among the “little children” who deserve a “little crumb” from Jesus. Acknowledging that he has been bested, Jesus sends the woman away declaring that her daughter is now free from the demon. The woman goes home and finds the girl on the bed, the demon (daimo/nion, the final diminutive in v. 30), gone

78. Perkins, “The Gospel of Mark,” 589. 79. Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 234. 80.  This is one of the tensions in the Gospels regarding children. While the children are given more prominence in the Gospels than one would expect from the culture, there are still discursive elements of the text that keep them marginal or even re-marginalizes them. 81. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, “Gospel of Mark,” in Women’s Bible Commentary, eds Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H. Ringe, and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Twentieth-Anniversary Edition (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2012), 484. 82. See Collins for a distinction between Jesus’ colloquial use of “dog” as scavenging animals versus the woman’s shift to referring to domestic dogs who have access to the family meal times and food (Mark, 367). 83. In many cases, the words no longer had the force of the diminutive in Hellenistic Greek. Mark is not referring to a “little demon,” for example, which also suggests he was not necessarily referring to a “little dog” or puppy, as some scholars have asserted.



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from her daughter. These diminutives anticipate Jesus’ teachings about children and “little ones” in Mark 9 and 10. The girl’s story is connected to other portions of Mark’s Gospel through a variety of means. First, Mark has already made it known that people from the region of Tyre and Sidon had heard about Jesus and were going to him for healing (3.8). Although Jesus wants to remain hidden while in Tyre, he cannot. The girl’s mother hears about Jesus and comes to him. The location is again the private setting of a house. The girl has an unclean spirit, which has previously been used to describe the condition of the Gerasene man (5.1–20). That story has one of the most detailed descriptions of a person’s aliment in Mark. The description of the boy who has an unclean spirit in 9.14–29 also provides similar anguishing details. Other demons are depicted as convulsing a man (1.23, 26) and crying out when they recognize Jesus (3.11). Though Mark does not describe the girl’s condition in detail, if it was anything like the man’s or boy’s situation, it is not difficult to understand why her mother is so desperate.84 When the girl is healed, or exorcised, the verb is “cast out,” which has already appeared frequently in the Gospel, most often in relationship to casting out unclean spirits and demons. Susan Miller states that this “violent verb” expresses the force necessary to free the girl from the unclean spirit. After her healing, she is thrown on the bed, indicating the intense struggle that has taken place.85 The most striking connections are to the story of Jairus’ daughter. Like Jairus’ daughter, this girl is described first as a “little daughter” (quga/trion), then a “daughter” (quga/thr), and finally as a “child,” or “little child” (paidi/on). The similarity in terminology might suggest that the Greek girl and Jairus’ daughter are about the same age, 12 years old. In addition, each girl also clearly has a parent who is very concerned about her well-being. The Greek mother is concerned to the point of engaging an unknown man in a verbal joust. Yet despite the mother’s apparent care for her daughter, the girl is isolated, away from the protective gaze of her mother, as her mother seeks the help of a healer.86 The status of the mother provides some limited information about the girl. Designating the woman as Greek means she is a “Greek-oriented woman alien to Israel’s life … (polytheist).”87 Glancy states this indicates that the woman was “in a thoroughly Hellenized and therefore privileged household. ‘Greek’ functioned as a marker of cultivated and privileged ethnicity that is consistent with an identity as Syrophoenician by descent.”88 The woman’s wit and retort could also indicate 84.  See Miller, Women in Mark’s Gospel, 94. She also notes that the man was abandoned by his community, while the Greek woman refuses to abandon her girl in a culture in which girls were abandoned more often than boys. 85. Ibid., 95. 86. For the motif of isolation in a time of threat among heroines in a variety of Jewish and Greek literature, including the daughters in the Gospels, see Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, especially Chapters 3 and 4. 87. Collins, Mark, 366. 88. Glancy, “Jesus, the Syrophoenician Woman, and Other First Century Bodies,” 352. Sharon Ringe initially considered the woman as among the poor but later reconsidered her

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that she is a woman with some education and social standing.89 Thus, the girl may be from a well-to-do family like Jairus’ daughter; she too is portrayed as the only child in her family. This girl, however, does not have a father mentioned. Her mother may have never been married, or she may be divorced or widowed.90 The mother’s legal status vis-à-vis the father and the father’s legal status would impact the girl’s status.91 This story closes the daughter cycle in Mark’s Gospel, which began with the healing of the woman from the crowd. These healings of girls in Mark’s Gospel, and the broader theme of healing daughters, demonstrate a widening of the definition of “family.” Both the Greek woman and the woman from the crowd heard about Jesus and came in confidence that they would receive healing. Jesus commends both women for their faith, just as he did in the case of the paralytic.92 Jairus also comes to Jesus seeking healing for his daughter. For Mark, then, this confidence or trust in Jesus’ healing powers, and acting upon that trust is what the Gospel writer means by “faith.” Doing the will of God for Mark is having faith in Jesus. Thus each of these adults do the will of God and so become members of Jesus’ family. The younger daughters are also brought into the family as their parents exhibit faith. There is, however, one daughter left to discuss, the daughter of Herodias. Is she able to be a part of this family of God?

The Child of Herodias In contrast to the two parents who come to Jesus seeking healing for their daughters, the daughter of Herodias is instead put in a compromising and potentially dangerous situation by her mother and stepfather. Instead of exhibiting pietas toward her daughter, the sense of “reciprocal affection and obligation position, acknowledging that as a Greek the woman was likely a part of “an elite economic class” (“A Gentile Woman’s Story Revisited: Re-Reading Mark 7.23–31,” in A Feminist Companion to Mark, ed. Amy-Jill Levine with Marianne Blickenstaff [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001], 89). John Donahue and Daniel Harrington also comment that the word used for the bed upon which the girl lies (kli/nh, klinē) could also mean dining couch, which may suggest a higher social status for the woman and her daughter (The Gospel of Mark, 235). 89. Kathleen Corley, Private Women, Public Meals: Social Conflict in the Synoptic Tradition (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993), 101. She also suggests that Mark is portraying a woman who according to Greco-Roman stereotypes “would be considered ‘public’ rather than ‘private,’ promiscuous rather than chaste.” She is “the kind of a woman whom one might meet in the seamier areas of Rome” (98). But Mark downplays these scandalous overtones, focusing on her as a Gentile (102). 90. If she was a widow this might be an indication of her status as a poor and destitute woman, but several elements in the passage indicate otherwise. 91. See Chapter 2 for a discussion of a child’s citizen status. 92. Williams, Other Followers of Jesus, 118.



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shared by family members,”93 the mother in this passage exhibits disregard. In this section, I will demonstrate how the daughter narrative in 6.14–29 is closely connected to the broader Gospel narrative and explicate the relationship of the girl and her family to the reign of God. On the surface, this tale of Herod, Herodias, her daughter, and John the Baptist seems macabre and distasteful. Indeed, this would be at home in the Greek novels, with their emphasis on the gruesome.94 The scene seems to interrupt Mark’s narrative sequence, leading some scholars to dismiss its place in the Gospel.95 Rather than moving forward, as the rest of the Gospel does, this passage moves backward in time as Mark narrates the arrest, imprisonment, and death of John the Baptist that has previously occurred in the narrative time of the Gospel. The episode is the center of an intercalation encompassing 6.6b–30 in which the tale of Herod’s beheading of John the Baptist interrupts the narrative of the disciples’ missionary journey. Drawing upon the character paradigm laid out in the parable of the sower, the intercalation juxtaposes the rocky soil (the disciples) with the thorny soil (Herod). The scenes in this episode are connected to one another by means of the root word “to send,” (a0poste/llw, apostellō, vv. 7, 17, 27; a0po/stolov, apostolos, the apostles or “send out one,” v. 30). Through the use of “sending,” Mark creates a flow in the narrative, linking the actions of Jesus and his disciples with the actions of Herod, events which otherwise seem disconnected. Though Jesus and the disciples are not mentioned from 6.14 until 6.30, Herod’s action of sending recalls for the audience Jesus’ previous sending.96 Herod is shown to be rocky soil because he rejects the words of John, which he heard and initially responded to positively, in favor of the cares of the world. Hearing then plays a role in this narrative as it has elsewhere in Mark’s Gospel. Herod has heard about the things that Jesus did (6.14, 16); he liked to hear John (6.20), and then John’s disciples hear about his execution (6.29). Herod’s wife, Herodias, is not so fond of John; she holds a grudge against him.97 To 93. Richard Saller, “Corporal Punishment, Authority, and Obedience in the Roman Household,” in Marriage, Divorce, and Children in Ancient Rome, ed. Beryl Rawson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 147. 94. Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel, 58. For an in-depth analysis of this passage including its many intertextual allusions to Greek Esther and non-biblical Greek literature such as the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, and a discussion of the genre see Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 115–26. 95. Morna D. Hooker, The Gospel According to St. Mark (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1992), 158. 96. The irony in the uses of the root word “to send,” though, is that God sends Jesus (1.2; 9.37) and Jesus sends the disciples; both God’s and Jesus’ acts of sending are missions of preaching and healing. Herod, in contrast, sends his men to arrest John and then sends the executioner to bring John’s head. His sending brings about imprisonment and death. 97. Historically, the “Herod” in this story is Herod Antipas. Herodias had been married to his brother, Herod Philip, who was still living when she married Herod Antipas. Leviticus

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protect John from Herodias, Herod arrests and imprisons him. Whereas Herod is portrayed somewhat sympathetically, Herodias is portrayed as murderously malicious, waiting for an opportune time to have John killed. Herod’s party creates the “opportune time” for her to work out her murderous desires. The noun “opportune time” (eu2kairov, eukairos) and the related verb “to have the opportunity” (eu0kaire/w, eukaireō) connect the feast that leads to John the Baptist’s death with the three feasts at which Jesus will preside: the two feeding stories and the last supper. The feeding of the 5,000 immediately follows the episode of Herod’s birthday feast, contrasting the excesses of the elite with the hunger of the masses. The lead up to that story says that Jesus was sought by so many people that he did not “have the opportunity” to eat (6.31). Then, prior to the last supper, Judas seeks an “opportune time” to betray Jesus (14.11). Thus, Mark also draws a parallel between Herodias, the one who will bring about the death of John the Baptist, and Judas, the one who will betray Jesus to death. The climactic moment of Herod’s birthday feast comes when the daughter of Herodias comes in to dance. Mark builds tension through the daughter’s entrance and dance, which reaches its climax in the finite verb “pleased” (a0re/skw, āreskō), Herod’s reaction to the dance.98 Although there are a several instances in the New Testament in which a0re/skw simply refers to making someone happy or doing something that seeks another’s approval,99 in the context of this passage, it seems to have a sexual connotation.100 Herod was aroused by this girl’s dance. In his excitement he offers her anything she wants, “even half of my kingdom” (6.23).101 The girl then exits to ask her mother for a recommendation. Herodias replies to the girl briefly and to the point, “the head of John the Baptist.” Mark crafts the daughter’s re-entrance and response to the king, initially expressing the Gospel writer’s characteristic sense of urgency: The girl enters “immediately” going “with haste.” But the suspense builds as she draws out her response, waiting until the last minute to reveal her hand: “I want you to give me, immediately, on a platter—the head of John the Baptist.” Just as the girl showed her artistic talents earlier in her dance, her creativity comes through again, as she adds her own flourish to her mother’s response by requesting the head “on a platter.” The king grants the girl’s request and has John’s head brought into the 18.16 and 20.21 forbid a man from having sexual relations with his brother’s wife, if the brother is still living. John had condemned Herod Antipas and Herodias’ union as unlawful. 98. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 401. 99. Acts 6.5; Rom 8.8; 15.1–3; 1 Cor. 7.32–4; 10.33; Gal. 1.10; 1 Thess. 2.4, 15; 4.1; 2 Tim. 2.4 (Janice Capel Anderson, “Feminist Criticism: The Dancing Daughter,” in Mark and Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies, eds Janice Capel Anderson, and Stephen Moore [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008], 122). 100. Marcus notes several places in the Septuagint in particular in which it is used in this way: Gen. 19.8; Judg. 14.1A, 3A, 7A; Add. Est. 2.4, 9; Job 31.10. He also suggests that the use in 1 Cor. 7.33–4 could be understood in this way (Mark 1–8, 396–7). 101.  Another irony in this passage is that as a client king of Rome, Herod does not have the power to divide his “kingdom.”



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banquet hall on a platter, as if it is the final course in this feast. The head is given to the girl, who gives it to her mother.102 Just as the scene in which the girl and her dance are firmly rooted in the broader Gospel narrative, so too is this girl closely linked to other girls in the Gospel. Two words are used to describe the girl: quga/thr and kora/sion. Since the same terms are used for Jairus’ daughter, the audience might assume the two girls are the same age—12 years old. They are prepubescent girls who both appear unmarried; no man is mentioned as a husband. According to the customs of the day, they should be virgins. Each girl is presented with two adults. The first daughter has both a father and mother, but the Herodian girl’s relationship to the two adults in the narrative is somewhat less stable. The manuscripts traditions vary: One major set of readings make Herod the girl’s father and give her the same name as her mother; another set of readings are clear that “Herodias” is the mother’s name and do not imply that Herod is the girl’s father.103 Both girls are unnamed, and neither girl is presented as having siblings in the story.104 Both girls are spoken to, though Jairus’ daughter is only spoken to briefly. All of these points of comparison draw the audience’s attention back to the ways in which children are a part of the good news of Jesus Christ in Mark’s Gospel and are drawn into the reign of God. This may lead the audience to wonder—what about the Herodian girl? Though the girls are similar in many ways, they are also quite different. The daughter of Jairus lies dead or near death, and Jesus brings her back to life. In contrast, the very much alive, dancing daughter of Herodias brings about the death of John the Baptist. After Jesus resuscitates the daughter of Jairus, she is given something to eat to prove she is really alive. On the other hand, the daughter of Herodias demands the head of John the Baptist be brought in on a platter—like food—to prove that he is really dead. Jairus’ daughter lives in the life-giving world of Jesus and the reign of God, while the daughter of Herodias is in the deathdealing world of human corruption. The Herodian daughter is not referred to affectionately by her mother; no one calls her “little daughter,” as Jairus calls his child. Instead, this girl becomes a pawn in her mother’s vengeful scheme. She is put in a potentially dangerous situation by 102. Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 118. 103. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 396. For a detailed discussion see J. K. Elliott, The Language and Style of the Gospel of Mark: An Edition of C.H. Turner’s “Notes on Markan Usage” Together with Other Comparable Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1993), 197. 104. Josephus states that the Herodian girl’s name is Salome (Ant. 18.5.4), which was a popular name for females in the first century c.e. (Tal Ilan, “Notes on the Distribution of Jewish Women’s Names in Palestine in the Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods,” JJS 40, no. 2 [1989]: 186–200). There is an individual named Salome at the end of Mark’s Gospel (15.40; 16.1, the only appearance of the name in the New Testament). Perhaps for this reason, and that there was an early church tradition that one of Jesus’ sisters was named Salome, Mark chose not to name the girl. For this and other early church traditions surrounding the name see Richard Buckham, Gospel Women: Studies of the Named Women in the Gospels (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2002), 225–56.

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the adults who should protect her. The girl dances before Herod and his officials in the very public setting of a banquet, a symposium. Although Roman symposiums were starting to admit respectable women, the rhetoric of the time still labeled women who attended such events as prostitutes, particularly those who performed there.105 While the mother remains respectfully off-stage, the presence of an elite girl such as Herodias’ daughter at a banquet would have been shocking. Thus, it may have been a way for Mark to illustrate the debauchery of the ruling class.106 Like both Jairus’ daughter and the Syrophoenician daughter, once the Herodian daughter appears in the narrative, Mark keeps the audience’s focus upon her. Unlike the other two, this girl is very active: She comes in, dances, pleases, goes out, speaks, rushes back in, and speaks again. In contrast to John, whose death the story narrates, but who is the subject of only one verb (6.18), and Herodias, who is the subject of four verbs (6.19; 6.24b), the daughter is the subject of nine verbs (four finite verbs and five participles, 6.22, 24, 25, 28). She speaks more than any other female character in the Gospel of Mark. Her two speaking parts include a total of fourteen words, in contrast to John who speaks nine words and her mother who only speaks five words. The frequent shift in the subject also keeps the scene lively as the action moves from the king to the girl to her mother, back to the girl and again to the king. The action then moves to the executioner who brings back John’s head, giving it to the girl, who gives it to her mother.107 John Delorme suggests that the passage has a chiastic structure: a  John arrested and imprisoned by Herod because of his word (v. 17a)   b   Herodias against John (vv. 17b-19)     c     Herod and John (v. 20)       d      Herod, his guests, and the girl (vv. 21–3)         e           the girl and her mother (v. 24)       d’      the girl, Herod and his guests (vv. 25–6)     c’     Herod and John’s head (v. 27)    b’    Herodias obtains John’s head (v. 28) a’  John’s body buried by his disciples (v. 29)108

This structure makes the actions of the girl central and the interaction between her and her mother the crux of the passage. There is also quite a bit of information about the girl in this passage, though like the other children much of it is embedded in the description of the parents. 105. Jennifer A. Glancy, “Unveiling Masculinity: The Construction of Gender in Mark 6.17–29,” BibInt 2, no. 1 (1994): 39 n. 17. 106. Joanna Dewey, “The Gospel of Mark,” in Searching the Scriptures: Volume Two: A Feminist Commentary, ed. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza (New York: The Crossroads Publishing Company, 1998), 482–3. 107. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 401. 108. Jean Delorme, “John the Baptist’s Head—The Word Perverted: A Reading of a Narrative (Mark 6.14–29),” Semeia, no. 81 (1998): 118.



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The girl is clearly among the upper class, a well-born girl whose mother has been married to two tetrarchs of the Roman Empire.109 This also meant that she was a child in a blended family, living at least some of her childhood with her uncle as a stepfather. The household without a doubt had a great variety of slaves, and the girl may have even had slave women as caregivers and slave children as playmates. As a member of the elite, she likely was an educated girl, as her dancing ability also suggests. The text does not give any information about the religious affiliation of the family, but historically the Herodians had been forcibly converted to Judaism during the reign of the Hasmoneans.110 Thus, the family may have observed some Jewish customs and feasts. The girl may have even gone to Jerusalem with her family for various festivals. Yet the girl’s relationship to her family does not seem to be an affectionate one. Her mother uses the girl to act upon her own grudge, and the girl’s stepfather is willing to put her at risk for his own pleasure and those of his “courtiers and officers” (6.21). Nevertheless, the girl adheres to one of the central values for children at that time—obedience. She defers to her mother and is obedient to her mother’s demand (6.24–5). The daughter does not question her mother or her mother’s motives; she simply obeys. Perhaps she feels this act will win her some affection from her mother, though it “deeply grieves” Herod. Tragically for the girl, her obedience leads to the death of John the Baptist. So where does this leave this girl in the scheme of Mark’s Gospel in terms of who is part of the reign of God and who is not? In The Reign of God Is Such as These, I argue that one of the key ways in which Mark characterizes Jesus in the Gospel vis-à-vis children is that he becomes a guardian and protector of them.111 I also argue that this girl and her mother are anti-types of the other daughters (including the woman from the crowd) in the Gospel.112 While I am still convinced that Herodias functions in this way, and that for Mark, she and Herod illustrate the human corruption that reigns when Jesus is absent, I do not any longer want to put their daughter in the same category as her parents.113 James Murphy has clearly argued that children did not have agency of their own. They did not act as independent persons apart from the actions of their parents.114 Unlike the other parents in Mark, Herodias does not lead her child to Jesus for healing;: rather she leads her daughter to ask for the death of one of God’s prophets. Though Herod 109. Historically, Herodias’ daughter Salome was the daughter of Herod Philip, son of Herod the Great and his wife Mariamne II (The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible D–H, s.v. “Herod, Family,” Helen K. Bond). 110. Herod Antipas followed his father Herod the Great’s practice of avoiding images on his coins and “seems to have regularly attended the feast in Jerusalem (Luke 23.7)” (ibid., 808). 111. Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 138. 112. Ibid., 121–2, 136–7. 113. I am grateful to the students in my undergraduate seminar on Children in the Gospels, Spring 2014 at Oklahoma City University for pushing me on this point and helping me clarify my thinking. 114. Murphy, Kids and Kingdom, 66.

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has heard about Jesus, this girl is not depicted as knowing anything about him. She does not have faith in Jesus; she does have faith in her mother, whom she likely assumes acts in the girl’s best interest, but who does not. She exhibits loyalty to her mother, obeying her request, but the mother does not exhibit loyalty to the girl by protecting her from danger. This story stands out from the miracle stories that surround it. This girl is the only child in the Gospel who is not healed or otherwise brought to Jesus for a blessing touch. But her elite status could not protect her from corrupt human ways. This girl is as deserving of the reign of God as her age peers in the Gospel, but the lack of a faithful parent inhibits her.

The Child of the Faithful Father The third child-healing story, the healing of the boy with an unclean spirit (9.14–29), is in the second section of division one. Mark 8.22–6 is a transitional passage that concludes Jesus’ teachings in Galilee and is a part of the framing of 8.27–10.52, which culminates with the healing of the blind man, Bartimaeus. While Jesus and his disciples are on the way to Jerusalem, he teaches them about his coming suffering and resurrection and what is involved in following him. This is a journey narrative, and “on the way” is a recurrent phrase in this section (8.27; 9.33–4; 10.32–52), indicating that these teachings by Jesus are also the way of discipleship. The section is structured by the three-fold passion and resurrection predictions through which three episodes containing children are interspersed.115 I will first discuss the three passages with and about children, and then the relationship between the passion and resurrection predictions and the narratives about children. Following the first prediction is the Transfiguration in which Jesus takes his three close associates up a “high mountain” (9.2). In this vision of Jesus with Moses and Elijah, he is affirmed as the beloved son, to whom the disciples are to listen. On the way down the mountain, Jesus tells the disciples to tell no one, until “the Son of Man had risen from the dead” and the disciples question what this might mean. When Jesus and the three disciples meet the other disciples there is a dispute going on with some scribes. The reason soon becomes clear: A man with a disabled child has come to the disciples, asking them to heal the boy, but they were not able. When the crowd sees Jesus, they rush to him and a person from the crowd tells him what has happened. The man has brought his son, who has a spirit that makes him unable to speak. When the spirit seizes the boy, he falls to the ground, foams at the mouth, and grinds his teeth. The man describes bringing the boy to the disciples and their inability to cast out (e0kba/llw) the spirit. 115. The three predictions are usually referred to as “passion predictions,” but as John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington point out, each ends with “after three days rise” (The Gospel of Mark, 261). Thus, I will refer to them as the “passion and resurrection” predictions, especially since some of the material about children is a part of the resurrection motif in the Gospel.



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Since Jesus has given the disciples the authority to cast out unclean spirits (6.7), the assumption that they could do this is legitimate.116 Jesus expresses exasperation at the situation and asks for them to bring the boy to him. Just as the spirit possessing the Gerasene man shouts out when it sees Jesus (5.6–7), this spirit also reacts upon seeing Jesus. It convulses the boy just as the father has described. This spirit not only renders the boy unable to speak, but is itself speechless, unlike the demons who identify Jesus as the “holy one of God” (1.24) and “the Son of the Most High God” (5.7).117 Jesus then asks the man how long this has gripped the boy, suggesting a desire to understand the situation more fully and consider it seriously.118 The father responds, “since childhood,” indicating that the boy may have reached puberty.119 There is then a third description of the boy’s condition as the father pleads again for help. Notably, the father does not say, “Help me!” or “Help him!” but “Help us!” which points to the reality that a disabled child affects the whole family, not just an individual. Jesus declares that all things are possible for one who has faith.120 Since the man has already overcome the obstacle of the disciples, who lacked the faith to exorcise the spirit, he decides not to allow his own weakness of faith also to be a barrier. Thus, he cries out, “I believe; help my unbelief!”121 As Jesus rebukes the spirit, calling it an “unclean” spirit, it cries out, convulsing the boy again, which is the same reaction as the spirit in Jesus’ first exorcism (1.25).122 After the spirit departs, the boy becomes like a corpse and the bystanders think he is dead. “Jesus then ‘raised him up and he rose’ (h2geiren au0to\n kai\ a0ne/sth).”123 Though the boy is not actually dead, the dual expressions are also used for the raising of Jairus’ daughter: “Jesus also grasped her hand; he asked her to ‘wake up’ or ‘rise up’ (e2geire); and she also rose (a0ne/sth) (5.41–2).”124 The language of grasping by the hands and raising up is also the same language used of Simon’s mother-in-law (1.31). When the disciples then ask privately why they were unable to heal the boy, Jesus says, “This kind can come out only through 116. Ibid., 278. 117. Ibid., 277. 118. Melanie A. Howard, “Jesus Loves the Little Children: A Theological Reading of Mark 9.14–29 for Children with Serious Illnesses or Disabilities and Their Caregivers,” WW 33, no. 3 (2013): 280. 119. Collins, Mark, 438. Collins then notes that the use of paidi/on may indicate that the boy is still a young child (438 n. 91), but in 5.39ff., Mark uses paidi/on to refer to a 12-year-old girl. 120. Collins states, “Such ability is attributed only to God or the gods in antiquity. According to the Markan Jesus, ‘trust’ or ‘faith’ is a quality that can endow human beings with divine power” (Mark, 438). 121. Howard, “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” 277. 122. Collins suggests that this does not mean the spirit was unable to speak, but rather the boy was when he had a seizure (Mark, 439). 123. Ibid. 124. Ibid.

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prayer.” The response indicates that the task was not impossible; they simply “lacked the ability to perform it.”125 There are several similarities with other exorcisms and the other healed children. The four exorcisms in Mark include two men and two children: the man with the unclean spirit in the synagogue in Capernaum (1.21–8); the Gerasene man (5.1–20); the Greek daughter (7.24–30); and the son with the unclean spirit (9.14–29). The first man is Jewish and the second man is a Gentile. The first child is a Gentile, and the second child is Jewish (indicated by the presence of the scribes, 9.14). Both of the child-healings are preceded by a discussion with the scribes.126 Like both the Greek girl and the Jewish daughter of Jairus, the boy is called paidi/on; the parent expresses his loyalty to his child; and he is willing to go to any length to secure his healing. Ultimately, his faith secures healing for the child. A significant difference between this boy and the girls, however, is that he is a son. Boys had more status at that time than girls and were of more value to a family. They were the ones who would carry on the family name and bring additional children to the family line, while girls who married would require a dowry, potentially draining a family’s resources. But more importantly, within the context of the Gospel, very few characters are referred to as a son (ui9o/v, huios). Early in the Gospel, two of the disciples are called the “sons of Thunder” (3.17). Later, James and his brother John (10.35) will be called the “sons of Zebedee,”127 and Bartimaeus will be described as the “son of Timaeus” (10.46). The word, however, is used predominately for Jesus—as the Son of God and Son of Humanity. In the story immediately preceding this one, God declares Jesus is “my son, the beloved” (9.7). Just as God demonstrates divine devotion to Jesus in the Transfiguration, so the father demonstrates his devotion to his son. This boy’s healing also anticipates Jesus’ resurrection, like the raising of Jairus’ daughter did, but maybe even more so. He was raised (as if) from the dead like her, but here the son of a father is being raised by the son whose father will raise him.128 This episode concludes the set of stories in which Jesus heals children. Before I move on to discuss the teachings about children, I want to make a few concluding remarks about these healing stories. Horn and Martens make the point that “a 125.  Melanie Howard observes that while the boy is the most obviously disabled person in the story, the disciples are as well, though “they are unlike the boy insofar as they are physically abled, the disciples too are characterized by disability” (“Jesus Loves the Little Children,” 277). 126. Marcus, Mark 8–16, 652. 127. Earlier in the Gospel, James is called “the one” of Zebedee using a genitive construction (1.19; 3.17). 128. “Father” is not the most common nomenclature for God in Mark’s Gospel, but it does appear in 8.38, 11.25, and 14.36. This last instance is significant in relationship to this story in Mark, when Jesus says “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible,” echoing Jesus’ words to the father in 9.23. In both cases “all things are possible” is expressed with the phrase pa/nta duna/ta\ (panta dunata).



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key characteristic of all of these healings is the persistence of the parents and friends.”129 All of the children have at least one parent in the story, even the daughter of Herodias. As previously discussed, in the ancient world, children did not act independently of their adult family members or caregivers. For this reason, the healing of the children is not for their benefit alone. Judith Gundry acknowledges this, stating, “Jesus’ ministry of healing and exorcism for children is carried out both at the request of parents (Mk 5.23; 7.26; 9.17, 22) and for the benefit of parents, who counted on their children for future economic and other benefits.”130 Moreover, Jesus’ healing of children restores them to their “normal, functional state in which they could fulfill their roles in the oikos.”131 This raises a question, however, about the “value” of children. Were children valued for what they could provide, either in the present or in the future, for their family or households? Or were they valued because of their intrinsic worth as members of the human family? The next section suggests answers to these questions. Another commonality between all of these healing stories is that the children do not speak before, during, or after being healed. Melanie Howard questions whether “denying individuals the opportunity to speak for themselves, even in a narrative, should ever be upheld as an ideal.”132 She resolves this issue by suggesting that the narrative is not actively trying to suppress the voices of children. Indeed, none of the recently healed characters in Mark’s Gospel, adults or children, are vocal characters. This reveals that in Mark, “healed children as a character type differ little from healed adults. This correlation between healed children and adults suggests that the children may be seen as narratively equal to their adult counterparts.”133 This supports my argument that narratively children carry equal weight with adults in the Gospel. What becomes remarkable is that the theme of children continues to grow in the Gospel, with those children who were healed becoming examples for the seemingly whole and healthy adult disciples and all those who would be a part of the reign of God.

The Reign of God and Children Jesus’ public ministry in Galilee comes to a close at 9.30. Following the first passion and resurrection prediction, Jesus enters a house in Capernaum with his disciples, so he can instruct them privately one last time before they head to Jerusalem. The section from 9.33–50 is unified by an inclusio that opens with the disciples arguing about who is greatest (vv. 33–4) and closes with Jesus’ 129. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 93. 130. Judith M. Gundry, “Children in the Gospel of Mark, with Special Attention to Jesus’ Blessing of the Children (Mark 10.13–16) and the Purpose of Mark,” in The Child in the Bible, ed. Marcia Bunge (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2008), 160. 131. Ibid., 161. 132. Howard, “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” 280. 133. Ibid., 281. Emphasis added.

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exhortation to “be at peace with one another” (v. 50).134 In addition, the setting remains constant throughout the scene, and it is depicted as a single exchange between Jesus and his disciples. Once inside the house, Jesus asks the disciples what they were arguing about “on the way.” Now it is the disciples’ turn for silence because on the way, out in the open countryside in unconfined space, they were arguing about who was greatest. Here, in the house, it is time for a more pointed conversation. Mark reverts to calling the disciples “the Twelve” here (9.35). Other than for these close companions, “twelve” has referred to the length of time the woman from the crowd was ill and the age of the daughter of Jairus. It is also the number of baskets of leftovers from the two feeding miracles. It evokes the healings, miracles, and exorcisms that Jesus has performed. He tells them simply, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and a servant of all” (9.35). This saying will reprise at the end of the teaching session (10.31) and be expanded and reinforced near the end of the larger narrative block (10.43–4). The language of “last of all and servant of ” all challenges the cultural assumptions of status and rank.135 Indeed, servanthood is the counterbalance to the disciples’ desire for greatness.136 But the children’s stories are still echoing in the background. To be “last of all,” faintly recalls the story of Jairus’ daughter who was near death or literally “at her last” (5.23). Immediately following this, all of the children whom Jesus has healed are now brought to mind, as Jesus picks up a little child, puts the child among them, and hugs the child. It is not surprising at all that there is a child in the house; this was the place where children dwelt. Then comes the next teaching, which likely was surprising: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcome not me but the one who sent me” (9.37). “Welcoming” presupposes a culture in which a ruler or communities send a representative, expecting that the person would be treated with the same respect and dignity as the ruler himself. For the disciples, the logical progression would be for God to send Jesus and Jesus to send them, but instead, the chain of sending moves from God to Jesus to a low-status child.137 Elizabeth Struthers Malbon clarifies the impact of the two sayings for the disciples: Both a child and a servant are powerless; both are required to do what those with more power (fathers and masters) order them to do. But Jesus is saying paradoxically that his male disciples who have some possibility to exercise power over others – at least women and children – are voluntarily to serve those in need, those with less power than themselves.138 134. Collins, Mark, 443. 135. Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 285. 136.  James L. Bailey, “Experiencing the Kingdom as a Little Child: A Rereading of Mark 10.13–16,” WW 15, no. 1 (1995): 60. 137. Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 285. 138. Malbon, “Gospel of Mark,” 486.



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As Jesus effectively elevates the child above the adult, male disciples, they receive a “pointed answer to [their] self-aggrandizing thoughts.”139 It also demonstrates that children are not just of value to their families for what they will be and will be able to provide; rather children in the present, as children, are models of discipleship. The teaching session continues with several references to the teaching about the child. “In my name” (9.37) is picked up in v. 38 when John complains that there was someone casting out demons “in your name.” The use of “casting out” might also recall that Jesus cast out the spirit from the boy earlier. The irony here, of course, is that someone who did not follow Jesus was able to cast out demons in Jesus’ name when his disciples were not.140 Jesus then repeats the use of “in my name” (9.39). It is less clear if the phrase “one of these little ones” refers to children or to the disciples, due to the switch from the neuter paidi/on to the masculine e3na (hina, one) in v. 42.141 In either case, since a variety of diminutives have been used to refer to children throughout the Gospel, especially paidi/on and qugatri/on, and there was just a teaching about a child, the audience might well have heard “these little ones” as referring to children. Though Jesus and his disciples leave that house, and the crowds once again gather around him, the discussion still focuses on issues related to the household: marriage, divorce, children, and wealth/possessions (10.1–31). As Malbon observes, “In each case, Jesus reverses the values of the hierarchical status quo, in which men are valued over women, adults over children, and the rich over the poor.”142 The disciples, however, continue to lack understanding of Jesus’ words. This becomes evident in the second teaching about children (10.13–16), which is closely connected to the first teaching. Jesus is again in a house, and people begin bringing children to Jesus so that he might touch them. It is not clear if the parents are bringing the children just for a blessing touch or for healing. Previously in the 139. Bailey, “Experiencing the Kingdom as a Little Child,” 60. Collins observes that Jesus’ gesture of hugging the child suggests that it is an actual child. “Thus, Bultmann’s conclusion that, in the Markan context, the child represents ordinary or unimportant members of the Christian community, as distinct from the leaders, is unlikely.” She goes on to speculate that the issue for the early Christian or Jesus-following community might have been “whether children ought to be welcomed as members of the community or welcomed at communal gatherings.” Jesus’ saying might have been interpreted in this context to be rejecting the practices of infanticide and exposure, encouraging parents to welcome their children rather than kill or abandon them. This call may have been especially aimed at Gentile or poor parents. It could also have been an instruction to Christian couples to “‘accept’ or ‘welcome’ exposed infants and bring them up as their own” (Mark, 445–6). 140. Collins, Mark, 446. 141. Most commentators, in fact, argue that “little ones” now refers to the disciples or Christian community (Marcus, Mark 8–16, 689) or “simple believers in Jesus” (Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 287). 142. Malbon, “Gospel of Mark,” 487.

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Gospel the verb “touch” (a#ptw, haptō) has been used specifically in reference to persons who are healed.143 In addition, thus far in the Gospel, the word paidi/on has referred to the children who are healed,144 and has been used in the teachings with a child.145 As a result, the audience may conclude that the people wanted Jesus to touch these children in order to heal them. But the fact that Mark does not specify that this is the case, as he does in the earlier accounts, leaves open the possibility that the parents are simply bringing the children for a blessing.146 If this is the case, it then widens the circle of children who are welcomed by Jesus. It is not just sick or spirit-/demon-possessed children that are a part of the reign of God, but all boys and girls.147 Despite the previous teaching, the disciples speak harshly to those bringing the children. Jesus indignantly tells them to “let the little children” come to him. He then explicitly states that the reign of God is “of such as these” (10.14), 148 and “whoever does not receive the reign as a little child will not enter it” (10.15). Jesus then takes the children in his arms and blesses them.149 Mark uses the same verb for “take into his arms” in both 9.36 and 10.16, and “whoever” and “receive” in 9.37 and 10.15, explicitly linking the teachings. There is some question, however, regarding the best interpretation for “of such as these” (toiou/twn, toioutōn) which is in the genitive case. If it is possessive then the reign of God belongs to children, therefore, they have every right to approach Jesus and receive his blessing.150 Since children did not own anything in the ancient world, this suggests an even more radical reversal of the status quo than the first teaching about the child does. Alternately, the genitive could have the meaning of “consists of,” in 143. 1.41; 3.10; 5.27, 28, 30, 31; 6.56; 7.33; 8.22. 144. 5.39–41; 7.28, 30; 9.24. 145.  9.36–7; Elsewhere when Jesus speaks of “child” or “children,” either metaphorically or in his teaching about the rewards of discipleship, the term is te/knon (2.5; 7.27; 10.24; 12.19; 13.12). 146. See Gundry, “Children in the Gospel of Mark,” 149. Collins also notes that this is the only instance in which “to touch” (a3yasqai, haspasthai) is used in a context other than healing (Mark, 471). 147. This may lead to the question whether the parents must act on behalf of children, as Mark seems to indicate. As Murphy argues, the ones with agency in this passage are the parents; the children are passively brought to Jesus (Kids and Kingdom, 83). 148. My translation. 149. This is the only use in the New Testament of the intensive form of “bless” (kateulogei=n, kateulogein). 150. Gundry makes this argument but on the basis that the reign of God belongs to children simply because they “need” it, and that the most needy and dependent have the highest priority (“Children in the Gospel of Mark,” 151, 168, 170). I have difficulty understanding what the particular “need” is. She does not specify if it is healing, salvation, faith, etc. It also diminishes the agency of the parents. I argue that in Mark the relationship between children and the reign of God is not about need and dependency but status reversal.



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the sense of “made up of.” In this reading, then, the reign of God is made up of children; they are an integral part of it.151 Bonnie J. Miller-McLemore summarizes the connection between the two teachings with children well: Mark 10 must be read in light of Mark 9. In other words, the imperative to receive the kingdom “like a child” must be read in light of the imperative to receive children in themselves, in their inferior and vulnerable social status of the first-century world. According to some New Testament authorities, in these passages children represent another instance in which a group—like women, the poor, and the unclean—is marginalized and dominated by more powerful people. They are models of discipleship precisely from this position, as the least in family and society.152

Children, Passion, and Resurrection As mentioned, the healing of the boy with the spirit and these two teachings about children are found between 8.27–10.52, the portion of the Gospel in which Jesus predicts his suffering, death, and resurrection three times. The section is a part of the journey narrative, the purpose of which is to clarify Jesus’ identity. Up to this point, Mark has identified Jesus as a miracle worker (healer and exorcist) and teacher. There has also been a great deal of misunderstanding of Jesus’ identity by Pharisees and Herodians (3.6), his family (3.21), neighbors in Nazareth (6.1–6), and his own disciples (8.14–21).153 This section adds a further, and, indeed, a key component to understanding Jesus’ identity: The miracle worker and teacher is the suffering Son of Humanity, the Messiah.154 “To follow him means to be willing to share in his Passion [sic] and death as well as his resurrection.”155 A three-fold pattern structures the journey narrative: 1) a prediction of Jesus’ suffering, death and resurrection; 2) misunderstanding by his disciples (by Peter, 8.32–3; by the whole group 9.32–4; by James and John 10.35–7) and 3) instruction on discipleship, which includes the teachings about 151. Murphy argues for this reading as well, stating that “children were a part of social associations, such as families, tribes, phratries, or even mystery cults … It assumes inclusion without the overtones of possession” (Murphy, Kids and Kingdom, 84). 152.  Bonnie J. Miller-McLemore, Let the Children Come: Reimagining Childhood from a Christian Perspective (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2003), 96. 153. Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 264. 154. The term “Son of Humanity” has not appeared in the Gospel since 2.28. Collins states that in Jesus’ public ministry, the Son of Humanity is one who has the authority “to forgive sins and to interpret the commands of God concerning the Sabbath (2.10, 28). ‘Son of Man’ and ‘Messiah’ are equivalent in Mark (8.29–31; 14.61–2).” (New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible S-Z, s.v. “Son of Man,” Adela Yarbro Collins). 155. Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 264.

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children. This pattern provides the framework for other discourses and narratives along the way.156 Usually, these passion and resurrection predictions and the healing and blessing of children are considered in isolation from one another. However, since they are situated within the same portion of Mark’s Gospel, I would argue that they should be considered together. The structure of this portion of the Gospel reveals this to be the case. In the section of the Gospel from 8.27–10.52, Mark simultaneously draws to a close his teaching on the reign of God and prepares his audience for Jesus’ death and resurrection. The first teaching session (8.27–9.29) opens with Jesus asking his disciples who people say that he is, and Peter correctly identifying Jesus as the Messiah. After ordering his disciples to be silent about this, Jesus begins “to teach them that the Son of Humanity must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again” (8.31). Misunderstanding Jesus’ concept of Messiah, Peter responds by taking Jesus aside and speaking harshly to him. Jesus continues by teaching the disciples about the nature of following him, which includes taking up the cross and losing one’s life to save it. By connecting taking up one’s cross with denying oneself, it is clear the latter is not about subordinating oneself to the established hierarchical structure.157 Instead, to deny oneself is to disregard one’s status and serve those over whom one ought to be able to wield power.158 The Transfiguration follows and the session closes with the healing of the boy with the unclean spirit. Both episodes anticipate Jesus’ resurrection. The second passion prediction in 9.31 is a bit more concise: “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” The disciples again do not understand what he means, and they are afraid to ask. However, their discussion about who is greatest, which immediately follows the prediction, suggests that they are more focused upon power, wealth, and influence than suffering and dying. Jesus responds to their argument with a reversal of what the disciples seem to believe: The first must be last and servant of all. He then lifts up a child to further illustrate the nature of who the last might be. In the teachings that follow, Jesus refers to “little ones,” meaning either children or his followers. It is as if he is trying to reinforce the teaching with the child he set in their midst. The disciples, however, demonstrate that they have not understood this teaching, by speaking sternly to those bringing their children to Jesus. Jesus then declares the reign of God “is of such as these” children—not the powerful, prestigious, or wealthy. The teachings continue; Jesus tries one more time to impress upon his disciples the relationship between children and the reign

156. Mark specifically refers to these predictions as “teaching” (dida/skw, didaskō, 8.31, 9.31). Collins notes as well that Matthew and Luke do not consider the predictions to qualify as “teaching” (Mark, 440). 157. As the household codes suggest in Col. 3.18–4.1 and Eph. 5.21–6.9. 158.  Malbon, “Gospel of Mark,” 486. Malbon clarifies that “those with the least power in Jesus’ world – women, children, and slaves – are not the audience of this instruction” (488).



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of God, calling them “children” (te/knon, 10.24). The session closes with Jesus again stating that the first will be last and the last first (10.31). The last passion prediction in 10.33–4 is the most descriptive: “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.” The disciples’ response to this one is probably the most telling. Immediately after this announcement, James and John come to Jesus, asking to sit at his right and left in his glory. They are still caught up in human categories of status and have not heard Jesus’ description of his suffering and death. Although there is not a teaching about children here, several aspects of the passage that follows (10.35–45) connect it back to Jesus’ earlier teachings about children. First, 10.43–4 contains an expansion of the teaching in 9.35. Jesus picks up the language of “greatest,” “servant,” and “first.” However, now the “first” is not just “last,” but a “slave.” And then Jesus explicitly puts himself into the equation, as he did in teaching with the child in 9.37: “For the Son of Humanity came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” The language of “to serve” draws upon the most basic sense of “service”—“preparing meals, caring for children—the things women usually do, and always do in peasant households. It is particularly not what powerful men are accustomed to doing, but it is the way of discipleship” in the reign of God.159 Second, when Jesus and his disciples were in the house, shortly after he declared that they must welcome children, he teaches, “whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.” In 10.38, Jesus asks James and John if they can drink the cup he will drink. Finally, another sort of familial language is also used and a different kind of reversal happens here. As mentioned, Mark is quite judicious in his use of the word “son.” It has only been used for Jesus, the “sons of Thunder,” and the boy with the unclean spirit. However, in 10.35, “son” is used for James and John, the sons of Zebedee, yet they do not understand how to follow the Son of God. They stand in contrast to another person also referred to as “son,” Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus. Bartimaeus seems to understand who Jesus is, recognizing that Jesus is the “Son of David.” That title could refer to either one who was a healer, like David’s son Solomon, or the descendent of David who would liberate Israel.160 The disciples and the people who greet Jesus in Jerusalem shouting “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!” seem to believe he is the latter (11.10). Bartimaeus, however, likely understands Jesus as the former, a miracle worker and healer, and once he is healed, he follows Jesus without reservation. Thus Mark presents another reversal—those who have literally seen Jesus prove to be blind. In contrast, the blind one sees who Jesus is, at least in part, and once he is healed, follows without question.

159. Malbon, “Gospel of Mark,” 488. 160. Gundry, “Children in the Gospel of Mark,” 166.

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Conclusion Throughout the Gospel of Mark children are embedded in the narrative. The stories of girls and at least one boy draw upon the same motifs of healings and exorcisms as the narratives of adult women and men do. The healing of a girl and a boy also foreshadow Jesus’ death and resurrection. But the children are not independent actors in the Gospel; they are depicted as a part of a family unit and most of them become a part of Jesus’ eschatological family and the reign of God. Herodias’ daughter is an ambiguous character in this regard. Her parents are decidedly negative characters, which does not bode well for the girl. The teachings about children in the remainder of the Gospel, however, gives hope that she too could become a part of the Jesus’ family. As the Gospel of Mark wraps up Jesus’ ministry in Galilee, and Jesus begins his journey toward Jerusalem, the narrative tracks two parallel themes—Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection and the place of children in the reign of God. The first theme focuses on Jesus’ identity as Son of Humanity and Messiah, while the latter concludes Jesus’ teachings about the reign of God. These teachings indicate that children are valued as children, reversing the disciples’ understandings of who Jesus is and what the reign of God is. However, as the narrative closes in on Jesus’ last week, on his passion, death, and resurrection, children fade from the narrative. A few youths or young people are visible (14.51, 66–9; 16.5), but the children, like all of the other minor characters, have slipped away, unseen.

Chapter 4 J E SU S A N D T H E C H I L D I N T H E G O SP E L O F M AT T H EW

The Gospel of Mark is entirely concerned with Jesus’ adult ministry, passion, death, and resurrection.1 There is no story of Jesus’ birth or childhood and no father figure named Joseph. Though Mary is mentioned in 3.31–2, she is not named until 6.3, and then only three more times at the end of the Gospel (15.40, 47; 16.1). This lack of attention to Jesus’ early years and family life is reflective of the early Christian discourse. Paul only mentions the birth of Jesus briefly and in a very ordinary way: “God sent his son, born of a woman, under the law …” (Gal. 4.4). As Ronald Hock observes, “It assumes nothing extraordinary about Jesus’ birth, for all people are born of women and born under the customs, norms, and laws of their respective communities.”2 Since Paul goes on to say that he met with James, the brother of the Lord, it would seem likely that James would convey to Paul any extraordinary details of Jesus’ birth. But Paul is silent on most matters of Jesus’ life, including his birth. By the latter part of the first century c.e., however, interest in Jesus’ birth and childhood increased as the Christian community sought to understand more fully his identity as Messiah and Son of God. Thus, Matthew and Luke include the genealogies and birth narratives in their Gospels. In this chapter, I will examine the infancy narrative in Matthew’s Gospel, particularly the depiction of Jesus as “the child” in Mt. 2. This discussion will develop the character of Jesus’ interactions with children in Mt. 9–19. The depiction of the child in Mt. 2 provides the characteristics of the child the disciples are asked to emulate in 18.1–5, and it illustrates Jesus’ teaching in 18.5, “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” I will begin with a few words 1. Some material in this chapter was previously published in “The Child and Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew,” Journal of Childhood and Religion 1, no. 4 (2010): 1–14. www. childhoodandreligion.com; and “What Child Is This? A Contextual Feminist Literary Analysis of the Child in Matthew 2,” in Matthew, Texts@Context, eds Nicole Wilkinson Duran and James P. Grimshaw (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013), 44–64, and is used with permission. 2. Ronald F. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas: With Introduction, Notes, and Original Text Featuring the New Scholars Version Translation, ed. Ronald F. Hock (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 2001), 2.

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of introduction about the Gospel, including its relationship to ancient biography, the audience, the reign of heaven, and theme of discipleship in Matthew.

Genre, Audience, and Themes Though both Matthew and Luke clearly draw upon the narrative conventions of the Hebrew Bible, they contain several features similar to the ancient biography. Tomas Hägg broadly defines biography as “a literary text of book length telling the life story of a historical individual from cradle to grave (or a substantial part of it).”3 One variety of ancient biography is an “open biography,” which is an “open text” with regard to origin and transmission, suggesting fluidity in both.4 Hägg identifies several characteristics the Gospels share with ancient biographies, which are sometimes referred to as ancient Lives, including anonymity, episodic structure, a journey or itinerant motif, parables, the hero’s wit in the face of opposition, “and the unhappy end of life (though in the case of the Gospels profoundly reversed through the resurrection).”5 The Gospel of Mark begins in medias res (in the middle): Jesus is an adult when the Gospel opens and the narrative seems to only cover a year or so of his life.6 Matthew and Luke, on the other hand, replace Mark’s abrupt beginning with genealogies, “regular prologues and some novel narrative material concerning Jesus’ background, birth, and childhood.”7 However, while Luke provides at least one story of Jesus’ childhood, Matthew leaves a large temporal gap between the return from Egypt, which has no indication of how old Jesus is, and his baptism as an adult around age thirty. Matthew gives the allusion of simultaneity, introducing the appearance of John in the wilderness and Jesus as an adult coming for baptism with the phrase “In those days …” (3.1), which links the stories together.8 Written likely between 80 and 85 c.e., Matthew seems to have in mind a well-off congregation who need to be reminded “of their responsibility to the 3. Tomas Hägg, The Art of Biography in Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), ix. 4. Ibid., 6. 5. Ibid., 147. Hägg notes the parables in the Gospels are similar to “fables in Aesop and the epigrams in the Herodotean Homer.” 6. Paul Fullmer discusses how in medias res is a common feature in the ancient novel: “Novelistic texts spend few words before arriving at an event which advances the plot.” Mark clearly conforms to this feature, as he moves quickly through the prophesies of John, Jesus’ baptism and temptation, and into Jesus’ ministry (Resurrection in Mark’s Literary– Historical Perspective [London: T&T Clark, 2007], 41). 7. Hägg, The Art of Biography in Antiquity. 168; Warren Carter remarks that the “genealogy (1.1–17), miraculous conception (1.18–25), birth (2.1a), early childhood (2.1b–21), and settlement in Nazareth (2.22–3)” are “conventional topics for encomia or bioi [life]” (Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading [Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2000], 11). 8. Hägg, The Art of Biography in Antiquity, 168.



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poor, the stranger, and the imprisoned (see 25.31–46).”9 Though they may be well off, the community seems to view themselves as small and vulnerable. Matthew’s recurrent use of the phrase “little ones” is used both in reference to children and for the discipleship community. Warren Carter comments, “Several images in the gospel affirm smallness as a constituent part of the experience of living as disciples of Jesus.”10 Therefore the images of children, “little ones,” and discipleship begin to overlap in Matthew as the author explicates his vision of the reign of heaven. Although Matthew uses “heaven” as a circumlocution for “God,” his concept of the reign of heaven is similar to that in the Gospel of Mark. It has to do with the “fullness of God’s power and presence that will be acknowledged by all creation.”11 After John the Baptist’s announcement of the nearness of the reign of heaven (3.2), there are over thirty subsequent references to God’s reign in the rest of the Gospel. Most of Jesus’ teachings and actions in Matthew demonstrate something about the nature of God’s rule.12 In Mark, children are embedded in the narrative, are members of the reign of God, and are narratively on equal footing with the adult minor characters. Children play a different role in Matthew, which is to illuminate the nature of discipleship. The narratives containing children that the first two Gospels share are considerably shorter in Matthew than they are in Mark. In Matthew, the focus of each one is on faith and discipleship rather than on the children themselves. Nevertheless, the stories of children whom Jesus heals still show his affection for the children, these “little ones” who are cherished by their parents and valued in the Matthean community.

The Genealogy and Birth of Jesus The most important child in Matthew is Jesus, both in terms of narrative space and how he impacts the depiction of other children in the Gospel. The first four chapters of the Gospel are, according to Dale Allison, an extended introduction that tells who Jesus is (1.1–18; 2.1, 4; 3.11, 17; 4.3, 6), “where he was from (2.6), how he came into the world (1.18–25), why he came into the world (1.21, 2.6), when he came into the world (1.17; 2.1) and what he proclaimed (4.17).”13 The section is rich with biblical quotations and allusions, which function to foreshadow themes 9. Amy-Jill Levine, “Gospel of Matthew,” in Women’s Bible Commentary, eds Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H. Ringe, and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Twentieth-Anniversary Edition (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012), 466. 10. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 27. 11. Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, Sacra Pagina, no. 2 (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1991), 51. 12. Keith J. White, “‘He Placed a Little Child in the Midst’: Jesus, the Kingdom, and Children,” in The Child in the Bible, ed. Marcia Bunge (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 359. 13. Dale Allison Jr., “Matthew,” in The Oxford Bible Commentary, eds John Barton and John Muddiman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 846. Emphasis original.

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that will arise later in the Gospel and establish for the audience Jesus’ identity as the Messiah. Matthew opens his Gospel with a genealogy of this child. On one hand, the genealogy grounds this child in the story of a family. The family was the fundamental social unit of the ancient world and the foundational institution of society. It was, and is, the world a child knows, especially in his or her earliest years.14 On the other hand, the genealogy does not convey the sense that this is a child’s family tree; rather it is the ancestry of the movers and shakers in the history of Israel. Yet even within this high-powered genealogy, there are telltale signs that not everyone in this history is on the level of patriarchs (and matriarchs) and kings (and queens) of Israel. The five women listed in the genealogy—Tamar the daughter-inlaw of Judah (Gen. 38), Ruth the Moabite (Ruth), Rahab the Canaanite prostitute (Josh. 2.1–21; 6.22–5), Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, (2 Sam. 11), and Mary suggest another side to the family of Jesus. The first four women each come from a position of relative powerlessness; they each seek justice for themselves through their own cleverness. The women’s names are the first indication “that the divine plan moves in ways that contravene traditional family values.”15 They demonstrate that for the Gospel of Matthew faith is manifest as action; this kind of faith is a mandate of righteousness.16 Thus, these women become models of righteousness in the Gospel of Matthew. The introduction of Joseph and Mary at the end of the genealogy, however, indicates that something unusual is going to occur. The genealogy’s pattern of “A was the father of B by C” is broken in a dramatic fashion: “and Jacob the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah” (1.16). The shift in the pattern clearly indicates that Mary’s husband, Joseph, is not the father of the child Jesus. Like Jesus’ female ancestors, Mary is a marginal woman because her child is born outside of the traditional, patriarchal marriage. The genealogy itself does not disclose how this came to be. That story will develop in the next scene, the birth narrative. On the surface, the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke appear quite different: Matthew focuses upon Joseph, King Herod, the Magi, and taking the child Jesus to Egypt and back home to Nazareth, while Luke introduces the birth of John the Baptist and his parents Elizabeth and Zechariah; Mary is the focus of Luke’s birth story of Jesus, and there is a manger, shepherds, and angels. While these specifics of the stories differ, the broad outline of the narratives is the same: Mary and Joseph are the parents of Jesus, though Joseph is not the biological father of Jesus (Mt. 1.18–19, 25; Lk. 3.23); Joseph is from the house of David (Mt. 1.16, 20; Lk. 1.27; 2.4); Mary’s pregnancy occurs between the betrothal and the marriage proper (Mt. 1.18; Lk. 1.27) but the birth occurred after they lived together (Mt. 1.24–5; 14.  This is the case for the majority of children. However, in the ancient world there was a variety of family constellations that might mean that a child was not living with her or his biological parents in a nuclear family setting, just as today. See Chapter 2. 15. Levine, “Gospel of Matthew,” 467. 16. Ibid., 466.



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Lk. 2.5–6); Mary is a virgin (Mt. 1.23; Lk. 1.27); an angel announces the role of the Holy Spirit in the pregnancy (Mt. 1.20; Lk. 1.35); the angel gives the child his name “Jesus” and predicts his role in the history of Israel (Mt. 1.21; Lk. 1.31–2); the birth occurs in Bethlehem during the reign of Herod the Great (Mt. 2.1; Lk. 2.1–2).17 Both of the accounts presume a two-stage marriage process: 1) The engagement, a formal agreement between the father and groom in the presence of witnesses, and the payment of a bride price; and 2) the marriage, taking the girl to the husband’s home, usually a year or so after the engagement. During the engagement the groom had legal rights over the girl, and she could be called his “wife.” An engagement could only be broken by divorce, and “any violation of his marital rights by her was regarded as adultery.”18 According to Deuteronomy 22.23–7, a virgin who was found to have committed adultery could be put to death. While it is unknown if this was practiced in the first century, both Matthew and Luke were probably aware of the reference and its significance for understanding Mary’s position. Matthew, however, is more interested in demonstrating Joseph’s role in the unfolding events, while Mary plays only a limited role.19 After the genealogy, there are five episodes in Matthew’s infancy narrative: 1.18–25; 2.1–12, 13–15, 16–18, and 19–23, each of which contains a biblical citation indicating that the events have fulfilled the words of scripture. These statements function to demonstrate that Jesus’ life is consistent with God’s will as it is outlined in the scripture of Israel and to further establish Jesus’ identity.20 The first episode expands upon the last lines of the genealogy, which firmly roots Jesus in the history of the Jewish people and demonstrates Joseph’s Davidic lineage. It establishes Jesus as the Son of God by virtue of his conception through the Holy Spirit.21 Unlike Luke, who describes Mary twice as a parqe/nov (parthenos, unmarried woman, girl, or virgin),22 Matthew does not use the word parqe/nov directly in reference to Mary. He likely assumes the audience will understand that an unmarried woman was presumed to be a virgin. It is not until the end of the scene with the scriptural fulfillment citation from Isaiah 7.14 that Matthew introduces the notion that Mary will conceive as a virgin. In the broader context of Isaiah 7–9, Israel is under the imperial threat from the Assyrians. A child is 17. Joseph Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, AB (New York: Doubleday & Co., 1981), 307; Jane D. Schaberg and Sharon H. Ringe, “Gospel of Luke,” in Women’s Bible Commentary, ed. by Carol A. Newson, Sharon H. Ringe and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Twentieth-Anniversary Edition (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012), 502. 18. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 343. 19.  Since Mary is an active character in Luke and her story is told more fully there, I will discuss her in more detail in Chapter 5. 20. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 70. 21. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 34. 22. In the Greco-Roman world, parqe/nov primarily referred to an unmarried girl as opposed to gunh/ (gunē, woman). parqe/nov was often used interchangeably with korh/ (korē, girl). Even after a girl had sexual intercourse if she was unmarried she was sometimes still referred to as a parqe/nov (Gen. 34.3 [Levine, “Gospel of Matthew,” 468]).

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promised as a sign of the “nation’s future of salvation after judgment,”23 and a young woman from the royal court will give birth to a Davidic prince. In Hebrew, she is referred to as an hml( (‘alma, girl); in Greek, she is called a parqe/nov. While both the Hebrew Bible and the Septuagint agree she is an unmarried girl at the time of the oracle, neither suggests that a virginal conception, that is without human male intervention, is going to occur.24 Matthew, however, uses this passage to assert that Mary did conceive without male intervention, an assertion supported by 1.25.25 Jesus’ conception by the Holy Spirit and without human male intervention makes him the Son of God, according to Matthew. This conception, however, places Mary in a dangerous and vulnerable position, indeed, one in which she could be threatened with death. Matthew 1.18–25 also describes how Jesus is the Son of David, since the genealogy and birth narrative are clear that Joseph is not the biological father. An angel of the Lord appears to Joseph to tell him of the miraculous conception and that he will name the child. The child is given a double name. First, the angel declares, he will be called Jesus, “for he will save his people from their sins” (v. 21). The name “Jesus” was the Greek translation of Yeshua or Yeshu (Joshua), a name connected with the Hebrew root for “save” and interpreted as “God saves.”26 Second, in the context of the scriptural fulfillment citation the angel announces another name, “Emmanuel, which means ‘God is with us’” (v. 23). Joseph takes Mary as his wife and names the child “Jesus” according to the angel’s instructions. These two actions on the part of Joseph make him Jesus’ legal father, and thus make Jesus a part of the Davidic lineage. Just as the women in the genealogy were models of righteousness because of their actions, Joseph’s actions reveal that he is a righteous person. He acts to protect Mary from the charges of adultery and mitigate her vulnerable situation. Matthew models his character of Joseph upon the patriarch Joseph from Genesis, who is also depicted as a righteous person. The “Joseph Cycle” extends from Genesis 37–50 and tells the story of Joseph’s dreams, which anger his brothers, who sell him into slavery in Egypt (Gen. 37.5–36). In the ancient world, dreams were a way of signaling divine communication and were understood as “guides to the future.”27 Joseph’s faith in God and his righteousness are revealed at several points in the story but most notably when he rescues his family from famine in Canaan and resettles them in Egypt. In the end, Joseph forgives his brothers for their treatment of him. Like his literary inspiration from Genesis, Joseph of 23. Warren Carter, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” in The New Interpreter’s Study Bible: The New Revised Standard Version with the Apocrypha (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003), 1751. 24. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 35. 25. Matthew, however, does not refer in any way to the perpetual virginity of Mary (Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 36). That will appear in the Protevangelium of James. See Chapter 7. 26. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 35. 27. Ibid., 37.



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Nazareth has dreams that are communication from God, and he is an example of righteousness. He too relocates his family to Egypt to save them from a threatening situation. By modeling Joseph in the Gospel after the patriarch Joseph, Matthew associates his character with the founding of an ancient people and God’s saving activities in their lives. This association is extended in Mt. 2 as the Joseph analogy continues, and Jesus is modeled upon the most revered figure in the Hebrew Bible, Moses.

Jesus the Child The second episode of the infancy narrative (2.1–12) seems to revolve entirely around King Herod and the Magi who are seeking “the king of the Jews.” Since “King of the Jews” was an official title of Herod the Great, the Magi’s inquiry would be construed as referring to a rival of Herod. The king secretly consults with the chief priests and scribes to learn where the Messiah would be born. Herod’s inquiry foreshadows the chief priests’ meeting with the high priest to plot Jesus’ arrest and execution later in the Gospel (26.3–4). He then tells the Magi that the “Messiah” would be born in Bethlehem. The citation in 2.6, which is primarily from Mic 5.2, provides the traditional birthplace of the Messiah. While it does not specifically mention the Messiah, it does anticipate God’s coming reign.28 The end of the citation is from 2 Sam. 5.2, suggesting that this child will become a leader, a shepherd of God’s people, Israel, and further linking Jesus to David. When the Magi find the child they bow down before him in a gesture of worship, which is the way several other characters will approach Jesus. In episode three (2.13–15), Joseph is the main actor. He is prompted in a dream to flee with the child and his mother to Egypt away from the destructive king. Egypt was “a traditional place of refuge for Jews in biblical times.”29 The flight to Egypt again evokes Joseph’s journey to Egypt (Gen. 37), and Israel’s later escape from slavery (Exod. 11–15).30 The scriptural fulfillment citation in 2.15 comes from Hosea 11.1, and it emphasizes the child’s special relationship to God, as God’s own son. The placement of the citation is a bit confusing since Joseph, mother, and child are going into Egypt at this point, and not coming out, 28. Carter, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” 1750. 29. See 1 Kings 11.40, Jeremiah 26.21. In the Maccabean era the high priest Onias IV took refuge there as well (Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 44). For a contextual reading of this text as an account of forced migration, see Aquiles Ernesto Martínez, “Jesus, the Immigrant Child: A Diasporic Reading of Matthew 2.1–23,” Apuntes 26, no. 3 (2006): 84–114. Alejandro Alberto Duarte also interprets Matthew 2 contextually from the perspective of an Argentinian. He considers issues of injustice and complicity of the religious leaders in political processes as key themes in this narrative (“Matthew,” in Global Bible Commentary, ed. Daniel Patte [Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2004], 350–60). 30. Carter, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” 1750.

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as Hosea suggests. The important element, however, is the convergence of Egypt and the son.31 In episode four (2.16–18), an enraged King Herod orders the murder of all the children in and around Bethlehem under two years old, which could include both boys and girls.32 The quote from Jeremiah 31.15 in v. 18 concludes the tragic scene. Matthew is careful not to imply that God was responsible for the killing of the young children by avoiding a strong purpose conjunctive such as ou3twv (houtōs, thus, so, in this way), i4na (hina, in order that) or o4pwv (hupos, so that) as is the case in 2.5, 15, and 23 respectively.33 Harrington comments that “whereas in Jeremiah 31.16–17 Rachel is told to stop weeping because her children are coming back from exile, here the quotation is used in a context of unrelieved suffering.”34 The reference to Rachel reinforces Joseph of Nazareth’s connection to Joseph in Genesis, who was the son of Rachel. Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem in which he compares himself to a mother hen (28.1) later in the Gospel evokes Rachel again, as “both matriarch and Messiah mourn their doomed children.”35 In the final episode, Joseph returns as the key actor (2.19–23). In another dream, God reveals to Joseph that Herod has died, and he can return to Israel. Since Herod’s son Archelaus is ruling in Judea and is continuing his father’s oppressive rule, Joseph is afraid to take the family back to Judah. He instead takes the family to Nazareth. The final quotation (v. 23) is not actually from the scripture directly but may refer to the Nazarite vow described in Judges 13.7, 31. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 44. W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison point out that here Matthew seems to follow the Hebrew, “Out of Egypt I have called my son,” rather than the LXX, “Out of Egypt I have summoned my children [te/kna]” (Matthew 1–7: Volume 1 [London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2004], 262). 32. The Greek phrase used, pa/ntav tou\v pai=dav (pantas tous paidias, Mt. 2.16), in the masculine plural could refer to just boys, but often the masculine plural refers to a mixed group of both males and females. Although this event is not attested outside of the Gospel of Matthew, it is plausible. Herod was known for killing even his own family members, notably his wife Mariamne (Josephus Ant. 15.5.2; 15.7.4) and sons (Josephus Ant. 16.11.1–6). For a discussion of the historical potential of the event and how many children may have been killed see Richard T. France, “Herod and the Children of Bethlehem,” NovT 21, no. 2 (1979): 98–120; also Donald A. Hagner, Matthew 1–13, vol. 33A, Word Biblical Commentary (Dallas: Thomas Nelson, 1993), 37. 33. Hagner, Matthew 1–13, 37. Nevertheless, one may wonder why God does not provide the same protection for the children of Bethlehem as God does for Jesus. As readers, we have the right to resist the implication by the narrator that God cares more for Jesus than other children. 34. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 45. In the Jeremiah passage, Matthew again favors the Hebrew over LXX, but this time uses te/kna (children) as opposed to LXX’s ui4oi (sons). Matthew 2 seems to reserve “son” for Jesus and only when it is coming from the mouth of God (Davies and Allison, Matthew 1–7, 269). 35. Levine, “Gospel of Matthew,” 475.



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when Samson’s mother receives the announcement of his birth. The quotation may refer to Isaiah 11.1 as well, which foretells of a king from the Davidic line, a shoot or “branch” from the stump of Jesse; “branch” in Hebrew is rcn (netzer), and thus may be a word play on Nazorean.36 Throughout the infancy narrative Matthew draws distinct parallels between Jesus and Moses. Each story tells of a special child, “a savior, adopted by a stepparent from a royal family.”37 Both children are threatened with death at the hands of the ruling authorities (Exod 1.15–16; Mt. 2.16). As an adult, when Moses’ life was again threatened, he sought refuge in a foreign land (Exod 2.11–15). Similarly, when the infant Jesus’ life is threatened, Joseph takes him to a foreign land for safety (Mt. 2.13–15). Both are later called out of the place of refuge to return to the land of their birth, after the one who had sought their life has died (Exod 4.18–20; Mt. 2.19–23). The parallels continue into Jesus’ adulthood. Like Moses, Jesus “enters water (3.13–17), faces temptation in the wilderness (4.1–11), ascends a mountain and delivers instruction (5–7).”38 While Jesus is compared to Moses, he is contrasted with Herod. Only two characters in the narrative display any emotion: Herod, who is described as “troubled” or “frightened” when he hears that a child has been born “king of the Jews” (2.3), and he becomes “exceedingly angry” when he realizes he has been duped by the Magi (2.16); and the Magi, who “rejoice with exceedingly great joy” when they find the child (2.10).39 While the Magi’s response to finding the child is appropriate, Herod’s reaction could be construed as child-like behavior. Women and children were supposed to be easily frightened, but this was not the case for men and certainly not a king.40 The contrast could not be sharper: An infant from an insignificant village threatens a murderous client ruler of the Roman Empire residing in Jerusalem. Indeed, the reigning king is depicted as conniving and homicidal, demonstrating the need for a just king. Concerns about Herod, the Magi, and Joseph may seem to detract attention from the reason all of these characters act: the birth of the child Jesus.41 Indeed, 36. As Davies and Allison have pointed out in the previous citations, Matthew sometimes draws upon the Hebrew rather than the Greek of the LXX. 37. Levine, “Gospel of Matthew,” 468. 38. Ibid. Harrington argues that the Moses typology structures the passage. However, he rightly cautions against reading Jesus as the “new” Moses, which might suggest the “old Moses” is unimportant (The Gospel of Matthew, 49). 39. My translations. 40. However, the verb used to describe Herod’s reaction, tara/ssw (tarassō), can be used in reference to “political matters, to agitate, or distract” (Liddell and Scott, s.v. tara/ssw), which would be appropriate in this context. 41. Keith J. White remarks that little has been written about the fact that a child dominates the first two chapters of Matthew’s Gospel. Most attention is on the foreshadowing effect of these chapters on the rest of the Gospel. “It is as if there is no room for the child in the inn of theology (to borrow an image from Luke’s birth narrative).” For him, “the child in question … is not only the fulfillment of prophecy; his birth story is also an

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this boy is very much a child in an adult world. His early life is shaped by the adult males around him, and he is “powerless in contrast to the political and socioreligious power of Herod and the Magi.”42 Yet Matthew stealthily maintains the focus on his main character. In Mt. 1, Jesus is named five times: at the opening and closing of the genealogy (vv. 1, 16); in the introduction to the birth announcement (v. 18); when the angel tells Joseph what the child’s name will be (v. 21); and in Joseph’s action of naming Jesus (1.25). In contrast, Mt. 2 uses the name “Jesus” only once in a genitive absolute construction, tou= de\ 0Ihsou= gennhqe/ntov (tou de Jesu gennēthentos, after Jesus was born, v. 1). This enables Matthew to name Jesus first in the chapter without making him the subject of the sentence and/or ascribing any action to him. By using the name “Jesus,” he links the following material to that which has immediately preceded it.43 It is the last time, however, Matthew will use the name “Jesus” until 3.13, when the adult Jesus comes to John for baptism. Another common epithet for Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel, “son” (ui4ov, huios), is only found once in this chapter as well (2.15). Instead of being called by name or being referred to as the “son,” the hero of the Gospel narrative is designated simply as to/ paidi/on (to paidion, “the child”). Throughout Mt. 2, the author uses to/ paidi/on a total of nine times,44 four times alone (vv. 8, 9, 13b, 20b) and five times together with his mother (vv. 11, 13a, 14, 20a, 21). “The child” is, indeed, the focus of the chapter and the one around whom the action revolves.45 Even in the instances in which his mother Mary is included, Jesus is always identified first; she is secondary to her child, placing him as the focus of the attention. Moreover, this nomenclature reinforces the connections again to Moses, who is referred to as to/ paidi/on several times (Exod. 2.3, 6–9). By referring to Jesus only as “the child” throughout the infancy narrative of Mt. 2, Matthew draws attention to the vulnerable nature of this young one. This one is not yet the adult Jesus who has the power to heal and do miracles. This is just a young, fragile human child trying to survive his precarious first few years. account of God placing a child, his beloved Son, at the center of history” (“He Placed a Little Child in the Midst,” 357). 42. Elaine M. Wainwright, Shall We Look for Another: A Feminist Re-Reading of the Matthean Jesus (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1998), 42. 43. Davies and Allison, Matthew 1–7, 225. 44.  The NRSV uses “child” nine times and “child’s” once in Matthew 2; however, the first use of “child” in the English does not translate to/ paidi/on (to paidion), but rather texqei\v (textheis), a participle meaning “the child who was born.” 45.  For a discussion of how a non-active, non-vocal character can be considered a main character in the story, see Sharon Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These: A SocioLiterary Analysis of Daughters in the Gospel of Mark (London: T&T Clark, 2010), 109–10. This is in keeping with Elkins and Parker’s definition of “Childist Interpretation” (see Chapter 1). Speaking and acting do not necessarily make a character important in the text; rather children, who in the biblical narrative rarely speak and are often acted upon, are sometimes rightly the focus of the narrative through the actions and speech of others, including the narrator.



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In this chapter, Matthew constructs an image of who the child is or will be in the remainder of the Gospel. First, children were vulnerable to a variety of dangers in the ancient world: death, disease, accidents, abuse, and neglect. To be sure, as demonstrated above, children were valued members of their families, but childhood was a dangerous time of life. The child in Mt. 2 is among these vulnerable children. Having endured the perils of childbirth and the crucial first year or two of life, he is uprooted from his home and taken to another land. He becomes a refugee at a young age, exiled to a country which is not his own. He is shuttled between his homeland to a place of refuge and back to the homeland, but the family settles in another region of that land. Second, this child is threatened with death. While death was a threat for all children at that time, this child is threatened explicitly by the ruling elite. Herod perceives that this child whom the Magi have called “king of the Jews” is a threat to his rule, and therefore he seeks to kill the child. Third, this child is completely dependent upon others. His safety is dependent upon Joseph’s obedience to God’s instructions in dreams (vv. 13–15, 19–21). The child has no will of his own, but instead he relies upon the goodness of his adoptive father, Joseph, and Joseph’s obedience to God. The similarities between the stories of the infant Jesus and of the infant Moses reinforce this characterization. Moses too was vulnerable to the whims of the ruling Pharaoh, threatened with death, and protected by his mother and an adoptive parent, Pharaoh’s daughter. Thus, a child in Matthew’s narrative world is one who is vulnerable, threatened with death, and completely dependent upon others, including God.46 In the following sections, I will demonstrate that this depiction of the child in Matthew is reinforced through three stories of children whom Jesus heals. In 9.18–26, the daughter of an official has died, and he comes to Jesus asking him to restore the girl to life. In 15.21–8, the daughter of the Canaanite woman is ravished by a demon. Likewise, in 17.14–20, an epileptic boy “suffers terribly” from a demon-induced affliction. The daughter of Herodias also appears in this Gospel (14.1–12), and she is not insignificant in Matthew’s depiction of children. Finally, the child from Mt. 2 will inform Jesus’ teaching with a child and children in Mt. 18–19.

46.  Cornelia B. Horn and John W. Martens provide a helpful reminder when discussing the “child in the midst” passages, which is applicable here as well: “There is something definitive and specific about the child … which is not reducible to one or more attributes of childhood, such as vulnerability, innocence, or insignificance, even if all of these can be part of the reality of the life of the child” (Let the Little Children Come to Me: Childhood and Children in Early Christianity [Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2009], 255). By introducing these three characteristics, I do not intend to be reductionist and suggest that these are the only characteristics of the child, which could be drawn from this passage. I simply find these three helpful in considering this child in relationship to the other children in the Gospel and in Jesus’ teachings with children, as I will demonstrate below.

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Young Daughters and Sons in Matthew The Gospel of Matthew contains the same stories of Jesus healing children and in the same progression as the Gospel of Mark. The first Gospel includes the narrative recounting the beheading of John the Baptist and the daughter of Herodias as well. Yet as Harrington states, Matthew is a “careful editor, eager to prune away unnecessary details.”47 He preserves only the most necessary elements of the plot needed to convey the story, and his redaction transforms most of Mark’s colorful narratives into conversations that focus on faith.48 This is just as true of the narratives containing children. Since I discussed these stories in Chapter 3, and I will address two of them in Chapter 5 below (Jairus’ daughter, Lk. 8.40–56; father’s son, 9.37–43), here I will focus upon some of the significant differences between Matthew and Mark, and how Matthew uses the stories. The Official’s Daughter Chapters 1–2 of Matthew’s Gospel introduce Jesus, place him in the context of the people of Israel, and initiate the theme of what a child is in the Gospel. Chapters 3–4 continue introducing Jesus, now as an adult. Chapters 5–7 are Jesus’ first teachings about the reign of heaven. Chapters 8–9, then, enact these teachings as Jesus demonstrates his inclusivity through accepting a variety of people: “poor and rich, males and females, healthy and ill, sinners and saints, those with strong support networks and those depicted on their own.”49 In addition, he heals the first child in the Gospel. In 9.18 an “official,” whose daughter has just died, comes to Jesus asking him to lay his hand on her so “she will live.” Matthew’s version does not have the name of the father or that he is the leader “of the synagogue” as Mark’s and Luke’s versions do. This may be due to the strained relationship Matthew’s community had with the synagogue. None of the religious leaders are portrayed in a positive light.50 “Official” does indicate that the man is among the elite in the community. In addition, by having the father say the girl “has just died,” Matthew is able to make a tighter account by omitting the sequence in Mark in which people come from Jairus’ house to tell him the news of his daughter’s death (Mk 5.35). In Matthew, since the daughter is dead from the beginning, the story demonstrates the remarkable nature of the official’s faith and his confidence in Jesus’ healing powers.51 The official kneels respectfully (9.18) before Jesus, like the Magi did when Jesus was an infant (2.11). While Jesus is on his way to the official’s house with him, a woman in the crowd seeks healing from a 12-year 47. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 133. 48. Ibid., 133. 49. Levine, “Gospel of Matthew,” 471. 50. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 130. Harrington states that while the father is no longer a synagogue leader, the Jewishness of the account is still highlighted by the reference to the tassels Jesus wore and the flute players (135). 51. Ibid., 131.



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hemorrhage. Unlike in Mark and Luke, Jesus first acknowledges the woman and her faith before she is healed, emphasizing the role of faith and the action of Jesus in healing (9.20–2). The woman is healed “at that hour” (9.22), Matthew’s catchphrase for “instantly.”52 When Jesus arrives at the house, mourners are already assembled, including flute players who were a part of the funeral service. Their presence is another indication that the girl is really dead; the funeral has already begun. Jesus puts the crowd outside and, apparently alone, goes in, takes the girl by the hand, and she rises. Then the word of the miracle spreads throughout the district. Matthew removes almost all of the information about the girl. She is referred to only once by her father as quga/thr (thugatēr, daughter, 9.18), in contrast to Mark, who calls her both quga/thr (Mk 5.35) and the affectionate quga/trion (thugatrion, little daughter, 5.23). Like Mark, Matthew uses kora/sion (korasion, girl, 9.24, 25), but she is never called paidi/on (cf. four times in Mk 5.39–41). Her age is no longer mentioned, voiding a connection with the woman’s story. The girl does not eat and there is no command to silence. Nevertheless, a sick child who dies would have been a reality, something to which many in Matthew’s audience could relate. The father’s inability to save his daughter, even given his relatively high status, demonstrates how vulnerable children were to death, how threatening an illness could be, and how dependent she was on the loving care of her father. Thus, she recalls the child Jesus, who was vulnerable, threatened, and reliant on his parents, especially his father. So while she is not the focus of the story in the same way the girl is in Mark’s narrative, the girl’s story is the first example of how the depiction of Jesus as a child is reinforced through the other child narratives in the Gospel. This story evokes Jesus’ childhood in another way: While Herod killed children, likely even daughters, Jesus brings a child back to life.53 Moreover, this girl’s resuscitation anticipates Jesus’ death and resurrection; just as she was really dead and was raised, so too will Jesus die and be raised. The Daughter of Herodias The second child in the Gospel is not one with whom Jesus interacts, yet her story still contributes to the depiction of children in the Gospel. Before I discuss Matthew’s version of the beheading of John the Baptist and Herodias’ daughter in 14.1–12, I want to comment briefly on the intervening material regarding John the Baptist. After a series of healings in Mt. 8­–9 and Jesus’ commissioning of, and teaching, the disciples in Mt. 10, messengers come from John the Baptist, who is in prison, asking if Jesus “is one who is to come.” Jesus responds by telling the messengers to share with John what they “hear and see” (11.3–4). The last 52. For an in-depth discussion of the woman and interpretations that primarily focus upon her condition and impurity, see Amy-Jill Levine, “Discharging Responsibility: Matthean Jesus, Biblical Law, and Hemorrhaging Woman,” in A Feminist Companion to Matthew, ed. Amy-Jill Levine (Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press, 2001), 70–87. 53. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 224.

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category of persons on the list of those whom Jesus has healed is the dead who are raised. Thus the report to John recalls the raising of the official’s daughter. Jesus then addresses the crowd about John and eventually tells them a parable: “But to what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another, ‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn’ ” (11.16–17). The first game the children propose to another group is to play wedding with flutes and dancing; the second game is to play funeral with wailing and mourning. But the second group does not want to play either game. The parable is a judgment on those who rejected both John and Jesus: Jesus came feasting; John came fasting, but both in the end would be rejected. The parable links the two girls together, recalling the official’s daughter in Mt. 9 and anticipating Herodias’ daughter in Mt. 14. The first daughter was dead and the funeral had already begun by the time Jesus arrived. In contrast, the second daughter was dancing at a banquet, but ironically this would lead to the death of John the Baptist.54 Given Matthew’s redaction of the story of Herodias’ daughter, the girl and her mother have a smaller role in the scene than in Mark’s Gospel. The narrative primarily revolves around Herod and his actions. “He is the subject of almost every verb,” such that the actions of Herodias and her daughter are circumscribed by his.55 The scene opens in a similar fashion to Mark’s account, but instead of Herodias having a grudge against John and wanting to kill him, Herod is the one who seeks John’s life. Leading into the birthday party, there is no hint of what the outcome will be as there is in Mark’s account (Mk 6.21). Though this Herod is now Herod Antipas, the son of Herod the Great from Mt. 2, there are contrasts between Jesus and both Herod the father and Herod the son. First, the scene opens with Herod pondering who Jesus is. Mark does not indicate to whom Herod Antipas muses, “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised” (Mk 6.16). In Matthew, however, Herod takes over the words of the anonymous “some” (Mk 6.14) and tells his servants, “This is John the Baptist; he has been raised from the dead, and for this reason these powers are at work in him” (Mt. 14.2). The word used for “servants” in this verse is the plural form of pai=v (pais), which can mean both “child” and “servant or slave.” In Matthew 2.16 the plural of pai=v was used for the children of Bethlehem whom Herod the Great slaughtered. Now Herod Antipas says to his paisi\n (paisin) that he believes Jesus is John the Baptist raised from the dead.56 Thus, Jesus is evoked in the opening lines of the scene in which he otherwise does not appear, connecting him to Herod. It soon becomes clear that Herod Antipas has just as little regard for children as his father did. Second, once the girl dances and pleases Herod, he swears an oath that she can have whatever she wishes (Mt. 14.7). While the verbs “dance” and “pleased” do not indicate the girl’s dance was 54. Ibid., 304. 55.  Stephenson Humphries-Brooks, “The Canaanite Women in Matthew,” in A Feminist Companion to Matthew, eds Amy-Jill Levine with Marianne Blickenstaff (Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press, 2001), 146. 56. Humphries-Brooks translates paisi\n a0utou= ironically as “his boys” (ibid., 146).



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intentionally provocative, Herod’s reaction suggests he was aroused by the dance.57 Previously, Jesus has taught about the consequences of lust, connecting it to adultery (5.27–8), and has prohibited swearing an oath (5.33–7). The connection between Jesus’ teachings, the girl’s dance, and Herod’s reaction demonstrate that Herod is the culpable one here. Third, Matthew corrects Mark’s identification of Herod Antipas as a king (Mk 6.14), and instead calls him “tetrarch” (Mt. 14.1).58 However, Matthew calls him “king” in 14.9. The combination of Herod’s birthday and the title “king” evokes the “birth, origin, and commission of another king (1.18; 2.1, 2, 4) and contrasts their two reigns (2.2). Whereas Herod’s reign brings oppression and death, Jesus’ reign consists of life and justice.”59 There is, however, no justice for Herodias’ daughter, and one might wonder what her life is like. She is clearly the daughter of an elite family. Yet instead of being treated as a “protected female member of his household,” Herod treats the girl like a e9tair/a (hetaera, hired dancing girl), permitting her to dance “in the midst” of the gathering, which is likely all men.60 Women present at banquets were presumed to be available for sex. Moreover, the scene suggests that the author was familiar with the reputation of other Herodian women who were accused of lax morals.61 This treatment of the girl even intimates that she is abused by her stepfather. Stephenson Humphries-Brooks argues, “The size of the oath coupled with the daughter’s dance may indicate further that Herod has violated his own stepdaughter in terms of Jesus’ teaching. Jesus condemns the lustful look and assigns responsibility and condemnation exclusively to the men apparently regardless of the circumstances.”62 Whether or not that is the case, the girl is certainly placed in a vulnerable and threatening situation. Though the girl in Matthew’s version of the story still provides the impetus for the beheading of John the Baptist, narratively her power is greatly diminished from Mark’s version. In Matthew, she is the subject of only three verbs and her speech is reduced to ten words. That said, she still does act and speak, more so than her mother does. But “the daughter is surrounded by male action, and her speech is dictated by her mother.”63 The Herodian girl is similar in several ways to the official’s daughter. Each story depicts a ruler who is presented in relation to a child, but neither can exercise 57. See the discussion on Mark 6.14–29 in Chapter 3 for uses of the verb a0re/skw (areskō, to please). 58. Although a tetrarch is literally one of four rulers, the term came to indicate one with less status than a king. When King Herod the Great died, his kingdom was divided among his sons. Archelaus ruled over Judea and Samaria as an ethnarch (ruler of a people), while Antipas and Philip were given the title of tetrarch, ruling over areas of Galilee and Perea (The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible S–Z, s.v. “Tetrarch, Tetrarchy,” Steven J. Friesen). 59. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 303. 60. Humphries-Brooks, “The Canaanite Women in Matthew,” 147. 61. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 303–4. 62. Humphries-Brooks, “The Canaanite Women in Matthew,” 147. 63. Ibid., 152.

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their power: The official cannot raise his daughter, and Herod cannot retract his oath. Both girls’ stories are interrupted by a woman, the woman from the crowd and Herodias. Each story contains music, flute players at the girl’s funeral and the music to which Herodias’ daughter dances. Both of the girls are associated with death.64 They are called kora/sion and quga/thr (9.24–5; 14.11). The Canaanite woman’s child will also be called quga/thr (15.22, 28). Thus, “according to other Matthean patterns of story, [Herodias’ daughter] is worthy of protection and healing.”65 But unlike the girls whose parents are looking out for their wellbeing, the Herodian daughter does not have a faithful parent who intercedes on her behalf. Instead of being threatened by illness or a demon, she is threatened by potential abuse and clear apathy. Sadly, Jesus is not present in this scene to mitigate her dangerous situation. The Daughter of the Canaanite Woman Just as the material between the stories of the official’s daughter and Herodias’ daughter connects those narratives, so too does the feeding of the 5,000 in 14.13–21 link the story of Herodias’ daughter to both the Canaanite mother and daughter in 15.21–8 and the epileptic boy in 17.14–20. The feeding story is directly linked to the preceding scene because Jesus initially withdraws after hearing about the death of John the Baptist.66 Additionally, Jesus’ feeding of the crowd and his compassion for them is in contrast to Herod’s banquet and his murderous scheming. In typical Matthean fashion, the author of the first Gospel streamlines Mark’s version of the narrative, but he augments the story in other places. I will comment upon two of these additions.67 First, when Jesus initially encounters the crowds again, he heals the sick among them. Matthew’s use of qerapeu/w (therapeuō) to describe the healing, which typically occurs when the healing occurs in Jewish regions, anticipates the healing of the epileptic boy (17.16). Second, Matthew adds “those who ate were about 5,000 men, besides women and children” to the end of his narrative (14.21). While “women and children” is a stock phrase in ancient literature and a rhetorical device,68 it functions to enlarge the group that is present, making the miracle more spectacular.69 The Matthean author is also assuming the “presence and involvement of children in the ministry

64. Levine, “Discharging Responsibility,” 86. 65. Humphries-Brooks, “The Canaanite Women in Matthew,” 151. 66. Jesus likely withdraws out of fear of Herod, since Herod killed John and thought that Jesus was John resurrected. 67. For other changes as well as the allusions to Elisha’s feeding miracle in 2 Kings 4.42–4, see Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 220–3. 68. James Murphy comments upon the frequency with which Josephus uses the phrase (Kids and Kingdom: The Precarious Presence of Children in the Synoptic Gospels [Eugene: Pickwick, 2013], 264. 69. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 220.



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of Jesus.”70 Interestingly, both the previous child narrative and the following one will include a woman and her child. In Matthew’s version of the woman who has a daughter possessed by a demon, Jesus is on his way to the district of Tyre and Sidon when the mother comes out to meet him. In Mark’s story, Jesus is on the woman’s home turf, and they meet in a house. However, in Matthew the two are meeting in the borderlands, the liminal space between two cultural worlds. The woman who comes out of the region is described as a Canaanite. As Amy-Jill Levine says, her identification as a Canaanite “recalls the original struggle between the Hebrews and the indigenous population of the land, and it also recollects the Canaanite women of the genealogy: Rahab and (probably) Tamar.”71 According to Matthew then, the mother and Jesus share an ancestral link, but their encounter quickly becomes a struggle between their two cultures. Jesus’ worldview in this scene is overshadowed by his perception of the woman as “the other,” from the people who are not his to save, while the woman uses the language of his culture to plead her case. The Canaanite mother uses titles for Jesus intended to gain his approval. She first calls him “Lord” (15.22), which is a confessional title in Matthew frequently used by those who come for healing72 and by the disciples.73 She will use the term two more times in the passage (vv. 25, 27). Jesus usually recognizes the title as a sign of faith.74 She then calls him “Son of David” (15.22b), which commonly referred to Solomon who was known as a healer and exorcist.75 The title links Jesus with the Israelite and Davidic rule and associates the woman with the Jewish crowd who will accept Jesus (21.9, 15).76 Further, she utilizes the language of prayer with her petition, “Have mercy on me” (15.22). The two sets of blind men whom Jesus heals will also combine these two phrases, “Have mercy on us, Son of David” (9.27–30; 20.29–34). The woman then describes her daughter’s condition; she is possessed by a demon. The story uses a form of the verb daimoni/zomai (daimonizomai), which is used in Matthew for “those considered to be afflicted by demon possession and who were, therefore, in need of healing (4.24; 8.16).”77 The verb is used in three other specific cases of demon possession: two men from Gadarenes (8.28, 33), the man unable to speak (9.32), and a blind and speechless man (12.23). In each case Jesus heals the men. For this reason, the combination of the phrase, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David” and the mother’s description of her daughter raises the expectation that Jesus will heal this girl as well. But Jesus does not even answer; 70. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 264. 71. Levine, “Gospel of Matthew,” 474. 72. 8.2, 6, 8; 9.28; 17.15; 20.30, 31, 33. 73. 8.21, 25; 14.28, 30; 16.22; 17.4; 18.21; 26.22. 74. Humphries-Brooks, “The Canaanite Women in Matthew,” 143. 75. Carter, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” 227. 76. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 322; Levine, “Gospel of Matthew,” 474. 77. Elaine M. Wainwright, “Not without My Daughter: Gender and Demon Possession in Matthew 15.21–8,” in A Feminist Companion to Matthew, eds Amy-Jill Levine with Marianne Blickenstaff (Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press, 2001), 128.

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moreover, the disciples tell him to send her away because she is bothering them. He responds that he was sent to the “lost sheep of the house of Israel,” evoking his identity as a shepherd in both the birth narrative (2.6) and his compassion for the crowds (9.36; 14.14). The woman then kneels before him as the Magi (2.11), the leper (8.2), the official (9.18), and the disciples have done (14.33). But Jesus is still unmoved, and using an insulting metaphor, he tells her that his grace should not be taken from his kind and thrown to her kind.78 In a manner similar to the women in the genealogy whose cleverness demonstrated their righteousness, the woman retorts that even her kind are permitted to eat that which is left over from his kind.79 Jesus finally recognizes the woman’s righteousness and faith, and he declares that what she desires will be accomplished. Matthew’s version of the story is significantly different from Mark’s version, and it omits most of the diminutives that Mark uses to maintain his focus on the girl. She is called neither quga/trion nor paidi/on. Matthew seems to reserve the latter term for a special purpose in his Gospel, which will become clear in the discussion of Mt. 18. Neither is the word daimo/nion (daimonion, demon) used to describe her condition. The only diminutives that remain are “dogs” (kuna/ria, kunaria) and “crumbs” (yixi/wn, pshichiōn). It is not even clear if the daughter is present during the scene or not. References to quga/thr, however, frame the story. The mother first describes her daughter’s condition, and then the narrative closes with the announcement that “her daughter was healed instantly” (15.28). The description of the daughter changes from the beginning of the scene to the end. She is transformed from a “daughter [who] is severely possessed by a demon” (v. 22), to a “daughter [who] was healed” (v. 28). The verb used at the end of the story to signal the healing, i0a/omai (iaomai, to heal/cure), occurs only four times in Matthew (8.8, 13; 13.15; 15.28), much more rarely than qerapeu/w.80 The other healing story in which i0a/omai occurs (8.5–13) involves the healing of a Gentile too. Elaine Wainwright states that it was a common word in the Greco-Roman world to describe healing, whereas qerapeu/w more generally meant “to serve.” The latter became used for “healing in the Jewish-Christian communities of the reign-of-God movement.”81 Thus, Matthew uses the former term to describe the Gentile girl’s healing, and will use the latter term to describe the healing of the Jewish epileptic boy (17.14–20), 78. For various ways scholars have sought to nuance Jesus’ use of “dogs” here see Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 11–12. 79. Commentators frequently suggest that the woman accepts the insult. HumphriesBrooks for example says, “She willingly identifies her utter abasement as a crumb-licking dog and refers to the ‘lords’ table’ from which she begs scraps” (“The Canaanite Women in Matthew,” 143). Luz rightly reacts to such comments by stating simply, “To say that the woman designated herself as ‘dog’ is to read into the text a humility that is foreign to it” (Ulrich Luz, Matthew 8–20, Hermeneia – a Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001], 341). 80. Wainwright, “Not without My Daughter,” 135. 81. Ibid.



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although they are both demon possessed. In this way, Wainwright concludes, the stories “construct a world of ethnic difference.”82 Indeed, both ethnicity and gender again come into play in Jesus’ initial refusal to heal this girl, as they did in Mark’s Gospel. Jesus’ actions serve to further marginalize an already vulnerable and threatened girl. Matthew provides few descriptions of the symptoms of demon possession (unlike Mark), so it is unknown if this girl could have died from her ailment. Yet Jesus, the one who is supposed to heal and accept children, initially stands in the way of her healing. In the end, the daughter is healed; the passive voice indicates that God is the one responsible for the healing. Like the centurion’s servant (8.13) and the woman in the crowd (9.22), the girl is healed “at that hour,” or instantly. Just as the first feeding story followed the episode of Herodias’ daughter, a second feeding story follows the scene of the Canaanite daughter. Food and feasting characterized the Herodian daughter’s narrative while bread and crumbs were mentioned in the Canaanite girl’s story. At the conclusion of the feeding of the 4,000, Matthew again notes that women and children were present, in addition to the men. The statement neatly concludes the healing of women and girls and stories of mothers and daughters. Before the last child-healing narrative in the Gospel, which will include a father and son, Jesus will turn his attention toward Jerusalem and begin predicting his passion, death, and resurrection. An Epileptic Son and His Father The final parent who comes to Jesus on behalf of a child approaches him just as the other two parents have; he falls before Jesus. His appeal to Jesus, “Have mercy on me, Lord” (17.15) is almost exactly like the Canaanite mother’s petition. He describes his son, however, as “moonstruck,” a condition that is often translated as epilepsy.83 It causes him to fall into fire and water, thus the life-threatening nature of the affliction is evident (17.15). In Mark, the boy’s condition is described several times (Mk 9.17–18, 20, 22, 26) and the father’s faith plays a key role (Mk 9.24). Harrington states that, for Matthew, the episode “emphasizes the failure of the disciples (14.15–17, 26, 30–1; 15.16, 23; 16.5, 22; 17.4, 10) with respect to understanding and faith.”84 He continues observing that the focus on the disciples is necessitated by context: Since 16.5, they have been center stage with Jesus, misunderstanding the significance of the loaves (16.5–12); confessing Jesus’ identity (16.13–20); witnessing the Transfiguration (17.1–13); attempting to heal the boy (17.14–20); hearing the passion and resurrection predictions (17.22–3); 82. Ibid., 136. 83.  Carter says that moonstruck “reflects understandings of the evil power of the moon, or of the moon goddess ‘Selene.’ In addition, the term has imperial implications in denoting the moon-blessed success of Rome, with its destructive effect on people’s lives. The alliance with demons is indicated in 17.18. The moon/demon/goddess threatens the boy’s life in destructive ways” (Matthew and the Margins, 353). 84. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 257.

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and discussing the Temple tax (17.24–7). These scenes all build toward Jesus’ instruction to the disciples in Mt. 18. There are several parallels between the Canaanite girl and the “moonstruck” boy. As mentioned, their parents approach Jesus in a similar fashion, using the same posture and language of supplication. The Gentile girl was demon possessed and then healed and this boy, whom Matthew finally acknowledges was afflicted by a demon in 17.18, is also healed, though the terms used to describe the healings differ.85 Their healings occur “at that hour,” or instantly (15.28; 17.18). However, the son appears to be more valued than the daughter. Jesus does not ignore the boy’s father. Indeed, in the ancient world, sons were often relied upon to contribute to the family business or work the land, and they provided support for parents in their elder years. Yet both children are indeed healed, demonstrating that boys and girls, Jews and Gentiles, sons of fathers and daughters of mothers are included in Jesus’ care. The boy’s healing concludes the series of stories about individual children in Matthew’s Gospel. These children have several features in common: Each child who is ill is completely dependent upon her or his parent. The parent, however, is unable to help and in turn depends upon Jesus to heal the affliction. The children’s illnesses increase their vulnerability and the vulnerability of their parents. Jesus responds to both the child and the parent’s vulnerability.86 Jesus, who was once the vulnerable, threatened, dependent child, is now the adult savior, who heals the afflicted children. But what about the girl who never encountered Jesus? What about her vulnerable, threatened, and potentially abused situation? Will she have a place in this ongoing story of Jesus? The next episode with children will provide an answer.

The Child in the Midst Following the last child-healing narrative, Jesus predicts his passion, death, and resurrection a second time (17.22–3). He and his disciples then make their way back to Capernaum, and Jesus teaches Peter about the Temple tax and God’s provision, symbolized by the fish from which Jesus instructs Peter to retrieve the coin for the tax.87 The narrative then moves into the fourth major discourse in the Gospel (18.1–35). From 18.1–19.15, children and the language of “little ones” become central images for the disciples, the adults who are following Jesus, regarding how members of God’s reign are to live. The discourse opens with a teaching about greatness. In Mark and Luke, the disciples are arguing about who 85. As Luz rather dryly comments, “Obviously Matthew did not particularly like exorcisms, for in our story he avoided all indications that the sick boy was possessed until he had to mention it” (Matthew 8–20, 407). 86. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 94. 87. See Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 356–60 for a discussion of the scene and the reason for its placement here.



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is greatest, which prompts Jesus’ teaching about children. However, in Matthew, they ask Jesus, “Who is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” (18.1). By formulating the question in this way, the disciples do not seem to be jockeying for position in the same way in which the other Gospels portray them.88 However, “greatness” still presumes that they are thinking about matters of status, wealth, and power. The previous scene has brought Jesus and his disciples to Peter’s home (17.25). In response to their question, Jesus calls a child, who is in the household, to him. Matthew uses the same word for calling the child as he has previously used for calling or summoning the disciples, proskale/w (proskaleō, 10.1), thus making a connection between the child, discipleship, and the reign of heaven. Indeed, since the child had no social status or political significance, it is a stark illustration of what “greatness” is and is not for the Jesus community. Jesus then places the child among them. Another child has earlier appeared “among” a crowd, Herodias’ daughter. Both children are “in the midst” of their respective group (14.6; 18.2). Carter points out that Jesus’ action in 18.2 demonstrates that his “community is in contrast to that of the political elite” at Herod’s birthday party.89 But while the child “in the midst” might provide a contrast between the elite adults around Herod and the adult disciples around Jesus, it also brings Herodias’ daughter into the sphere of Jesus’ teachings about children. She is not excluded from his care and compassion because her father and mother killed John the Baptist and thus rejected the teachings of God. Indeed, as an abused and neglected girl, she is one whom the disciples need to consider in their quest for greatness; and indeed, she will be included in Jesus’ pronouncement regarding to whom the reign of heaven belongs (19.14). Jesus then declares that the disciples must change and become like children in order to enter the reign of heaven. Horn and Martens point out, “Matthew does not explain this statement, and the reader is left to wonder whether humility may be the virtue through which one attains spiritual perfection.”90 Elwyn Tilden reflects this perspective when he suggests that to change and become like children is to “turn away from self-chosen goals and relate oneself to God as to a father.”91 Matthew, however, has a more concrete notion of what it means to become like children. The word “child” is present in 18.2 and 5. The real child in v. 2 is the same child that is referred to in v. 5. That child informs the meaning of v. 3, “change and become like children.” To understand fully the meaning of v. 3, it is necessary to understand the terms Matthew uses for children throughout the Gospel. Throughout the Gospel of Matthew, the author uses a variety of words to 88. Interestingly, later James and John’s mother will still ask for her sons to have a seat of privilege (20.20–3), but here Matthew tempers the disciples’ behavior. 89. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 362. 90. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 256. 91.  Elwyn E. Tilden, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” in The New Oxford Annotated Bible with Apocrypha, eds Bruce E. Metzger and Roland E. Murphy, New Revised Standard Version (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), NT 26–7.

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describe or identify children. Te/knon (teknon, child) is used fourteen times in the Gospel in both singular and plural forms.92 In all but two cases, Jesus is speaking the word while he is teaching.93 In only one case does te/knon refer to another character in the Gospel narrative. Jesus calls the paralyzed man “child” when he heals him (9.2–8), even though the individual does not seem to be a young person but an adult.94 Quga/thr (thugater, daughter) is used five times95 and kora/sion (korasion, girl) is used twice in reference to girls.96 Pai=v (pais) is used eight times; at times referring to a slave or servant,97 and at times referring to a non-adult child or children.98 Ui9o/v (hios, son) is only used once to refer to a boy other than Jesus (17.15). The word used most commonly for “child” in Matthew’s Gospel is paidi/on. It is used 18 times, only six of which are the plural.99 The majority of the time paidi/on is in the singular; nine of these uses are found in Mt. 2 and refer to Jesus (2.8, 9, 11, 13 [twice], 14, 20 [twice], 21).100 The remaining three times in which paidi/on is used in the singular form is in response to the disciples’ question, “who is the greatest in the reign of heaven?” (18.2, 4, 5). For Matthew, the singular of paidi/on is reserved for Jesus and his specific teachings about children. With this word choice Matthew is drawing a connection between the child Jesus and the child who is greatest in the reign of heaven.101 Indeed, the characteristics of the child in Mt. 2 are those that the disciples are supposed to imitate in their life of discipleship. Jesus tells his disciples to be like the child whom he places before them. As Jesus does this, he is setting before them the example of his own life. His 92. 2.18; 3.9; 7.11; 9.2 (translated as “sons” in the NRSV); 10.21 (twice); 15.26; 18.25; 19.29; 21.28 (twice, translated as “son” and “sons” in the NRSV); 22.24; 23.37; 27.25. 93. The two exceptions are 2.18 and 27.25. 94. The NRSV translates te/knon as “son.” See the discussion in Chapter 4 on Mark’s version of this story and why the paralytic is likely an adult. 95. 9.18, 22; 14.6; 15.22, 28. In 10.32, 37, quga/thr refers to daughters more generally, and no age is indicated; in 21.5 the word is used in the phrase “daughter of Zion.” 96. 9.24; 14.11. 97. 8.6, 8, 13; 14.2. The use in 12.18, in the quotation from the Servant Song, is usually translated as “servant” but could just a easily be translated as “child.” 98. 2.16; 17.18; 21.15. 99. 11.16, 14.21, 15.38, 18.3, 19.13, 14. 100. In contrast, Mark uses paidi/on 12 times: eight times in the singular for children whom Jesus heals or in his teachings about children (5.39, 40 [twice], 41; 7.30; 9.24, 36; 10.15), and four times in the plural (7.28; 9.37; 10.13, 14). Luke uses the word 13 times: in the singular seven times to refer to Jesus or John (1.59, 66, 76, 80; 2.17, 27, 40) and two times for the child by Jesus’ side (9.47–8). The plural uses are in Jesus’ teachings (7.32; 11.7; 18.16, 17). 101. cf. White argues that since Jesus himself does not link his birth and the little child in 18.1–5, the two stories should not be conflated. Instead he prefers an “open anagogical relation between the two” (“He Placed a Little Child in the Midst,” 258–9). However, while it is true that Jesus does not make the connection, Matthew certainly does.



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disciples are to become like the child he was and like the adult he is. They are to be vulnerable and as reliant on God as he was as a child and now is as an adult. Like Jesus, they may even be required to face death (24.9). This is the humility they are to embody as his followers. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon has rightly remarked concerning Mark 10.43, that this teaching is not geared toward those who already are vulnerable and without power, such as women, slaves, and children;102 nor is Jesus advocating self-abasement for those who are already oppressed. Instead, Matthew’s audience for this teaching are those who are concerned with being greatest, like the disciples, and who have reason to believe that it might include them!103 Jesus’ teaching that welcoming the child equals welcoming him (18.5) reinforces this connection by alluding again to the child in Mt. 2. The word de/xomai (dexomai), which the NRSV translates as “welcome,” can mean “receive” or “accept.” Further, it can have the connotation of “greet” or “worship.”104 In Mt. 2, when Herod seeks to kill the child, he clearly is not receiving or accepting the child Jesus. The Magi, on the other hand, do worship him and thus accept the child Jesus. Moreover, 18.5 reiterates a portion of Jesus’ instructions to his disciples before their missionary journey. The language that Jesus used to describe the results of welcoming the disciples in 10.40 is repeated in 18.5 with a key alteration: Welcoming the child equals welcoming Jesus. If the disciples do not accept or welcome children, the audience may wonder if the disciples are able to accept the first child in the Gospel, who is now the adult Jesus. Jesus begins to teach the disciples about the nature of their community life, and he refers three times to mikro/v (micros, little ones, 18.6, 10, 14). While interpreters have often understood “little ones” to mean the disciples, real children in the discipleship community may be in mind as well because of the proximity to the teaching about the child and becoming like children. Since the scene does not change from v. 5 to v. 6, that suggests the child Jesus placed in the midst of the disciples may still be present. Yet since mikro/v referred to disciples in 10.42 and the word is a masculine plural form in 18.6 and 10, it may well be the disciples to whom Jesus is referring.105 Paidi/on, on the other hand, is a neuter word, and in v. 14 mikro/v is a neuter plural form suggesting children, not the disciples. Rather than mikro/v either referring to the disciples or to children, its use probably refers both to the disciples and to children. As a term for the disciples, mikro/v underlines 102. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, “Gospel of Mark,” in Women’s Bible Commentary, eds Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H. Ringe, and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Twentieth-Anniversary Edition (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2012), 488. 103. I am grateful to my students Molly Kate Been and Leigh Smith who pointed this out to me in response to my earlier article “The Child and Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew.” They were in my class on the Gospels and Acts while also taking a course on Liberation Theology at Oklahoma City University. 104. H. G. Liddell and Robert Scott, A Greek–English Lexicon s.v. de/xomai 105.  The word ei[v (heis, one), a masculine form, modifies mikro/v in each case and thus mikrw=n (mikrōn) in vv. 6 and 10 are masculine genitive plural forms.

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their identity as a small and marginal group but also as valuable and special in God’s eyes.106 If mikro/v literally means children, though, it may have to do with not hindering the children in their own discipleship or leading them astray.107

Bringing Children to Jesus and Children’s Praises It becomes clear in 19.13 that the disciples have not understood Jesus’ teaching about children from 18.1–5. Children are being brought to Jesus for him to lay his hand upon and pray for.108 Jesus’ hands have provided healing including for children (8.3, 15; 9.18, 25), expressed Jesus’ relationship with disciples as he stretches his hand toward those gathered around him (12.49),109 and “saved the doubting-believing Peter (see 14.31). They make God’s saving presence and power available in these situations.”110 The disciples, however, do not accept or receive the ones bringing their children to Jesus, but instead speak harshly to them, implicitly not welcoming the children either. Jesus declares that the children should come to him and not be hindered, for the reign of heaven belongs to, or consists of, children.111 This episode explicitly recalls Jesus’ declaration in 18.1–5 about who is the greatest in the reign of heaven and that welcoming children equals welcoming Jesus. Though Matthew often portrays the disciples more positively than Mark does,112 they do not make the grade here. They have not welcomed the children and, thus, they clearly do not welcome or accept Jesus. Children make their final appearance in the Gospel of Matthew in the Temple after Jesus has dramatically entered Jerusalem (21.1–11). The scene indicates that children were present in the Jerusalem Temple complex, which Luke 2.41–52 demonstrates as well.113 As Jesus heals in the Temple, the children shout “Hosanna,” as an acclamation of praise.114 They now recognize him as the “Son of David,” recalling the supplications of the Canaanite mother and the father 106. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 27. 107. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 256. 108.  It was not unusual for a teacher like Jesus to be asked to give a blessing (Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 276). Mark specifies that he might touch them but does not indicate why. See the discussion of this verse in Chapter 3. 109.  The NRSV says “And pointing to his disciples …” but the Greek is “he stretched his hand (e0ktei/nav th\n xei=ra au0tou=, ekteinas tēn cheira autou) toward the disciples” (12.49). 110. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 385. 111. See the discussion in Chapter 3 on Mark 10.14 for how to understand the genitive construction usually translated as “belongs” in Matthew 19.14. 112. For example, they “understand” Jesus’ teachings (13.51–2; 16.12). See further Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 19. 113. See Chapter 2 for a discussion of children in religion in the ancient world. 114. “Hosanna” literally means “save us,” but was used as a greeting of homage rather than a plea for help (Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew, 294).



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of the epileptic boy. The chief priests and scribes object to the children’s praise. Jesus responds by quoting Psalm 8.2, which explains why the children are singing the praise of the Son of David. The children’s words are inspired by God and they express God’s legitimation of Jesus, while rendering void the power of the religious authorities and elites who would kill him.115 Once again, themes that first arose in Mt. 2 when Jesus was a child are reprised when he is an adult. Jesus will identify himself as “Son of David” in the last two uses of the title in the Gospel, while still teaching in the Temple (22.42, 45). As Keith White observes, “This is the climax of the section of the narrative of the life of Jesus, in which children and the kingdom [sic] have been inextricably linked.”116 The teachings about the reign of heaven come to an end at 22.1–14, and Jesus’ passion brings the reign of heaven into direct conflict with the empire of this world.117

Conclusion Matthew skillfully prefigures his Gospel narrative in the opening chapters of the book. Among the themes that he presents in Mt. 2 is that of the child. This almostanonymous youngster is vulnerable, threatened with death, and yet protected by parents and God. This portrait of the child then informs the other child narratives and Jesus’ instructions to his disciples regarding the ways of the reign of heaven. Those who would follow Jesus are to be humble like the child, which for Matthew means to become vulnerable, threatened, and dependent upon others and God. Although Jesus has the power to heal and perform miracles in the Gospel, he himself will model the kind of vulnerability that his infancy demonstrates and his later teachings describe. Interspersed with Jesus’ teachings about children are his three predictions of his impending suffering, death, and resurrection. The first prediction is found in 16.21. Shortly after this, in 17.14–20, Jesus heals the boy with a demon. Immediately following that narrative is the second passion prediction in 17.22–3. Chapter 18 opens with Jesus teaching “who is the greatest in the reign of heaven?” Jesus blesses the children in 19.13–15. Matthew 20.17–19 is then his final prediction. The first and third predictions specifically name members of the religious authorities as those under whom Jesus will suffer. Further, each prediction acknowledges God’s role in the unfolding events; as Jesus speaks about his death, he says that he “will be raised” (16.21, 17.23, 20.19). The use of the passive suggests that God is the agent who will raise Jesus. Thus, by the end of the Gospel, the tables seem to have turned: the one who has healed and welcomed the vulnerable and afflicted children becomes the one vulnerable to the ruling powers, threatened with death, and reliant upon God. The question is whether the disciples will be able to follow Jesus in this way, because for the disciples to become like children is ultimately to become like Jesus. 115. Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 208. 116. White, “He Placed a Little Child in the Midst,” 366. 117. Ibid., 369.

Chapter 5 J E SU S ( A N D ) T H E O N LY C H I L D I N T H E G O SP E L O F L U K E

The Gospel of Luke contains more material about children than the other canonical Gospels do. Throughout the Gospel, Jesus heals children and includes them in his parables and as metaphors in his teachings, referring even to babies. The births of John the Baptist and Jesus are announced and then recounted. Jesus’ birth is narrated in more detail than in Matthew’s Gospel, and Luke is the only Gospel in the New Testament that contains a story of Jesus’ childhood. My discussion in this chapter will focus primarily upon the characters who are referred to with the words pai=v (pais), when it carries the meaning “child,”1 paidi/on (paidion, little child or child), monogenh/v (monogenēs, “only”), and bre/fov (brephos, infant or baby). In each case, these characters are “non-adult” children who have not yet gone through the rites of passage into adulthood.2 Though te/knon (teknon) can refer to a non-adult child, as it does in 2.48, many of Luke’s 14 uses are not specific with regard to age or are within the context of teachings or parables whose focus is not primarily young people, which is my interest here. The discussion will proceed as follows: I will first examine the infancy narrative to discover what the first two chapters of the Gospel disclose about Mary and the infancies of John and Jesus. An examination of the story of Jesus as a 12-year-old will follow, focusing upon the ways the narrative draws upon imagery from Jewish scriptures and culture and from the contexts of Roman and Greek religion and 1.  pai=v (pais) can also mean “slave,” which recognizes the low status of both children and slaves. Of the nine uses of pai=v in Luke’s Gospel, three clearly refer to slaves (7.7; 12.45; 15.26) based upon the use of the word dou=lov (doulos, slave or servant) elsewhere in the passage (7.2, 3, 8, 10; 12.45, 46, 47; 15.22). In the first passage, pai=v seems to be used in an affectionate way (7.7), and in the second, it is a self-referent (12.45). Cornelia B. Horn and John W. Martens raise the possibility that the slave in 7.1–10 is a slave child because of the parallel text in John 4.46–54. There the one who is ill is clearly a freeborn child but is also called pai=v (Let the Little Children Come to Me: Childhood and Children in Early Christianity [Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2009], 264. See Chapter 6 for more discussion on these passages. 2. A. James Murphy, Kids and Kingdom: The Precarious Presence of Children in the Synoptic Gospels (Eugene: Pickwick Publications, 2013), 4.

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culture. Next, I will examine the healing narratives that include children. Two of the characters referred as an “only son/daughter” in Luke are also found in Mark’s Gospel: the daughter of Jairus (Lk. 8.40–56) and the boy with an unclean spirit (Lk. 9.37–43), however, both are shorter and there are other significant differences in Luke. Another young person in Luke is the widow’s son (7.11–17). This story is a narrative from Luke’s own material. The text does not specify if the son is an adult or a child, but several factors indicate that Luke may be describing an adolescent male and not an adult man. One of factors is the adjective monogenh/v, which links the narrative to the other stories in which Jesus heals children. Thus, I include the widow’s son in my discussion of children in Luke’s Gospel. Following the discussion of these passages, I will suggest that Luke includes the word monogenh/v to link these children to Jesus, who is also depicted as an only child in Luke’s Gospel, though admittedly not with the word monoge/nhv. After the narrative of the boy with the unclean spirit, Luke includes Mark’s “child in the midst” passage (Lk. 9.46–8), though with important redactions. A large section of Luke’s own material and the material Luke shares with Matthew (often designated as “Q”) then follows. The “Bringing the Children” passage is at the end of this section (18.15–17), creating an inclusio around Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem. I will argue in this chapter that Luke identifies Jesus with children in a manner unique from Matthew’s and Mark’s Gospels. Before I move into the narratives themselves, let me first provide some background information on Luke as groundwork for the discussion.

Genre and Audience The author of the third Gospel was clearly an educated person. Luke’s ability to move from imitating the Septuagint to using the style of the Hellenistic novel or biography demonstrates that his level of education was certainly beyond the most basic primary schooling. Luke provides a good variety of material in order to make the story interesting. But as Luke Timothy Johnson observes, Luke’s use of style also has a literary function. The Gospel begins in the world of Jews, and for that reason Luke demonstrates his ability to write “biblically.” Yet as the Gospel moves into the world of the Gentiles, the writing becomes more Hellenistic.3 In Chapter 3, I discussed some of the features of the ancient Greek novel, features that Luke draws upon as well. Luke also utilizes the form of the ancient biography, which I described in Chapter 4, significantly more than Mark and even more than Matthew. Like Matthew, Luke opens his Gospel with a prologue, narrative material about Jesus’ birth, and a genealogy (though it does not occur until 3.23–38), but Luke offer a more “biographical perspective,” providing more information about Jesus’ infancy and including a story of his childhood.4 3. Luke Timothy Johnson, The Gospel of Luke, Sacra Pagina, no. 3 (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1991), 12. 4. Tomas Hägg, The Art of Biography in Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 168.



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Luke’s earliest audience was likely significantly removed from the time and place of the narrative’s setting. While it is difficult to say exactly where Luke wrote his Gospel, it was probably written outside of Palestine in a large, urban area in the eastern part of the Roman Empire around 85 to 90 c.e. Luke’s audience was likely Greek-speaking, Gentile Christians. John Nolland argues they may have been God-fearers, persons who were not born Jewish but who were attracted to the God of Israel. They worshipped that God and participated in the synagogue, though the males among them had not been circumcised.5 He continues saying that Theophilus, whose name means “friend of God” and to whom Luke addresses his Gospel, would fit well into this conceptual frame; a “friend of God” could also easily be a God-fearer.6 Joseph Fitzmyer, on the other hand, states that the audience is not Gentile Christians in a Jewish setting, but Gentile Christians in a non-Jewish setting.7 According to Sharon Ringe and Jane Schaberg, “The description of Theophilus as ‘most excellent’ suggests that the Gospel is directed to people of high status. Luke writes about ‘the poor,’ but to those whom Jesus has called to accept a special responsibility for persons pushed to the margins of their society.”8 Indeed, early in the Gospel, Luke discloses his primary theme: the savior, who will be born as a child, will proclaim and enact that God’s reign on earth that will reverse the status quo. The poor, marginalized, and powerless will find places of privilege. Luke’s interest in children is in keeping with his overall theme of concern for the marginalized and powerless, among whom children in the first century would certainly be numbered.

Mary, the Unmarried Virgin and Mother of Jesus While the earliest Christian documents focus on Jesus’ death and resurrection (1 Cor. 15.3–5; Phil. 2.6–11), by the late first century interest began to grow in his birth and childhood. Thus, both Luke and Matthew contain narratives of Jesus birth.9 According to Johnson, the infancy narrative in the third Gospel “has a complex internal structure,” in which stories about John are paralleled by stories about Jesus: 5.  John Nolland, Luke 1–9.20, vol. 35A, Word Biblical Commentary (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1989), xxxii. 6. Ibid., xxxiii. 7. Joseph Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, AB (New York: Doubleday & Co., 1981), 59. 8. Jane D. Schaberg and Sharon H. Ringe, “Gospel of Luke,” in Women’s Bible Commentary, eds Carol A. Newson, Sharon H. Ringe, and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, TwentiethAnniversary Edition (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012), 494. 9. Robert J. Miller, ed., “The Infancy Gospel of James,” in The Complete Gospels (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 1994), 380.

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[The] stories of prophecy (John, 1:5–25; Jesus, 1:26–38), and birth (John, 1:57–66; Jesus, 2:1–20) are supplemented by the story of Mary’s visit to Elizabeth (1:39–45) and the account of Jesus’ presentation by his parents in the Temple (2:21–38). The canticles of Mary (1:46–55), Zechariah (1:68–79) and Simeon (2:29–32) serve to interpret these events.10

They contain a distinct asymmetry in Jesus’ favor. However, as François Bovon has delicately stated, “although they disturb the literary balance, they do throw Jesus into sharper relief … but disturbing the balance is not equivalent to disturbing the harmony.”11 The story of the boy Jesus in the Temple provides a transition from the infancy narratives to the adult ministry. Notably, the first mention of children in the Gospel of Luke is actually “no children” (1.7). John’s parents, Zechariah and Elizabeth, have reached their older adult years without having children, recalling the similar circumstances of Abram and Sarai (Gen. 16–21) and Hannah and Elkanah (1 Sam. 1). For them, childlessness would have been a sign of misfortune, disgrace, or even divine punishment.12 However, then Zechariah receives an announcement from the angel Gabriel that his wife will conceive and bear a son. After the good news of the reversal of Zechariah and Elizabeth’s fortune, the scene changes to an unmarried young woman who will become pregnant, a conception that is also announced by Gabriel. Neither woman at this point in her life should be a mother; “Elizabeth is old, long married and barren; Mary is young, only betrothed and virgin … [but] by divine intervention both become pregnant.”13 The birth announcements to Zechariah and Mary closely parallel each other. Raymond Brown outlines the pattern of a biblical annunciation narrative: 1) An angel of the Lord appears to an individual; 2) the person expresses fear or prostrates him or herself before the messenger; 3) the angel delivers a divine message; 4) the recipient objects asking as to how it can be or requesting a sign; and 5) the messenger gives a sign of reassurance. Several stories from the Hebrew Bible share most or all of these characteristics, including the birth stories of Ishmael (Gen. 16.7–16), Isaac (Gen. 17.1–22), and Samson (Judg. 13.8–25).14 Willem Vorster observes that this pattern of announcing the birth of an individual signaled to the reader that this person’s life was significant, and he was going to play a major role in salvation history.15 10. Johnson, The Gospel of Luke, 34. 11.  François Bovon, Luke 1: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1.1–9.50, Hermeneia—a Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), 29. 12. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 323. 13. Phyllis Trible, “Meeting Mary through Luke,” Living Pulpit 10, no. 4 (2001): 7. 14. Raymond E. Brown, The Birth of the Messiah: A Commentary on the Infancy Narratives in Matthew and Luke, 1st edn (Garden City: Doubleday & Co., 1979), 156. 15.  Willem S. Vorster, “The Annunciation of the Birth of Jesus in the Protevangelium of James,” in South African Perspective on the New Testament: Essays by S. African NT Scholars Presented to Bruce M. Metzger, ed. J. H. Petzer (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1986), 44.



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The two annunciation scenes are back-to-back in the Gospel, first to the older man and then to the younger woman. Before the second announcement and even before the young woman is named, Luke first discloses what is of utmost importance in this culture regarding young women, marriage, and pregnancy—that she is a virgin. As Joseph Fitzmyer points out, “Luke does not call Mary pais, ‘girl’ (cf. 8.51), paidiskē, ‘little girl, maid’ (cf. 12.45), or korasion, ‘maiden.’” 16 Rather, he calls her parqe/nov (1.27). David Konstan states that parqe/nov was primarily an indicator of social status rather than the lack of sexual experience. It referred to a girl who was still dependent upon her father or another male relative and who would be given to a husband in an arranged legitimate marriage.17 And in fact, the next piece of information that Luke provides is that the girl is engaged to a man named Joseph. According to the customs of the day, Joseph had the legal rights over Mary’s body in terms of sexuality. Joseph’s marriage rights would be violated if she became pregnant prior to their marriage. Since Mary is engaged, she would have been at least 12, but she could have been older. Most girls married in their late teens.18 Thus, Mary’s story is one of a young woman’s coming of age. The usual progression for a girl’s transition into womanhood was engagement, marriage, sexual intercourse, pregnancy, and the birth of her first child. Mary, however, does not quite follow this course. Within the cultural context, the assumption would be that a girl who was engaged was indeed a virgin and had not had sexual intercourse with a man. The fact that Luke repeats parqe/nov twice before introducing her name (1.27) suggests that the author wants to make this point clear. Luke affirms her virgin status again after Gabriel tells Mary that she will conceive. She asks how it will be since she “has not known a man” (1.34), that is, never had sexual intercourse. Although Luke is clearly concerned with portraying Mary as a virgin before conception, he is not necessarily suggesting a “virginal conception.” Matthew seems to indicate that Mary is a virgin at the time of Jesus’ birth. Luke, however, states that Mary is a virgin when Gabriel appears to her but allows for the pregnancy and birth to unfold as any ordinary human birth would.19 While Luke’s Jesus is born in the usual human manner, his conception is by the power of the Holy Spirit. The concern is not with the virginal conception, but rather with the miraculous nature of the conception and the identity of the one to be born: he will be called “Son of the Most High God,” and he will be named “Jesus.” And indeed, he will be very important in salvation history, ascending the throne of David, and reigning over the house of Jacob. As Sharon Ringe comments, Luke reveals that “the child whose birth is foretold is to play a unique role in the fulfillment of God’s purposes and in 16. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 343. 17. David Konstan, Sexual Symmetry: Love in the Ancient Novel and Related Genres (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 26. 18.  Tal Ilan, Jewish Women in Greco-Roman Palestine (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1996), 66; Brent D. Shaw, “The Age of Roman Girls at Marriage: Some Reconsiderations,” JRS 77 (1987): 43. 19. Sharon H. Ringe, Luke (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 31.

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mediating God’s presence in the world.” By calling the child the “Son of God,” Luke is not indicating divine paternity, but rather affirming “God’s self-evident, indelible commitment and engagement in this human life from before its beginning.”20 Other than the information that the angel Gabriel visited a young woman of marriageable age, an engaged virgin, Luke does not provide any information about Mary. When Gabriel is speaking to her, he mentions her relative, Elizabeth (1.36). This could suggest that Mary was also a descendent of Aaron, as Elizabeth was, but Luke does not make this connection.21 Later there is the suggestion that Mary (or Joseph) might be of modest means (2.24), but again Luke does not specify this. Mary’s stay with Elizabeth does add a bit of “real-life” experience into an otherwise extraordinary story, drawing upon the role that extended family played in first-century Judaism.22 Mary’s three-month stay with Elizabeth indicates that this pregnancy was an event shared by women in the family. Such a detail would resonate with Luke’s audience, especially the women.23 When Mary arrives at Zechariah’s home, she greets Elizabeth. At that moment, the baby within Elizabeth stirs, and she cries out in joy.24 The child is referred to with the term bre/fov, which occurs here (1.41, 44), in the scene of Jesus’ birth (2.12, 16), and then again when people bring infants to Jesus so he might touch them (18.15).25 Mary then breaks into a song of praise thanking God for the son she will bear, echoing Hannah’s prayer of thanksgiving for the child God gave her (1 Sam. 2.1–10).26 Mary extols what God will do for God’s people. In contrasting parallels, the song describes the reversal of positions of the hungry and the rich, of the proud being scattered, and the powerful being brought down while the lowly are lifted up.27 As examples of the “lowly” who will be lifted up, Mary refers to herself as God’s servant (1.48) and Israel as God’s servant (1.54). Yet whereas in v. 48 Luke 20. Ringe, Luke, 32. 21. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 344. 22. That said, the suggestion (from silence) that Mary traveled from Galilee to Judea as a young, unmarried, pregnant teenager might have struck the audience as odd. Joseph is not active at all in this portion of the story. 23. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 76. 24. Commentators note that Elizabeth’s blessing over Mary echoes the blessings of Jael by Deborah (Judg. 5.24) and Judith by Uzziah (Jdt 13.18). See Brittany E. Wilson, “Pugnacious Precursors and the Bearer of Peace: Jael, Judith, and Mary in Luke 1.42,” CBQ 68, no. 3 (2006): 436–56. 25.  Luke will also use the word in Acts 7.19; otherwise it only occurs two more times in the New Testament (2 Tim. 3.15; 1 Pet. 2.2). 26. Hannah’s experience, however, more closely resembles that of Elizabeth; “Both are older women, wives of priests, childless until a pregnancy late in life that is interpreted as a special blessing from God, and that is to result in a child dedicated in a special way divine service” (Ringe, Luke, 34). While the best manuscripts attest that Mary is the speaker of this poem, a few put the words on the lips of Elizabeth, perhaps due to the similarities between Elizabeth and Hannah (Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 365–66). 27. Ringe, Luke, 35.



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uses dou/lh (doulē, servant or slave), in v. 54 the word is pai=v. Johnson prefers to translate the occurrence of pai=v in v. 54 as “child,” so that the verse reads, “God has helped his child Israel.”28 Later in v. 69, in Zechariah’s song, pai=v is used again: “God has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his pai=v/ child, David.” Thus, Israel is God’s child, and David is God’s child, both of whom prepare the way for Jesus to be God’s child. Indeed, the next use of pai=v occurs in 2.41–52 in reference to Jesus; even though Luke has already stated that Jesus is 12 years old, he also calls him pai=v (2.43). Thus, the word pai=v is a segue between Mary’s and Simeon’s songs extolling God’s mighty acts and the growing child Jesus.29 Sharon Ringe and Jane Schaberg suggest that Mary’s use of dou/lh for herself might give the audience the impression that she is a passive character, since slaves were the lowest on the social scale.30 Other scholars, however, point to the prophetic nature of Mary’s speech in the Magnificat. Mary F. Foskett contends that Mary is modeled upon Miriam from Exodus, the first woman prophet of Judaism and Christianity. Mary’s Magnificat is a similar song to Miriam’s Song of the Sea.31 N. Clayton Croy and Alice E. Connor argue that Gabriel’s announcement to Mary not only fits the pattern of Hebrew Bible annunciations but also prophetic call stories. Moreover, the use of slave language actually connects Mary to the prophetic tradition.32 Yet Mary’s prophetic voice only lasts as long as she is an unmarried girl (albeit a pregnant one). Once Mary becomes a married mother, she loses her voice. Indeed, though Mary expresses joy in the Magnificat, Luke’s narrative leads her to a place of “suffering, submission, and silence … As the narrative unfolds, a sword pierces her soul (Lk. 2.35); her name disappears early from the story (see 2.34 as the last instance); and her voice ceases altogether in the Gospel when first her son speaks (2.48–9).”33 Mary’s three-month stay with Elizabeth seems to come to an end before Elizabeth’s baby is born. Mary returns to her home, and then the birth of John is narrated.34 When the neighbors and relatives hear that Elizabeth has given 28. Johnson, The Gospel of Luke, 42. 29.  The references to “child” in between these uses of pai=v use the word paidi/on (1.59, 66, 76, 80; 2.17, 27, 40). 30. Schaberg and Ringe, “Gospel of Luke,” 503. 31. Mary F. Foskett, “Miriam/Mariam/Maria: Literary Genealogy and the Genesis of Mary in the Protevangelium of James,” in Mariam, the Magdalen, and the Mother, ed. Deidre Joy Good (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), 64. 32.  N. Clayton Croy and Alice E. Connor, “Mantic Mary? The Virgin Mother as Prophet in Luke 1.26–56 and the Early Church,” JSNT 34, no. 3 (2012): 254–76. They point out that in Greco-Roman antiquity a connection was often made between one who was virgin and a prophet. They conclude that Luke does not call Mary a prophet nor acknowledge her prophecy in order to avoid this connection. 33. Trible, “Meeting Mary through Luke,” 8. 34. Bovon argues that the three-month stay is another way of avoiding the suggestion that Mary was impregnated by Joseph. When she does return home, it is to her home, not Joseph’s (Luke 1: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1.1–9.50, 57).

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birth to a son, they rejoice with her. Their joy is three-fold: a baby has been born, the baby is a son, and both Elizabeth and the child have survived the ordeal. The family remains a central feature in the story as John is circumcised, named, and welcomed into the family. They likely also celebrated that he survived the crucial first week of life.35 Luke’s report of the naming of the child, however, is odd in two regards. First, Jewish children were usually named at birth, not at the circumcision, and second, the child was usually named after a grandfather, though sometimes a father.36 The surprise of the family that the baby would be named John is noted in 1.61. Another oddity is that Luke seems to imply that John did not grow up with his parents but rather in the wilderness. Zechariah was a priest in the Temple in Jerusalem, but Luke reports “the child was in the wilderness until the day he appeared publicly to Israel” (1.80).37

The Birth of Jesus By the time the birth of Jesus nears, Mary and Joseph appear as an ordinary married couple. The female concerns about conception and birth that occupied the first chapter of Luke are now replaced by the male concerns of the emperor, his registration and taxes, and Joseph’s lineage. The couple travels to Bethlehem, back to the region where Mary had visited Elizabeth, and seeks shelter. However, the place where Mary and Joseph find lodging is not an “inn” in the sense of a public place of accommodation (pandoxei=on, pandocheion), as in the parable of the Good Samaritan (10.34). Instead, the word kata/luma (kataluma) is the same word used for the place where Jesus and his disciples would celebrate the Passover meal (22.11–12).38 This would have been the area in a home where guests could be accommodated.39 Most families had only a one-room dwelling. Between the living quarters and the animals’ stalls was an area for feeding the animals and storing the farm tools. Above this space was an “upper room” or a loft for guests. Births often also took place there, since it was apart from the center of family activities. Joseph may have anticipated that such a space would be available for his family when they arrived. The fact that it was already occupied could suggest that family members higher on the social scale were being accommodated in the space by the time he and Mary arrived. This may indicate that Jesus’ family was one of modest means. They were not necessarily among the very poor but were also not people of prestige or privilege.40 35. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 77. 36. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 380. 37. This statement may have been the origin of a fourth-century apocryphal text The Life of John the Baptist, in which a seven-year-old Jesus and his mother help John learn how to survive in the wilderness after the death of his mother, Elizabeth. 38.  This is also the word used in the Septuagint for the place where Hannah stays when she and Elkanah are at Shiloh (1 Sam. 1.18, LXX). 39. Ringe, Luke, 41. 40. Ibid., 42.



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Luke narrates the birth simply: “she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn” (2.7). While Luke clearly states that Mary gives birth, presumably in the way all women do, there are no labor pains, no midwives, and no blood or other bodily fluids mentioned.41 Mary swaddles the baby according to the custom of the day. The announcement to the shepherd that they would find a “swaddled baby” (2.12) was not really a very helpful clue to follow since all babies would have been swaddled.42 That the child was lying in a manager, however, might have drawn more attention, since this was not the usual place for a newborn child to be laid. Here, in the announcement of Jesus’ birth to the shepherds, Luke again uses the word bre/fov (2.12, 16) in one of the parallels with the story of John’s birth. The pattern of reversals that Mary proclaimed in her song is also illustrated in the contrast between Gabriel’s prophesy of the child’s future grandeur and the humble setting of his birth. It is reinforced as the news of the birth is announced first to shepherds, who were also among the lowly.43 The circumcision and naming of Jesus (2.21) parallels the same events of John’s first week. Thus, both children are depicted as being a part of Torah-observant Jewish families. Yet given the unusual circumstances of Jesus’ birth, Luke records no celebration by family and friends, as was the case for John, nor are any family members present for the circumcision or naming.44 Mary performs the sacrifice at the Temple required for the child but provides the less costly offering of two pigeons or two turtledoves rather than a lamb (2.22–4). This offering reinforces Luke’s image of a family of moderate means.45 The scene of Mary, Joseph, and the infant Jesus in the Temple closes with Simeon and the prophetess Anna making proclamations about the child (2.25–38). Then the family of three returns to Galilee. The next episode in the life of Jesus presents him as a 12-year-old, again in the Temple. Tomas Hägg observes that the back-to-back scenes in the Temple and the summary statements following each scene (2.40, 52) are “embedded in the narrative frame” in order to account “in a summary manner for the time passed before and after.”46

41. This is in contrast to the Protevangelium of James, in which midwives are present and Mary certainly does not give birth “the way women usually do” (Prot. Jas. 11.6; 19.15–16). See Chapter 7. Translations and versification from the Protevangelium of James are from Ronald F. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas: With Introduction, Notes, and Original Text Featuring the New Scholars Version Translation, ed. Ronald F. Hock (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 2001). 42. Soranus has a section on the care of newborns. See Gynecology 2.9.14 on how to swaddle an infant. 43. Ringe, Luke, 43. 44. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 78. 45. Ringe, Luke, 45; Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 426. 46. Hägg, The Art of Biography in Antiquity, 170.

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Jesus as a Boy in the Temple Luke 2.41–52 is a short narrative that provides a brief portrait of both the childhood of Jesus and the religious practices of his family as he grew up. This passage brings closure to the infancy narrative and transitions the Gospel into the adult ministry of Jesus. It tells of the twelve-year-old Jesus staying behind in Jerusalem after the Passover festivities while Mary and Joseph make their way back to their home in Nazareth. It also discloses that Jesus as a child has an insight into his special relationship with God. In this section, I will discuss the multiple contexts in which the passage is situated including first-century Jewish life and scriptures, and the narrative’s relationship to ancient biography. Ultimately, however, I want to examine an aspect often missing from discussions about this passage: the role of children in religious life. Luke clearly anchors the childhood story of Jesus in a first-century Jewish context. References to Jerusalem and the Temple abound in the Gospel of Luke, framing the narrative. It opens with Zechariah’s service in the sanctuary (1.8–9) and concludes with the disciples’ return to the Temple following the resurrection appearances (24.53). Luke 2.41–52 reveals that Jesus’ family made an annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. While adult males were required to attend the Passover, women and children were not. Luke indicates, though, that Mary and Joseph traveled to Jerusalem each year. He does not suggest that anything was different about this year; for example, it does not seem to have been Jesus’ first year attending the festival.47 Rather the family was following their usual custom. Jesus’ age, twelve years old, indicates that he was reaching the age of responsibility and was growing up, but that he was still a youth. The Mishnah states that Jewish boys reach the age of independence and responsibility at age 13 and that the preceding year is a year of study and preparation.48 However, these texts are later than the New Testament, and it is difficult to know how much they reflect earlier tradition. Additionally, Bovon points out that the Bar Mitzvah is not yet historically attested at this point. Instead, the age simply indicates that Jesus is still a child and not yet an adult.49 The story is rooted in the Jewish scriptures, with strong allusions to Hannah and the boy Samuel just as in the infancy narratives. The annual journey of Mary and Joseph to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover is reminiscent of the annual pilgrimage of Hannah and Elkanah to Shiloh (1 Sam. 1.3–5). Hannah’s dedication of Samuel to the Lord (1 Sam. 1.22) is mirrored in Mary’s acceptance of Gabriel’s announcement (Lk. 1.38). Both women sacrifice to the Lord, showing their devotion to God (1 Sam. 2.18–19; Lk. 2.24). The child Jesus resembles the boy Samuel as well. As a boy, Samuel spends his childhood in the temple at Shiloh 47. Nolland, Luke 1–9.20, 128–9. 48. Bradly S. Billings, “‘At the Age of 12’: The Boy Jesus in the Temple (Luke 2.41–52), the Emperor Augustus, and the Social Setting of the Third Gospel,” JTS 60 (2009): 72. Billings cites Nid. 5.6; Meg. 4.6; cf. Gen. Rab. 63.10 and ’Abot 5.21. 49. Bovon, Luke 1: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1:1–9:50, 111.



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(1 Sam. 2.18–19, 26; 3.1–19), while Jesus as a youngster goes to the Jerusalem Temple. Although the scripture does not say at what age Samuel began to hear the word of the Lord, Josephus claims that Samuel was 12 when he began to prophesy.50 Likewise, Jesus was 12 when he was in the Temple, amazing the teachers with his knowledge and speaking of his relationship with God. Both narratives also include similar summary statements (1 Sam. 2.26; 3.19; Lk. 2.40, 52), demonstrating that each boy grows in favor with both humans and with God. Indeed, just as Samuel grows into a prophet who speaks for God, Jesus also becomes a prophet before God and in the eyes of the people. The age 12 also suggests an allusion to the story of Solomon in the Septuagint. In 1 Kings 2.12, the author specifies that Solomon ascended to the throne of his father David in his twelfth year. Since it is clear that Luke was using the Septuagint in his writing of the Gospel, perhaps this scene of Jesus in the Temple at age 12 is a further confirmation of what the angel Gabriel announced to Mary: Jesus, like Solomon, will be given the throne of David (Lk. 1.32). Bovon argues that the story setting is the Portico of Solomon in the Temple complex where instruction took place. Luke was familiar with the tradition of Solomon’s wisdom (11.31), and he also places Peter in this Portico when he instructs the people after Pentecost (Acts 3.11). Thus, the story of the child Jesus with the teachers in the Temple could also be connecting Jesus to the wisdom of Solomon.51 With these echoes, Luke firmly roots the passage within its Jewish context, demonstrating continuity between the Jewish Scriptures and his message about Jesus. Luke also draws upon a variety of other literary forms in the composition of the Gospel, including the ancient biography or “Life.” Ancient biographies often included a proleptic account of the individual’s childhood, giving the child characteristics of the person as an adult.52 This was common in both Hellenistic Jewish and Greco-Roman biographies. For example, Philo describes the young Moses as possessing an extraordinary knowledge of arithmetic, geometry, music, various arts, and philosophy while he was still a child.53 As mentioned, Josephus claims that Samuel began prophesying at age 12, and even states of himself, modestly, “While still a boy about fourteen years old, I won universal applause for my love of letters, with the result that chief priests and the leading men of the city used to come to me constantly for some precise information on some particulars in our ordinances.”54 The same was true of the great figures in Greek and Roman history as well; for example, stories of the youth and future wisdom of a hero are

50. Josephus Ant. 5.10.4. 51. Bovon, Luke 1: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1.1–9.50, 112. Luke also includes a story at the end of the Gospel of a blind beggar who calls Jesus “Son of David” (18.35–9). See Chapter 3 for a description of Mark’s version of this story (“blind Bartimaeus”) and the connection between the title “Son of David” and Solomon. 52. Hägg, The Art of Biography in Antiquity, 6. 53. Philo Moses 1, 5.20–24. 54. Josephus Vita 2.9.

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also found in Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana,55 and Plutarch described Cicero’s great oratorical abilities as a child.56 Luke’s audience of Gentiles likely included children. In their book A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity, Carolyn Osiek and Margaret MacDonald describe how children would have been present in house-church meetings: On the basis of the frequency of births and the presence of children, housechurch meetings must have been noisy and bustling places. The sounds of a woman in labor somewhere in the background, the crying of infants, the presence of mothers or wet nurses feeding their children, little toddlers under foot, children’s toys on the floor – all could have been part of the atmosphere.57

When hearing the story of Jesus in the Temple, the audience may have recalled the role of children in religious practices more generally. Reading Luke 2.41–52 with the religious milieu of the Roman Empire in mind demonstrates that Jesus was a boy who participated in child-appropriate religious activities. Drawing upon the information in Chapter 2 about children and religion, I will suggest three ways in which Luke’s audience could have related this story to their own religious practices and the place of children in those activities. I will focus primarily upon non-Jewish religious traditions. The opening verses of the passage (vv. 41–4) describe the setting of the narrative that would fit well in a Greek or Roman milieu. Even those among Luke’s audience who were not familiar with Jerusalem or the Passover would recognize similarities with Greek and Roman rituals. First, this religious celebration is clearly a family-oriented event. Jesus and his parents travel every year to the city central of their cult to celebrate one of its major rituals. They are a part of a procession of pilgrims, including children, journeying from their home to the festival city. The traveling party is not limited to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, however; their community is present as well. The kinship network that was absent at Jesus’ birth is assumed in this narrative.58 Mary and Joseph are not concerned for the first day of the return trip that they have not seen their child. They assumed he was among the extended family with whom they were traveling (2.44). Second, in addition to the communal activities, children participated in religious rituals by performing special tasks such as serving as an acolyte, also called a camillus in the case of a boy.59 There are some ways in which Jesus as a child in the Temple is similar to the boys who were acolytes. Indeed, he fulfills the basic requirements of the camilli. He is a prepubescent child, a prerequisite 55. Philostratus Vit. Apoll. 1.7–8. 56. Plutarch Cic. 2.2. 57. Carolyn Osiek and Margaret Y. MacDonald, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), 66–7. 58. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 79. 59. Girls were called camillae.



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for children who participated in religious activities. As a 12-year-old, Jesus is well below the age of majority according to Roman custom; he would still be considered a juvenile. Both Mary and Joseph are present in this story, so that Jesus is depicted in this story also as having both a mother and father living. Thus, he fulfills the preference that the camilli be a child with both parents living and married. Jesus is also a freeborn person, another requirement of the camilli. Granted, Jesus’ family does not appear to be among the elite, but given his age and that both of his parents are living, he could have had a special religious role. Third, children were important in religious life for the insight into the world of the divine and knowledge of the gods they were thought to possess.60 In Luke’s story, though Jesus is still a boy, he is in the presence of the teachers in the Temple, listening and asking questions. Those who hear him are amazed at his understanding and answers. When Mary and Joseph finally find the boy, his mother confronts him about leaving the family group. Jesus responds to his mother in a way that suggests he has divine insight that his mother may not.61 His response also recognizes that he has a special relationship with and knowledge of God. In other words, the audience may not have been surprised to hear about the boy Jesus in the Temple because they may have been familiar with special roles children had in Roman and Greek temples. It is interesting to observe that although Jesus understands his relationship to God, he is not portrayed as a prodigy here. Jesus is listening and asking questions of the teachers “as a pupil would.”62 His answers are likely a part of the dialogue form of pedagogy.63 In contrast, in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, Jesus “examines” the elders and teachers and “explains the main points of the law and the riddles of the parables of the prophets” (IGT 17.2).64 The parents’ astonishment at Jesus’ interaction with the teachers recalls their amazement over Simeon’s words (Lk. 2.33). Yet Mary’s chastisement of Jesus indicates that she did not recall or under60. Ville Vuolanto, “Faith and Religion,” in A Cultural History of Childhood and Family in Antiquity, eds Mary Harlow and Ray Laurence (New York: Berg Publishers, 2010), 147–8. 61. The Greek is difficult to translate in verse 49. The phrase e0n toi=v tou= patro/v mou (en tois tou patros mou) could be translated “in my father’s house” or “about my father’s business or affairs.” Johnson argues that “to be involved in my Father’s affairs” is a better translation than “to be in my Father’s house,” which emphasizes the place rather than the activity. In addition, Luke never calls the Temple “my Father’s house” as the Gospel of John does (2.16). The Temple is an important place of activity in Luke and “affairs” is more suggestive of Jesus’ activity of interacting with the teachers (Johnson, The Gospel of Luke, 61). 62. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 442. 63. John F. Jansen, “Luke 2.41–52,” Interpretation 30, no. 4 (1976): 402. He also notes that those to whom Jesus speaks are referred to as “teachers,” which his opponents are never called in Luke. 64. Translations and versification from the Infancy Gospel of Thomas are by Reidar Aasgaard in The Childhood of Jesus: Decoding the Apocryphal Infancy Gospel of Thomas (Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2009).

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stand the words of Simeon, a point clarified in v. 50. At this point in the Gospel, Mary continues to have an active speaking role, and she makes it clear that she speaks for both parents (v. 48).65 In addition, the statement that “Mary treasured all of these things in her heart” (v. 51) reprises her reaction to the shepherds’ words about the infant Jesus (v. 19). This suggests that she did not completely misunderstand the significance of this event. Though Jesus’ words about his relationship to God seem beyond his years, his obedience to his parents is in keeping with expectations of children at that time. Obedience was a value of particular importance to early Christian families, as the household codes in Ephesians 6.1–4 and Colossians 3.20 reflect, which likely predate the Gospel of Luke.66 This passage also highlights a tension that will be apparent later in the Gospel: the priority of God the Father over human parents and family. As John Carroll remarks, Jesus’ knowledge that he is the Son of God “transcends his family ties to Joseph and Mary. This is the family to which he belongs, the one that defines his identity and vocation and claims his allegiance.”67 In addition to providing insight into Jesus’ childhood and family, this passage prefigures the structure of the Gospel: Just as Jesus goes from Nazareth to Jerusalem for the Passover as a child, as an adult he will journey from Galilee to Jerusalem for the Passover at the end of his life. As a youth, Jesus listens to the teachers, asking them questions and answering their questions. As an adult, Jesus will again engage the religious authorities in the Temple, and this time he will teach them (20.1–40).68 In the same way that his parents did not understand his words as a child, neither will his disciples understand his teachings about his betrayal, death, and resurrection (9.45; 18.34). Throughout the Gospel are also the narratives of several children whom Jesus heals. These stories too will link Jesus’ childhood to his adulthood and his adult ministry to his death and resurrection. Indeed, for Luke, the children are not just examples of what adult disciples ought to be, as they were in Matthew; rather, these children are ones with whom Jesus closely identifies because much of their story is, in fact, his story.

Jesus’ Miracles Involving Only Children When it comes to the stories of the children whom Jesus heals, the author of the Gospel of Luke seems to have a soft place in his heart for the only child, children who have no siblings: the son of a widow, the daughter of a synagogue leader, 65. Nolland, Luke 1–9.20, 130. Joseph, on the other hand, is a silent character in Luke. He has a much more active role in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, as I discuss in Chapter 7. 66. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 79. 67. John T. Carroll, “‘What Then Will This Child Become?’: Perspectives on Children in the Gospel of Luke,” in The Child in the Bible (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2008), 185. 68. Karen Chakoian, “Luke 2.41–52,” Interpretation 52, no. 2 (1998): 187; Johnson, The Gospel of Luke, 61.



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and a boy brought by his father. While the Gospel of Mark in fact portrays all of the children Jesus heals as having no siblings, Luke is more explicit, using the adjective monogenh/v to describe each one. I will first discuss each of the healing narratives, before suggesting why the children are all referred to in this manner and their close connection to Jesus. The Widow’s Only Son The first two healing stories in Luke 7 depict Jesus as a prophet like Elijah and Elisha, part of the unfolding identity of Jesus in Luke’s Gospel.69 This depiction gives Luke’s “audience a framework for understanding Jesus’ ministry as yet another step in God’s saving presence among them.”70 The first narrative in which there is an only child is 7.11–17, in which Jesus comes upon the funeral process of a widow’s only son, who has died. The episode closely resembles the narrative of the widow of Zarephath in 1 Kings 17.17–24, to whom Jesus referred earlier in Nazareth (4.25–7). In both stories, a widow’s son dies and the respective prophet restores the child to life. Like Elijah before him, Jesus comes into a town and meets a widow at the city gate (1 Kgs 17.10; Lk. 7.11). After Jesus resurrects the son of the widow of Nain, he gives “him to his mother” (7.15). This is an explicit allusion to the Elijah narrative, which reports that the prophet did the same thing for the widow of Zarephath (1 Kgs 17.23).71 However, while 1 Kings 17.21–3 calls the widow of Zarephath’s son a “child,”72 Luke does not specify the age of the son of the widow of Nain. Some English translations suggest the son was an adult man; for example, the NRSV says, “a man who had died was being carried out” (Lk. 7.12). However, the Greek simply uses a masculine singular participle, teqnhkw\v (tethnēkōs), referring to a male person who has died. Later in the passage, Jesus calls that person a neani/skov (neaniskos, young man or youth, 7.14). In Acts, Luke calls Eutychus both neani/av (neanias), a related word which carries the same meaning, and pai=v (Acts 20.9, 12), suggesting that at least for Luke the terms are interchangeable.73 Cornelia Horn and John Martens suggest that Eutychus 69.  The narrative in Luke 7.1–10 is the healing of the centurion’s slave. The story contains several similarities to the Syrophoenician woman’s story in Mark, which is missing from the third Gospel. For example, it is the only healing in Luke that happens at a distance. As mentioned in footnote 1, some scholars consider that Luke 7.1–10 may be about a slave child. 70. Ringe, Luke, 101. 71. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 656. 72. LXX uses the word paida/rion (paidarion), a diminutive of pai=v (pais), to refer to the child in 1 Kings 17.21–3. See the discussion on John 6.1–15, which also uses paida/rion. 73. BDAG, 3rd edn s.v. “neani/skov;” “neani/av.” In addition, Eutychus had also died and was brought back to life, in that case by the Apostle Paul. Louw and Nida note that “the age reference of neani/av and pai=v overlaps in Greek. In a number of languages, however, there is a much more specific and clear-cut distinction in age grading” (s.v. neani/skov).

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may have been in his mid-teens.74 Like the two other children whom Jesus will heal in Luke, the widow’s son is also described with the adjective monogenh/v. As I will show, there are several other connections between the three healing stories. Thus, when hearing the account of the only son of the widow at Nain alongside the narratives of two other only children, it is reasonable to assume that Luke was making a connection between the three stories. Unlike the child healing stories in Mark, in Luke’s version the parent does not initiate this healing. Rather, Jesus is compelled to act out of compassion for the widow (7.13). In the Ancient Near East, the phrase “widow and orphan” was synonymous with those who were socially underprivileged. In the Hebrew Bible and the broader cultural context, the pair denoted the weak and vulnerable in the society. As a woman whose husband had died, a widow was without a male patron. Thus, the widow was vulnerable to economic, social, and legal difficulties.75 While the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and John say little about widows, Luke mentions widows nine times. There is evidence that even more were a part of the ministry of Jesus.76 However, he does not use the term “orphan” to refer to the young man in 7.11–17, even though he clearly is an orphan since his father has died.77 The loss of a son impacted a parent’s financial future, but the situation was even more dire for a widow. All sons were called upon to care for their aging parents, but the sons of widows were legally obligated to do so. For a widow to lose her only son would likely have meant the loss of economic security for her. She would be without the security of being a wife or mother.78 The text, however, does suggest that this widow may have had a support system. A large crowd, “who consider it a work of mercy to help bury the dead,” was with her.79 Indeed, when Jesus approaches the town, Luke notes that there is both a large crowd with Jesus and a large crowd with the widow. A great number of people are present to witness this mighty act about to occur. Jesus meets the mother in the depth of her grief and compassionately bids her “do not cry.” The words flash back to Jesus’ Sermon

74. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 267. They also say that he seems to be present without parents, indicating that children would attend early church services alone. 75.  Pnina Galpaz-Feller, “The Widow in the Bible and in Ancient Egypt,” Zeitschrift Für Die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 120, no. 2 (2008): 231. 76.  Stephen Curkpatrick states that the women who provided for Jesus and the disciples from their resources were likely independent widows (8.3) (“‘Real and Fictive’ Widows: Nuances of Independence and Resistance in Luke,” Lexington Theological Quarterly 37, no. 4 [2002]: 217). 77.  See Chapter 2 for more information on widows and orphans, especially the alimenta plan, which provides some sustenance for them. 78. Ringe, Luke, 101. 79. Walter Vogels, “A Semiotic Study of Luke 7.11–17,” Église et Théologie 14, no. 3 (1983): 274.



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on the Plain when he declares that those who weep will laugh (6.21).80 They also anticipate the boy’s healing that is to come, as the title “Lord” does (7.13).81 This is the first time since the birth narrative that Jesus is referred to as “Lord.” In 2.11, the angel of the Lord had called Jesus “the Messiah, the Lord.” The title prepares the audience for the miracle that will follow: Like God, who is also referred to as “the Lord,” Jesus “will have power over life and death.”82 The cause of death is not disclosed, but the child is among the children who died untimely deaths from disease, accidents, or a culture of violence. Yet what begins as a sad tale of death suddenly becomes story of life.83 When Jesus touches the bier, he issues a simple authoritative command, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” (7.14). Like Mark, Luke uses forms of both e0gei/rw (egeirō) and a0ni/sthmi (anhistimi), to mean “raise, lift up” in the usual sense of getting up and going and also in the sense of raising from the dead. In this narrative, Jesus commands the boy to rise using an aorist passive imperative form of e0gei/rw. Jesus will also refer to his resurrection in the first passion and resurrection prediction using an aorist passive form of the verb (9.22). Thus, the raising of the young man from the dead anticipates Jesus’ resurrection. The young man then sits up and begins to speak, demonstrating that he is alive. As Jesus heals the boy, he gives “him to his mother” (7.15). While the mother’s reaction is not described, the crowd has two reactions: “a great prophet has risen among us!” recalling the works of Elijah, and “God has looked favorably on his people” (7.16), the same words Zechariah proclaimed following the birth of John (1.68), suggesting a fulfillment of his words. This first raising of the dead continues to build themes already established in the Gospel, especially Jesus’ identity as a prophet and his ministry to the lowly, among whom a widow and her orphan son would be counted. The Only Daughter of Jairus Luke 8.40–56 narrates the intercalated stories of Jairus, a synagogue leader, coming to Jesus requesting healing for his daughter and a woman who has suffered a chronic medical condition for 12 years, seeking healing from Jesus. As with the other Gospels, my focus here will be on Jairus’ daughter. I will draw in the woman’s story only when it directly relates to the girl’s story. Luke clearly follows Mark’s version of the story (Mk 5.21–43), retaining Mark’s overall flow and intercalation of the two stories. However, there are some significant differences in the Lukan version, most notably the length. In Luke, the introductory material is shorter and Jairus does not have a direct speech pleading for his daughter. Thus, the reader moves quickly to the crux of the matter: Jairus’ daughter is near death. Luke then brings the information about the age of the girl from the end of the 80.  Immediately following this narrative is Luke’s version of the children in the marketplace (7.32). See a discussion of the text in Chapter 4. 81. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 659. 82. Ringe, Luke, 101. 83. Ibid.

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story to the beginning of the story: she is 12 years old (8.42). In her first-century context, she is nearing womanhood, a girl for whom her parents might expect to arrange a marriage soon.84 At the same time, Luke also discloses that this girl is her father’s only (monogenh/v) daughter. The Greek does not imply that the man has sons as well, but that this daughter is truly his only child.85 Indeed, that Jairus comes to Jesus seeking healing for his daughter indicates the depth of his despair. A man of his status would normally go to an established medical center or physician for help. Only those who were destitute or did not have the money or leisure to go to the medical centers would search out an itinerant healer for help.86 With the age of the girl at the beginning of the narrative, the audience may readily make a connection between the girl and the suffering woman: the girl has been alive as long as the woman has been ill (8.43). The woman is healed through her own initiative by touching Jesus. Jesus recognizes that someone touched him not so much because he feels the pressure of the touch, but rather because he felt that power had gone out from him (8.45–6). Calling her “daughter,” Jesus announces that her faith has made her well, and he sends her on her way in peace. In that same moment, the word comes that the younger daughter has died. Now Jesus admonishes Jairus “do not fear, only believe.” While this is the same language that Mark uses, in the Lukan context it echoes the words of the angels in the birth narratives (1.13, 30; 2.10). Jesus enters Jairus’ house with his disciples Peter, James, and John and the girl’s father and mother (8.51). Although Luke does not state that there is a crowd at the house, v. 52 suggests that others are present as well. As with the widow in 7.13, Jesus admonishes them not to weep, for he knows what he is about to do. This is not a private healing as in Mark’s Gospel; rather, with the mourners present, Jesus takes her by the hand and says, “Girl, get up!” omitting the Aramaic words in Mark’s version. The girl’s breath returns, which is also a Lukan redaction (8.55), and the healing restores her to her family and her former life.87 As in Mark, 84. The age was also traditionally associated with menarche, as the Protevangelium of James indicates. See Chapter 7. 85. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 745. The devotion Jairus feels for his only daughter stands in contrast to the disregard for a daughter in the Hebrew Bible also referred to with the term monogenh/v, Jephthah’s daughter (Judg. 11.34). There, Jephthah’s rash vow puts his daughter’s life in jeopardy. Rather than acting to save his daughter’s life, Jephthah instead takes her life. Mary Ann Beavis draws other analogies between the two girls though based upon the Markan version (“The Resurrection of Jephthah’s Daughter: Judges 11.34–40 and Mark 5.21–4, 35–43,” CBQ 72, no. 1 [2010]: 46–62). Two other young people referred to in LXX with the term monogenh/v are Sarah and Tobias in Tobit (3.15, 6.11; 8.18). 86. Ringe, Luke, 123. 87. Fitzmyer, The According to Luke I–IX, 744; Sharon Ringe further remarks that the girl is not only restored to her own family, but she will soon take her place in another family as wife and mother. As such, “the story also holds out a social promise of well-being for the family and household structures that are the heart of the social and economic system of the Roman Empire” (Luke, 124).



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her parents are astounded at this miracle. Luke also retains both of Mark’s final admonitions: Jesus tells the parents to give the girl something to eat and to tell no one of this event. As Carroll remarks, Jesus’ command jolts the parents out of their astonishment at the miracle and brings them back into the reality of providing for their daughter’s everyday needs88 A well-known literary technique that the author of Luke utilizes is pairing. Jerome Kodell describes three forms of what he calls “exemplary pairs”: “(1) simple pairs, (2) parallels of people and narrative units, and (3) links between story/parable and teaching.”89 One way in which Luke pairs people is to connect the narratives of male and female characters. Each character’s story has a similar theme, and in this way they function to reinforce Luke’s central message as well as make the Gospel appeal to a wider audience. For example, Zechariah receives an announcement from the angel that his wife, who is too old to conceive, will have a child (1.5–20). Then an angel appears to Mary, announcing that she, who is a betrothed virgin, will also conceive (1.26–38). In each case, the story demonstrates the power of God and the faithful human response. Another such male/female pairing is the narrative of the widow’s son with the story of Jairus’ daughter. The two stories are connected in several ways: both the son and the daughter are only children; both die and Jesus raises each one. In each case, Jesus’ power to heal is exercised through his word using a direct address (“young man” and “child” respectively) and an imperative form of the verb e0gei/rw (7.14; 8.54). Later, this verb also refers to Jesus’ resurrection (24.6). Then the young man sits up and begins speaking, demonstrating that he is really alive, and Jesus commands the parents of the girl to give her something to eat, indicating that she is alive as well. The reaction of those present is awe or amazement. Together, the stories reinforce the life-giving power of Jesus, the power of his word, and his care for children and youth. They also anticipate Jesus’ resurrection. In Luke’s mode of pairing, usually the stories are in close proximity to one another. Although some material separates the widow’s son from Jairus’ daughter, the associations are still present. Other instances of pairing, which are spread across a broader portion of the Gospel, are the parallels between Jairus’ daughter and Jesus. Indeed, there are several points of connection between the girl and the young Jesus. First, while the story of the girl who is 12 years old is common to all three Synoptics, the story of Jesus as a 12-year-old boy is unique to the Gospel of Luke. Thus, there is both Jesus as a boy, and a girl, who are 12-year-olds. Second, they are both referred to with the word pai=v: Jesus is called o9 pai=v (hō pais, the boy, 2.43), and Jairus’ daughter is called h9 pai=v (hē pais, the girl, 8.51, 54). Luke has redacted Mark’s story of Jairus’ daughter, changing the neuter to/ paidi/on (Mk 5.40) to the feminine h9 pai=v (Lk 8.51) and

88. Carroll, “What Then Will This Child Become?,” 180. 89. Jerome Kodell, “Luke and the Children: The Beginning and End of the ‘Great Interpolation’ (Luke 9.46–56, 18.9–23),” CBQ 49, no. 3 (1987): 417.

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replacing kora/sion (Mk 5.41) with h9 pai=v (Lk. 8.54).90 These changes make the relationship between the 12-year-old girl and the 12-year-old Jesus clearer. Third, the 12- year-olds have both parents living. While Joseph fades from the Lukan narrative after the episode in the Temple, at that point Jesus still has two living parents. Likewise, when Jesus heals the girl, both of her parents are present. For a child to have both parents alive and still married, like the 12-year-old Jesus and daughter of Jairus, was notable at that time. Finally, in both cases the reaction to the miracle by those present is amazement (2.47; 8.56). Moreover, just as the boy Jesus at 12 clearly understands that he has a special relationship to God as his father, this 12-year-old girl also has a special relationship with God through God’s Son, Jesus. The similarities between Jairus’ daughter and Jesus are not limited to the story of Jesus’ childhood. The girl is paired with the adult Jesus as well. Most obviously, both are raised from the dead, and the text uses forms of the same word, e0geir/w (7.14; 8.54). As the girl is brought back to life, Luke reports, “her spirit returned to her” (8.55), which is echoed when Jesus gives up his spirit at his death (23.46). When the girl is resuscitated, Jesus commands her parents to give her something to eat (8.55). Likewise, when Jesus is resurrected, he eats with his disciples (24.41–2). Finally, the parents’ amazement at the miracle is echoed by the disciples’ at Emmaus, who tell “the stranger” that “some women of our group astounded [amazed] us (24.22).” Thus, the 12-year-old girl uniquely ties the Gospel together, looking back to Jesus’ childhood while looking toward to his death and resurrection. A Father’s Only Son Since Luke moves the notice of John the Baptist’s arrest to its proper narrative time location in the Gospel (3.19–20) only a brief statement of John’s death remains after the healing of Jairus’ daughter (9.7–9).91 The girl’s narrative counterpart from Mark 6.14–29, the daughter of Herodias, is missing altogether.92 In addition, because Luke does not contain Mark 6.45–8.26,93 the narrative of the Syrophoenician woman and her daughter are not in the third Gospel either. Consequently, the next story of an only child follows fairly shortly after the one of 90. Luke also omits a second use of kora/sion (Mk 5.42) using instead a feminine pronoun. Johnson suggests the redaction of kora/sion may be to avoid an association between Jairus’ daughter and the daughter of Herodias, both of whom Mark and Matthew call kora/sion (Mk 6.22; Mt. 14.11; The Gospel of Luke, 142). However, the story of Herodias’ daughter is missing from Luke. 91. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 756–8. 92. Interestingly, then, though Luke appears to have more stories about women than the other Gospels, it actually has fewer stories about girls. Yet the one that remains, Jairus’ daughter, has a significant role in the Gospel. I will discuss this point further in Chapter 7. 93.  Luke may have either intentionally omitted the material, or the author was working from a shorter manuscript of Mark which is not extant today.



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Jairus’ daughter. As in Matthew, Luke’s version of the boy with the spirit is considerably shorter than Mark’s narrative, lacking much of the repetitive descriptions. In Luke 9.37–43, a crowd meets Jesus coming down from the mountain, where he was transfigured before his disciples. A man in the crowds shouts to him, begging him to look at his son. Luke again uses the term monogenh/v to describe the child (9.38).94 Although Luke does not state the son’s age, he does refer to him as pai=v (9.42). The combination of monogenh/v, only child or son, and pai=v clearly means the boy is a non-adult child. To have one’s only son afflicted by a life-threatening illness not only caused day-to-day grief for his father but could also affect his future.95 In the ancient world, a son often lived with or near his parents providing for them in their old age. If the son is destroyed by this ailment, the father’s future may be at risk as well. The man’s plea for his only son is compounded when he describes the boy’s affliction: a spirit attacks the child, causing him to shriek, convulse, and foam at the mouth. Though the father begged the disciples to heal the boy, they were unable. After expressing frustration at the faithlessness of his disciples, Jesus heals the boy out of compassion for the father.96 When the demon sees Jesus, it convulses the boy. The restoration of the boy contains three actions: First, Jesus’ rebuke casts out the spirit, though Luke uses only indirect speech to report the exorcism. Second, Jesus heals the boy. Notably, while this is a separate action from the rebuke, the means of healing is not described. In contrast, Mark states that Jesus took the boy by the hand, one of Jesus’ modes of healing (9.27). The verb used, however, i0a/omai (iaomai, heals), links this story to the disciples’ charge to preach the reign of God and to heal (9.2). Thus, it is ironic that they were not able to heal the boy, since Jesus has prepared them to do so. Third, Jesus gives the boy back to his father. Following the healing, “all are astounded at the greatness of God.” The redaction of the story has removed most of the connections between the boy and Jairus’ daughter that are found in Mark’s Gospel. The boy does not appear dead; Jesus does not take him by the hand; and he does not raise him. Instead, the girl’s raising is more similar to that of the widow’s son. The boy with the spirit also shares some similarities with the widow’s son. First, both are sons, and in general boys were more valued than girls at this time.97 Second, each boy has only one parent present; the first one has a mother and the second one has a father. This 94. In Luke 9.38, monogenh/v is not followed by ui9o/v (hios, son). However, as D. A. Fennema points out, all nine of occurrences of monogenh/v in the NT refer to an only child. Five times the term modifies ui9o/v or quga/thr (thugatēr, daughter; Lk 7.12; 8.42; Jn 3.16, 18; 1 Jn 4.9). The remaining four times (Lk. 9.38; Jn 1.14, 18; Heb. 11.17), the NRSV translator rightly in his view recognizes that monogenh/v is properly translated as “only child” or “only son” (“John 1.18 : ‘God the Only Son,’” NTS 31, no. 1 [1985]: 127). 95. No mother is mentioned in this passage. 96. This is in contrast to Mark, in which the motivation for the healing is the father’s faith. 97. Sharon Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These: A Socio-Literary Analysis of Daughters in the Gospel of Mark (London: T&T Clark, 2010), 56–9.

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reflects the reality of many children at this time who may have lost a parent. Third, in both stories, Jesus gives the child back to the parent (7.15; 9.42).98 This action links Jesus to Elijah, who also gave a healed boy back to his parent. Earlier, “some” have claimed that Jesus actually was Elijah (9.8). Finally, the reaction of all those present is recorded (7.16; 9.43) as opposed to just the parents’ reaction as in the case of Jairus’ daughter. Although this story does not anticipate Jesus’ resurrection, as the other stories of healed children do, it still has a central role in the Gospel that will become clear after a brief discussion of Jesus’ relationship to the only children.

Jesus (and) the Only Child The use of monogenh/v in each of these three narratives certainly ties the three stories and children together. The question then is why Luke depicts three of the characters that Jesus heals or raises as only children, particularly when the word monogenh/v is clearly a Lukan addition to the story? Generally, commentators discussing these passages note the use of the word and the fact that it is used in the other stories as well. For example, Johnson observes that it does link the three stories together.99 Joseph Fitzmyer states that in 7.12 monogenh/v emphasizes the difficult situation in which the widow finds herself with her only son now dead.100 In the case of the other two narratives, however, Fitzmyer merely notes that Luke adds this element to the Markan version of the stories.101 Neither, however, suggests a reason for the insertion or use of the word. In commenting upon the widow’s son, Alan R. Culpepper states Luke does not use “only son” in a Christological fashion here but to increase the tragedy of the death of the child.102 He does not relate it to the other stories either. Carroll does connect the uses of monogenh/v in all of the stories; he recognizes that by making the children their parents’ only child, Luke “raises the stakes” in each encounter, adding “a poignancy to the cures, to the liberation, that he effects.”103 Indeed in an era of high child mortality, each and every surviving child was a blessing, but to have an only child survive a threatening illness or demon was perhaps understood as a double blessing.104 But there is another reason why these children are only children, and it has to do with Luke’s portrayal of Jesus. 98.  There is a slight difference between the two verses. In 7.15 the verb is e2dwken, while in 9.42 the verb is a0pe/dwken. 99. Johnson, The Gospel of Luke, 141, 158. 100. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 658. 101. Ibid., 743, 806. 102. Alan R. Culpepper, “Luke,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 9 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 158. 103. Carroll, “What Then Will This Child Become?” 181. 104. See Tobit 8.17, in which Tobit gives thanks to God because Tobias and Sarah have survived a life-threatening situation, praying: “Blessed are you because you had compassion on two only children.”



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While the Gospel of John is the only canonical Gospel that refers to Jesus directly as the “only son” (Jn 1.18),105 I will argue that Luke is trying to make a similar point. The author of the third Gospel constructs his depiction of Jesus such that Jesus does not have siblings or rather, despite the fact that Jesus has siblings, he is, in fact, portrayed as an only child.106 To demonstrate the validity of this assertion, I will first examine the birth narrative and Luke’s use of the word firstborn (prwto/tokov, prōtotokos). Next, I will discuss the ways in which Luke redacts Mark’s material that deals with Jesus’ siblings. Finally, I will draw upon present-day studies regarding only children to show that the depiction of Jesus in Luke’s Gospel is consistent with our understandings today of only children. When the Gospel narrates Jesus’ birth, Luke describes him as Mary’s prwto/tokov (2.7), indicating there were no children born to Mary before Jesus and under Mosaic law he would have the status of the firstborn (Exod. 13.2; Num. 3.12–13; 18.15–16; Deut. 21.15–17). The term also anticipates the dedication of the firstborn in 2.23, which places Jesus in the Temple as an infant where both Simeon and Anna encounter the child.107 The word choice raises a question, however: If Jesus is the firstborn, does that suggest there were other siblings of Jesus and children of Mary subsequent to Jesus’ birth? Not necessarily. While prwto/tokov could imply there was a second-born son, it does not require that Mary had more than one child.108 Indeed, as Fitzmyer points out, it “does not necessarily mean the first born of many.” He then notes the use of prwto/tokov in the Psalm of Solomon 18.4 and 2 Esdras 6.58, which adds “only” (monogenh/v) to make this point clear.109 All of the Gospels, however, mention brothers of Jesus. In the Synoptics, these brothers first appear in Mark 3.31–5 (Mt. 12.46–50; Lk. 8.19–21).110 In both Mark and Matthew, Jesus is told that his mother and brothers are outside waiting for him. He responds with a rhetorical question that acknowledges the family members: “Who are my mother and my brothers?” (Mk 3.33).111 Jesus then 105. Though to be sure, this use of monogenh/v in John’s Gospel is notably difficult to translate in this context. See the discussion in Chapter 6. 106. I am not arguing that the historical Jesus had no siblings. Given the witness of Mark and Matthew as I will present them shortly, it is quite likely that Jesus had brothers and sisters. Rather, I am arguing that the author of the Gospel of Luke, for his own literary purposes, sought to depict Jesus as an only child. For a brief summary of the argument for the historical Jesus having siblings, see John Dart, “Scholars, Churches Debate: Was Jesus an Only Child?,” Christian Century 119, no. 23 (2002): 13–14. 107. Robert J. Karris, “The Gospel According to Luke,” in The New Jerome Biblical Commentary (New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1990), 683. 108. Johnson, The Gospel of Luke, 50. 109. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, 407. 110. The Gospel of John also mentions brothers in 2.12 and 7.3, 5, 10, but narratively, these are in a different context. 111. Matthew alters Mark’s wording just slightly, “Who is my mother and who are my brothers?” (Mt. 12.48).

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looks at those around him and declares that they are his mother and brothers. He then announces that those who do the will of God are his mother, brother, and sister. Luke’s version of the episode, which is placed in between the raising of the widow’s son and Jairus’ daughter, omits both Jesus’ rhetorical question “Who are my mother and my brothers?” and his declaration that those around him are his mother and brothers. Rather, when the Lukan Jesus is told that his mother and brothers are outside, he does not acknowledge them at all. He simply announces, “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it” (Lk. 8.19–21). In this way, Luke minimizes Jesus’ attachment to any siblings. A second episode in which Jesus’ brothers are referred to, this time by name, occurs in Mark 6.3 and Matthew 13.55. In both Gospels, Jesus is teaching in the synagogue, and the hometown people are questioning his source of power and wisdom. They are skeptical about him since they know who he is and who his family is. They know the names of his mother, Mary, and his brothers, James, Joses (called Joseph in Mt. 13.55), Judas, and Simon. Jesus’ sisters are mentioned as well; however, they are not named in the text. Luke also recounts Jesus’ preaching in his hometown synagogue. The people there too are initially amazed at his words. They also question how this can be, since they know him. In Luke, however, they only ask, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” (4.22). There is no reference to Mary or any brothers or sisters. In fact, Luke never names any brothers of Jesus. It seems, then, that Luke has painted Jesus’ siblings out of the picture or significantly minimized their presence, such that Jesus appears to be an only child. Indeed, Luke’s characterization of Jesus as a 12-year-old boy in the Temple also points to his status as an only child. Not only are there no siblings mentioned, but the portrayal of Jesus in the Temple leads to this conclusion as well. In this scene, Jesus seems to be the only child present, and he is engaging the teachers in discussion. He is depicted as a highly intelligent child who is comfortable among the adults. He also interacts with his parents more on the level of a peer rather than as a child. When Mary questions Jesus about his actions, he answers in a rather unchild-like fashion, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know I must be about my father’s affairs?” (2.49).112 In these ways, his behavior is consistent with findings today regarding children without siblings. Studies have found higher intellectual scores among children with no siblings than children with siblings. In addition, only children are more likely to be precocious as a result of increased time spent interacting with adults.113 Only children themselves report that their relationship with their parents is similar to a friendship or is almost a peer-like relationship rather than an authority-based relationship.114 In a variety of ways, then, Luke’s portrayal of Jesus in the Gospel is, among other things, as an 112. My translation. 113. Toni Falbo, “Only Children: An Updated Review,” The Journal of Individual Psychology 68, no. 1 (2012): 43. 114. Lisen C. Roberts and Priscilla White Blanton, “‘I Always Knew Mom and Dad Loved Me Best’: Experiences of Only Children,” The Journal of Individual Psychology 57, no. 2 (2001): 131.



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only child. Thus, the Lukan Jesus identifies more closely with these children than Jesus does in the other Gospels. These children are “onlies” just as Jesus is.

The Child by His Side While the triple healings of the only children lie in close proximity to one another, the story of the boy with the spirit is set in a distinctive narrative block of material. Luke 9 is a unified pericope whose main theme is discipleship, opening and closing with instructions for the disciples. In the first set of instructions, Jesus gives them a two-fold charge to preach the reign of God and to heal. As mentioned, the charge “to heal” connects these instructions with the healing of the boy in 9.42.115 Before Luke diverges into his own journey narrative at 9.51, his plot follows Mark’s Gospel, moving from the Transfiguration, to the healing of the boy with the spirit, to the second passion and resurrection prediction, to the disciples’ argument about who is greatest, to Luke’s version of the “child in the midst.” But as noted above, some of these narratives contain significant redactions. This is the case with the disciples’ argument about greatness and the first teaching about children. In Mark, the scene changes between the story of the healing of the boy with the unclean spirit and the scene containing the first passion and resurrection prediction. It changes again as the disciples begin their argument. In contrast, in Luke the scene stays the same as Jesus heals the boy, and he announces his passion and resurrection for the second time. Moreover, no scene change is indicated when the disciples begin their argument about greatness.116 The constancy of the setting emphasizes the disconnect between Jesus’ teaching and the disciples’ response.117 Their inability to comprehend “the nature of this Jesus whom they are following” reflects their “continued captivity” to the societal norms of their day, in which one only gains status and power at the expense of another.118 So Jesus moves from words to concrete actions by bringing a child into the conversation. In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus’ action of placing the child in the midst of the disciples and taking the child into his arms is bracketed by the sayings “whoever wants to be first must be last … ” (Mk 9.35) and “whoever welcomes one such child …” (Mk 9.37). Luke combines these sayings but reverses them, placing the emphasis on the second saying and the theme of lowliness. Jesus first places the child by his side and says “whoever welcomes this child” and the ends the teaching with “the least among you is the greatest” (Lk. 9.48). Placing the child “by his side” rather than “among them,” emphasizes Jesus’ solidarity with this child.119 Indeed, as Carroll observes, in this way “Jesus identifies himself with the child, who is to be treated as 115. Robert F. O’Toole, “Luke’s Message in Luke 9.1–50,” CBQ 49, no. 1 (1987): 81. 116. Kodell, “Luke and the Children,” 420. 117. Ibid., 420. 118. Ringe, Luke, 143–4. 119.  James L. Bailey, “Experiencing the Kingdom as a Little Child: A Rereading of Mark 10.13–16,” WW 15, no. 1 (1995): 63.

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Jesus’ own representative (‘in my name’).”120 Moreover, because there is no scene change from the previous material, the child whom Jesus takes and places next to himself could be the boy he has just healed.121 Luke has thus far closely identified the children whom Jesus heals with Jesus himself, and now he makes it even more explicit for the audience. His saying is no longer a general statement about children (“one such child,” Mk 9.37) but rather it is about receiving this particular child (Lk. 9.48). This child and Jesus are closely related. The boy is likely the one whom Jesus has just healed, and he brings to mind the other boy and girl whom Jesus raised. Then Jesus moves to the heart of the matter: welcoming this child in Jesus’ name is welcoming him, and therefore it is equivalent to welcoming God. The reason for welcoming this child is simple: “for the least among all of you is the greatest” (Lk 9.48). This is Luke’s great reversal; all of the disciples’ notions of a society based upon honor, power, and merit come crashing down in this moment. Children were at the bottom of every societal hierarchical scale—physically, economically, and politically—but Jesus identifies with this child and tells the disciples that this is what greatness will look like in God’s reign; God’s empire is indeed markedly different from Rome’s empire. Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem will serve to emphasize this reality.

Jesus and Infants The journey to Jerusalem, which commences at 9.51, is an extended block of Lukan material combined with material that is shared with Matthew. It primarily consists of teachings and parables as well as a few healings. Outside of the birth narratives, some of Luke’s best-known material is in this section, including the parable of the Good Samaritan, story of the sisters Mary and Martha, and the three “lost” parables (the sheep, the coin, and the son). There are a few references to children in this section: Jesus thanks God that “these things” have not been revealed to the wise and intelligent but to infants (10.21),122 and children are mentioned in a couple of parables (11.11–13). However, the next episode in which children are actors does not appear until Luke 18. By 18.15–17, the disciples seem to have forgotten the previous teaching with the child by Jesus’ side. Luke follows Mark’s version of the “Bringing the Children” verbatim except for three significant changes. First, instead of reporting that people were bringing children, Luke changed paidi/a (Mk 10.13) to bre/fh (18.15). The fact that he says kai\ ta\ bre/fh (even the infants) and retains paidi/a in v. 16 suggests that older children are coming as well, just as in Mark’s version, but that people are bringing babies too. Thus, Luke underscores the vulnerability and dependence of those who are being brought to Jesus; it is not only children, 120. Carroll, “What Then Will This Child Become?” 189. 121. Johnson, The Gospel of Luke, 159. 122. For a discussion on the point of reference of “these things” see Joseph Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke X–XXIV, AB (New York: Doubleday & Co., 1985), 872.



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but also babies. Once again, the ones of low status and no power are lifted up as the ones that God honors, and it is “one more reprise of the principle theme of Mary’s song.”123 In addition, bre/fh recalls both John’s and Jesus’ infancies (1.41, 44; 2.12, 16 respectively). So once again, Jesus is identified with the children. Second, Mark’s Jesus becomes indignant at the disciples and pronounces the reign of God “is such as these” little children. In Luke, there is no such indignation on Jesus’ part, and he does not speak harshly the disciples; rather Jesus calls the children to himself. The change places the children in the foreground rather than the obstinacy of the disciples. Third, Jesus does not bless the children in Luke; rather after his pronouncement of the reign of God, the narrative moves directly into the scene with the ruler who inquires about eternal life (18.18–30). Kodell observes that the beginning and the end of the “Great Interpolation” (the large body of material included in Luke 9.51–18.14 which is not in Mark), opens and closes with material on children. By means of “exemplary pairs,” Luke illustrates true greatness by contrasting the disciples’ self-promotion with the implied humility of a child at the beginning of the narrative block. The stories which then immediately follow (9.49–50; 51–6) “are illustrations [with] contrasting figures: the exorcist of the Marcan [sic] story corresponds to the child, while the non-accepting Samaritans in Luke’s special material corresponds to the disciples.”124 Near the end of the interpolation are two other contrasting figures in the parable of the Pharisee and tax collector (18.9–14). That parable ends with Jesus “reframing” the least/greatest saying in 9.48, contrasting instead the humble and exalted. In the next scene, children are brought to Jesus; the story after that is the rich ruler, who is the only character in the Gospel described in a way that emphasizes status and wealth (18.22–3). In stark contrast to infants whom Jesus identifies as a part of the reign of God, the rich ruler cannot “inherit eternal life,” which is equivalent to entering the reign of God. Despite his fidelity to Torah, the man’s status, power, and wealth inhibit his ability to follow Jesus.125 Thus the scene with children and the rich ruler further explicates the parable: the children are “illustrative of the attitude of the tax collector,” while the rich ruler is “illustrative of the attitude of the Pharisee.”126 The logical conclusion of Kodell’s exemplary pairing then is that the disciples, by virtue of their visions of grandeur, have found themselves in the place of the ruler, though they are not wealthy. The children and even the babies, on the other hand, are by the side of Jesus. In the disciples’ defense, perhaps, there is a contradiction between what Jesus was saying about children and babies and what he was expecting of his disciples. Immediately following Jesus’ interaction with the rich ruler, Peter exclaims, “Look! We have left our homes and followed you!” (18.28) Since Peter is clearly married and has his own house (4.38), and one could assume then that he also has children, Jesus’ itinerant mission of teaching, preaching, and healing is not 123. Carroll, “What Then Will This Child Become?” 189. 124. Kodell, “Luke and the Children,” 416. 125. Carroll, “What Then Will This Child Become?” 190. 126. Kodell, “Luke and the Children,” 416.

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necessarily blessing all families with whom he came in contact. It seems that some families, such as those of his disciples, were disrupted. Children and wives were left behind as Jesus and his disciples preached the reign of God, and Jesus affirms as much (18.29). As Horn and Martens point out, “Discipleship to Jesus, and not familial ties, was to define the new Christian society.”127 Is this really good news, especially for the children? This is indeed one of the unresolved tensions in the Gospels.

Conclusion The Lukan Jesus, the only son of Mary and Joseph, and a relative of the only son John, reaches out to the widow’s only son, to Jairus and his wife’s only daughter, and to a father’s only son, restoring them to life. All along he knows that the path he is walking will lead to his death and resurrection. Indeed, just prior to healing the boy with the spirit, Jesus predicts both. By associating himself so closely with these children, it then comes as no surprise that Jesus makes a child an example for his disciples of the greatness they are seeking. Near the end of his journey, even closer to his life’s end, Jesus calls children to him as well. Though family disruptions loom for disciples of Jesus, the children also convey a powerful reality: Jesus identifies with the children, embracing their low status and powerlessness, which is also Luke’s call to discipleship. But the disciples constantly struggle with the teachings of Jesus. During his final meal with them, long after he has shown that children are a part of God’s reign, the disciples again begin arguing about greatness. Among Jesus’ last teaching to his disciples he once again evokes the young: “the greatest among you must become like the youngest” (22.26).

127. Horn and Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me, 89.

Chapter 6 L O G O S A N D L I F E : C H I L D R E N I N T H E G O SP E L OF JOHN

The differences between the Fourth Gospel and the Synoptics are fairly evident to most readers. John seems more “spiritual” than Matthew, Mark, and Luke do, and many key features from the first three Gospels are missing from the last one. For example, the geography and chronology of the Synoptics differ from John: the former are set primarily in Galilee and Jesus goes to Jerusalem only once at the end of the first three Gospels, whereas in John Jesus moves back and forth between Galilee and Jerusalem. Next, Jesus’ teaching style in the Synoptics is by means of aphorisms, parables, and short teaching sessions and/or sermons. In John, on the other hand, Jesus teaches through long, sometimes rambling discourses. In addition, the content of Jesus’ teaching is different. In the first three Gospels, the focus of the teachings is on the reign of God. In contrast, John only mentions the “reign of God” twice (3.3, 5); rather, Jesus’ identity is the focus of his teaching. Even the appearance of children in John’s Gospel is quite different; there are no scenes of Jesus placing a child “in the midst,” people do not bring their children to Jesus for a blessing; Jesus does not talk about welcoming a child or that the reign of God is “of such as these.” Yet just when the differences seem so stark, there are glimmers of similarity that become more pronounced as the audience pays closer attention. In all four of the Gospels, Jesus calls a group of men to be his disciples; one of them, Peter, makes a confession of Jesus’ identity; Jesus dramatically enters Jerusalem; he overturns the tables in the market places;1 Jesus is anointed by a woman; he is betrayed by a disciple in the context of a supper with all of his disciples; and there is a narrative of his passion, death, and resurrection. The four Gospels also share several miracles, including Jesus healing a Gentile’s child from a distance, feeding a great multitude, and walking on water. In two of these miracles in John’s Gospel, children are a part of the narrative. The two children are both boys, and their roles are so small that almost all interpreters, even some who are writing on children in the Gospel of John, overlook them. For example, Marianne Meye Thompson 1.  In John’s Gospel this occurs near the beginning of the Gospel instead of following the entry into Jerusalem, as in the Synoptics.

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states, “The Gospel of John does not recount any story in which Jesus encounters a child … No healings are recounted that obviously entail the healing of young children (compare, e.g. Mark 5.21–43; Matt. 9.18–26; Luke. 8.40–56). Few persons or characters in the Gospel of John, except the royal official (John 4.48–52), even seem to have children.”2 However, Jesus does encounter a child, depending upon how one defines “encounter,” when he feeds the multitude (6.1–15), and he does heal a child, the very one whom Thompson cites, the royal official’s son. Like Mark 5.21–43, John 4.48–52 uses the word paidi/on (paidion, child or little child) to refer to the child whom Jesus heals.3 In this chapter, I will examine the two narratives containing children. Before considering these passages, I will give some brief background information about the Gospel of John and discuss several features of the Prologue (1.1–18) that relate to the theme of children. My focus will be primarily related to the “real” children in the Gospel, rather than Jesus’ metaphorical use of children in phrases such as “children of God.” Thompson covers this aspect of John’s Gospel quite well.4 However, as in the other chapters, my interest is how children qua children are portrayed in the Gospel.

Structure and Themes The Gospel of John is usually considered the latest of the canonical Gospels and is generally dated in the last decade of the first century, around 90–95 c.e. The audience is almost certainly Jewish Jesus-believers, but whether the group was expelled or excluded from the synagogue, defected in protest, or was still a part of a synagogue but was at odds with the leadership over accommodations with Rome is still contested.5 Although the Fourth Gospel does not contain features such as a birth narrative, a genealogy, or stories of Jesus’ childhood or youth, some scholars nevertheless consider the Gospel to be most similar to a biography. Drawing upon the work of Richard Burridge, Warren Carter demonstrates the overlap between John and ancient biography, including the opening, subject, several external features (such as size, structure, scale, use of sources, etc.), and internal features (setting, topics, style, etc.).6 2. Marianne Meye Thompson, “Children in the Gospel of John,” in The Child in the Bible, ed. Marcia Bunge (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 195. 3. The other two uses of paidi/on in John are in 16.21 and 21.5. 4. See Thompson, “Children in the Gospel of John.” 5.  See Warren Carter, John and Empire: Initial Explorations (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 19–22; Adele Reinhartz, Befriending The Beloved Disciple: A Jewish Reading of the Gospel of John (New York: Continuum, 2002), 37–53. 6. Warren Carter, John: Storyteller, Interpreter, Evangelist (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006), 9–12; for a more in-depth discussion and how the Gospel itself reframes this genre, see Carter, John and Empire: Initial Explorations, 123–43.

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Raymond Brown has divided the Gospel into five parts: 1. Prologue (1.1–18) 2. Book of Signs (1.19–12.50) 3. Book of Glory (13.1–20.29) 4. Concluding Statement (20.30–1) 5. Epilogue (21.1–25)7 The material I will cover in this chapter is contained in parts one and two: the Prologue and the Book of Signs. The Prologue introduces several of the themes that arise in the remainder of the Gospel, which I will discuss in more detail below. The Book of Signs is concerned with Jesus’ miracles. The Synoptic Gospels refer to those miracles as du/namiv (dunamis, deeds of power). They function to demonstrate Jesus’ power and “the breaking of the reign of God into time.”8 The focus of the miracles in the Synoptics is upon the awe the miracles evoke among the observers; the crowds who flock to Jesus as a result of the miracles; and the reports that go out and move throughout the region about what he has done. In John, however, the miracles function quite differently. The author of the Fourth Gospel calls them shmei=a (sēmeia, signs), and they are designed “to encourage the faith of the reader.”9 There are seven signs in the Gospel, all of which occur in the Book of Signs. The word shmei=on only appears once after that section in the summary statement in 20.30.10

The Prologue The opening of the Gospel of John may be some of the most well-known words in the New Testament. The flow and cadence of the poetry provide a grand opening to the narrative that follows, and it introduces several key themes in the Gospel. Although the Fourth Gospel does not have birth narrative for Jesus, the Prologue functions in a similar fashion as a story of origins. It locates Jesus as the eternal, pre-existent Word with God from the beginning of time. Warren Carter discusses four “inter-related themes” from the Prologue: “1) the origin and destiny of Jesus the logos, 2) Jesus’ role as the revealer, 3) responses to Jesus, and 4) the relationship of Jesus the logos to other figures.”11 The first theme is going to be my primary focus in this discussion. First, I want to explore some ways in which the 7. Raymond E. Brown, An Introduction to the Gospel of John, ed. Francis J. Moloney (New York: Doubleday, 2003), 298. 8.  Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, AB (Garden City: Doubleday & Co., 1966), 525. 9. Ibid., 525. 10. Brown, An Introduction to the Gospel of John, 299. 11. Warren Carter, “The Prologue and John’s Gospel: Function, Symbol and the Definitive Word,” JSNT, no. 39 (1990): 37.

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logos is understood, but also how it might impact the audience’s understanding of the place of children in the Gospel. Second, as Carter notes, the motif of life is an aspect of understanding “the origin and destiny of the logos.” This motif will pertain to the discussion of children in John’s Gospel as well, since both of the narratives containing children include life as a central theme. Third, I will examine the use of monogenh/v (monogenēs, only) to describe the relationship of the lo/gov (logos, word, reason) and the Father. I previously discussed the use of monogenh/v in the Gospel of Luke, but only John uses the word to explicitly refer to Jesus.12 John’s use of lo/gov draws upon both imagery from the audience’s Hellenistic context and Jewish culture. Most interpreters of the Prologue agree that John reflects the language of the word of God found in the Hebrew Bible. Indeed, in the opening verse of Genesis, God speaks creation into being; the word of God brings all things into existence. The same word of God gave the law to Moses at Sinai and came to the people through the prophets. John’s description of the lo/gov also parallels the personification of wisdom in the Jewish wisdom tradition. The lo/gov is described as being with God in the beginning, just as wisdom is in Proverbs 8.22–31: “The Lord created me at the beginning of his work … ” (8.22). Wisdom is personified in Proverbs as a woman, since the Hebrew word hmkh (hokhma, wisdom) is feminine. Yet in v. 30 the NRSV reads, “then I was beside him, like a master worker.” The last phrase, “master worker,” has a masculine tone, but that may not be the best translation. According to Elizabeth Huwiler, the NRSV uses the Septuagint for the wording in v. 30 because the meaning of the Hebrew word Nm), (’mn) is disputed.13 The Septuagint uses a participle form of a9rmo/zw (harmozō), which can have the sense of “fitting together,” as a carpenter does wood (hence “master worker”). Another meaning, though, is “join,” and is used to mean “join or give in marriage,” that is, “betroth.”14 According to Michael V. Fox, the Hebrew word Nm), is best translated as “being raised, growing up.” The image is that “while God was busy creating the world, she [wisdom] was nearby, growing up like a child in his care.”15 Thus, rather than a “master worker,” beside God in creation, perhaps wisdom is God’s betrothed, a teenage girl preparing for marriage, or even God’s young child. Either way, the child imagery is striking. The Hellenistic roots of the lo/gov, however, may not have such positive child imagery attached. Brown suggests several uses of lo/gov in the Hellenistic world, such as its use in philosophical thought, among the Stoics, in Philo’s writing, in Hermetic literature, Mandean liturgies, and Gnosticism.16 Adele Reinhartz examines the Prologue particularly in light of Aristotle’s understanding of the

12. See Chapter 5 for the discussion of the use of monogenh/v in Luke’s Gospel. 13.  Elizabeth Huwiler, “Proverbs,” in The New Interpreter’s Study Bible: The New Revised Standard Version with the Apocrypha, ed. Walter J. Harrelson (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2003), 906. 14. BDAG, s.v. a9rmo/zw. 15. Michael V. Fox, “ ’Amon Again,” JBL 115, no. 4 (1996): 701–2. 16. Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, 520.



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process of generation, or epigenesis.17 In more everyday language, this was his theory of “where babies come from.” For Aristotle, there were four processes in generation: 1) telos—“that for the sake of which the thing exists;” 2) lo/gov—“the rational purpose of the thing;” 3) “the matter from which the object is made;” and 4) “the motive cause,” which he also referred to as lo/gov.18 The male sperm is the lo/gov, “that is the motive and final causes of the reproductive process.” It must prevail in the generative process in order for the offspring to be male. If the lo/gov does not prevail, according to Aristotle, the offspring will be deficient. One result of Aristotle’s epigenesis is that female offspring are considered “deficient males,” in Reinhartz’s words, “in the sense that they differ from the father’s form with respect to their sex.”19 Indeed, possessing lo/gov in the sense of “reason,” another meaning of the word, was also one of the key characteristics of a “man” in the Hellenistic world, and a feature that differentiated women and children from men. Wiedemann argues that Greek thinkers considered the application of lo/gov (reason) and the avoidance of bi/a (bia, force or violence) to be the keys that held the classical city-state together. He says, “Women and old men had some share, if only potentially, in the logos of the adult male citizen; barbarians and slaves (at least ‘true’ slaves) had none. The child too symbolized the absence of logos.”20 As a result, the child served as a foil for the understanding of “true ‘manhood’—and, hence, true humanity.”21 If these were understandings of lo/gov in the ancient world, and women and children did not possess this kind of lo/gov, what then does that say about the place of women and children in the Gospel or the Johannine community for whom the defining feature is accepting and believing the one who came as the lo/gov? Indeed, Reinhartz asks, if women are defective males from an Aristotelian perspective, can they be fully “children of God”?22 On one hand, the identification of Jesus as the lo/gov could limit the full inclusion of women and children. Or it could be the case that the Gospel of John is redefining this cultural understanding of lo/gov to be a more inclusive concept. Certainly the comparison with woman wisdom in Proverbs could bolster that argument, both in regard to women and children. Reinhartz comments that the positive portrayal of women in the Gospel of John suggests that the Gospel does not adhere to Aristotle’s perspective. Though, as Colleen Conway observes, while women in John’s Gospel are strong female characters, they may be portrayed positively because they are already in “the properly submissive position with respect to the dominant ultramale

17. Adele Reinhartz, “‘And the Word Was Begotten’: Divine Epigenesis in the Gospel of John,” Semeia 85 (1999): 83–103. 18. Ibid., 89. 19. Ibid., 90. 20. Thomas Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 21. 21. Thompson, “Children in the Gospel of John,” 202. 22. Reinhartz, “And the Word Was Begotten,” 99.

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characters in the Gospel, Jesus and God.”23 This will then be a key question for examining children in the Gospel of John: Are children considered or portrayed as full members of the Johannine community in the same way they are in the Synoptic Gospels? Another aspect of the “origin and destiny of the logos” presented in the Prologue is the characteristic of life: “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people” (Jn 1.3–4). God’s word, who becomes enfleshed in Jesus, brings life and light. The author uses the term zwh/ (zōē, life) nineteen times alone and seventeen times in combination with ai0w/niov (aiōnios, eternal life). Life and eternal life seem to be used interchangeably in the Gospel (cf. 3.16; 5.24; 5.3–40; 6.47–8; 10.10, 28; 20.31).24 Both “life” and “eternal life” are prominent in John 6 in the discourse following the multiplication of the loaves and fishes, in which a child is present. The related verb za/w (zaō, to live) is also used seventeen times in the Gospel; three of these are in a narrative that is about the healing of a child (4.50, 51, 53). John’s emphasis on life is set against the backdrop of the ancient world in which disease, hunger, and mortality were realities, especially for children.25 The final aspect of the identification of the lo/gov is the shift in the language from God and lo/gov at the beginning to father and son at the end of the Prologue. From vv. 1–12, the one with God is either called lo/gov, light, life, or simply “him.” While v. 6 begins to put the lo/gov into a historical context with the introduction of John, it is not until v. 14 when “the Word [becomes] flesh” that another relationship is introduced to describe the proximity of the lo/gov and God: He is like a father’s only son, or as some translations state “only begotten” (1.14 KJV). Gail O’Day argues that the adjective used here, monogenh/v, is derived from the words mono meaning “only” and gennethenai meaning “birthed” or “begotten.” There is a sense, she states, in which the son is the only birthed/begotten of the father. The father then takes on the role both of the one who “sires” and the one who gives birth. While “begotten” is a traditional male role, the dual meaning of “birthed” suggests that traditional gender roles are being transformed.26 This view does enhance the place of women in the Gospel, perhaps, but in the context of the masculine implications of lo/gov John’s audience probably would not have heard monogenh/v in this sense. Reinhartz agrees that monogenh/v does mean “only begotten,”27 but she bases her position upon Aristotle’s epigenesis. She argues that 23. Colleen M. Conway, Behold the Man: Jesus and Greco-Roman Masculinity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 156. 24. Thompson, “Children in the Gospel of John,” 199. 25. Ibid., 201. 26. Gail R. O’Day, “Gospel of John,” in Women’s Bible Commentary, eds Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H. Ringe, and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Twentieth-Anniversary Edition (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012), 519–20. 27. cf. David A. Fennema, “John 1.18: ‘God the Only Son,’” NTS 31, no. 1 (1985): 124–35.



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the Prologue’s use of the terms a0rxh/ (archē, beginning), lo/gov, and gi/nomai (ginomai, be, become, born) “as allusions to epigenesis supports the argument in favor of monogenh/v as ‘only begotten.’”28 D. A. Fennema, however, argues that monogenh/v should be understood as “only son,” or, I might say, “only child.” The word ui9o/v (huios, son) does not actually appear in the Greek until 1.34. Rather, in both instances in which the NRSV says “son” (vv. 14, 18), it is a translation of monogenh/v. Five of the eight occurrences of the word in the New Testament are modified by either quga/thr (thugatēr, daughter, Lk. 8.42) or ui9o/v (Lk. 7.12; Jn 3.16, 18; 1 Jn 4.9). Only four times is the word used alone, including here in 1.14 and again in v. 18 (cf. Lk. 9.38; Heb. 11.17). Fennema concludes, “Every undisputed NT occurrence of monogenh/v denotes a unique filial relationship, whether or not it modifies ui9o/v or quga/thr.”29 Both translations of monogenh/v, “only begotten,” or “only child,” capture the unique relationship between the lo/gov and the Father. John 1.18 further explicates the close relationship: “No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known” (NRSV). As mentioned, ui9o/v does not appear in the Prologue, and in this case monogenh/v is in apposition to qeo/v (theos, God). That is, monogenh/v does not modify qeo/v, as if this one is a second god; rather the only child who “shares in the fullness of God, is fully God.”30 Moreover, this only child “is close to the Father’s heart” or, more literally stated, “is in the bosom of the Father” (v. 18b). The term translated as “heart” or “bosom” is ko/lpov (kolpos, bosom, chest, or lap). It is frequently used in the Septuagint to refer to adults embracing, but it is often used for the carrying of children, for example in Numbers 11.12: “Was it I who carried in the womb all this people, or was it I who gave birth to them, that you are saying to me, ‘Take them to your bosom, as a nurse might take up the sucking child,’ into the land which you swore to their fathers?” (NETS). Such uses in the Septuagint usually seem to suggest a small child. Thus, the term further explicates the intimate relationship of the only son to the Father; it is like a father who holds his young son in his lap. Interestingly, the word is used again later in John 13.23 in reference to the “disciple whom Jesus loved.” Continuing her discussion about epigenesis, Reinhartz comments that this language for the Beloved Disciple demonstrates that he is “the model and first son of the second generation” of Jesus’ believers.31

28. Reinhartz, “And the Word Was Begotten,” 93. 29. Fennema, “John 1,” 127. 30.  Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, ed. Leander Keck (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 523. 31. Reinhartz, “And the Word Was Begotten,” 96.

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The Son of the Royal Official The Prologue segues into the Book of Signs with the testimony of John the Baptist. Brown divides the Book of Signs into four parts: 1. “The Opening Days of the Revelation of Jesus,” 1.19–51, plus 2.1–11 as a bridge scene 2. “From Cana to Cana,” 2–4 3. “Jesus and the principal feast of the Jews,” 5–10 4. “Jesus moves toward the hour of death and glory,” 11–1232 The first narrative about a child is in Part 2, 4.46–54, which is a bridge scene transitioning from Part 2 into Part 3.33 The main theme of Part 2 and of the first sign, changing water into wine, is faith. The healing of the official’s son, which is the second sign in the Gospel, emphasizes this theme as well. At the same time, the healing looks forward to the main theme of John 5—life. The story is similar to accounts in Matthew and Luke of the centurion’s slave (Mt. 8.5–13; Lk. 7.1–10), and bears some resemblance to Mark’s account of the Syrophoenician woman and her daughter (Mk 7.24–30; Mt. 15.21–8). I will begin by exploring these similarities to discover if they suggest anything about the significance of children in John’s Gospel. Then I will examine the narrative within the context of the Fourth Gospel itself. There are several parallels between the healing of the royal official’s son in John and the healing of the centurion’s slave in Matthew and Luke. First, the village of Capernaum is mentioned.34 In the Synoptic accounts the story takes place in Capernaum (Mt. 8.5; Lk. 7.1) while in John it is in the home of the royal official who finds Jesus in Cana and speaks with him there (4.46). Second, a person of rank approaches Jesus, asking a favor. Matthew and Luke identify the man as a centurion, who is certainly Roman (Mt. 8.5; Lk. 7.2). In John, the man is a basiliko/v (basilikos, 4.46), which can refer either to someone of royal descent or indicate an official in the service of royalty. Given the location of the story, the man was likely a Herodian official. Though John does not indicate whether the man is Jewish or Gentile, the context suggests the man is a Gentile. John 4 is concerned with Gentiles who believe in Jesus, most notably the Samaritans. Thus, it is likely the audience is supposed to understand this man as another example of a non-Jewish person accepting Jesus.35 Third, the official asks a favor from Jesus on 32. Brown, An Introduction to the Gospel of John, 300–3. 33. Ibid., 301. 34.  The seven parallels all come from Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, 192–3, unless otherwise noted. 35. Francis J. Moloney, The Gospel of John, Sacra Pagina no. 4 (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1998), 153. Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh state further that the official “would be very high on the social scale in a town like Capernaum. He is certainly not the type who would normally seek the patronage of a villager from Nazareth” (Social Science



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behalf of another male in the man’s household. In Matthew, it is ambiguous who the person is; the man calls him pai=v (pais, Mt. 8.6, 8, 13), which can mean either slave or child. Since the centurion refers also to a dou=lov (doulos, 8.9) another word for slave, the two words may refer to the same person. Luke clarifies the identity of the ill person by calling him dou=lov initially (Lk 7.2) and then pai=v (7.7). In John, the narrative refers to the ill person as ui9o/v four times (Jn 4.46, 47, 50, 53) and as paidi/on and pai=v (vv. 49, 51).36 Thus, in the Fourth Gospel, the person in need of healing is clearly the child of the official. For this reason, Cornelia Horn and John Martens question if the centurion’s pai=v/dou=lov may have been a child as well.37 Brown also refers to the ill person as a “boy” in all three stories.38 Fourth, the boy is sick, “lying paralyzed in terrible distress” (Mt. 8.6) and “sick and at the point of death” (Lk. 7.2; Jn 4.46–7). The description recalls how pervasive disease was in the ancient world and how vulnerable both slaves and children were to illness due to malnutrition, poor sanitation, and crowded living conditions.39 Fifth, Jesus responds to the request, and sixth, the man repeats his request. In both Matthew and Luke, he does so because of his sense of unworthiness of having Jesus come to his house (Mt. 8.8; Lk 7.6), and he indicates that Jesus does not need to come to his house. However, in John, Jesus admonishes the man, “unless you [which is plural, meaning the Galileans] see signs and wonders, you will not believe” (Jn 4.48). Hence the man repeats his plea (Jn 4.49). Seventh, the boy is healed at a distance; Jesus never reaches the house. Finally, both Matthew and John add that the boy was healed at a specific moment (Mt. 8.13; Jn 4.52–3). These similarities do not imply that John was reliant upon Matthew and Luke, but that the story was a part of the Jesus tradition, perhaps in an oral form. It is interesting, though, that John makes this narrative specifically about a child. The similarities between this story and a child healing in Mark’s Gospel help to explain why the one in need of healing in John’s story is a child. Mark 7.24–30 is the narrative about a Greek family, specifically a Syrophoenician mother and her daughter.40 The woman, like the official, hears about Jesus (Mk Commentary on the Gospel of John [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998], 107). Carter notes that “The ruling elites are generally hostile to Jesus. The royal official in John 4 is an exception, as is Joseph of Arimathea” (John, 33). 36.  This story is the only place in which paidi/on refers to a child in the narrative (v. 49) and the only use of pai=v (v. 51) in the Gospel. Paidi/on is also found in Jesus’ discourse to his disciples (16.21), and he later calls them paidi/on (21.5). He will also refer to them as tekni/a (teknia, children) in 13.33. 37. Cornelia B. Horn and John W. Martens, Let the Little Children Come to Me: Childhood and Children in Early Christianity (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2009), 95, 264. 38. Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, 193. 39. Carter, John, 33. 40. See Chapter 3 and 4 for a discussion of the stories in Mark and Matthew respectively. The summary of the similarities in the two passages is from Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, 194.

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7.25; Jn 4.47). The child’s condition is described (Mk 7.25; Jn 4.46–7). Both parents beg Jesus to heal their child (Mk 7.26; Jn 4.47); Jesus rebuffs the request with a disparaging remark and the parent repeats the request; in the process, both of the parents call Jesus “Sir/Lord” (Mk 7.27–8; Jn 4.48–9); Jesus grants the request and sends the parent on his/her way, saying “Go!” and declaring the child is well (Mk 7.29; Jn 4.50); finally, the narrator or other characters confirm that the child is healed (Mk 7.30; Jn 4.51). The similarities between the two stories indicate that the Gospel writers had a common source for the details, whether or not John borrowed from Mark.41 The similarities among the four Gospels do indicate, however, that Jesus was remembered as healing children (or slaves/slave children), even Gentile children, and could do so without even being present where the child was. Moreover, in the case of Mark and John in particular, the healings reflect a key aspect of the Gospel. For Mark, the healing of children is part and parcel of their membership in the reign of God. For John, this healing story is one of Jesus’ seven signs in the Gospel events designed to bring those around him to faith/belief. Like Mark 7.24–30, the emotional focus of this story is a sick child, but the child is not present. In a similar way to Mark, John maintains the audience’s attention on the child by repeating words related to him. Outside of this passage, in the Gospel of John the word ui9o/v is only used five times to refer to someone other than Jesus (1.42; 4.5, 12; 9.19, 20). In this passage, ui9o/v is used four times for the child alone (vv. 46, 47, 50, 53). This keeps the audience’s focus on the boy, and puts him on par with Jesus, the Son who gives life and is brought back to life. The official also refers to the boy as paidi/on (v. 49), indicating his affection for his son. The repetition of the word “life” in this passage in relationship to the boy further intensifies the focus upon the child. In v. 50 Jesus tells the official “your son will live;”42 in v. 51 the man’s servants arrived and told him, “his child [pai=v] was alive;” and in v. 53, the man, now referred to for the first time as “the father,” recalls Jesus’ words, “your son will live.” Jesus’ words declaring that the son lives form an inclusio around the healing of the child. Further, the words “your son will live” carry the double meaning of the child recovering from illness and receiving the gift of life that Jesus brings.43 The man’s encounter with Jesus is significant for him as well: he is first introduced as a “royal official” (vv. 46, 49); he is then referred to as “the man” (v. 50); and finally he is called “the father” (v. 53). The father, whose son lives and was given life through Jesus, now believes along with his whole household. Thus, both the child and the parent are transformed through the man’s encounter with Jesus. 41. Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, 194. 42. Here the Greek verb za/w (zaō, to live) is a present active indicative, but the NRSV opts for a futuristic present translation. The context supports translating the verb as an instantaneous or progressive present just as well (“your son lives/is living”) since vv. 51–2 indicate that the child becomes well at the same moment Jesus makes his declaration. 43. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” 575. She also comments that the repetition of the phrase “son/child will live/is alive” “leaves no doubt that the focus of this story is on Jesus’ promise and the gift of life.”



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Though the narrative says almost nothing about the child, the audience might still glean some information about him from the passage and its historical context. He is obviously an elite child, growing up in a large household that includes slaves. He might have been cared for by slaves and even played with the slave children. As an upper-class boy, he would likely have had the opportunity to have an education. As a son, he eventually would have been expected to carry on the family name and protect its property. Most importantly, though, he is a child in a family with an affectionate father. The father is concerned enough about his child to risk “serious public dishonor” by engaging the help of an itinerant healer.44 As the second sign in the Gospel, the healing of the royal official’s son is a part of one of the major themes of John, disclosing the identity of Jesus and bringing others to faith in him. The first sign in the Gospel, changing the water to wine at Cana, follows the pattern described above in several ways. In that miracle, Jesus was in Cana as well (2.1); his mother came with a request (2.3, albeit a rather veiled one); Jesus initially rebuffs the request (2.4); his mother repeats her request (2.5, again in an obscure way); and Jesus grants the request (2.7–9). The result is that a group of people comes to believe in Jesus. In the first sign, it is his disciples who believe; in the second sign, the official and his household believe.45 It also introduces a second theme, life. There are no prior healing stories in John’s Gospel; the healing of this child is the first occasion for John to demonstrate that Jesus saves life.46 Not only does the boy receive the gift of life from Jesus, he is implicitly part of the household who comes to believe. Thus, this story also indicates that children believed in Jesus and were likely a part of the Johannine community as well as adults.

The Boy in the Crowd All four of the Gospels recount the miracle of Jesus’ feeding a great crowd. Brown suggests that John’s account in 6.1–15 is independent from the Synoptics, though the author may have drawn some details from Mark, such as the two hundred denarii (Mk 6.37; Jn 6.7).47 John is the only account, however, among the six feeding miracles in the Gospels that includes the comment about a boy having barley loaves and fish.48 This boy is an example of the marginalization of children by interpreters of the Bible. Very few interpreters have anything to say about the child, even those who are discussing the differences between the six 44.  Malina and Rohrbaugh, Social Science Commentary on the Gospel of John, 107. They go on to say, however, the fact that the man did come to Jesus may be an indication of the reputation that Jesus was gaining. 45. This summary is from Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, 194. 46. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” 575. 47. Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, 244. 48. Only Matthew adds the qualification that the crowd included women and children.

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accounts,49 and who are writing about children in the Gospel of John.50 Likely this omission is not intentional; the interpreters simply may not know what to say about the boy, since the text does not say much either. But there must be some reason John includes Andrew’s comment about the boy’s food; there must be something to say about the child. Indeed, this boy’s presence links this story to other portions of the Gospel, both looking back and moving forward, and it continues to develop the central themes of the Gospel, including Jesus’ identity and the life he brings. After an introductory statement establishing the geographical region where Jesus is, John provides the motivation for the crowd to gather around him. They come to Jesus because they saw the signs Jesus performed for those who were sick. To recap the signs thus far in the Gospel, the first sign was changing the water into wine (2.1–11); the second sign was healing the official’s son (4.46–54); and the third sign was healing the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda (5.1–15).51 The previous two signs involved the healing of the sick; the term used in both, as well as here, for “sick” is a0sqene/w (astheneō, 4.46; 5.3, 7; 6.2). The word will also be used in the seventh sign, the raising of Lazarus (11.1, 2, 3, 6). Thus, the introduction to the story recalls the two previous signs, including the one with a child, and looks forward to that last sign in the Gospel. Jesus then goes up to a mountain and sits down. Sitting was the posture of a teacher in the ancient world and since a teaching closely follows the feeding story, John may be signaling that what is going to happen is also “teaching.” Jesus’ motivation for feeding this crowd is not because they are hungry (though they may have been) or because he has compassion for them (though he may have). His motivation is because they have come to him, he has a responsibility as a host to provide for their needs.52 The disciples do not understand the situation as one that requires hospitality. Philip and Andrew both respond to the question Jesus poses to Philip, “How are we to buy bread, so that these people may eat?” by pointing out the lack of resources. Philip states that half a year’s wages would 49. In his discussion of the differences between Mark and John’s account, Leonard Theodoor Witkamp states, “In John Passover is mentioned; the multiplication comes instantly; Jesus takes initiative; 200 denarii are not enough; barely loaves; Philip and Andrew are mentioned; the verb (kata)kla/w is omitted; Jesus orders his disciples to collect the pieces left over,” but he explicitly omits the boy (“Some Specific Johannine Features in John 6.1–21,” JSNT 40 [1990]: 43–59). 50. See Thompson, “Children in the Gospel of John.” She discusses the passage but again says nothing about the child (200). 51. The NRSV calls the location Beth-zatha. 52. Gail R. O’Day, “John 6.1–15,” Interpretation 57, no. 2 (2003): 197–8. She goes on to argue that Jesus embodies hospitality throughout the Gospel: His hospitality exceeds that of the wedding host (ch. 2); he “offers the Samaritan woman living water (ch. 4), washes his disciples’ feet when they dine with him (ch. 13) … welcomes as friends those who should be servants (15.15), [and] prepares a post-resurrection breakfast of fish and bread (21.9).”



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not buy enough food. His argument is that cost is an obstacle. “Andrew offered someone else, the boy, as a possible host,” but also notes the inadequacy of his food supply.53 Gail O’Day points out that readers often fill in gaps in the narrative, and at this point, some will suggest the boy is an example of selflessness because he offered his lunch. But the text does not say the boy offered his food; rather Andrew offers the child’s food. Neither does it say how Jesus acquired the food but just that he “took” the loaves (v. 11) and distributed them among the crowd. He then did the same with the fish. Nothing further is said about the boy, although the meal consists of his food.54 So what then is there to say about this boy? First, the presence of the boy indicates that children were among the crowd of people who followed Jesus. Likely he was with family members, as children did not tend to go places on their own in those days. Yet he is not just somewhere among the vast crowd; he is close enough to Jesus that Andrew notices the food he has. In contrast to the Synoptics, in which the disciples are trying to keep the children away from Jesus, Andrew seizes this moment to draw Jesus’ attention to a child.55 Second, the boy seems to be among the lower class in the region. Only John’s Gospel mentions that the bread was made of barley. Barley was cheaper than wheat, and barley loaves were the common foodstuff of the poor.56 Third, the word used for the boy, paida/rion (paidarion), according to the physician Galen referred to a child older than seven,57 though there seems to be fluidity in the use of terms related to children in the Gospels and their corresponding ages.58 The comment that the loaves were made of barley, one of the few references to barley in the New Testament (cf. Rev. 6.6), brings to mind the feeding of one hundred men with twenty loaves of barley by the prophet Elisha (2 Kgs 4.42–4).59 In that story, Elisha tells his servant to give barley loaves to the crowd present. The servant objects, “How can I set this before a hundred people?” (v. 43). But Elisha insists, and the loaves feed all the people with some left over. Earlier in 2 Kings 4, Elisha’s servant is referred to with the word paida/rion (4.12, 14, 25; 5.20). The word paida/rion, like pai=v, can refer to either a child or a slave/servant. This allusion to the Elisha stories is one of several occurring in signs one, two, and four

53. Ibid., 197–8. 54. Ibid., 197. 55. I thank Shannon Rodenberg for this insight. 56. Malina and Rohrbaugh, Social Science Commentary on the Gospel of John, 126; Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, 246. 57. Cited in Danielle Gourevitch, “The Sick Child in His Family: A Risk for the Family Tradition,” in Children, Memory, and Family Identity in Roman Culture, eds Véronique Dasen and Thomas Späth (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 275. 58. For example, Galen considered paidi/on to refer to a child under seven (ibid., 275), but Mark calls Jairus’ daughter paidi/on although he also says she is 12 years old (Mk 5.39–41). 59. Brown, The Gospel According to John I–XII, 246. Brown also notes that 2 Kings 4.42 is only “one of the four uses of ‘barley’ as an adjective in the LXX.”

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and is a part of the New Testament’s parallelisms between Jesus and the prophets Elijah and Elisha. Brown notes that the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes is similar to the first sign, changing the water into wine: A lack of resources turns into an abundance of supply. The first sign also alludes to Elijah’s miracle with the wine and oil in 1 Kings 17.8–16 and Elisha’s oil miracle in 2 Kings 4.1–7.60 In Elijah’s miracle, he asks the widow of Zarephath to make him some bread with meal and oil, assuring her that the meal will not run out and the oil will not fail until God brings rain to replenish the earth. That miracle uses the same word to refer to the meal jar (u9dri/a, hudria), which John uses to refer to the water jars in 2.6–7.61 In Elisha’s miracle, jar after jar of oil is filled until there is an abundance of oil for the widow to sell to pay her debts and support her child, similar to the overabundance of wine which Jesus produces. The water into wine sign in John follows the same pattern as the Elijah/Elisha meal and oil miracles do as well: “woman informs prophet of a shortage; there is a command to fill available vessels in which a miracle occurs; the position is changed from one of lack to one of abundance.”62 The second sign, healing the official’s son, may also have been influenced by the miracle of Elijah raising the widow’s son (1 Kgs 17.17–24). In both stories, a parent speaks to the prophet on behalf of an ill son. When the child is healed, the prophet announces to the parent “Your son lives,” using the same language though different word order in Greek. In all three signs the two prophets are evoked, though Elijah more prominently, as the author of the Gospel seeks to identify Jesus as the new Elijah.63 John may have added the details about the boy and his barley loaves to the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes to strengthen these ties to Elijah. Following the miracle of the abundance of food, Jesus and his disciples withdraw across the lake; that episode includes the fifth sign of Jesus walking upon the water (6.16–21). On the other side, the crowd once again finds him. Jesus then begins to teach them about the significance of the bread and its relationship to life. Bread was the basic foodstuff for most people in the ancient world; scarcity of bread could lead to hunger-related illnesses. In the first of his “I Am” statements in the Gospel, Jesus says “I am the Bread of Life,” and that those who eat this bread will never hunger again. The narrative that began with a child and his bread providing the substance for Jesus’ miracle concludes with a discussion about a lasting form of bread and eternal life. Finally, the story of the child and his bread and fish anticipates the last narrative of the Gospel as well, when Jesus has a last meal with his disciples on the beach after his resurrection (21.4–14). When Jesus approaches his disciples, 60. Ibid., 101. 61. The same word is also used to refer to the Samaritan woman’s water jar that she leaves behind (Jn 4.28). These are the only occurrences of u9dri/a in the New Testament. 62.  Allan Mayer, “Elijah and Elisha in John’s Signs Source,” ExpTim 99, no. 6 (1988): 171. 63. Ibid., 173.



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he greets them as “children,” (paidia, paidia), recalling the boy who was called paida/rion. Jesus knowingly asks them, “You haven’t caught any fish, have you?” Then he asks them to lower their nets, and they catch an abundance of fish, reminiscent of the abundance of food and wine earlier in the Gospel. Once the disciples come ashore, they see fish on a charcoal fire and bread prepared. The language describing the meal is remarkably similar to the description of the food and Jesus’ actions in 6.11. In both cases Jesus takes bread, gives/divides it, and does the same with the fish.64 The feeding story serves as one of Jesus’ signs, one of his amazing deeds that point to who he is “and what he offers, as well as to the God of life who offers gifts of life and health through Jesus.”65 It also points to the new life that the resurrected Jesus shares with his disciples. Though the child in the story is mentioned only briefly, he ties these two portions of the Gospel together.

Conclusion Children are, indeed, quite marginal figures in John’s Gospel. The Prologue depicts Jesus as the lo/gov, but that term carried connotations that were not favorable toward children. Men had lo/gov, reason, something that children by definition lacked. Yet Jesus, the lo/gov, is also the only son of the Father. The familial and relational language is undeniable. Jesus heals a child, but does not in any way interact with that child. His word alone effects the healing from a distance. Jesus obtains the food with which he will feed the crowd from a child, but there is no recorded interaction between Jesus and the boy. Jesus does not touch any children to heal them; he does not call children to him or bless them. Moreover, both of the children identified in the Gospel are boys, those who could possibly acquire lo/gov, reason, and become men. While women play a significant role in John’s Gospel, there seems to be no place in this narrative for girls. All that said, the children who do appear in John’s Gospel do so within the context of two of Jesus’ signs, the miraculous deeds that lead persons to believe him. In that regard, they join other marginal characters who are also central figures in the signs Jesus performs: the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda in sign three (5.1–15); the man who was born blind in sign six (Jn 9); and Lazarus who is ill and dies in sign seven (Jn 11). So while the role of the two boys within the Gospel is small, their stories serve a larger function in the narrative, indeed they play a crucial part in John’s unfolding demonstration of who Jesus is, especially as one who gives life. With these two narratives in John’s Gospel the material in the canonical Gospels containing children comes to a close. But the stories of children in early Christian narratives do not end here. The early Christians continued to compose and share stories about Jesus and his childhood, as well as his mother, Mary, and 64.  Both verses use the words 0Ihsou=v (Iēsous, Jesus), lamba/nw (lambanō, take), a2rtov (artos, bread), di/dwmi/ diadi/dwmi (didōmi/diadidōmi, gave/divided), o9moi/wv (homoiōs, same), o0ya/rion (opsarion, fish). 65. Thompson, “Children in the Gospel of John,” 199.

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her childhood. These are the stories to which I will now turn, which are found in the non-canonical Infancy Gospel of Thomas and the Protevangelium of James. These narratives are dependent in significant ways upon the canonical Gospels, especially Matthew and Luke, and thus these preceding chapters will inform the discussion, as will the information about children in the ancient world in Chapter 2. It will become clear that although children may have been of little significance in the overall scheme of the ancient world, when it came time for the Gospels writers to tell their stories of Jesus, they could scarcely leave the children behind.

Chapter 7 J E SU S A S A C H I L D : T H E I N FA N C Y G O SPE L OF T H OM AS

The canonical Gospels’ accounts of Jesus’ life and ministry were not the only early Christian narratives created about the church’s central figure. In addition to the Gospels that the church canonized and so deemed appropriate for the instruction of the faithful, many other Gospels were written and circulated.1 Some of these were Gospels that fall into the category of “infancy gospels,” telling of the infancy and childhood of Jesus. In this chapter and the next, I will discuss two of the infancy narratives that contain a great deal of material related to children, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas and the Protevangelium of James. The former concerns Jesus’ childhood from ages five through 12, while the latter is primarily concerned with the birth, childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood of Jesus’ mother, Mary. Only the end of the Protevangelium of James narrates Jesus’ birth. Other than the general theme of Jesus’ childhood, there are few points of reference between the two Gospels. Of interest here will be the way in which both Mary and Jesus are depicted as children and how Jesus, in particular, interacts with other children. There are very few literary accounts that describe the childhood of Jesus. A few isolated stories from the third and fourth centuries describe brief episodes of Jesus as a child. For example, in the third century Hippolytus of Rome in Refutation of All Heresies included a story about the angel Baruch visiting Jesus as a 12-year-old child feeding sheep.2 Pistis Sophia, also from the third century, contains a story in which Mary tells Jesus about the spirit coming upon him as a child. In The Life of John the Baptist from the fourth century, a seven-year-old Jesus and his mother help the orphaned John the Baptist learn how to survive in the wilderness following the death of his mother, Elizabeth. And in the History of Joseph the Carpenter, a dying Joseph tells Jesus some stories from his youth.3 None of these narratives, however, are earlier than the third century, and the latest one appears

1. See Bart D. Ehrman, Lost Scriptures: Books That Did Not Make It into the New Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). 2. Hippolytus Haer. 5.21. 3. Tony Burke, “Depictions of Children in the Apocryphal Infancy Gospels,” SR 41, no. 3 (2012): 392.

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to draw upon the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, the earliest extant accounts of Jesus’ childhood outside of the New Testament.4 The Infancy Gospel of Thomas (IGT) is the only known collection of stories relating directly to Jesus’ childhood. It dates to the early to mid-second century c.e. and was based upon legends about Jesus. These legends were continually expanded from late antiquity through the middle ages.5 However, while the Gospel was popular through the middle ages, it was never used on a regular basis as readings in church services. By the Reformation era, interest in the infancy Gospel had declined. Although IGT is one of the few accounts of Jesus’ childhood, it has seldom been taken seriously as a part of Christian history, faith, or theology. As Reidar Aasgaard poignantly states, “It has become a neglected outsider—an exposed orphan within the study of early Christianity.”6 While interest in the non-canonical Gospels and other so-called apocryphal materials has increased in the past few years, only a handful of scholars are actively conducting research on the Infancy Gospel of Thomas. Among those only Aasgaard and Tony Burke seriously consider what the text says about children in the ancient world.7 I will build upon their analyses of IGT and expand upon them. In particular, I will examine the depictions, or rather lack thereof, of women and girls in the childhood stories of Jesus. I will begin with a summary and a few comments about the contexts of IGT and briefly discuss its date, place, authorship, texts, and transmission. I will then take up the question of the genre of this Gospel and the author’s use of sources. Next, I will examine the story itself, considering the ways in which the narrative reflects the early secondcentury Mediterranean world, especially in relationship to children. I will delve further into the text, examining the depictions of the young human Jesus and the depictions of Jesus as the divine child, whom I will refer to as the “Child Jesus.” I will also discuss Jesus’ interaction with other children in the text. Finally, I will address the issue of the lack of women and girls in IGT. Given the number of stories of Jesus’ encounter with both women and girls in the Synoptic Gospels, and of women in the Gospel of John, it is surprising that IGT contains few, if any, of either. Let me begin with a few words about the manuscript traditions and an overview of the Gospel.

4. The History of Joseph the Carpenter has episodes similar to IGT 5, 9, and 10. See Burke, “Depictions of Children,” 392. 5. Robert J. Miller, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” in The Complete Gospels (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 1994), 369. 6. Reidar Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus: Decoding the Apocryphal Infancy Gospel of Thomas (Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2009), 3. 7. Both scholars’ work has been invaluable to my own analysis of IGT, and I am indebted to them.



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Manuscript Traditions and Summary The Infancy Gospel of Thomas is extant in several languages, including Syriac, Greek, Latin, and Slavonic. The earliest of these manuscripts is from the sixth century.8 Four variants are attested in the original Greek, referred to as Ga, Gb, Gd, and Gs. Chronologically, Gs was probably the earliest version in Greek, despite the late date of the one surviving manuscript, H (Codex Sabaiticus 259), from the eleventh century.9 My examination of the narrative will be based upon this variant, Gs.10 However, it is worth noting that the sequence, episodes, and thus the numbering of the episodes, differ in the Greek variants of the story. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas seeks to fill the gaps between Jesus’ birth as described in the canonical Gospels of Matthew and Luke and the latter’s account of Jesus as a boy in the Temple at age 12. The Gospel contains a series of stories about Jesus at ages five, six, eight, and 12. It draws upon traditional images of Jesus from the New Testament as a boy wise beyond his years, a miracle worker and healer, and a teacher engaged in controversies with religious authorities over Sabbath customs.11 After a brief prologue attributing the text to “the Israelite Thomas,” the narrative proper begins with a five-year-old Jesus playing at a river on the Sabbath (2). He is controlling the movement of the water and then fashions sparrows out of clay. A Jewish man sees what he is doing and alerts Joseph that the young Jesus has violated the Sabbath. The youngster responds by bringing 8. Ronald F. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas: With Introduction, Notes, and Original Text Featuring the New Scholars Version Translation, ed. Ronald F. Hock (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 1996), 369. 9. Reidar Aasgaard argues that all the manuscripts should be considered written manifestations of material primarily transmitted orally and more emphasis should be placed on the oral development of IGT (The Childhood of Jesus, 24). It was likely told in household gatherings (169) and may have been transmitted with “words, gestures and look,” rather than primarily through written means (24–5). For this reason, he uses “variants” to describe the differing manuscripts, since “recension” suggests a more conscious reworking of the story (32). His argument is consistent with similar discussions of other early Christian narratives, especially the Gospel of Mark. See Richard A. Horsley, Jonathan A. Draper, and John Miles Foley, eds, Performing the Gospel: Orality, Memory and Mark: Essays Dedicated to Werner Kelber (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006); Antoinette Clark Wire, The Case for Mark Composed in Performance (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2011). 10. One difficulty with the study of IGT is the lack of an agreed upon text. I will utilize Aasgaard’s critical text and translation of Gs (The Childhood of Jesus, 219–42), and all of my chapter and verse designations from IGT will be from his translation. For more discussion on the manuscript traditions see Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 14–34; Chartrand-Burke, “Completing the Gospel,” 181–4; Hock, “The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas,” 99–101. 11.  Tony Chartrand-Burke, “Authorship and Identity in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” Toronto Journal of Theology 14, no. 1 (1998): 31.

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the birds to life and commanding them to fly away. This passage clearly functions as a “prequel” to the New Testament Gospel accounts of Jesus doing presumably forbidden activities on the Sabbath. Yet unlike the Synoptic narratives in which it is sometimes debatable if Jesus actually did work on the Sabbath, in IGT the Child Jesus forms the birds from clay. For an adult, such an activity would constitute work; since Jesus is only a five-year-old boy, however, the audience might question if play was also forbidden on the Sabbath. Whether the activity is work or not, he is acting in a way reminiscent of God’s activity in creation. Interestingly, a version of this story also appears in the Quran (3.49),12 demonstrating the broad knowledge of these Jesus legends throughout the middle ages. In the next two episodes, Jesus curses children who displease him or hurt him, with the result that both children either become lifeless or die (3–4).13 Joseph rebukes the boy Jesus, who in turn instructs Joseph regarding the nature of his true identity (5). These events occur while he is still five. The first of three episodes of Jesus at school follows, in which Joseph sends him to a teacher named Zacchaeus for instruction (6–7). Jesus proves he is far superior to the teacher, who begs Joseph to take the boy back home. When the teacher is asking advice from the Jewish leaders, the Child Jesus laughs, declaring a reversal of the social order (8). Immediately, all those whom he has cursed are restored. Shortly after this point, Jesus redirects his power from cursing into helping and healing. Four miracles by the young Jesus are then recounted—the raising of a boy named Zeno (9), carrying water in a cloak (10), a great harvest of grain (11), and the repair of a bed (12). After these narratives are the second and third teacher episodes. Not wanting Jesus to grow up illiterate, Joseph hands Jesus over once again to another teacher (13). In a brief interaction with the man, Jesus becomes irritated and curses the teacher, who dies. A third teacher offers to take the child for instruction (though the audience at this point might wonder why). This teacher encourages Jesus to speak his wisdom publically and praises his abilities to Joseph (14). As a result of the third teacher’s recognition, the Child Jesus heals the second teacher. The narrator then describes two more miracles by the Child Jesus—the healing of James who is bitten by a snake (15),14 and the healing of a young man’s foot that he nearly severed with an ax while splitting wood (16). IGT closes with a version of Luke’s account of Jesus as a 12-year-old boy in the Temple (17).

12.  Also 5.113 Dawood translation (Robert J. Miller, ed., “The Infancy Gospel of James,” in The Complete Gospels [Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 1994], 371). 13.  Annas’ son is said to “wither away,” which may suggest he is dead, but not necessarily. 14. James is presumably Jesus’ brother or half-brother, but IGT never describes the relationship.



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History of the Text The Infancy Gospel of Thomas was composed within a Greek-speaking context in the second century c.e. A variety of Christian communities were familiar with the Gospel, which assists in establishing a date by which the core of the narrative was written. The terminus is provided by Irenaeus’ allusion to the three-fold teacher episodes. In his exposition against the gnostic Marcosians in 185 c.e., Irenaeus refers to “spurious and apocryphal writings” which present “false and wicked” stories of “our Lord” as a boy who interrogates a teacher, which describes an episode very similar to the first teacher narrative in IGT.15 Since Irenaeus was apparently aware of the text, it had to be composed earlier than 185 c.e. Several other texts from the mid- to late second century also refer to the teacher episodes, such as the gnostic Gospel of Truth (19.19–20). The connections between IGT and the Gospel of Truth and the Marcosians, however, do not imply that IGT was used only in gnostic circles. Epistula Apostolorum, written to challenge the beliefs of gnostic Christians, and the Acts of Thomas also mention the teacher episodes.16 How early IGT may have been composed, however, is harder to pinpoint. Like the canonical Gospels, the earliest version of the text was anonymous. According to Burke, in Christian writings anonymity is more common in the first and early second centuries than later. He also suggests that the lack of similar contemporaneous texts as well as the unrefined portrayal of Jesus suggests an early dating of the Gospel.17 Yet since IGT draws explicitly upon the Gospel of Luke, it could not have been produced earlier than the last decade of the first century. In addition, inasmuch as IGT seems to have a view of women more similar to the pastoral writings than to the Gospel of Luke, I suggest that IGT may be contemporary with the pastoral letters, which were likely written in the first half of the second century, perhaps around 125 c.e.18 As I will discuss more below, the New Testament parallels in IGT are most similar to the Gospel of Luke. Due to the connections between IGT and Luke, Burke proposes that IGT was composed in an area in which Luke was influential. Though it is difficult to know where Luke was written, and thus to hypothesize about IGT, Syrian Antioch or Asia Minor are reasonable suggestions. Both areas are contenders for where Luke composed his Gospel and each would allow for rapid dissemination of the materials to the West and the East. Moreover, 15. Irenaeus Haer 1.20.1. 16. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 174–5; Chartrand-Burke, “Authorship and Identity,” 31. 17. Tony Burke, “‘Social Viewing’ of Children in the Childhood Stories of Jesus,” in Children in Late Ancient Christianity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 30–1. 18. I will argue this point regarding women and IGT below, but suffice it to say for now that the limited number of women present in IGT suggests, among other things, a Christian community for whom women’s presence was not deemed important.

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Chrysostom encountered the text in Antioch in the late fourth century and is “the earliest secure witness” to the childhood Gospel.19 Until the tenth century, IGT was considered anonymous, known by its earliest title “Boyhood Deeds of our Lord Jesus Christ.”20 Within the Greek-speaking context of its composition, the attribution to “Thomas” in the first chapter was likely added to the text between the eighth and eleventh centuries. Thomas, one of the 12 disciples of Jesus, is usually named alongside Matthew in the Synoptics (Mk 3.18, Mt. 10.3; Lk. 6.15), and in John, he is called “Thomas, the twin” (Didymus, Jn 11.6, 20.24, 21.2). The Infancy Gospel of Thomas was mistakenly identified as a gnostic text earlier in the twentieth century due to the belief that it was the “Gospel of Thomas,” which was not discovered until 1945 at Nag Hammadi. According to Burke, it is doubtful that IGT is a part of the same school of Christian thought as the other Thomasine literature.21

Genre: Gospel, Novel, or Ancient Biography? Like the canonical Gospels, the question of genre of IGT evokes a variety of answers. IGT’s “oldest (self-)designation [is] not as a Gospel” but rather “great childhood deeds.”22 It is closest in genre to the canonical Gospels, which perhaps by this time could be considered a distinct genre that the author of IGT was drawing upon. As a part of Greek literature, IGT draws upon the conventions of the ancient Greek novel and biography. Like Mark and Luke–Acts, IGT is similar to the ancient Greek novel in several ways.23 First, one common literary technique found in the ancient novels and in the Gospels is that of intercalation, in which one story is interrupted by a secondary story before the first one comes to its conclusion. I will note some examples of intercalation in IGT and Mark below. Second, the novels and Gospels have a similar use of setting. The ancient novelists sought to reflect their readers’ everyday reality in staging their stories. Some novels are set in the large urban areas while others are set in 19. Chartrand-Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” 134. 20. Chartrand-Burke, “Authorship and Identity,” 30. 21. Other material from the “School of Thomas” includes the Gospel of Thomas, the Book of Thomas the Contender, and the Acts of Thomas. These texts seem to originate from a group who associated themselves with the apostle Thomas. They believed that Thomas was the twin of Jesus, a tradition popular in eastern Syria in the early years of the Christian movement. The three documents share a common professed author, Judas Thomas, who is identified as “an intermediary revealer between the audience and the risen Jesus.” They also share theological, Christological, and linguist features. In IGT, however, the attributed author is only identified as Thomas, not Judas Thomas, and the Gospel does not contain the features that link the other three documents together (ibid., 29). 22. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 51. 23. For a translation of the five extant novels as well as several fragments see Bryan P. Reardon, Collected Ancient Greek Novels (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008).



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more limited rural surroundings.24 Similarly, the setting of IGT is the real-life environs of a rural village, complete with a school, workplaces, surrounding fields, streams, and woodlands. Third, the ancient novels reflect the social values and assumptions of their time, especially values such as virginity before and chastity after marriage. While the Gospel lacks any focus upon virginity and marriage, a concern of both Christians and non-Christians in the ancient world, it reflects many other social customs of the day. The story affirms values expected of children, such as loyalty and obedience to parents and conforming to the honor–shame code of the day.25 The young Jesus, however, seems to flaunt these social norms, frequently defying the honor code by speaking disrespectfully to Joseph (5) and other adults (6–7) when they object to his behavior, and humiliating (or cursing to death) his teachers (6–7, 13, 14). But in the end, “Jesus’ actions affirm honor as a fundamental value.”26 Despite his curses, Jesus eventually fully restores everyone he harmed and then some. He also saves his father’s honor when he stretches a piece wood for a bed that Joseph had cut too short, and Mary is an honored woman because of him. I will discuss other aspects of social expectations, such as family relationships, below. Jesus is portrayed in other ways similar to the heroines of the novels as well; he is depicted as an only child throughout most of IGT with no sibling explicitly mentioned. In a brief episode near the end of the Gospel, Jesus heals James. Jesus’ mother also plays a limited role in IGT, a point I will return to later. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas also resembles the Greek biography. In the ancient world, stories about important men in their youth and young adult years were popular, demonstrating that at a young age the hero was already destined for greatness.27 Often the biographer would endow the individual as a child with characteristics that person would have as an adult. The great deeds of an emperor or military leader’s childhood, then, foreshadowed the great deeds in that person’s adulthood. Ancient rhetoricians gave suggestions about how to write biographies. For example, the rhetorician Menander, writing about 300 c.e., instructs speakers to include a story of playing children recognizing the future role of an emperor. If such an incident is unknown to the author, Menander’s instructions are to make up an episode.28 The mature, intelligent child, who was wise beyond his years, was 24. For example, in Callirhoe, Leucippe and Clitophon and the Ephesian Tale the characters  are urban dwellers with escapades that fling them around the ancient Mediterranean world. Daphnis and Chloe, on the other hand, is set primarily on the island of Lesbos in a pastoral, rural environment. See S. Wiersma, “The Ancient Greek Novel and its Heroines: A Female Paradox,” Mnemosyne XLIII, no. 43 (1990): 109–23. 25. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 75. 26. Ibid., 82. 27. Philo Moses 1, 5.20–4; Josephus Ant. 6.10.4; Josephus Vita 2.9; Philostratus Vit. Apoll. 1.7–8; Plutarch Cic. 2.2. 28. Thomas Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 60.

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common in ancient biography.29 An aspect of this motif was that the young person frequently grew wiser than his teachers.30 The Infancy Gospel of Thomas’ portrayal of Jesus conforms to this aspect of the biography genre. The young Jesus demonstrates a greater understanding of the Greek alphabet at age five than his teacher does, and the adults who hear him speak are amazed at his words. The genre of ancient biography is also useful for understanding one of the difficult aspects of IGT’s depiction of Jesus as a child: He curses children and adults usually with death as the result. Some scholars argue that Jesus’ cursing of others and his anger make IGT’s depiction of Jesus quite different than that of the canonical Gospels,31 but Burke suggest that IGT presents Jesus in a manner similar to the canonical Gospels. In both, Jesus is a wonder worker who must demonstrate his authority to an unbelieving crowd through awe-inspiring miracles and astonishing teachings.32 In Luke, the Gospel to which IGT seems most indebted, Jesus pronounces woes “which may have the strength of curses,” in the antitheses of the Sermon on the Plain (Lk. 6.24–36), upon unrepentant cities (Lk. 10.13–15), and upon the Pharisees (Lk. 11.42–4).33 As mentioned, the Greek biography often suggested that one’s behavior as a child mirrored one’s behavior as an adult. Thus, according to Burke, the child Jesus is depicted as a cursing wonderworker because the author of IGT considered the adult Jesus to be a cursing wonderworker.34 The structure of IGT also suggests that the author was following the biography genre. Some Greek biographies seem to be a series of loosely connected episodes. The central figure outwits his opponents and each episode closes with a witty saying. This pattern is found in IGT as well, especially in the scenes in which Jesus interacts with adults. I will come back to the question of genre below, as I consider the place of women and girls in IGT.

Relationship to the Canonical Gospels Related to the question of genre is the question of the sources the author of IGT used in composing the Gospel.35 The author was clearly familiar with the 29. Chartrand-Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” 136. 30. For example, Philostratus Vit Apoll. 1.7. 31. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 86. 32. Tony Chartrand-Burke, “Completing the Gospel: The Infancy Gospel of Thomas as a Supplement to the Gospel of Luke,” in Reception and Interpretation of the Bible in Late Antiquity, ed. Lorenzo DiTommaso and Lucian Turcescu (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 108. 33. Ibid., 112. Chartrand-Burke also discusses how Luke draws upon the Elijah/Elisha cycle, including their penchant for pronouncing curses. He describes the prophets as “cantankerous wonderworkers” who both bless and heal, do miracles, and curse others. 34. Ibid., 111. 35.  Aasgaard has an extensive analysis of IGT’s use of the Bible (The Childhood of Jesus, 113–36). I will limit my comments here to IGT’s use to the Gospels.



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canonical Gospels. I will first consider IGT’s use of Mark and then John. Since IGT bears the most resemblance to Luke, I will consider it last in this section. Like the Gospel of Mark, IGT may well have been composed orally. As such, there are some stylistic similarities between Mark and IGT. Like Mark, IGT is composed of a series of episodes including a number of miracles. There is no explicit reference to a narrator, but the narrator is omniscient and omnipresent. IGT also utilizes the technique of intercalation (The Cleansing of the Pools, Vivification of the Sparrows, and Cursing of the Careless Boy, IGT 2.1–3.3), as Mark frequently does (Mk 5.21–43).36 The set of stories in IGT 2.1–3.3 also echoes passages in Mark’s narratives: The accusation that Jesus violated the Sabbath when he created the sparrows (IGT 2.3–4) seems to be a prequel to Mark’s first Sabbath controversy story (Mk 2.24). In IGT, the story of the 12 sparrows brings to mind the 12 disciples, the 12 tribes of Israel, or even Mark’s other uses of 12 in the intercalated stories of the woman from the crowd and Jairus’ daughter. Likewise, the miracle of the great harvest (IGT 11.1–2) seems to be a prequel of the parable of the sower (Mk 4.3–9). It is not certain or necessary, however, that the author of IGT was drawing upon the Gospel of Mark. The stylistic similarities with Mark’s Gospel could be attributed to both authors’ use of the Greek novelistic genre. The specific narrative parallels between the two Gospels could also be traced to IGT’s use of the Gospel of Luke, since both the Sabbath controversy story and the parable of the sower appear in the third Gospel as well (Lk. 6.1–11; 8.4–8). The Gospel of John appears to have inspired IGT’s development of Jesus’ identity. First, the theme of preexistence prominent from the beginning of the Gospel of John is also found in IGT. In John, the Prologue presents the logos as existing with God from the beginning of creation (Jn 1.1–3). The reader realizes that the logos is the Christ, who becomes manifest in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. In the high priestly prayer, Jesus reiterates this theme, stating he was present with the father before the beginning of the world (Jn 17.5) and from the foundation of the world (Jn 17.24). Related to the theme of preexistence in John is that of being “from above” rather than “from this world” (Jn 3.31; 8.23). In IGT, the crowd questions where Jesus is from (IGT 4.1), which echoes Johannine wording and thought.37 The concepts of being “from above” versus “from below” are present (IGT 6.6; 8.1) as well. The exact wording is not used, but conceptually the IGT bears a great deal of resemblance to John. A second theme present in both Gospels is that Jesus describes himself as being sent from God. In John, Jesus repeatedly refers to God as “the one who sent me” (Jn 7.16; 12.49; 14.24), and in IGT, the young Jesus does the same (IGT 8.1). Finally, in both the Fourth Gospel and the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, Jesus is depicted as omniscient, such as in John when he reveals his knowledge about the Samaritan woman’s past (Jn 4.16–18), and in IGT when the Child reveals that he knows accurately when his neighbors

36. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 39, 40. 37. See also John 7.27–8; 8.14; 9.29–30; 19.9 (ibid., 120).

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and their fathers were born (IGT 6.6). These similarities suggest that IGT was influenced by John. 38 The Infancy Gospel of Thomas draws inspiration for the childhood of Jesus most directly from the Gospel of Luke. Indeed, while Luke 2 is the only New Testament text that IGT quotes, there are several allusions, names, and narrative similarities that suggest a close relationship between Luke and IGT. The teacher stories in IGT allude to Luke in a variety of ways. The first teacher, named Zacchaeus, exclaims in frustration, “What kind of womb bore him? What kind of mother raised him [IGT 7.2]?” The teacher’s words are a variation of Luke 11.27: “Blessed is the womb that bore you, and the breast that nursed you.” The third teacher episode in IGT 14 also resembles Luke’s account of Jesus’ rejection at Nazareth (Lk. 4.16–22); in both cases Jesus enters a room and picks up a book.39 However, while the adult Jesus reads from the scroll of Isaiah, the young Jesus does not read the book he picks up, because it is not the scripture. In both, though, he proceeds to speak “awe-inspiring” words that amaze those around him. Among the few names that are used in IGT, Zacchaeus and Annas are found in Luke as well. Zacchaeus is the name of the first teacher in IGT and is also the name of a tax collector in Luke 19.1–10, the only one of the canonical Gospels to mention such a person. Christopher A. Frilingos suggests that the audience would have made a connection between the teacher Zacchaeus and Zacchaeus the tax collector, and thus see “the teacher as an embodiment of Roman authority to some degree.”40 Interestingly, another character in the story who is mentioned in both IGT and Luke also represents the Roman establishment, the High Priest Annas (Lk 3.2; IGT 3, as well as Acts 4.6). Annas has his most active role, however, in the Gospel of John (Jn 18.13; 19–24). The Infancy Gospel of Thomas also shares stylistic similarities with the Gospel of Luke. In both Gospels, many of the stories conclude in an analogous fashion. Frequently the characters return to their homes (IGT 13.3; 14.4; Lk. 1.23, 56; 2.39, 51; 5.25; 7.10; 24.12). In other places, the narratives conclude in a formulaic fashion (IGT 2.5; cf. Lk. 4.14, 30; 5.16; 7.50; 8.39; 9.56; 10.37; 17.14, 19; 24.52).41 While these may be a result of the author of IGT’s use of familiarity with Luke, it could also be a function of the conventional storytelling techniques of the time. This might be especially true if IGT was composed in an oral setting, necessitating a clear narrative conclusion of each episode prior to the introduction of the next. In addition to the parallels and similarities with the Gospel of Luke, IGT also draws to mind episodes in the Book of Acts. In IGT 9, a boy named Zeno dies after 38. Ibid., 121, 156. For an additional discussion of the relationship between IGT and John, see Chartrand-Burke, “Authorship and Identity,” 34–7. 39. Chartrand-Burke, “Completing the Gospel,” 107. 40. Christopher A. Frilingos, “No Child Left Behind: Knowledge and Violence in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 17, no. 1 (2009): 47. 41. Chartrand-Burke, “Completing the Gospel,” 110. Here my numbering of IGT follows that of Aasgaard’s critical edition and therefore differs from the same citations noted by Chartrand-Burke.



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falling from the roof of a house upon which he and Jesus are playing. Jesus then brings the boy back to life (albeit apparently only temporarily, according to Gs). In Acts 20.9–12, the young man Eutychus is overcome by sleep in an upper-story window while listening to Paul preach. He falls three stories down to the ground and dies. Paul goes down to the boy, takes him in his arms, and declares that his life is still in him. Luke then reports that the young man did indeed live. Later, in IGT 15, when a snake bites James while he is gathering firewood, Jesus blows on the bite, destroying the snake and healing James. In a very similar fashion, when a poisonous snake bites Paul while he is tending a fire, Paul simply shakes off the snake and feels no further effects of the bite (Acts 28.2–6). The close literary relationship between the Infancy Gospel of Thomas and the Gospel of Luke supports the assertion that IGT is a supplement to Luke’s biography of Jesus. Yet the author of IGT does not seem to feel that Luke does justice to Jesus’ childhood with only one story about his youth. So just as the author of the Gospel of Luke felt the need to correct and expand upon his sources, so too does the author of IGT expand Luke’s account of Jesus’ childhood. He writes his Gospel as a continuation of Luke’s infancy narrative, as the inclusion of Luke 2.41–52 in IGT makes clear,42 but he also seems to augment Luke’s image of Jesus, a point I will come back to shortly. Nevertheless, it is also a story, not just of the young Jesus who will grow to be the adult Savior, but also the story of a young boy, a child in his own right. I will now turn to examine how IGT portrays Jesus as a child.

The Childhood of Jesus The notion that IGT enhanced Luke’s portrayal of Jesus as a child to strengthen his depiction of Jesus as an adult suggests that IGT is primarily a biography composed for adults. Yet children certainly were a part of the audience who heard the Gospel.43 What might those children have learned listening to the “Boyhood Deeds of Jesus”? In this section, I will examine two images of Jesus in IGT, making a distinction between “Jesus the child,” that is, Jesus as a youngster, and the “Child Jesus,” the one who is, as Aasgaard says, “true God and true child.”44 I will also consider the children with whom Jesus comes in contact and the nature of their interactions. But first, I will examine the setting of the story within its own second-century context. As both Aasgaard and Burke discuss, IGT needs to be understood in the light of children in the ancient world.45 The setting of the boyhood stories of Jesus 42. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 135. 43. For a discussion of children in the early house churches, see Carolyn Osiek, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), especially Chapters 3 and 4. 44. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 157. 45. Burke, “‘Social Viewing’ of Children,” 30; Reidar Aasgaard, “The Gospel for Early Christian Children: A Re-assessment of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” in Studia Patristica Vol 45, Ascetica; Liturgica; Orientalia; Critica et Philologica; the First Two Centuries (Louvain: Peeters, 2010), 439–44.

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is very much a child’s world and can be read in a way that privileges a child’s view of Jesus. The backdrop for the episodes is the everyday surroundings that would be familiar to children: the village, home, school, workshop, streets, fields, woods, and a nearby creek. The environs IGT describes are “the small-town rural settings” which “would be familiar to the majority of late antiquity children.”46 The town has a schoolroom and teacher and is surrounded by a stream, farmland, and a forest, which gives the impression of a well-established, perhaps mid-size village.47 Jesus’ everyday activities were common for children at the time: fetching water for his mother (10); planting seed with his father (11); and helping his father in his workshop (12). The episodes of Jesus playing with other children, forming birds from clay and bringing them to life, would appeal to children, and “may even reflect the fantasy world of children, with the wish to being able to perform the extraordinary.”48 Unlike the canonical Gospels, IGT provides a snapshot of Jesus’ physical stature, describing him as a “very small child” (7.3). He is emotional and prone to angry outbursts (3), unpredictable (4) and yet compassionate (15, 16), all in a manner characteristic of a child. The Gospel depicts various stages of development that were recognized in the ancient world. As discussed in Chapter 2, at age five free children began school and slave children began working; at age seven children reached a new stage in school and began learning new skills for work. IGT follows a similar pattern: at age five, Jesus is playing with other children and going to school. When he is seven, he participates in domestic household chores with his mother. By age eight, he is working with his father in Joseph’s workshop. At age 12, he is in the Temple, furthering his education.49 Information about children’s life and experiences fill the pages of IGT, disclosing the social values, assumptions, and expectations for children at that time. For example, the villagers’ attempts to rein in the young miracle worker Jesus reflect “social expectations placed upon children and their parents.”50 As the teacher lists reasons for educating Jesus, he says the boy should come to school to be taught letters, gain knowledge, “learn to have affection for those his own age, and respect the old and please elders” (6.2a). Moreover the boy’s education should also instill in him a desire to teach the elders in return, so that they may “have a wish to become like children in the same way” (6.2b).51 Central to the depiction of Jesus is his relationship to his family, and the image of the family is consistent with the time. The Gospel presents a nuclear family 46. Aasgaard, “The Gospel for Early Christian Children,” 441. 47. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 56. 48. Aasgaard, “The Gospel for Early Christian Children,” 442. 49. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 209. 50. Burke, “Depictions of Children,” 583. 51. My numbering of IGT follows that of Aasgaard’s critical edition and therefore differs from the same citations noted by Burke. One might wonder if 6.2b is an allusion to Mt. 18.3.



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composed of parents and children.52 The value of loyalty between parent and child is evident, and the parent–child relationship is clearly hierarchical in nature; Joseph is depicted as the paterfamilias with primary responsibility for Jesus’ upbringing. As the father, he has the right and duty to correct Jesus’ behavior, though Mary participates in the parenting as well. 53 IGT also validates children’s need for affection and reinforcement from parents. It depicts both Mary kissing (10.2) and Joseph hugging Jesus (12.2).54 This is an interesting aspect of IGT, because while the canonical Gospels clearly demonstrate parental affection for children (Jairus and his daughter, Syro-Phoenician/Canaanite woman and her daughter, a father and his afflicted son), only Jesus is depicted showing physical affection to children by hugging them (Mk 10.16). In many ways, the portrait of Jesus in IGT is a quite realistic image of a child in the ancient world—Jesus’ cursing children to death and reviving them notwithstanding!55 The young Jesus, however, does not continue to terrorize his village throughout his childhood. As those around Jesus begin to understand that he is more than merely mortal, his reactions begin to change. Once the first teacher confesses that Jesus is no ordinary human being, Jesus begins to bless rather than curse those around him. Further, as the community begins to fear his words, both in the sense of revere and of being afraid (8.2), he begins performing miracles that benefit his neighbors and family (9; 16). Even Joseph proclaims his good fortune in having this child (12.2). Indeed, the reaction of the people and teacher in the final of the three teacher episodes demonstrates their increased understanding of who this Child is. The final scene in IGT functions as a fourth teacher episode, and once again it is not the teacher who is really teaching but the Child Jesus. This scene of Jesus as a boy in the Jerusalem Temple is borrowed from the Gospel of Luke 2.41–52. The use of Luke’s Gospel so directly lends a sense of authority to IGT.56 But IGT’s version of the narrative reads like an expanded paraphrase of Luke’s story, as if it was composed from memory. IGT quotes Luke 2.49 verbatim, but the author interpolates Luke 1.42 into IGT 17.4 and Luke 2.19 into IGT 17.5. As Luke tells the story, the boy Jesus listens to the teachers and asks them questions, apparently for information and to increase his own understanding. In the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, however, Jesus examines the teachers, and explains 52. Though while James is present and presumably a sibling of Jesus, he is not mentioned as such, and other than the episode in which Jesus heals the snake bite, he is not otherwise present in the story. 53. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 66, 75. 54. Aasgaard, “The Gospel for Early Christian Children,” 443. 55. As Burke says, Jesus only appears “superhuman in his maturity and display of wisdom” but not necessarily in his impulsive behavior (“Social Viewing’ of Children,” 34). 56. Aasgaard notes that the use of the Gospel of Luke to conclude IGT indicates that Luke had already attained significant authority in the early church. However, it is not yet canon, demonstrated by the paraphrases rather than quotations (The Childhood of Jesus, 118).

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to them points of the law, riddles, and parables of the prophets. No longer are the teachers trying to instruct Jesus the child, rather the Child Jesus is now the teacher, and those who witness the events respond appropriately with amazement. By using this story to conclude his infancy Gospel, the author of IGT emphasizes the role of Jesus as a teacher of scripture and tradition. The Child Jesus is a teacher of teachers, just like the adult Jesus is a teacher of teachers. Furthermore, the Child Jesus is now depicted as engaged in the work of his Father God. That Jesus the child has indeed become the Child Jesus—True Child and True God—is evident in the erasure of Joseph from the Gospel. The man who has faithfully raised the boy and dealt with the ire of the community and the humiliation of the teachers is no longer called “father” nor is he even named in the scene. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas says that as Jesus leaves the Temple, he follows his mother out. Though IGT reports that Jesus is obedient to “his parents,” Joseph is effectively dismissed in this final scene as Jesus assumes his role as Son of God. Mary, however, is given more attention in IGT’s version of the Temple episode than in Luke, where she is not named but is a part of the parental pair. IGT not only names her, but the scribes and Pharisees directly address her. They pronounce blessing upon her, God’s blessing upon the Child Jesus, and express their astonishment at Jesus’ words. The words of the first village teacher, expressing astonishment about the child’s wisdom, are echoes again in the words of blessing from the Temple elders (17.4). In this last scene of IGT, then, the Child Jesus verbalizes the awareness of his special status before God, and his mother is elevated to her blessed position within the early Christian movement. The Protevangelium of James will continue the development of the adoration of Mary.

Boys, Girls, and Jesus in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas As discussed, within IGT there are two rather different depictions of Jesus—Jesus as a child, and the Child Jesus. The Jesus encountered in any particular episode depends primarily upon who else is a part of that scene, adults or children. The Child Jesus is found in conversation with adults, speaking to them in words beyond his years. In contrast, Jesus the child appears with other children, communicating with them through play. The boy Jesus interacts with other children in social groups, playing at the stream after a rain storm, running through the village, or romping on a rooftop during the midday.57 He also interacts with individuals: Annas’ son; another anonymous boy who bumps him; Zeno; James; 57. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas presupposes family dwellings characteristic of a first-century Mediterranean village: the tabernae was a two- to four-storey building made of brick or stone with wood and flat roofs. It usually had a staircase on the outside. The ground floor was often a shop, workshop, or tavern, and family lodging was in a room on the next floor (Aasgaard, Childhood of Jesus, 56).



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and the injured young man. In many of these scenes the adults—the parents of the children—are waiting in the wings, ready to step in only if something goes awry, which was apt to occur when another child was playing with the boy Jesus.58 Indeed several of the narratives revolve around the theme of a child’s death and that child’s subsequent resuscitation, both often at the instigation of Jesus. He curses the first two boys with whom he interacts in the Gospel, causing one to wither and the other to die. After the first teacher recognizes Jesus’ wisdom, however, both children are restored. In the next scene, Zeno falls from a roof and dies. The other children flee, leaving Jesus to take the unwarranted blame. He brings Zeno back to life for the purpose of vindicating himself. Henceforth, Jesus’ miracles are now only for the good, and almost all of the miracles that Jesus performs in IGT are for children or young people, including James and the young man with the snakebite. In each case an accident is the culprit of the death or injury, unlike the Synoptic Gospels, in which the healings and resuscitations (or resurrections) that Jesus performs are for those who were ill or had a disabling condition of some kind. Whether this focus upon children is because IGT’s primary audience is children, as Aasgaard argues,59 or simply that children were an integral part of the society and this Gospel in particular is focusing upon Jesus’ childhood, there is much in this Gospel that children would find appealing. First and foremost, children like hearing stories about other children. And even though several children in IGT die, this may have interested the children (and even their parents), since many children died young in that time. Around age five, Jesus’ age as the Gospel opens, children begin to reflect upon the phenomena of life and death.60 The death of some children in IGT at the command of Jesus may reflect that sometimes when a Christian healer visited an ill child, he or she seemed worse after the visit than beforehand.61 Fortunately, by the end of IGT, all the persons Jesus afflicts are restored to life. Other aspects of the infancy Gospel would be appealing to children as well. While the heavier discourses that impart the central theme of Jesus’ divinity may be less interesting to children, the lively narratives would certainly hold their attention. For some children, IGT’s narratives would sound similar to fables and hero stories, such as Iliad, Odyssey, and Aeneid, which they may have heard or learned in school.62 The limited theology and focus on Jesus’ identity would be suitable for an audience with a large percentage of children as well. Finally, the length of the piece lends itself to a performance within a child’s attention span.63 58. Aasgaard, “The Gospel for Early Christian Children,” 441. 59. See “The Gospel for Early Christian Children” for his full argument, and Burke, “Depictions of Children,” 396 for a critique of Aasgaard’s position. 60. Aasgaard, “The Gospel for Early Christian Children,” 442. 61. Osiek and MacDonald, A Woman’s Place, 80. 62. Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus, 199. 63. Aasgaard, “The Gospel for Early Christian Children,” 441, 443.

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Yet one might wonder when reading IGT if the Gospel would have appealed as much to girls as it would to boys. Would the activities have been those in which girls would be likely to engage? Would girls be as likely to be frolicking down at the stream in the village as boys? Would girls be found in the schoolhouse alongside the boys? Would a girl at age 12 leave her homeward-bound family group and go back to the temple in the big city? More importantly, no girls are mentioned in the Gospel per se. In a few places, IGT uses the word paidi/a (paidia) for a group of children (2.2; 9.1), and those groups could certainly have included girls, but none are explicitly mentioned or interact with Jesus individually. Indeed, out of the fifteen instances in IGT in which individuals are mentioned, both children and adults, fourteen of those are males. This is an interesting element of the Gospel particularly because in the Synoptic Gospels girls play a significant role. This leads me to ask: why are there no girls mentioned in IGT? In this final section, I will seek to answer this question. There are three reasons that girls may have disappeared from the Jesus story by the time IGT was composed. First, I will look at the sources used by the author of IGT and the role of girls in the canonical Gospels. Second, the author’s use of the ancient biography genre may have led him to diminish the role of girls as he builds up the character of Jesus. Finally, the date of the Gospel, which was likely in the first half of the second century c.e., may have contributed to eliminating the role of girls. First, how might the author’s use of the canonical Gospels affect the place of girls in IGT? If Mark was a source for IGT, it is surprising that there are no girls mentioned in it. As discussed above in Chapter 3, girls play a significant role in three narratives in Mark’s Gospel, which I refer to as the “daughter cycle” in Mark. The first story in Mark 5.21–43 is that of the synagogue leader Jairus and his daughter, which is intercalated with the story of the woman from the crowd whom Jesus calls daughter. In this story, Jesus revives a 12-year-old girl who has died. In Mark 7.24–30, a Syrophoenician woman begs Jesus to heal her daughter, who has an unclean spirit. In both cases, the healing demonstrates the inclusive nature of the reign of God, and in particular the place of children, especially girls, in God’s reign. The third daughter story in Mark 6.14–29 is the daughter of Herodias, who dances before Herod, “pleasing” him. Unlike the other girls, she does not have caring parents who bring her to Jesus, but she is not outside of the care of God. Given these three stories about girls in Mark and their significance in the Gospel, it is surprising that IGT contains no girls, if the author drew upon Mark. Parallels between IGT and the Gospel of Luke, however, are stronger than those between IGT and Mark. This close connection between Luke and IGT could in part explain why IGT has no girls. While the Gospel of Luke contains more material about children than the other canonical Gospels do, because of the “Great Omission” of Mark 6.45–8.26 from Luke, two of the Markan daughters, the Syro-Phoenician daughter and the Herodian daughter, are also omitted. The one daughter narrative that Luke does have is Jairus’ daughter in 8.40–56, which is a significant story for Luke. The girl recalls both Luke’s story of Jesus as a 12-year-old and foreshadows his death and resurrection. So even though the Gospel of Luke



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has fewer girls, the young girl who is present in Luke ties the Gospel together in a unique way, unlike any other character in Luke does. Looking to the Gospel of John does help to understand why there are few girls in IGT. The Gospel of John contains several stories about women, in which the women are active characters in the Gospel. Some of them have lengthy theological conversations with Jesus. But sadly John has only two stories about children, and both are explicitly boys. There are no girls visible in John’s Gospel. Thus, IGT’s sources reveals that the number of girls in the stories about Jesus declined from the earliest canonical Gospel, Mark, to the latest, John. This could explain in part why IGT has no girls. I will next turn to the use of the ancient biography as a model genre for IGT and consider how that might have impacted the place of girls in IGT. Although there are features of the ancient Greek novel present in IGT, the genre of it most closely resembles that of an ancient biography.64 The author of IGT may have felt that the childhood stories in Luke’s biography of Jesus were inadequate. In particular, the author of IGT seems to bolster the image of Jesus, making the young hero appear more powerful, more assertive, wiser,65 and I would add more masculine. Aasgaard discusses this last aspect of IGT’s depiction of Jesus as well.66 I am going to push his discussion further to examine the ways that developing the masculinity of Jesus relates directly to the exclusion of girls in the Gospel. Colleen Conway argues that the canonical Gospels’ depiction of Jesus contains both a rejection of the clearly defined notions of manliness involving power and strength and an acceptance of the same.67 She discusses the many aspects of masculinity in the ancient world and how the Gospels draw upon these concepts in their narratives. Drawing upon Conway, I am going to give a brief overview of some key attributes of a man in the ancient world. Masculinity was not inherent to a male person, nor did it reside in the body necessarily. Rather, masculinity was defined by what a male did with his body or allowed to have done to his body.68 By definition, only males who fulfilled the requirements of masculinity could be considered “men,” and to be a man was the prerogative of the elite. There were several key factors in one’s behavior that defined a male person as a man. First, men were above all “impenetrable penetrators,” as Conway 64. I would argue that one reason IGT is more similar to the biography than the novel, despite several parallels to the novel genre, is the exclusion of girls. The five extant ancient Greek “romance” novels and several of the ancient Jewish novels have young women as main characters, which IGT clearly lacks. See Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, especially Chapter 3. 65. Chartrand-Burke, “Completing the Gospel,” 113. 66. Reidar Aasgaard, “From Boy to Man in Antiquity: Jesus in the Apocryphal Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” Thymos: Journal of Boyhood Studies 3, no. 1 (2009): 3–20. 67. Colleen M. Conway, Behold the Man: Jesus and Greco-Roman Masculinity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 7. 68. Ibid., 21.

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states, who could defend their bodies against unwanted assaults of all kinds. In contrast, those who were not identified as men “were subjected to, and subjected themselves to, bodily penetration.”69 In terms of sexual practice, a man was one who was the actor, rather than the acted upon. Expressing one’s dominion over another was a significant part of being in the active role.70 Tat-siong Benny Liew demonstrates that the Gospel of Mark draws upon this aspect of the masculinity of Jesus. While Jesus is never depicted in an explicitly sexual manner in the Gospels, one very masculine portrayal of Jesus is that of the sower.71 The parable of the sower (Mk 4.3–9) describes the various character types encountered in the Gospel of Mark.72 The sower of the seed in the parable is none other than Jesus himself. “Sowing seed was a well-known metaphor in the ancient Mediterranean for what a “real” man did in sexual intercourse.”73 The parable of the sower is also in the Gospel of Luke (Lk. 8.4–8), and this image of Jesus as the sower is present in IGT as well (IGT 11). Even as a seven-year-old child, Jesus is a sower of seed; the child possesses characteristics of the man he will become. Second, according to Conway, self-control was also a key yet an ambiguous aspect of masculinity. For example, expressing anger could be a sign of lack of self-control and therefore not manly. On the other hand, anger might display masculinity if it motivated a man into right action and righting wrongs.74 In the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, the young Jesus frequently lacks self-control, impulsively cursing those who anger him. Aasgaard points out the angry outbursts of the young Jesus could be excused because he was a child.75 Taking cues from both the ancient biography and notions of ancient masculinity, however, Jesus’ anger can be viewed differently. The Child Jesus could be seen as becoming angry at various “injustices” he experiences, just as the adult, masculine Jesus exhibits righteous anger in the interest of the justice of God. Third, while much of a young boy’s socialization came from his family, he was acculturated into the world of “men” through the educational system. Education involved disciplining the body as well as the mind; physical punishment was commonplace in a boy’s education from classical Greece through the empire. 76 In school young men also learned the basics of rhetoric and the ability to argue effectively. A part of being a man was the ability to defeat one’s opponents in a verbal contest (as well as other arenas such as an athletic event or a military 69. Ibid. 70. Ibid., 22. 71.  Tat-siong Benny Liew, “Re-Mark-Able Masculinities: Jesus, the Son of Man, and the (sad) Sum of Manhood?,” in New Testament Masculinities (Atlanta: SBL, 2003), 93–135. 72.  Mary Ann Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s Work in Literary–Historical Perspective (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 1996), 153–64. 73. Liew, “Re-Mark-Able Masculinities,” 119. 74. Conway, Behold the Man Jesus, 24–8. 75. Aasgaard, “From Boy to Man in Antiquity,” 12. 76. Conway, Behold the Man Jesus and Greco-Roman Masculinity, 31–3.



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engagement).77 IGT focuses upon the educational aspect of Jesus’ childhood in much more detail than Luke does. There are three episodes in IGT in which Jesus is under the instruction of a teacher (6–8; 13; 14). In each case, Jesus is intellectually superior to the teacher, and he defeats the first teacher in a verbal contest over the alphabet, a clear sign of his masculinity. The Temple scene also functions to bolster the masculinity of Jesus. While the Jerusalem Temple was central to Jewish identity, like other temples in the ancient world it “carried more general associations with piety, imperial power, literacy, and status – all things that were central to elite male identity in the imperial world.”78 The teachers in Jerusalem are among the educated and elites, thus masculine members of Jerusalem society. As a male on the cusp of adulthood, the Temple scene indicates that Jesus will enter the adult world as a man. Liew demonstrates other ways in which Mark depicts Jesus’ masculinity as well. He argues that Mark uses female characters to bolster Jesus’ masculinity. Jesus devotes most of his time to interactions with men, demonstrating his masculinity and adherence to the ideal of gender separation, a key feature of ancient Mediterranean culture.79 The masculine stereotype of a man was that of one outside of the home, who was a public figure.80 In contrast, the female sphere of duty was in the home.81 For a man to spend too much time with women might corrupt a man’s masculinity.82 For this reason, even though women play an important role in the Synoptics, the Gospel writers still depict Jesus as a real man who does not need women. Mostly male disciples surround him, he doesn’t have a wife or children of his own, and he even rebuffs his mother.83 The Infancy Gospel of Thomas draws upon this separation of the sexes in its depiction of Jesus. As the author seeks to bolster the young Jesus’ masculinity (or potential thereof), he diminishes Jesus’ interactions with girls and women. All of the encounters of the young Jesus are with men or boys. The sphere of male and female is sharply defined, so that Jesus’ masculinity cannot be compromised. The result is that, as noted above, out of the fourteen individuals mentioned in 77. Ibid., 93. 78. Ibid., 136. 79. Liew, “Re-Mark-Able Masculinities,” 119. 80. Ibid., 99. Specific arenas, roles, and tasks were assigned to men, for example civic affairs, traders, herders, farmers, and other agricultural pursuits (Jerome H. Neyrey, “Jesus, Gender, and the Gospel of Matthew,” in New Testament Masculinities, ed. Stephen D. Moore and Janice Capel Anderson [Atlanta: SBL, 2003], 44. 81. Neyrey, “Jesus, Gender, and the Gospel of Matthew,” 44. Women’s space was the indoors, in the private arena of child rearing, food preparation, and clothing production. That females belonged “indoors” does not mean they did not leave the house; rather they had no civic roles and thus had no public space (ibid., 50). 82. Liew, “Re-Mark-Able Masculinities,” 119. 83. David J. A. Clines, “Ecce Vir, or, Gendering the Son of Man,” in Biblical Studies/ Cultural Studies, ed. J. Cheryl Exum and Stephen D. Moore (Sheffield: Sheffield University Press, 1998), 366–7.

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IGT, only one is a female, Mary the mother of Jesus. Yet even Mary receives less attention in IGT than in the Luke, at least until the final scene of Jesus in the Temple. In addition, just as IGT uses a collective term for “children” that could encompass both boys and girls, IGT lumps women together with men as “parents” (4.2; 9.2, 3; 13.3). Unlike the Synoptic Gospels in which women and girls play a significant role, apart from Mary, no women are identified as women and no girls are present as girls in IGT. Thus, just as the canonical Gospels depict Jesus as a man who is separated from women as a sign of his masculinity, so too is the young Jesus separated from women and girls, signaling the boy is preparing to become a man. But in Jesus’ defense, he may be portrayed in this fashion not because Jesus himself eschewed women and girls, but rather because segments of the secondcentury church did. The undisputed letters of Paul and the canonical Gospels present a clear witness of the important role women and girls played in the early Jesus movement. Among the women to whom Paul sends greetings are Phoebe the deacon, Prisca a co-worker, and Junia an apostle (Rom. 16). He mentions Chloe, whose home may have hosted a house church (1 Cor. 1.11), Euodia and Syntyche (Phil. 4.2) who seem to be leaders in Philippi, and others. The canonical Gospels’ witness of women who support Jesus in his ministry, the several girls whom Jesus heals, the Samaritan woman who becomes an apostle to her people, and Mary Magdalene who was the first witness to the resurrection indicates that the earliest Jesus followers valued the place of women and girls in the community. But the tide turns as the Jesus movement becomes the early church; as church structure began to become important, women’s roles begin to change as well. The letter of 1 Timothy, which may be a literary contemporary of IGT, makes this clear.84 In that text, women are to learn in silence and are not to teach men (1 Tim. 2.11–12), and they are not qualified to be bishops or deacons (1 Tim. 3.2, 12).85 While other non-canonical documents such as the Acts of Paul and Thecla suggest that women were in leadership roles including teaching and preaching,86 IGT seems to be more in the vein of the pastorals. Women and girls are not depicted as an important part of Jesus’ childhood, which is astonishing simply due to the reality that most children spend a good deal of their time in the care of women. But if IGT was composed in a context similar to that of the pastorals, women, and by extension girls, may not have been a concern of the author because he did not view them as significant in the church. This may have then impacted how he viewed women and girls in the life of Jesus. The lack of girls and women in IGT may be due to any one or all of these reasons. It may be a result of using the Gospel of Luke as a primary source of 84. I am presuming that a follower or later disciple of Paul wrote the Pastorals in his name in the early years of the second century. 85. Specifically, it excludes women by stating that both bishop and deacons should be “married only once” (NRSV). The Greek, however, specifies being “husband of one wife” (mia=v gunaiko\v a1ndra, mias gunaikos andra). 86. That said, the Acts of Paul and Thecla clearly supports a virgin and ascetic mode of Christian living for young women.



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narrative inspiration, which excludes some of Mark’s stories of girls, or John, which contains no such stories; or as IGT’s writer constructed his biography of Jesus, he could have been seeking to strengthen Luke’s depiction of Jesus’ masculinity, as one who maintained a certain separation from women and girls in his life. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas may be a part of the early church tradition, like the pastorals, in which women’s roles were unimportant or, even worse, needed to be curtailed. If the author was concerned with providing a realistic depiction of Jesus as a child and addressing the whole audience, wouldn’t it have been appropriate to have included some stories of girls? Since the adult Jesus raised the daughter of Jairus, maybe the young Jesus could have revived Zena, rather than Zeno, from the dead.87 Since the adult Jesus meets a woman by the well, maybe the young Jesus’ water pitcher was broken by a girl trying to get water for her mother. Where have all the young girls gone? They certainly played with the young Jesus, were sisters to Jesus, and were healed by the adult Jesus, but in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, they have all faded away.

Conclusion The Infancy Gospel of Thomas bridges the gap that is found in the Synoptic Gospels between Jesus’ birth and his adult ministry, by providing marvelous stories of Jesus as a boy, and of his remarkable miracles. It also reveals insights into Jesus’ beyond-his-years intelligence. Adults might be shocked that this rambunctious youngster became the loving savior, or they might see all of the ways the young Jesus was a miniature version of the man he would become. They might see evidence of Jesus being fully human and fully divine even as a child. Children on the other hand might marvel at the ways this child is so much like them—playing, helping mom and dad, going to school, and getting into mischief. They too would see a miracle worker and a boy who was at times almost like a superhero. Children too might recognize that Jesus was truly God but also truly a child.

87.  In modern times, Zena is a nickname for Zenobia. The most famous woman of this name was Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra (267–272 c.e.), who led a revolt against Rome. See M. M. Breytenbach, “A Queen for All Seasons: Zenobia of Palmyra,” Akroterion 50 (2005): 51–66.

Chapter 8 M A RY A S A C H I L D : T H E P R OT EVA N G E L I UM OF J A M E S

The lack of women and girls in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas is in sharp contrast to another text among the non-canonical infancy Gospels – the Protevangelium of James (Prot. Jas.). As discussed in Chapter 5, while the oldest canonical Gospel, Mark, focuses only on Jesus’ adult life, ministry, death, and resurrection, interest in Jesus’ birth and childhood grew in the late first century. Matthew and Luke wrote the opening chapters of their Gospels to address some of the questions around Jesus’ lineage, the circumstances of his birth, and his childhood. Yet questions still lingered regarding Jesus’ childhood, and thus, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas attempts to answer some of those questions. But still on people’s minds apparently were further questions of Jesus’ origins. Mary was known to be Jesus’ mother, but who was Mary? What family did she have that gave her the status to bear the Messiah? If Jesus was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, how was Mary conceived? The Protevangelium of James seeks to answer such questions. Despite the author’s intent to focus on these larger questions, this Gospel is nevertheless a story of the conception of a girl, her birth, childhood, puberty, her relationship to Joseph, and the events surrounding the conception of her child and the birth of that child. In this section, I will initially follow a similar line of inquiry as I did with the Infancy Gospel of Thomas. First, I will briefly summarize Prot. Jas. and discuss issues of author, date, location, manuscript traditions, and the reason it was not canonized. Second, I will examine some of the sources used, including the Septuagint, Mishnah, and the Gospels of Luke and Matthew.1 Third, I will address the issue of genre, discussing the ways Prot. Jas. is similar to both the encomium and the ancient Jewish and the Greek novels. Fourth, I will examine Prot. Jas. for information about Mary’s childhood. Finally, I will compare Mary’s life as described in Prot. Jas. to the usual rites of passage that girls progressed through on their way to womanhood to see how Mary’s life conformed to that of other girls in the ancient world.

1. I will also reference some Roman religious traditions. I do not consider these as sources, but they may have been familiar to the audience.

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A Narrative Summary of the Protevangelium of James The Protevangelium of James has three narrative sections: 1) the circumstances of the conception and birth of Mary until she is on the cusp of puberty (1.1–8.2); 2) Mary from age 12 until age 16, just prior to the birth of her child (8.3–16.8); and, 3) the trip to Bethlehem, the birth of Jesus, and the conclusion with events following the birth (17.1–24.14). An epilogue in 25.1–4 purports to be from the author ‘James’ and describes the circumstances of the Gospel’s composition. Before I discuss authorship, dating, and manuscript traditions a brief summary of the narrative is in order.2 When Prot. Jas. opens, Joachim, a wealthy man, and Anna, his wife, are distressed that they have no children. Joachim goes into the wilderness to pray for forty days and nights, apparently without telling Anna about his plans (1.9–10). She assumes he has died in the wilderness and laments that she is both now childless and a widow (2.1). She prays to God, who hears her prayer and allows her to conceive.3 Anna is overwhelmed with joy, and she dedicates her child to be born, whether boy or girl, to God. She promises that the child will be raised in the Temple (3.1–4.2). The child who is born is Mary (5.10). Recognizing that she is exceptional by age six months, when she takes her first steps, mother Anna sets up the little girl’s room as a sanctuary to protect her purity (6.1–5). When she is three years old, her parents send her to the Temple (7.4–6). She lives there until she is 12 years old and at the brink of puberty. At that time, the priests decide the girl should no longer live in the Temple since her menstruation would render her ritually unclean (8.3). The priests find a widower, Joseph, to act as her guardian, but Joseph and Mary do not become engaged; rather, Mary is strictly under his care (9.1–10).4 After 2.  All quotations and citations from the Protevangelium of James are from Ronald Hock’s translation of the Gospel in The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas: With Introduction, Notes, and Original Text Featuring the New Scholars Version Translation, ed. Ronald F. Hock (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 1996). 3. When Joachim is told about Anna’s conception (4.4), the Greek manuscripts vary as to whether Anna has already conceived by the time Joachim returns, or if she conceives after Joachim returns home. The issue is the verb for “conceive.” Some early Greek manuscripts have the perfect form (ei2lhfen, eilēphen) translated as “has conceived” while other manuscripts use a future form (ei2lhyetai, eilēpsetai), “will conceive.” In other words, it is not clear if there was human male action in the conception of Mary, or if Mary, like Jesus in Prot. Jas., was conceived without a human father. Paul Foster argues that reading Anna’s conception of Mary as a miraculous event is in keeping with the piety of the text. Mary’s purity is the central concern of the author: “It would be strange if its author had allowed the heroine of his story to be tainted with carnal concupiscence. Here it is possible to see the emergence of a theology of the immaculate conception of Mary, although it is not framed in such theologically developed terms.” (“The Protevangelium of James,” in Non-Canonical Gospels, ed. Paul Foster [London: T&T Clark, 2008], 115.) 4. The choice of a widower suggests that he will act only as a guardian for Mary and have no sexual feelings toward her (ibid., 116).



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bringing her to his home, Joseph goes away to work on his building projects, telling her that God will protect her (9.11–12). While he is away for a six months, an angel visits Mary, announcing that she will conceive by the word of God. Mary, asks the angel if she conceives by the word of God will she give birth “the way women usually do?” (11.5–6). Mary goes to stay with her relative Elizabeth for three months and then returns home (12.3–9). When Joseph finally comes home and discovers that Mary is now six months pregnant, he rebukes her and is greatly distressed (13.1–10). He assumes that the priests in the Temple will think he is the guilty party, which they do (15.4). Mary and Joseph are required to prove their innocence through a “drink test,” and they are absolved of the guilt (16.3–8). Then Joseph has to go to Bethlehem for a census, and he takes Mary with him (17.1–4). They do not make it all the way to Bethlehem, however, before the time comes for the child to be born (17.10). Rather, Joseph finds a cave so that Mary has privacy. Once Mary is settled in the cave, and it is guarded by Joseph’s sons, he goes to find a midwife for her (18.1). While on his way, he has an apocalyptic experience in which all creation stands still for a moment (18.3–11). Joseph finds a midwife, and they return to the cave. As they stand in front of the cave, a cloud overshadows it. It withdraws and an intense light fills the cave; when the light recedes, there is suddenly a baby at Mary’s breast. Joseph and the midwife approach the cave, and they marvel at the miracle that has occurred (19.1–18). Another midwife, Salome, appears and is skeptical of what has happened. She then performs an examination of Mary, verifying that Mary is still a virgin (19.19–20.4). After Jesus’ birth, the magi visit Herod and then the infant (21.1–12). Herod orders a massacre of the infants two years old and younger in Bethlehem (22.1–2). Elizabeth flees to the mountains with her son, John, but her husband Zechariah is murdered in the Temple (22.5–23.9).

History of the Text This Gospel has had various titles over the course of its history. Origen referred to it as the biblios Iakobou (the Book of James). In the Orthodox world, the Gospel is called the Birth of Mary or the Revelation of James. The sixteenth-century French humanist scholar Guillaume Postal was the first to refer to the Gospel as the Protevangelium of James. The title “Protevangelium” indicates that this work comes before the canonical Gospel accounts.5 According to the epilogue of Prot. Jas., the author is James, the half-brother of Jesus and Joseph’s son from a previous marriage. He claims to write just after Herod died in 4 b.c.e. This James is also presumably the one whom the apostle Paul and the canonical Gospel writers call the “brother of Jesus” (Gal. 1.19; Mk 6.3; Mt. 13.55). However, like the canonical Gospels, the author of Prot. Jas. is actually unknown. One cannot even be certain 5. Ibid., 111. Some scholars today also refer to it as Protoevangelium of James, ProtoGospel of James, or, less commonly, the Infancy Gospel of James.

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if the author was Jewish or not; however, as I will discuss, several aspects of Prot. Jas. draw upon Jewish scripture and mishnaic traditions that may suggest that the author was a Jewish Christian writing for a similarly composed audience.6 While the author is familiar with Jewish writings, he does not accurately depict  the geographical landscape of the story setting. He seems to be “confused about the relationship of Jerusalem, Judea, and Bethlehem (21.1), and he seems to place the wilderness too close to Jerusalem (4.5; 25.1).”7 This suggests that the author was writing outside of Palestine. At the same time, the author refers to the Jews as “Israel,” as a Palestinian would, rather than as “Judeans,” as those outside of Palestine do.8 Scholars have considered Syria and Egypt as other possibilities.9 Ultimately, however, it is not possible to discern where the Gospel was written with any degree of certainty. Émile de Strycker has catalogued and categorized over 140 Greek manuscripts of Prot. Jas. into textual traditions, or families.10 Most of these are late manuscripts, dating to the tenth century. The earliest manuscript is the Papyrus Bodmer V, which dates to the early fourth century. There is evidence that the Gospel circulated in several other ancient languages as well.11 No Latin manuscripts exist since the Church in the Latin-speaking West rejected the Gospel. The Protevangelium of James was also absorbed into the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew and The Gospel of the Birth of Mary. Since the author of Prot. Jas. is clearly dependent upon the New Testament Gospels, it must have been written later than they were. It could have been written as early as the mid-second century. Justin Martyr seems to be familiar with various traditions that are found in it. For example, he places Jesus’ birth in a cave near Bethlehem, as Prot. Jas. does.12 It may be, however, that the author of Prot. Jas. was drawing upon Justin. If this were the case, then it would not be earlier 6. Lily Vuong, “‘Let Us Bring Her up to the Temple of the Lord’: Exploring the Boundaries of Jewish and Christian Relations through the Presentation of Mary in the Protevangelium of James,” in Infancy Gospels, eds Claire Clivaz et al. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 420. 7. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 12. 8. Ibid., 13. 9. Willem S. Vorster, “The Annunciation of the Birth of Jesus in the Protevangelium of James,” in South African Perspective on the New Testament: Essays by S. African NT Scholars Presented to Bruce M. Metzger, ed. J. H. Petzer (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1986), 33–53. 10. Émile de Strycker, “Die Griechischen Handschriften Des Protevangeliums Iacobi,” in Griechische Kodikologie Und Textüberlieferung, ed. D. Harlfinger (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1980), 577–612. 11. Foster, “The Protevangelium of James,” 112. 12. Justin Dial. 78. The tradition that Jesus was born in a cave three miles from Bethlehem, which is strikingly different from Luke’s account, was known in other sources from the late second and early third centuries as well. Origen also mentions the tradition (Cels. 1.51). See Foster, “The Protevangelium James,” 119 n.16 for other early church sources that also mention the cave tradition.



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than the time of Justin’s writings around 160 c.e.13 The Protevangelium of James may also have been written to counter the polemical writings of the non-Christian intellectual Celsus. His work, The True Doctrine, argued that Mary was a poor peasant who had to make her living by spinning. She was cast out by her husband, who convicted her of adultery when he found she was pregnant out of wedlock. Moreover, he claimed that Jesus was born secretly in Egypt.14 Celsus wrote his polemic around 178 ce.15 If Prot. Jas. was written in response to Celsus, then it might have been written in the last 25 years or so of the second century. Origen provides the firmest terminus ad quem (ending point) for dating the Gospel in the mid-third century. In his commentary on Matthew, he writes: But some say, basing it on a tradition in the Gospel according to Peter, as it is entitled, or The Book of James, the brothers of Jesus were sons of Joseph by a former wife, whom he married before Mary (Origen Comm. Matt. 10.17).16

Considering all of the evidence, the most likely range for the composition of Prot. Jas. is 175–250 c.e. The Roman Church rejected Prot. Jas. due to the depiction of Joseph as a widower who had sons by a previous marriage. This aspect of the Gospel led to the “Epiphanian solution” to the problem of the Jesus’ siblings mentioned in Mark 6.3 and Matthew 13.35, which contradicts the doctrine of the perpetual virginity of Mary. In the fourth century, Bishop Epiphanius of Salamis, Cyprus, proposed that the siblings of Jesus in the Gospels are actually step-siblings. Jerome rejected this notion, because he believed Joseph was a perpetual virgin as well as Mary. He argued that all those who were named as Jesus’ brothers in the Gospels of Matthew and Mark were, in fact, Jesus’ cousins. Jerome’s opposition to the Prot. Jas. led to a diminished influence and circulation in the western, Latin-speaking church.17 The Gospel was condemned by Pope Innocent in 405 c.e. and finally rejected by the Gelasian Decree around 500 c.e.18 Though the Roman Church did not accept the text, it has nevertheless had great influence upon the Mariological

13. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 12. 14. Ibid., 11; Foster, “The Protevangelium of James,” 113; Prot. Jas. may have also been written to rebut the arguments of various Christians groups. Bart Ehrman suggests that it was written to counter the Ebionite Christians, who claimed Jesus was the natural son of Mary and Joseph, as well as the Marcionite Christians, who claimed Jesus descended from heaven as a full-grown adult (Lost Christianities: The Battles for the Scriptures and the Faiths We Never Knew [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003], 209. 15. The document itself is not extant, but is known from Origen’s work Contra Celsum. 16. Cited in Paul Foster, “The Protevangelium of James,” 112. 17. Ibid., 117. 18. Pope Innocent, Letter 6 to Exuperius of Toulouse 7.30. Cited in Bart Ehrman, “The Protevangelium of James,” in The Apocryphal Gospels: Texts and Translations, eds Bart Ehrman and Zlatko Plese (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 32.

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traditions, and it is a foundation for the feasts of the Immaculate Conception, the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and the Presentation of Mary in the Temple.

Literary Sources and Influences The Protevangelium of James draws upon a variety of sources that would have been well known to the audience reading or hearing the story. Since the stories of Mary’s conception, birth, and childhood are not found in the canonical Gospels, the author utilizes plots, themes, and characters from the Septuagint, the Mishnah, and the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. He also has his own source material or creates some of the narratives. The use of the Septuagint is evident from the beginning of the Gospel. The characterization of Mary’s parents, Joachim and Anna, recalls a variety of stories from the Jewish Scriptures. The name “Joachim” and the description of him as a wealthy man are clearly based upon the brief novella Susanna, a Greek addition to the Book of Daniel (vv. 1–4). Aspects of Anna’s story are similar to Sarah in Genesis, such as her barrenness and the miraculous birth of a child; she even evokes Sarah when she prays to God for a child (2.9). But Anna most closely mirrors her Hebrew namesake, Hannah, the mother of the prophet Samuel (1 Sam. 1–2).19 Anna and Hannah are parallel characters in several ways: both women are unable to have children; the women and their husbands are depicted as pious worshippers of the God of Israel (1 Sam. 1.5; Prot. Jas. 1.2–3); both women face humiliation because of their barrenness: Hannah is provoked by the other wife of Elkanah (1 Sam. 1.6) and Anna is mocked by her slave woman, Juthine (Pros. Jas. 2.2–6).20 Moreover, both women vow to dedicate their offspring to God (1 Sam. 1.11; Prot. Jas. 4.2) and fulfill the vow when the child is still young (1 Sam. 1.24; Prot. Jas. 7.4–9). Each mother, however, encourages her husband to delay the departure for a time (1 Sam. 1.22–3; Prot. Jas. 7.2–3).21 There are also allusions to the Book of Numbers. Once the priests have determined that the 12-year-old Mary cannot remain in the Temple, Joseph is chosen by lot to be her guardian. He initially refuses, claiming that he will be mocked since he is old and already has children. The high priest invokes Dathan, Abiron, and Kore (Pros. Jas. 9.9; Num. 16.1–35) to persuade Joseph not to reject his divine 19. Perhaps the author of Prot. Jas. was inspired by the Gospel of Luke to use 1 Samuel, which also draws upon the literary depictions of Hannah and Samuel in the infancy narrative. 20. This scene is also reminiscent of the protagonist Sarah in the Jewish novel Tobit. Sarah is mocked by her servant woman because she has been married seven times and each time her husband has died before they could consummate the marriage. I will discuss other similarities to the Jewish novels further below. 21. See Chapter 4 for Luke’s similar use of Hannah in his characterization of Mary and Elizabeth.



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election.22 The “drink test” in Prot. Jas. 16 also recalls Numbers 5.11–31. In that text, if a man is jealous of his wife, suspecting her of sleeping with another man, he may bring his wife before the priests. The woman is required to drink a potion that will cause a spontaneous abortion if she is guilty. In Prot. Jas., Mary is subjected to a similar test; however, unlike the ordeal in Numbers, Joseph is as well. Both must drink the water and retreat to the wilderness. If they return unharmed, they are deemed innocent. Fortunately for both, this is the case. Some scholars recognize a variety of allusions to Jewish practices and writings in Prot. Jas. and attribute the authorship of the book to a Jewish Christian author. Lily Vuong and Timothy Horner are two such scholars.23 Both are interested in the Jewish sources used in Prot. Jas. as a means to understand the complex nature of Jewish/Christian relations in the first centuries of the Common Era. Each notes that the lines between Jews and Christians in the early years of the Jesus Movement were less than clear. Vuong is particularly interested in how the story of Mary, one of the defining figures of Christianity, is shaped by the presence and practices of the Temple in Prot. Jas. This focus on the Temple makes the work unique among early Marian-focused literature. Horner seeks to debunk the belief that Prot. Jas. could not have originated in a Jewish milieu.24 He argues that in several places Prot. Jas. reflects the author’s understanding of the Mishnah.25 I will discuss their findings below when I explore the childhood of Mary in Prot. Jas. The author’s dependence upon the canonical Gospels is evident as well. Indeed, as Ronald Hock points out, many of the questions that Prot. Jas. answers arise “only if one has both the Matthew and Lukan stories in mind.”26 However, when elements from these two Gospels are used, the author freely departs from them.27 For example, Prot. Jas. borrows from both Gospels to describe the events of Jesus’ conception and birth, but rather than harmonizing the two stories, Luke’s story 22.  The three men opposed God and were destroyed, swallowed up by a huge sinkhole. Pros. Jas. draws the names from the LXX. In Hebrew, and hence in the NRSV, the latter two are called Abiram and Korah. 23. See Timothy J. Horner, “Jewish Aspects of the Protoevangelium of James,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 12, no. 3 (2004): 313–35, and Vuong, “Let Us Bring Her up to the Temple of the Lord.” See also Lily C. Vuong, Gender and Purity in the Protevangelium of James (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013). 24. This is the position held by Hock. He argues that despite the author’s use of the Septuagint, Prot. Jas. does not refer to Jewish traditions that are outside of the Septuagint and is not familiar with Palestinian geography. Thus, “the author himself hardly came from a Jewish milieu” (Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 10). 25. Horner recognizes the historical issues with using the Mishnah. Nevertheless, he argues that mishnaic material represents a form of Judaism more contemporary with Prot. Jas. than either Second Temple Judaism, the New Testament, or Talmudic literature (“Jewish Aspects of the Protoevangelium of James,” 314). 26. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 9. 27. Robert J. Miller, ed., “The Infancy Gospel of James,” in The Complete Gospels (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 1994), 381.

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becomes the pattern for the angel’s announcement to Mary (11), while Matthew’s story depicts Joseph’s predicament regarding the young, pregnant Mary (14).28 The author comes back to Luke’s version of the birth story in 17 to narrate Joseph’s journey to Bethlehem, though with some additional details. In 21, Prot. Jas. turns again to Matthew’s account of the Magi coming from the east to visit the newborn child, and Herod’s murder of the infants in Bethlehem. Interestingly, however, Matthew’s focus on Jesus as a child, with the repetition of “the child,” is almost completely erased. The focus of this part of the narrative is firmly upon Herod. However, since the author conflates the birth narratives of Luke and Matthew, he has to account for the fact that the baby John the Baptist is not killed by Herod. Hence, Elizabeth flees to the hills with John, and Herod’s men kill Zechariah in the Temple, an event not narrated in the Synoptics but perhaps inspired by Matthew 23.35, “where a certain Zechariah is said to have been murdered near the altar.”29 In these ways, then, the author makes use of a variety of sources as he constructs a narrative of Mary’s conception, birth, childhood, and young adulthood. The sources each connect to different literary traditions with which the audience might have been familiar, linking the young Mary to the history of Israel, the Gospels of the early Church, and Jewish traditions.

Genre: Encomium or Ancient Novel? Many scholars understand the primary purpose of the Protevangelium of James as having an apologetic function; its objective is to defend the Christian tradition against charges that Jesus was illegitimate, and Mary was a poor peasant, convicted of adultery by her husband. Though perhaps by the time Prot. Jas. was written, “Gospel” was a genre in and of itself, like the canonical Gospels and Infancy Gospel of Thomas, Prot. Jas. is similar to a variety of known ancient literary forms. The two most probable genres that scholars have suggested include the encomium and the ancient Greek novel. I will first discuss Hock’s proposal that Prot. Jas. is an encomium. Then I will turn to the similarities between Prot. Jas. and the ancient novel. In that section, I will consider both the ancient Greek and Jewish novels. I will draw upon my earlier work on daughters in the Gospel of Mark and their similarity to the young women in the Greek and Jewish novels.30 The depiction of Mary in Prot. Jas. is similar to these literary characters as well. Hock identifies the primary purpose of Prot. Jas. to be encomiastic; it is a work intended to convey the praise of a person, in this case, Mary. The form of the encomium was one of the standard subjects of study in the Greco-Roman curriculum. It included an introduction, family “background, upbringing, adult pursuits,” and illustrations of person’s virtues. Usually the person was compared 28.  Vorster, “The Annunciation of the Birth of Jesus in the Protevangelium of James,” 44. 29. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 75. 30. See Chapters 3 and 4 in Sharon Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These: A Socio-Literary Analysis of Daughters in the Gospel of Mark (London: T&T Clark, 2010).



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to “someone of equal or greater value.” Finally, it “ends with a conclusion that is rather more like a prayer.”31 To fill out the account, the person’s birth might be described, especially if was miraculous in some way. It also could include the events of the person’s death, “the subsequent renown of the person, or the fame of the descendants,” if appropriate.32 Prot. Jas. is not a textbook example of an encomium, indeed the author himself identifies his work as a history (1.1; 25.1, 3), but there are elements that follow the encomium form. Like an encomium, Prot. Jas. describes Mary’s family background in detail, accentuating her high status. The author is clear that she is from a wealthy and pious Jewish family. The Gospel narrates Mary’s upbringing and, according to Hock, the description of Mary’s activities of spinning are a part of demonstrating her “adult pursuits, skills, and habits.”33 He goes on to argue, “the most important part of an e0gkw/mion [encōmion], however, is the presentation of the person’s virtuous deeds, and the importance of Mary’s virtues is shown narratively by the amount of space devoted to documenting her virtue, especially her swfrosu/nh [sōfrosunē] or self-control.”34 For example, when she is six months pregnant, she insists to both Joseph and the high priest that she has not had sex with a man (13.1–10; 15.1–18), highlighting her self-control. Mary’s declarations are confirmed by an angel (14.5–8) and by the drink test, which was considered a divine sign. Mary’s virtue is still in the foreground as the birth approaches, and Joseph finds a cave so that she has privacy.35 The shift to the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah at the end of the Gospel are also part of the encomium form, providing the comparison to “someone of equal or greater value” required by the form. Indeed, Zechariah exhibits remarkable courage in the face of Herod’s threat.36 Finally, the Gospel refers to Mary and her son’s future renown (4.1; 6.7, 9; 7.7; 12.2, 6; 19.17). Similar to the Gospels of Mark, Luke, and the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, features of the ancient novel are present in Prot. Jas. as well. This is especially true in the characterization of Mary. Hock describes three ways that Prot. Jas. is similar to the ancient Greek novel. First, there are comparable language and actions among the characters.37 For example, in the Greek novels, both the male and female characters express a range of emotions: crying, sighing, lamenting, and more. Likewise, the characters in Prot. Jas. are emotional; early in the Gospel Joachim becomes “very upset” (1.9) about his childlessness, and Anna laments her barrenness (3.2–8). Later, when Joseph discovers Mary’s pregnancy, he laments (13.2–5) and becomes frightened (14.1). When the high priest confronts them, they both cry (15.13; 16.2); second, some of the cultural allusions in the Greek 31. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 16. 32. Ibid., 17. 33. Ibid., 18. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid. 37. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 26.

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novels help to clarify the behavior of the characters in Prot. Jas. Hock specifically offers the example of Mary’s actions when she hears the voice by the well and rushes back into the house to resume her spinning (11.1–4). He compares this to a scene in Daphnis and Chloe in which the mother of the shepherd girl, Chloe, wants her to stay at home carding wool rather than to be out shepherding, which was a vulnerable place.38 Finally, the Greek novels reflect the fundamental values of the culture, especially the central value of virginity before marriage. The novelistic heroines go to great lengths to protect their virginity. Prot. Jas. puts great emphasis upon Mary’s virginity, reiterating multiple times that her virginity was never compromised even though she became pregnant and gave birth to a child. The similarities between Prot. Jas. and the Greek novels, however, are deeper than these three aspects that Hock points out. Indeed, the way that the character of Mary is depicted is very much like the portrayal of the heroines in the ancient Greek and Jewish novels. Both novelistic genres emphasize the cultural values of their time, especially themes of family, and virginity before marriage and faithfulness after marriage. In the ancient Greek and Jewish novels a young woman is the central character around whom the action of the story revolves.39 In each case, she is a named and active vocal character. The heroines usually appear to have equal standing to the male characters in the narratives. They are all from elite families and the status of their fathers is particularly noted, indicating the respectability of the heroines.40 They often have both parents living, who are both active to a greater or lesser degree in the story.41 In addition, the girls are often depicted as the only child in their family, but if a sibling is mentioned, that individual (usually a brother) has only a minor role in the action. The young women are all, at some point, separated or isolated from their families. During their separation or isolation, they are exposed to various dangers, and they are especially vulnerable to assault and rape. God or the goddesses Artemis or Aphrodite intervene in the young women’s situations and mitigate the dangers they face. Other religious expressions also have an important role in the novels. Above all, their virginity or faithfulness to their husband is a central motif throughout the narrative. 38. Ibid., 26. See Longus Daphn. 3.4.5; 25.2. 39. The extant ancient Greek novels with young women as main characters, which are often called “romances,” include Chariton Chaereas and Callirhoe, Achilles Tatius Leucippe and Clitophon, Longus Daphnis and Chloe, Xenophon of Ephesus An Ephesian Tale, and Heliodorus An Ethiopian Story. For a readable English translation of these Greek novels as well as several fragmentary novels, see Bryan P. Reardon, Collected Ancient Greek Novels (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008). The Jewish novels that contain a young woman as the main character include Tobit, Greek Esther, and Joseph and Aseneth. As mentioned, the opening of Prot. Jas. draws upon the Jewish novella, Susanna, a Greek addition to Daniel. Judith is also a Jewish novel, but the heroine is likely an older woman, and she is a widow. 40.  Even Chloe, who is a slave shepherdess throughout most of the story, was abandoned at birth by wealthy parents (which is of course not discovered until the end of the story). 41. Esther is an exception; she has only her cousin Mordecai as a guardian.



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Many of these same themes and characteristics are found in the depiction of Mary in Prot. Jas. The Gospel opens with an account of events leading to Mary’s conception in order to make it clear that her purity extends even before her birth. In the majority of the narrative, however, Mary is 12 to 16, which is within the age range of young women in the ancient novels. Her father, Joachim, is an upper-class, wealthy man, who is well connected with the Temple officials. This is a departure from Luke’s Gospel, which does not mention Mary’s parents and suggests that she is a person of low status (Lk. 1.48). Although her mother’s background is not described, Anna is an active, vocal character in the story. She is also a positive character, unlike most of the novels in which the mother’s role is very limited, the mother–daughter relationship is strained or awkward, and the mother may even be a negative character.42 At the same time, like other novelistic young women, Mary is depicted as the only child in her family. While the author of Prot. Jas. does not endow Mary with the same kind of speech as Luke does, she is still a vocal character. Her first words are in response to the angel who announces that she will conceive by God’s word. Mary questions the angel about this and how this birth will actually occur, but finally accepts the announcement (11.6, 9). She responds to Elizabeth’s proclamation (12.6, though it seems as if she is speaking to God, not Elizabeth), and defends herself first to Joseph (13.8, 10) and then to the high priest (15.13). These latter incidents are similar to Leucippe’s speech in which she speaks primarily to defend her honor, virginity, or integrity.43 Later in Prot. Jas., as the birth of her child approaches, Mary is characterized as a seer who has a revelation (17.9–10), similar to the prophecy of Simeon in Luke 2.34.44 After this point in the narrative, however, Mary becomes silent and speaks no more. Once the birth of her child is imminent, Mary no longer has a voice. Indeed, her role as a central character in the story is “eclipsed by Joseph from the moment he goes off in search of a midwife and has his vision” of creation standing still (18.1–11).45 The virgin girl has a voice, and even the pregnant virgin Mary prophesies, but mother Mary is rendered speechless. Another similarity between Prot. Jas. and the ancient novels is the role of religion, which is often in the foreground of the ancient novels. In the Greek novels, the heroines participate in a variety of religious rituals, including sacrificing and praying. They are often compared to the goddesses, and they petition the goddesses for guidance, for protection during times of distress, and to solemnize various occasions. In the Jewish novels, the heroines are depicted as pious Jews, praying to God for help during their difficult circumstances (Sus. vv. 42–3; Tob. 3.1–6, 11–15; Add. Est. 14.1–19). As in the Gospel of Luke, the Jewish Temple and religious rituals play a significant role in Prot. Jas. While Mary is still an infant, her mother Anna transforms her bedroom into a sanctuary and insures that nothing “profane or unclean” passes her lips (6.4). At age three, she is taken 42. Betsworth, The Reign of God Is Such as These, 91–2. 43. Achilles Tatius Leuc. Clit. 8.16. 44. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 63. 45. Ibid., 13.

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to the Temple to live, and Mary is nearly deified as she enters the Temple. Foster states that the characterization of Mary’s arrival at the Temple “approaches that of a goddess being venerated in her own sacred shrine,”46 which is a similar motif in the Greek novels in particular.47 He goes on to say that the author has placed the focus of attention upon “Mary as a figure of religious significance in her own right.”48 Finally, themes of isolation, danger or threat, and divine protection are present in Prot. Jas. Mary is isolated as soon as she moves into Joseph’s home; when she arrives, he leaves to resume his building projects, but he tells her the Lord will protect her. Ironically, this turns out to be the case, in a round-about way. During Joseph’s absence, Mary begins weaving a veil for the Temple of the Lord. One day, when she goes out to fill her water jar, she hears a voice calling out to her. Frightened by the voice, Mary quickly returns home and resumes spinning. Her reaction suggests that going to draw water alone could be a dangerous situation for a young woman. Though Mary is not apparently in danger from the messenger himself, the resulting pregnancy that occurs while she is alone does put her in danger. When Joseph discovers that Mary is pregnant, he fears that handing her over to the priests will result in her death. Joseph’s fear is likely based upon Deuteronomy 22.23–7, which states that if a man violates an engaged virgin he meets in town both shall be stoned. It also recalls the death by burial of a Vestal Virgin if she was convicted of violating her vow of chastity.49 Like the young women in the novels who are threatened when they are alone or separated from their families, Mary experiences a similar threat. This threat she experiences also involves her virginity and causes other characters in the story to question her purity. At such times, the young women in both the Greek and Jewish novels pray to God or goddesses to protect and save them in their time of isolation or danger. In contrast, Mary makes no such petition to God. She does tearfully plead her case to Joseph and the high priest, but she does not bring a request before God; indeed, she does not even seem to clearly understand that this pregnancy is due to the action of God. Despite the lack of prayers, God intervenes to mitigate the danger. According to the priest, the drink test would be the Lord’s means of revealing if Mary and Joseph sinned or it would exonerate them; since both return from the ordeal unharmed, they are declared innocent, acquitted by the Lord. Many of these similarities to the Greek and Jewish novels concern the time when Mary is a teenager. But Prot. Jas. begins with the conception of Mary and highlights her first three years as a child. I will now look at the way Prot. Jas. depicts Mary’s childhood through the time when she conceives her son, Jesus.

46. Foster, “The Protevangelium of James,” 116. 47. Chariton Chaer. 3.2.12; 4.7.8. 48. Foster, “The Protevangelium of James,” 121. 49. For a description of the burial of a Vestal Virgin sentenced to death see Lynn H. Cohick, Women in the World of the Earliest Christians: Illuminating Ancient Ways of Life (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2009), 164–6.



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The Childhood of Mary In the Protevangelium of James, Mary’s life is divided into three stages: conception to age three, three to 12 years old, and 12 years old until Jesus’ birth at age 16.50 As mentioned, the Gospel begins with an introduction of her parents. Though the author does not provide any information about Anna, she is one of the main characters in the first seven chapters of the Gospel. In the midst of Anna’s lament over her childlessness, an angel appears to her, announcing that she will conceive and give birth. The angel’s words are similar to Gabriel’s announcement to Mary in Luke 1.31. The author sets the time for the opening of the Gospel as near “the great day of the Lord” (1.4). This time marker is repeated when the angel visits Anna (2.2). Vuong argues that the phrase may refer to the feast of Yom Kippur. The text emphasizes the solemnity of the feast (1.4; 2.2–3), which is in keeping with Yom Kippur.51 Joachim is repeatedly depicted as offering sacrifices for atonement (1.2; 5.1), and high priest’s headband into which Joachim looks for a sign (5.1) may have been a part of the attire of the priest on Yom Kippur. This may also explain why Anna changes from mourning clothes into her wedding gown (2.7), since according to one rabbinic tradition the “daughters of Jerusalem went forth in white dresses and danced in the vineyards on Yom Kippur.”52 Thus, according to Vuong, Anna’s conception of Mary possibly occurs around Yom Kippur, placing it in the autumn of the year.53 When her pregnancy has come full term, nine months, Anna gives birth with a midwife present. She asks, “what is born?” and the midwife answers, “a female.”54 In contrast to writers such as Ben Sira, who contends, “the birth of a daughter is a loss” (Sir. 22.3), Anna rejoices at the news that the baby is a girl.55 Following the birth of the girl, Anna fulfills the Levitical prescriptions that state that a woman is unclean for two weeks after the birth of a female child (Lev. 12.5). She refrains from breast-feeding the infant during this time. While Leviticus does not specify if a woman may nurse the child during this period, Anna’s behavior suggests she is going beyond what is normally required to ensure the child is pure according to Levitical Law.56 After that time, Anna begins breast-feeding the baby, and she gives the child her name, Mary.57 50. Horner, “Jewish Aspects of the Protoevangelium of James,” 320–5. 51. Vuong, “Let Us Bring Her up to the Temple of the Lord,” 421. 52.  m. Ta’anit 4.8 cited in ibid., 423. 53. Ibid., 424. 54. My translations. 55. Tal Ilan discusses the preference for boys over girls and states that most ancient Jewish sources view the birth of a girl as a disappointment (Jewish Women in Greco-Roman Palestine [Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1996], 43–8). 56. Vuong, “Let Us Bring Her up to the Temple of the Lord,” 426. 57. The author does not indicate where the name comes from, how it was selected, or why Anna names the child. Mary F. Foskett argues that Mary is modeled after Miriam in Exodus, hence her name (“Miriam/Mariam/Maria: Literary Genealogy and the Genesis

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To create a scene of the passing of time, the author notes, “Day by day the infant grew stronger,” evoking a similar comment about Jesus in Luke 2.40. When the girl is six months old, her mother sets her down to see if she can stand.58 Miraculously, Mary instead walks seven steps to her mother.59 Awed by the marvelous nature of her child, Anna vows that Mary will never walk upon the ground again until she is taken to the Temple. Anna transforms the child’s bedroom into a sanctuary, where she will live a ritually pure existence until she is old enough to go to the Temple. Her playmates are an otherwise unattested group of girls, “the undefiled daughters of the Hebrews.” The term “undefiled” suggests that girls were virgins, probably girls under twelve years old, who “amuse” or play with the infant Mary. The little girl’s first birthday is celebrated with much fanfare, marking her passage through the critical first year of life. Her father Joachim hosts a great banquet and the guests include “high priests, priests, scholars, council of elders, and all the people of Israel” (6.6), who pronounce special blessings upon her.60 The number and description of those who are invited are further indications of Joachim’s wealth and social status.61 Following the party, Anna takes the child to her room to nurse her, and she sings a song of praise to God for this child, proclaiming, “Who will announce to the sons of Reubel that Anna has a child at her breasts [literally ‘is nursing’]? ‘Listen, listen, you twelve tribes of Israel: Anna has a child at her breast!’ ” (6.13). Among the points that her song declares is that Anna, the mother of the child, is nursing Mary. Another woman, whether a slave or hired wet-nurse, is not providing Mary with milk. When the child is two years old, Joachim suggest it is time to take her to the Temple. Anna stalls, suggesting they wait until Mary is three years old, perhaps the typical age for weaning a child. When Mary turns three years old, Joachim sends for the Hebrew daughters again, and they accompany the little girl to the Temple.62 While there are no parallels to a child being dedicated to the Temple in Jewish writings other than the story of Samuel, there are some similarities to the selection of the Vestal Virgins. The girls chosen to be a Vestal had to be well-born with both parents living, be in pristine condition, and be between six of Mary in the Protevangelium of James,” in Mariam, the Magdalen, and the Mother [Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005], 63–74). 58. See Chapter 2. Ray Laurence states that birth through sixth months old, approximately when the baby began cutting teeth, was considered a distinctive time in life (“Childhood in the Roman Empire,” History Today 55, no. 10 [2005]: 21–7). 59. This is somewhat reminiscent of the biography genre in which the main character often performs amazing deeds as a child. 60. Ironically, some of these same groups will be named among those whom Jesus predicts will reject him (Mt. 16.21; Mk 8.31; Lk. 9.22), leading to his death. 61. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 43. 62.  Joachim suggests they each have lamps that are lit, “so the child won’t turn back and have her heart captivated by things outside the Lord’s temple.” The virgins with lamps are reminiscent of the parable of the ten virgins with lamps (Mt. 25.1–13).



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and ten years old. While Mary is younger than this, she is depicted as a well-born child, and she has both parents living. Like the Vestals, she lives in the Temple as a young girl, possibly with other girls. Thus in many regards, Mary reflects the Vestal Virgins, who were priestesses. Yet as Mary F. Foskett points out, while “the narrative attributes to Mary the priestly requisites of physical soundness, chastity, and purity – [it] refrains from ascribing to her the duties and privileges of the priesthood.”63 To be sure, Mary does not receive the status of a priestess; she will live in the Jewish Temple, and there were no priestesses in the Jewish tradition. But Mary is grandly received in the Temple. When she arrives the priest welcomes her, kisses her, and blesses her, proclaiming that her name will be widely known (7.7–8). Mary’s reception in the Temple is very similar to Simeon’s response to meeting the infant Jesus in the Temple in Luke’s Gospel (Lk. 2.28–32). In both cases, a man in the Temple welcomes the child and pronounces a blessing upon the child. When the priest places the little girl on the third step of the altar, the narrator proclaims, “and the Lord showered favor on her” (7.9), again recalling the favor of God upon the child Jesus (Lk. 2.40). Then the girl dances, showing her joy, “and the whole house of Israel loved her” (7.10). Anna and Joachim leave the girl in the Temple, marveling that she never turned back to look at them. Aside from the allusion to the dedication of Samuel in the Temple as a weaned child, what is the significance of Mary being dedicated to the Temple at age three? Timothy Horner suggests that it is a kind of betrothal and espousal. He describes the three stages in the marriage process found in the Mishnah:64 1) betrothal, a legal agreement that a girl was to marry a certain man; 2) espousal, handing the girl over to the man; and 3) marriage, consummated through sexual intercourse. While a girl could be promised in utero, she could not be espoused until she was three years and a day (Nid. 4.5). According to the Mishnah, if a girl child were violated before age three, her hymen would spontaneously regenerate, thereby restoring her virgin status. Female proselytes, captives, and slaves were presumed to be defiled already by age three, but if redeemed, proselytized, or freed by age three, they would nonetheless be considered virgins.65 Horner explains: If Prot. Jas. reported that she was dedicated to the Temple at two years of age (perfectly acceptable), then she may have been vulnerable to the accusation that she was from an abusive, even non-Jewish, household. No matter what happened before her dedication she would still be considered a mishnaic virgin, but if it was assumed that only children from non-Jewish environments needed to be rescued before three years and a day, then Mary’s dedication to the Temple before three might appear suspect, especially to critics who were looking for 63. Foskett, “Miriam/Mariam/Maria,” 72. 64. cf. Joseph Fitzmyer, who describes a two-stage process consisting of betrothal and marriage in his discussion of the infancy narrative in Luke (The Gospel According to Luke I–IX, AB [New York: Doubleday & Co., 1981], 343). 65. Horner, “Jewish Aspects of the Protoevangelium of James,” 321.

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ways to discredit her and/or her offspring, especially the charge that she was the product of a liaison with a Roman soldier.66

If Horner is correct, the remainder of the Gospel will then need to provide an espousal, and possibly consummation of some kind of this marriage. In fact, such a scenario evolves as Mary reaches puberty. The Gospel does not account for the years between ages three and 12. The author merely states that Mary lived in the Temple and was fed by an angel (8.2). Do the undefiled daughters of the Hebrews also live in the Temple, as the Vestal Virgins did, and are they Mary’s playmates? Perhaps the audience is to imagine that she was cared for by widows who lived in the Temple, like the widow Anna in Luke’s Gospel (2.36–8).67 Similar to the story of Jesus’ childhood in Luke, there is a gap in time from early childhood until 12 years old (Lk. 2.40–2). But unlike Jesus, who will be accepted into the Temple as a 12-year-old boy, when Mary turns 12, she is no longer allowed to live at the Temple. The concern is that by age 12 or shortly thereafter, Mary will begin to menstruate. According to the Levitical codes a woman is not ritually permitted to approach the Temple when she is menstruating, thus a woman living permanently in the Temple would not be permissible.68 At the point when Mary can no longer stay in the Temple, no one suggests that she might return home to her father and mother. They have disappeared from the story entirely. Instead, the high priest chooses Joseph by lot to be her guardian, as if it is an arranged marriage. Joseph takes her to her home, but rather than acting as a guardian and protector, he leaves to work on his building project. While Joseph is away, the priests decide to make a veil for the Temple (10). They summon the “virgins from the Tribe of David” to take part. Initially finding only seven girls, they then remember Mary, “that she too, was from the tribe of David 66. Ibid., 322. 67.  Karel van der Toorn suggests the Temple may have offered some security to widows. Deuteronomy indicates that widows were the beneficiaries of the redistribution of the tithe, as administered by the Temple (14.28–9; 26). While most widows remained in their own town, some may have sought refuge in the Temple or its annexes, such as Anna (Lk. 2.36–8). (“The Public Image of the Widow in Ancient Israel,” in Between Poverty and the Pyre: Moments in the History of Widowhood, ed. Jan Bremmer and Lourens van den Bosch [London: Routledge, 1994], 21.) This presupposes they were older and no longer menstruating. See below. 68.  Vuong defines ritual impurity as those “elements of life that are specifically human,” such as sex, birth, and death. They are made possible but are not shared by God. They distinguish between human and divine, and not between good and bad. She argues that ritual impurity and menstrual impurity are not understood negatively in Leviticus and Mishnaic law. Further, Prot. Jas. does not critique the priesthood or Mary; rather removing Mary from the Temple is “a demonstration of the priest’s correct judgement [sic] and Mary’s adherence to Jewish laws about menstrual separation” (“Let Us Bring Her up to the Temple of the Lord,” 430.)



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and was pure in God’s eye” (10.4).69 The “tribe of David” did not exist, but the designation is a way to include Mary in the line of David; otherwise, only Joseph, who is clearly not the biological father of Jesus, is from the Davidic house. Mary’s spinning reflects the education which girls received. At all levels of society, girls learned how to spin and weave, and it would have been readily recognizable to the audience as a normal activity for girls. It may also have some basis in religious traditions of which the author was aware. Hock notes that there “may have been a convention of having virgin weavers make the temple veil.”70 In Roman religious rituals, girls were selected to weave a special ceremonial garment for the wife (Flaminica) of the high priest of Jupiter (Flamen Dialis). Like the children who participated in other Roman religious ceremonies, these girls were required to be virgins of elite, citizen families and have both parents living.71 Mary fulfills these requirements as well. Mary goes back to Joseph’s home to work on her spinning. One day while she is drawing water, a voice suddenly calls out to her, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you,” the exact words from Luke 1.28 when Gabriel first approaches Mary. The girl initially does not know where the voice is coming from, and in fear she goes home and resumes weaving. The angel then stands before her and announces to her that she will conceive. This scene of Mary going to draw water evokes a common type-scene from the Hebrew Bible of a betrothal at a well:72 a young woman is drawing water at the well when a man approaches her. They converse; the girl rushes back home to tell about the stranger and a betrothal follows (Gen. 24.10–61; 29.1–20; Exod. 2.15–22). This is an interesting allusion because, as Horner argues, the author seems to suggest that Mary is betrothed to God when she is taken to the Temple at age three. He goes on to say, this is “a provocative and strange notion how, when, and by whom will this ‘betrothal’ be consummated?”73 69. That the priests seem to have forgotten about Mary may suggest a passage of time. Ironically, the veil that she will help to weave is presumably the one that is torn when Jesus dies (Mk 15.38; Mt. 27.51; Lk. 23.45). 70. He goes on to say that “evidence suggests 80 women, not eight (10.3–4)” as in Prot. Jas. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 51. 71. Francesca Prescendi, “Children and the Transmission of Religious Knowledge,” in Children, Memory, and Family Identity in Roman Culture, ed. Véronique Dasen and Thomas Späth (Oxford: University Press, 2010), 81. 72. Robert Alter defines the type-scene as a literary technique in biblical narrative borrowed from Homeric scholarship, in which particular kinds of scenes are constructed according to a set of conventions. The scenes usually appear as recurrent episodes in the life of biblical heroes, and they capture particular turning points in the life of the character, typically conception, birth, betrothal, or death. Elements of the type-scene are sometimes altered or omitted to make a particular point about the character. In other cases, the authors of the biblical narratives simply allude to the type-scene and do not flesh out the entire episode, which may be the case here (The Art of Biblical Narrative [New York: Basic Books, 1981], 51–8). 73. Horner, “Jewish Aspects of the Protoevangelium of James,” 323.

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Though the text does not indicate to whom the voice at the well belongs, it is clear very shortly that it belongs not to a man, but to a divine messenger telling Mary that she will conceive (11.5). Could the author of Prot. Jas. be using a modified form of the “betrothal at the well” type-scene to suggest that this is not the betrothal, but an espousal or even the consummation of the marriage, since Mary does in fact become pregnant after the encounter? “These are exactly the questions the Prot. Jas. wants the reader to ask because they lead the reader to a distinctly radical, Christian conclusion:”74 Mary is betrothed, espoused, and married, not to the Temple or Joseph, but rather to God.75 The Protevangelium of James then briefly narrates the scene between Mary and Elizabeth from Luke 1.39–56, though it entirely omits Mary’s song of praise (Lk. 1.46–55). Before visiting Elizabeth, however, Mary takes her spinning work to the high priest in the Temple. In contrast to Luke’s version of the story in which Mary sings prophetically, in Prot. Jas. Mary only questions, “Who am I, Lord, that every generation on earth will congratulate me?” (12.6). Some of the words that Mary sings in the Magnificat praising God for what the Lord has done (Lk. 1.46, 48), Prot. Jas. instead puts in the mouth of the high priest.76 When he accepts the thread Mary has spun, he proclaims, “Mary, the Lord God has extolled your name and so you will be blessed by all the generations of the earth” (Prot. Jas. 12.1–2). The words become a praise of Mary rather than of God. The narrative does not state how many years have passed since Mary left the Temple until the end of her visit with Elizabeth, but the author abruptly announces, “She was just sixteen years old when these mysterious things happened to her” (12.9). At this point the audience may wonder, “Is the pregnant sixteen-year-old still considered a child or is she now a woman, and indeed, is she a wife?”

The Child and Mother Mary Although the audience may view Mary as betrothed, espoused, and married to God, Mary herself does not progress through any of the rites of passage that girls usually experience on their way to womanhood. The transition from a girl to a woman began at puberty. A girl could be betrothed as early as seven years in the Roman context or three years old according to the Mishnah. But sometime after age 12 the girl would be married, ideally still with her virginity intact. Sexual intercourse, becoming pregnant, bearing a child, and becoming a mother made her a woman. In Prot. Jas., Mary does not experience most of these critical life markers. When she is 12 years old she goes to live with a man to whom she is neither betrothed nor married. The relationship is “arranged” by the high priest as if it is a betrothal, but Mary never actually becomes engaged to Joseph in the story. Later in narrative, when Joseph is fetching the midwife for Mary, the midwife asks 74. Ibid., 323. 75. Ibid., 326. 76. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas, 53.



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him who is the one having the baby in the cave. Joseph replies, “My fiancée.” But he then goes on to explain that she is not really his wife, rather he obtained her by lot, and she is pregnant by the Holy Spirit. The midwife, understandably, responds, “Really?” (19.10). So first, while Mary is at the age of puberty when girls would expect to be betrothed or engaged, the first step toward womanhood, she is not. Second, Mary never has intercourse; she never loses her virginity. The first sexual experience in the context of marriage was an important part of the progression from girl to woman. The author of Prot. Jas. is quite explicit, even more so than the canonical Gospels are, that Mary did not conceive Jesus in the normal human fashion. Prot. Jas. is clear that Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit, without human intervention. Mary bypasses these significant stages in a woman’s life. The final stage from girl to woman was giving birth and motherhood. While Mary certainly becomes a mother, and she has been honored as the mother of God from the early years of the Church, in Prot. Jas. she does not give birth. The baby simply appears as a cloud, which has descended upon the cave, ascends, and the intense light that has glowed around the cave recedes. But, Mary does not give birth to the child as she herself says “the way women usually do” (11.6). This sequence of events insures that Mary remains completely pure. She is, in fact, so pure that she immediately breast-feeds Jesus with no risk of him becoming unclean. In contrast, her own mother, Anna, waited until after the prescribed time and rituals after giving birth before offering Mary her milk. Nevertheless, throughout the Gospel, Mary is never referred to as a gunh/ (gunē, wife or woman), but is frequently referred to as a child even when she is pregnant (h9 pai=da, paida, girl, 14.8; 16.5; 17.2). Moreover, the title by which the high priest calls her, virgin of the Lord (9.7), sets her apart from all other women – she belongs to the Lord.77 She is only Joseph’s ward; she is not his wife, and she does not become a woman.

Conclusion The Virgin Mary has been one of the most venerated figure in some branches of Christianity. Yet in the Protevangelium of James, although she has a child and mothers that child, she always in a sense remains a child herself; she is forever a virgin, never becoming engaged, married, having intercourse, or giving birth. Mary, in fact, never becomes a woman. It is quite difficult then, for Mary to be a model for Christian women. Unlike Jesus, whom the canonical Gospels and the Infancy Gospel of Thomas depict as enduring a full range of human emotions and experiences, Mary’s experiences are rather limited. These issues, however, were certainly not the concern of the author of the Protevangelium of James. In contrast to the Gospel of Luke, in which Mary is chosen because of her obedience, in Prot. Jas., Mary is chosen because of her purity.78 She was pure throughout her 77. Foskett, “Miriam/Mariam/Maria,” 72. 78. Miller, “The Infancy Gospel of James,” 379.

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childhood, both at home and in the Temple. And she remained pure even after becoming the mother of Jesus, never having had intercourse or giving birth. The Protevangelium of James, however, is also the story of a young girl, of her conception, birth, years as a toddler, and her adolescence. While the Infancy Gospel of Thomas focuses on Jesus as a child and the world of a young boy, Prot. Jas. balances the repertoire of narratives about children in early Christian gospels, focusing on Mary as a child and the world of a young girl through puberty. Though her story, like Jesus’, certainly contains elements unlike most children experience, there are aspects of her life that reflect the everyday life of a child in the ancient world. She was a baby, who according to the Gospel was born the way other babies were. She was nursed by her own mother. She was loved and cherished by her family and the larger community. She had other girls as playmates and learned to spin as all girls did. And she was especially favored in God’s eyes. Though the marvelous aspects of the story may make it difficult for girls or women to relate to Mary, on the other hand, she was a girl like many others.

Chapter 9 C O N C LU SIO N

Throughout the canonical Gospels, the adult Jesus interacts with a variety of persons: men and women, slaves and free persons, able-bodied and disabled, Jewish and Gentile, adults, youth, and children. Among all of these, it is easy to overlook the children. For the most part they are silent characters; only one is vocal, but she does not interact with Jesus. Most of the children are ill and in need of healing; some of them are healed but are not in the presence of Jesus when they are healed. Other children seems to be merely objects of Jesus’ teachings. Jesus does not have any conversations with children that are recorded in the Gospels. Indeed, much of his teaching about the coming reign of God appears to be antifamily and anti-child. But children were a part of Jesus’ world, and they are a part of the Gospel narrative. This should inform how we read the text and how we recontextualize the text in our own time. Throughout this study, I have sought to do more than simply lift up children as exemplary models of discipleship or demonstrate once again that “Jesus loves the little children.” Rather, I have located children in the text vis-à-vis other characters, the narrative flow of the Gospels, and the historical realities that would have shaped the lives of real children in the first- and second-century contexts. Part of this project has been to see children in the text and to understand that they have a backstory as much as any of the adults do. I have argued that children play a significant role in the narrative of each Gospel. Their presence and importance is not simply a consequence of being children. They are not just another example of a marginalized group whom Jesus heals. Rather, children are present in the Gospels because they are valuable members of the human community. In the Gospel of Mark, children are embedded in the narrative and are narratively on equal footing with the adult minor characters. The children Jesus heals, who are cherished members of their families, become members of the reign of God and the family of Jesus just as adults do. Even the child who is neglected and perhaps abused by her family may become a part of the reign of God. In Matthew’s Gospel, children have a different role. The Gospel opens with the birth and infancy of Jesus, a vulnerable, dangerous, and potentially fatal time of life. This opening portrayal of Jesus is carried through the Gospel as Matthew’s Jesus tells his disciples that to enter the reign of heaven, they must change and become like children. They must become like the child he was and like the vulnerable,

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threatened adult he will become. The children are then illustrative of Matthew’s understanding of discipleship. Luke also presents a birth narrative, which includes the infant John the Baptist and the infant Jesus. Through Mary’s story, we have a glimpse of an unmarried, pregnant young woman. However, the focus quickly turns to Jesus. Luke’s narrative of Jesus as a child in the Temple informs the stories of Jesus healing children. Luke’s Jesus identifies with these children, because like Jesus, each child is an only child. The opening of the Gospel of John gives us pause to wonder if children will be a part of this story of Jesus, since the main concern of the Prologue is the logos, reason. Logos was something that men possessed; women, children, and the elderly did not have logos. Yet despite the potentially unsympathetic Prologue, in John’s Gospel, like the Synoptics, children are narratively an important part of the action. Both the boy whom Jesus heals at a distance and the boy whose food feeds thousands participate in John’s demonstration that Jesus provides life and does so abundantly. Matthew’s and Luke’s Gospels also provide stories about Jesus as a baby and a child. Likewise, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas with its stories of Jesus as a rambunctious, pretentious, precocious child remind us that this boy, who will become the savior of the world, is truly a child. The Protevangelium of James is the story of Mary as a little girl and also an unmarried pregnant teenager. It gives us a glimpse of the devotion the early church had for Mary, but also tells the story of a girl’s life through the birth of her child. It provides not only a fuller account of Jesus’ birth, filling in some gaps left by the Synoptics, but it also includes stories of his maternal grandparents. Kristin Johnston Largen, who examines these infancy narratives in her comparative theology Baby Krishna, Infant Christ, states that these infancy narratives and Gospels “remind us that Jesus’ humanity is real.”1 She goes on to say that the stories help us to remember that being human is not just about our ability to be rational, mature, and capable speakers. We do not suddenly become human at a particular age. The infant and young Jesus, and I would add the young girl Mary, remind us that “every single human being, regardless of age, mental capabilities, race, or gender bears equally the image of God.”2 This understanding is reinforced throughout the Gospels as Jesus heals children, both boys and girls, both those who are Jewish and those who are not Jewish, both elite children and poor children. Even those who are not brought to Jesus, who might be neglected or abused, have a place in the Gospel story because they are members of the human family just as much as the other girls and boys are. Within the stories of Jesus’ infancy and childhood are deeply embedded concerns about who God is and how God chooses to be involved in human activities. The stories remind us, then, that Jesus is not only truly God as the traditional confession of the Church states, but also true human and true child. Together, these Gospel accounts should give us pause to reconsider how we view God. If God came as a child, who is vulnerable, growing, changing, playing, moody, and 1. Kristin Johnston Largen, Baby Krishna, Infant Christ: A Comparative Theology of Salvation (Maryknoll: Orbis, 2011), 169. 2. Ibid., 169.

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joyful, how does this impact our understanding of who God is?3 In turn, how does this understanding of God as child impact how we view children in our own contexts? Though we know humankind is made in the image of God, do we recognize that children, in the state of childhood, are equally an image of the divine? Pastoral scenes of Jesus hugging children and lofty refrains of “Jesus loves me” are important first lessons for children about who Jesus is and their place in the story of Jesus. But as with all of the biblical narratives, our understanding of the Gospels and of Jesus cannot end with the children’s Bible version. Children and adults of all ages need to read and reread these stories of Jesus as a child, Mary as a child, and the stories of the children throughout the Gospel narratives. By reading and re-reading these stories, we will develop a fuller, more accurate picture of what it means that children are a part of the family of God, a part of the reign of God, and a part of the human community. Yes, indeed, Jesus loves the little children, but there is so much more to the story than that.

3. Ibid., 170.

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194 Bibliography Irenaeus. St. Irenaeus of Lyons against the Heresies. Translated by Dominic J. Unger and John J. Dillon. Ancient Christian Writers. New York: Paulist Press, 1992. Jansen, John F. “Luke 2.41–52.” Interpretation 30, no. 4 (1976): 400–4. Johnson, Luke Timothy. The Gospel of Luke. Sacra Pagina, no. 3. Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1991. Josephus. Antiquities. Translated by H. St. J. Thackeray. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1956. —The Life. Against Apion. Translated by H. St. J. Thackeray. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1956. Justin Martyr. Dialogue with Trypho. Translated by Thomas B. Falls. Revised edition. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America, 2003. —The First and Second Apologies. Translated with Introduction and Notes by Leslie William Barnard. New York: Paulist Press, 1997. Karris, Robert J. “The Gospel According to Luke.” In The New Jerome Biblical Commentary. Edited by Raymond E. Brown, Joseph A. Fitzmyer, and Roland E. Murphy, 675–721. New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1990. Kodell, Jerome. “Luke and the Children: The Beginning and End of the ‘Great Interpolation’ (Luke 9.46–56, 18.9–23).” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 49, no. 3 (1987): 415–30. Konstan, David. Sexual Symmetry: Love in the Ancient Novel and Related Genres. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. Kraemer, Ross Shepard. “Jewish Women and Women’s Judaism(s) at the Beginning of Christianity.” In Women and Christian Origins, 50–79. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. —Her Share of the Blessings: Women’s Religions among Pagans, Jews, and Christians in the Greco-Roman World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992. Largen, Kristin Johnston. Baby Krishna, Infant Christ: A Comparative Theology of Salvation. Maryknoll: Orbis, 2011. Laurence, Ray. “Childhood in the Roman Empire.” History Today 55, no. 10 (2005): 21–7. Lefkowitz, Mary R., and Maureen B. Fant. Women’s Life in Greece and Rome: A Source Book in Translation. 2nd edn. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992. Levine, Amy-Jill. “Gospel of Matthew.” In Women’s Bible Commentary. Edited by Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H. Ringe, and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Twentieth-Anniversary Edition, 465–77. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012. —“Discharging Responsibility: Matthean Jesus, Biblical Law, and Hemorrhaging Woman.” In A Feminist Companion to Matthew. Edited by Amy-Jill Levine, 70–87. Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press, 2001. Liew, Tat-siong Benny. “Re-Mark-Able Masculinities: Jesus, the Son of Man, and the (Sad) Sum of Manhood?” In New Testament Masculinities, 93–135. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003. Longus. Daphnis and Chloe. Translated by Jeffery Henderson. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009. Luz, Ulrich. Matthew 8–20. Hermeneia – a Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001. MacDonald, Margaret Y. “Reading the New Testament Household Codes in Light of New Research on Children and Childhood in the Roman World.” Studies in Religion/ Sciences Religieuses 41, no. 3 (2012): 376–87. Malbon, Elizabeth Struthers. “Gospel of Mark.” In Women’s Bible Commentary. Edited by Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H. Ringe, and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, TwentiethAnniversary Edition, 478–92. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2012.

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196 Bibliography Osiek, Carolyn. “The Education of Girls in Early Christian Ascetic Traditions.” Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 41, no. 3 (2012): 401–7. Osiek, Carolyn, and Margaret Y. MacDonald. A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006. O’Toole, Robert F. “Luke’s Message in Luke 9.1–50.” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 49, no. 1 (1987): 74–89. Perkins, Pheme. “The Gospel of Mark.” In The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, 8.636–8. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994. Perry, Ben. The Ancient Romances: A Literary–Historical Account of Their Origins. 1st edn. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967. Plant, I. M. Women Writers of Ancient Greece and Rome: An Anthology. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2004. Philo. On Abraham. On Special Laws. Translated by F. H. Colson. Vol. VII. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1937. —On the Virtues. Translated by F. H. Colson. Vol. VIII. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1937. —On Joseph. On Moses. Translated by F. H. Colson. LCL. Vol. VI. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1935. Philostratus. Life of Apollonius of Tyana. Translated by Christopher P. Jones. Vol. I. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005. Pliny the Younger. Letters and Panegyricus I. Translated by Betty Radice. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1969. Plutarch. Consolation to His Wife. Translated by Donald Russell in Plutarch’s Advice to the Bride and Groom and A Consolation to His Wife, English Translations, Commentary, Interpretive Essays and Bibliography. Edited by Sarah B. Pomeroy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. —Lives, Demosthenes and Cicero. Alexander and Caesar. Translated by Bernadotte Perrin. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1919. Pomeroy, Sarah. Families in Classical and Hellenistic Greece: Representations and Realities. New York: Clarendon Press, 1996. —Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves: Women in Classical Antiquity. Berlin: Schocken, 1995. Powery, Emerson B. “The Gospel of Mark.” In True to Our Native Land. Edited by Brian Blount et al., 121–57. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007. Prescendi, Francesca. “Children and the Transmission of Religious Knowledge.” In Children, Memory, and Family Identity in Roman Culture. Edited by Véronique Dasen and Thomas Späth, 73–93. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Radbill, Samuel X. “Child Welfare in Ancient Rome.” Clinical Pediatrics 10, no. 4 (1971): 204. Rawson, Beryl. Children and Childhood in Roman Italy. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Reardon, Bryan P. Collected Ancient Greek Novels. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008. Reinhartz, Adele. Befriending the Beloved Disciple: A Jewish Reading of the Gospel of John. New York: Continuum, 2002. —“‘And the Word Was Begotten’: Divine Epigenesis in the Gospel of John.” Semeia no. 85 (1999): 83–103. Reinhartz, Adele, and Kim Shier. “Josephus on Children and Childhood.” Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 41, no. 3 (2012): 364–75. Rhoads, David M. “Social Criticism: Crossing Boundaries.” In Mark and Method: New

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Approaches in Biblical Studies. Edited by Janice Capel Anderson and Stephen D. Moore, 2nd edn, 145–79. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008. —“Jesus and the Syrophoenician Woman in Mark : A Narrative–Critical Study.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 62, no. 2 (1994): 343–75. Ringe, Sharon. “A Gentile Woman’s Story Revisited: Re-Reading Mark 7.23–31.” In A Feminist Companion to Mark. Edited by Amy-Jill Levine with Marianne Blickenstaff. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001. —Luke. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995. Roberts, John. The Oxford Dictionary of the Classical World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Roberts, Lisen C., and Priscilla White Blanton. “‘I Always Knew Mom and Dad Loved Me Best’: Experiences of Only Children.” The Journal of Individual Psychology 57, no. 2 (2001): 125–40. Rouselle, Aline. “The Family under the Roman Empire: Signs and Gestures.” In A History of the Family: Volume One, Distant Worlds, Ancient Worlds. Edited by Andre Burguiere et al., 270–310. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1996. Saller, Richard. “Corporal Punishment, Authority, and Obedience in the Roman Household.” In Marriage, Divorce, and Children in Ancient Rome. Edited by Beryl Rawson, 144–65. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Schaberg, Jane D., and Sharon H. Ringe. “Gospel of Luke.” In Women’s Bible Commentary. Edited by Carol A. Newsom, Sharon H. Ringe, and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, TwentiethAnniversary Edition, 493–516. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012. Schmeling, Gareth L. The Novel in the Ancient World. Rev. edn. Leiden: Brill Academic Publishing, 2003. Schottroff, Luise. Lydia’s Impatient Sisters: A Feminist Social History of Early Christianity. Louisville: Westminter John Knox Press, 1995. Seneca. On Anger. In Moral Essays I. Translated by John W. Basore. Vol. I. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1928. —Epistles 93–124. Translated by Richard M. Gummere. Vol. VI. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1925. Shaw, Brent D. “Raising and Killing of Children: Two Roman Myths.” Mnemosyne 54, no. 1 (2001): 31–77. —“The Age of Roman Girls at Marriage: Some Reconsiderations.” The Journal of Roman Studies 77 (1987): 30–46. Smyth, Herbert Weir. Greek Grammar. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984. Soranus. Gynecology. Translated by Owsei Temkin. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1956. Steele, Greg. “The Theology of Hiddenness in the Gospel of Mark: An Exploration of the Messianic Secret and Corollaries.” Restoration Quarterly 54, no. 3 (2012): 169–85. Suetonius. The Lives of the Caesars—Julius. Augustus. Tiberius. Gaius. Caligula. Translated by J. C. Rolfe and K. R. Bradley. Vol. I. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1914. Tacitus. Histories, Books IV–V, Annals Books I–III. Translated by Clifford H. Moore and John Jackson. LCL.Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1931. Thompson, Marianne Meye. “Children in the Gospel of John.” In The Child in the Bible. Edited by Marcia Bunge, 195–214. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. Tilden, Elwyn E. “The Gospel According to Matthew.” In The New Oxford Annotated Bible with Apocrypha. Edited by Bruce E. Metzger and Roland E. Murphy, NT 1–46. New Revised Standard Version. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991.

198 Bibliography Tolbert, Mary Ann. Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s Work in Literary–Historical Perspective. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 1996. —“Mark.” In The Women’s Bible Commentary. Edited by Sharon Ringe and Carol Newsom, 1st edn., 263–74. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992. Toorn, Karel van der. “The Public Image of the Widow in Ancient Israel.” In Between Poverty and the Pyre: Moments in the History of Widowhood. Edited by Jan Bremmer and Lourens van den Bosch, 19–30. London: Routledge, 1994. Trible, Phyllis. “Meeting Mary through Luke.” Living Pulpit 10, no. 4 (2001): 6–8. Tulloch, Janet H. “Visual Representations of Children and Ritual in the Early Roman Empire.” Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 41, no. 3 (2012): 408–38. Ulpian, The Rules of Ulpian in The Civil Law. Translated by S. P. Scott. Vol. 1. New York: AMS Press, 1973. Vogels, Walter. “A Semiotic Study of Luke 7.11–17.” Église et Théologie 14, no. 3 (1983): 273–92. Vorster, Willem S. “The Annunciation of the Birth of Jesus in the Protevangelium of James.” In South African Perspective on the New Testament: Essays by S. African NT Scholars Presented to Bruce M. Metzger. Edited by J. H. Petzer, 33–53. Leiden: Brill, 1986. Vuolanto, Ville. “Faith and Religion.” In A Cultural History of Childhood and Family in Antiquity. Edited by Mary Harlow and Ray Laurence, 133–51. New York: Berg Publishers, 2010. Vuong, Lily C. Gender and Purity in the Protevangelium of James. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013. —“‘Let Us Bring Her up to the Temple of the Lord’: Exploring the Boundaries of Jewish and Christian Relations through the Presentation of Mary in the Protevangelium of James.” In Infancy Gospels. Edited by Claire Clivaz et al., 418–32. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. Wainwright, Elaine M. “Not without My Daughter: Gender and Demon Possession in Matthew 15.21–8.” In A Feminist Companion to Matthew. Edited by Amy-Jill Levine with Marianne Blickenstaff, 126–37. Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press, 2001. —Shall We Look for Another: A Feminist Re-Reading of the Matthean Jesus. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1998. Wassen, Cecilia. “On the Education of Children in the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 41, no. 3 (2012): 350–63. White, Keith J. “‘He Placed a Little Child in the Midst’: Jesus, the Kingdom and Children.” In The Child in the Bible. Edited by Marcia Bunge, 353–74. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. Wiedemann, Thomas. Adults and Children in the Roman Empire. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989. Wiersma, S. “The Ancient Greek Novel and Its Heroines: A Female Paradox.” Mnemosyne XLIII, no. 43 (1990): 109–23. Williams, Joel F. Other Followers of Jesus. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994. Wilson, Brittany E. “Pugnacious Precursors and the Bearer of Peace: Jael, Judith, and Mary in Luke 1.42.” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 68, no. 3 (2006): 436–56 Witkamp, Leonard Theodoor. “Some Specific Johannine Features in John 6.1–21.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament, no. 40 (1990): 43–59. Yarbrough, O. Larry. “Parents and Children in the Jewish Family of Antiquity.” In Jewish Family in Antiquity. Edited by Shaye J. Cohen, 39–59. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993.

INDEX Hebrew Bible/ Septuagint Genesis 16–21 102 16.7–16 102 17.1–22 102 19.8 58 24.10–61 181 29.1–20 181 34.3 77 37 79 37–50 78 37.5–36 78 38 76 Exodus 1.15–16 81 2.3 82 2.6–9 82 2.11–15 81 2.15–22 181 4.18–20 81 11–15 79 13.2 121 Leviticus 12.5 177 15.25–30 49 18.16 57 20.21 57 Numbers 3.12–13 121 5.11–31 171 11.12 133 16.1–35 170 18.15–16 121 Deuteronomy 6.4–7 26 14.28–9 180 21.15–17 121 22.23–7 77, 176 26 180 31.12 27

Joshua 2.1–21 76 6.22–25 76 Judges 5.24 104 11.34 116 13.7 80 13.8–25 102 14.1A 58 14.3A 58 14.7A 58 Ruth 1–4 76 2.8 49 3.10 49 1 Samuel 1 102 1–2 170 1.3–5 108 1.5 170 1.6 170 1.11 170 1.18 106 1.22 108 1.22–3 170 1.24 170 2.1–10 104 2.18–19 108, 109 2.26 109 3.19 109 2 Samuel 5.2 79 11 76 1 Kings 2.12 109 11.40 79 17.10 113 17.8–16 140 17.17–24 113, 140

200 Index 17.21–3 113 17.23 113 2 Kings 4.1–7 140 4.12 139 4.14 139 4.25 139 4.42 139 4.42–4 88, 139 5.20 139 Job 31.10 58 Psalms 8.2 96 Proverbs 8.22 130 8.22–31 130 8.30 130 22.15 9 Isaiah 7–9 77 7.14 77 11.1 81 40.10 41 Jeremiah 26.21 79 31.15 80 31.16–17 80 Hosea 11.1 79 Micah 5.2 79 Tobit 3.1–6 175 3.11–15 175 5.21 49 7.11 49 7.15 49 8.17 120 10.12 49 Judith 13.18 104

Additions to Esther 2.4 58 2.9 58 14.1–19 175 Wisdom 12.25 9 Sirach 22.3 177 30.1–30 9 Susanna 1–4 170 42–3 175 2 Esdras 6.58 121 Extra Canonical Psalm of Solomon 18.4 121 Testament of Levi 13.2 31 New Testament Matthew 1 82 1–2 3, 84 1.1 82 1.1–17 74 1.1–18 76 1.16 76, 81 1.17 75 1.18 76, 80, 87 1.18–19 76 1.18–25 74, 75, 77, 78 1.19–23 77, 80 1.20 76, 77 1.21 75, 77, 78, 81 1.23 77, 78, 80 1.24–5 76 1.25 76, 77, 81 2 73, 79–84, 86, 97 2.1 74, 75, 77, 87 2.1–12 77, 79 2.1b–21 74 2.2 87 2.3 81 2.4 75, 87 2.5 80 2.6 75, 79, 90 2.8 82, 94

Index 2.9 82, 94 2.10 81 2.11 82, 84, 90, 94 2.13 82, 94 2.13–15 77, 79, 81, 83 2.14 82, 94 2.15 79, 80, 81 2.16 80, 81, 86 2.16–18 77, 80 2.19–21 83 2.19–23 77, 80, 81 2.20 82, 94 2.21 82, 94 2.22–3 74 2.23 80 3–4 84 3.1 74 3.2 75 3.11 75 3.13 81 3.13–17 81 3.17 75 4.1–11 81 4.3 75 4.6 75 4.17 75 4.24 89 5–7 81, 84 5.27–8 87 5.33–7 87 8–9 84, 85 8.2 89, 90 8.5 134 8.5–13 90, 134 8.6 89, 135 8.8 89, 90, 135 8.9 135 8.13 90, 91, 135 8.16 89 8.21 89 8.25 89 8.28 89 8.33 89 9 86 9–19 73 9.2–8 94 9.18 84, 90 9.18–26 2, 3, 83, 84–5, 128 9.20–2 85 9.22 85, 91 9.24 85 9.24–5 88 9.25 85 9.27–30 89

9.28 89 9.32 89 9.36 90 10 85 10.3 148 10.10 93 11.3–4 85 11.16–17 86 12.23 89 12.46–50 121 12.48 121 13.15 90 13.55 122, 167 14 86 14.1 87 14.1–12 3, 83, 85–8 14.2 86 14.6 93 14.7 86 14.9 87 14.11 88 14.13–21 88 14.14 90 14.15–17 91 14.21 88 14.26 91 14.28 89 14.30 89 14.30–1 91 14.33 90 15.16 91 15.21–8 3, 83, 88–91, 134 15.22 88, 89, 90 15.23 91 15.25 89 15.27 89 15.28 88, 90, 92 16.5 91 16.5–12 91 16.13–20 91 16.21 97, 178 16.22 89, 91 17.1–13 91 17.4 89, 91 17.10 91 17.14–20 3, 83, 88, 90, 91–2, 97 17.15 89, 91 17.16 88 17.18 91, 92 17.22–3 91, 92, 97 17.23 97 17.24–7 92 17.25 93 18 90, 92

201

202 Index 18–19 83 18.1–19.15 92 18.1 93 18.1–5 73 18.1–20 3 18.1–35 92 18.2 93 18.3 93, 154 18.5 73, 93 18.15–17 100 18.21 89 19.13–15 3, 97 19.14 93 20.17–19 97 20.19 97 20.20–3 93 20.29–34 89 20.30 89 20.31 89 20.33 89 21.1–11 96 21.9 89 21.15 89 22.1–14 97 22.42 97 22.45 97 23.35 172 25.1–13 178 25.31–46 75 26.3–4 79 26.22 89 27.51 181 28.1 80 Mark 1.1–15 40 1.2 57 1.7 41 1.12 43 1.16–20 45, 47 1.16–8.25 41 1.16–10.52 40 1.21–8 64 1.23 43, 55 1.24 63 1.25 63 1.26 43, 55 1.29–31 50 1.31 63 1.34 43 1.39 43 1.40–5 42, 50 1.41 68 1.44 42

2.1–12 42 2.5 44, 68 2.10 69 2.13–14 45 2.13–15 47 2.24 151 2.28 69 3.4 44 3.6 69 3.7–8 43 3.8 55 3.10 68 3.11 43, 55 3.13–19 45 3.15 43 3.17 64 3.18 148 3.21 45, 69 3.22 43, 44 3.22–30 46 3.23 43, 44 3.30 43 3.31 45, 46 3.31–2 73 3.31–5 28, 42, 43, 121 3.33 121 3.34 46 3.35 46 4.1–34 47 4.3–9 46, 151, 160 4.35–8.26 47 5.1–20 42, 47, 48, 55, 64 5.2 43 5.6–7 63 5.7 63 5.8 43 5.13 43 5.21–4 45 5.21–43 2, 3, 40, 47–52, 115, 128, 151, 158 5.23 44, 48, 65, 66, 85 5.24–34 42 5.27 43, 68 5.28 44, 48, 68 5.30 68 5.31 68 5.34 44, 48, 49 5.35 84 5.35–43 42, 43, 45, 51 5.36 49 5.39 51, 63 5.39–41 68, 85, 139 5.40 43, 51, 117 5.41 51, 118 5.41–2 63

Index 5.42 51, 117 5.43 42 6.1–6 69 6.3 20, 73, 122, 167 6.6b–29 40, 57 6.7 43, 57, 63 6.13 43 6.14 57, 86, 87 6.14–29 3, 47, 51, 52, 56–62, 87, 118, 158 6.16 57, 86 6.17 57, 60 6.17–19 60 6.18 60 6.19 60 6.20 57, 60 6.21 61, 86 6.21–3 60 6.22 60 6.23 58 6.24 60 6.24–5 60 6.25 60 6.25–6 60 6.27 57 6.28 60 6.29 57, 60 6.30 57 6.30–44 42, 51 6.31 58 6.37 137 6.45–8.26 118, 158 6.56 44, 48, 68 7.24–30 3, 42, 45, 47, 52–6, 64, 134, 135, 136, 158 7.25 43, 48, 52, 54, 136 7.26 43, 44, 50, 54, 65, 136 7.27 44, 54, 68 7.27–8 136 7.28 54, 68 7.29 54, 136 7.30 54, 68, 136 7.33 68 7.34 50 7.36 42 8.1–10 42 8.14–21 69 8.22 68 8.22–6 41, 42, 62 8.26 42, 8.27 62 8.27–9.29 70 8.27–10.52 41, 62, 69, 70 8.29–31 69 8.31 52, 70, 178

8.32–3 69 8.35 44 8.38 64 8.41–5 48 9 54, 69 9.2 49, 62 9.7 64 9.9 52 9.14 64 9.14–29 3, 42, 45, 55, 62–5 9.17 65 9.17–18 91 9.18 43, 44, 48 9.20 91 9.22 65, 91 9.23 64 9.24 68, 91 9.25 43 9.26 91 9.27 119 9.28 43, 44 9.30 65 9.31 52, 70 9.32–4 69 9.33–4 62, 65 9.33–7 3, 43, 65–9 9.33–50 65 9.35 52, 66, 71, 123 9.36 68 9.37 57, 66, 67, 68, 71, 91, 123, 124 9.38 43, 67 9.39 67 9.42 52, 67 9.47 42, 43 9.50 66 10 54, 69 10.1–31 67 10.13 94, 124 10.13–6 3, 43, 65–9 10.14 68, 96 10.15 42, 68, 94 10.16 68, 155 10.23–5 42 10.24 49, 68, 71 10.26 44 10.29–31 28 10.31 52, 66, 71 10.32–52 62 10.33–4 71 10.34 52 10.35 52, 64, 71 10.35–7 70 10.35–45 71 10.38 71

203

204 Index 10.43–4 66, 71 10.46 64 10.46–52 42 10.52 44, 48 11.1–16.8 40 11.10 71 11.15 43 11.25 64 12.8 43 12.19 44, 68, 12.26 51 12.28–34 47 12.34 42 13.3 49 13.12 44, 68 13.13 44 13.20 44 14.11 58 14.33 49 14.36 64 14.51 72 14.61–2 69 14.66–9 72 15.30 44 15.30–1 48 15.34 50 15.38 181 15.39 47 15.40 73 15.47 73 16.1 73 16.5 72 16.6 51 16.8 42 16.9 43 16.16 44 16.17 43 Luke 1.5–20 117 1.5–25 102 1.7 102 1.8–9 108 1.13 116 1.23 152 1.26–38 102, 117 1.27 76, 77, 103 1.28 181 1.30 116 1.31 177 1.31–2 77 1.32 109 1.34 103 1.35 77

1.36 104 1.39–45 102 1.39–56 182 1.41 104, 125 1.42 155 1.44 104, 125 1.46 182 1.46–55 102 1.48 104, 175, 182 1.54 104, 105 1.56 152 1.57–66 102 1.59 105 1.61 106 1.66 105 1.68 115 1.68–79 102 1.69 105 1.76 105 1.80 105, 106 2 152 2.1–2 77 2.1–20 102 2.4 76 2.7 107, 121 2.10 116 2.11 115 2.12 104, 107, 125 2.15 113 2.16 104, 107, 125 2.17 105 2.19 111, 155 2.21 107 2.21–38 102 2.22–24 107 2.23 121 2.24 104, 108 2.25–38 107 2.27 105 2.28–32 178 2.29–32 102 2.33 111 2.34 105, 175 2.35 105 2.36–8 180 2.39 152 2.40 107, 109, 178, 179 2.40–2 180 2.41–52 96, 105, 108–13, 153, 155 2.41–4 110 2.43 105, 117 2.44 110 2.48 99 2.48–9 105

Index 2.49 111, 122, 155 2.50 112 2.51 112, 152 3.2 152 3.19–20 118 3.23 76 3.23–38 100 4.14 152 4.16–22 152 4.22 122 4.25–7 113 4.30 152 4.38 125 5.16 152 5.25 152 6.1–11 151 6.15 148 6.21 115 6.24–36 150 7.1 134 7.1–10 99, 113, 134 7.2 99, 134, 135 7.3 99 7.7 99, 135 7.8 99 7.10 99, 152 7.11 113 7.11–17 3, 100, 113–15 7.12 113, 119, 120, 133 7.13 114, 115, 116 7.14 113, 115, 117, 118 7.15 113, 115, 120 7.16 115, 120 7.32 115 7.50 152 8.3 114 8.4–8 151, 160 8.19–21 121, 122 8.39 152 8.40–56 2, 3, 84, 100, 115–18, 128, 158 8.42 51, 116, 119, 133 8.43 116 8.45–6 116 8.51 103, 116, 117 8.54 117, 118 8.55 116, 118 8.56 118 9 123 9.2 119 9.7–9 118 9.8 120 9.22 115, 178 9.37–43 84, 100, 118–20 9.38 119, 133

9.42 119, 120, 123 9.43 120 9.45 112 9.46–8 100 9.47–8 94 9.48 123, 124, 125 9.49–50 125 9.51–6 125 9.51 123, 124 9.51–18.14 125 9.56 152 10.13–15 150 10.21 124 10.34 106 10.37 152 11.11–13 124 11.21 109 11.27 152 11.42–4 150 12.45 99, 103 12.46 99 12.47 99 15.22 99 15.26 99 17.14 152 17.19 152 18 124 18.9–14 125 18.15 104, 124 18.15–17 100, 124 18.16 124 18.18–30 125 18.22–3 125 18.28 125 18.29 126 18.34 112 18.35–9 109 19.1–10 152 22.11–12 106 22.26 126 23.7 61 23.45 181 23.46 118 24.6 117 24.12 152 24.22 118 24.41–2 118 24.52 152 24.53 108 John 1.1–3 151 1.1–12 132 1.1–18 128, 129–33

205

206 Index 1.3–4 132 1.6 132 1.14 119, 132, 133 1.18 119, 121, 133 1.19–51 134 1.19–12.50 129 1.34 133 1.42 136 2–4 134 2.1 137 2.1–11 134, 137 2.3 137 2.4 137 2.5 137 2.7–9 137 2.12 121 2.16 111 3.3 127 3.5 127 3.16 119, 132, 133 3.18 119, 133 3.31 151 4 134 4.5 136 4.12 136 4.16–18 151 4.28 140 4.46 134, 135, 136, 138 4.46–7 135, 136 4.46–54 3, 99, 134–7, 138 4.47 135, 136 4.48 135 4.48–9 136 4.48–52 128 4.49 135, 136 4.50 132, 135, 136 4.51 132, 135, 136 4.51–2 136 4.52–3 135 4.53 132, 135, 136 5 134 5–6 134 5.1–15 138, 141 5.3 138 5.3–40 132 5.7 138 5.24 132 6.1–15 3, 113, 128, 137–41 6.2 138 6.7 137 6.11 139, 141 6.16–21 140 6.47–8 132 7.3 121

7.5 121 7.10 121 7.16 151 7.27–8 151 8.14 151 8.23 151 9 141 9.19 136 9.20 136 9.29–30 151 10.10 132 10.28 132 11 141 11–12 134 11.1 138 11.2 138 11.3 138 11.6 138, 148 12.49 151 13.23 133 13.33 135 14.24 151 13.20–9 129 16.21 128, 135 17.5 151 17.24 151 18.13 152 18.19–24 152 19.9 151 20.24 148 20.30 129 20.30–1 129 20.31 132 21.1–25 129 21.2 148 21.5 128, 135 Acts 3.11 109 4.6 152 6.5 58 7.19 104 20.9 113 20.9–12 153 20.12 113 28.2–6 153 Romans 8.8 58 15.1–3 58 16 162 1 Corinthians 1.11 162

Index 7.32–4 58 10.33 58 15.3–5 101 Galatians 1.10 58 1.19 167 4.4 73 Ephesians 5.21–6.9 28, 70 5.22–32 28 6.1–3 28 6.1–4 112 6.4 28 6.5–9 28 Philippians 2.6–11 101 4.2 162 Colossians 3.18–19 28 3:18–4.1 28, 70 3.20 28, 112 3.21 28 3.22–4.1 28 1 Thessalonians 2.4 58 2.15 58 4.1 58 1 Timothy 2.11–12 162 2.8–3.13 28 3.2 162 3.12 162 2 Timothy 2.4 58 3.15 104 Titus 2.1–10 28 Hebrews 11.17 119, 133 1 Peter 2.2 104 2.13–3.7 28

1 John 4.9 119, 133 Revelation 6.6 139 Early Christian Writings Acts of Paul and Thecla 162 Acts of Thomas 147, 147 Didache 2.2 11 5.2 11 Gospel of Truth 19.19–20 147 Hippolytus Refutations of All Heresies 5.21 143 The Infancy Gospel of Thomas 2 145 2.1–3.3 151 2.2 158 2.3–4 151 2.5 152 3 154 3–4 145 4 154 4.1 151 4.2 162 5 144, 145, 149 6–7 145, 149 6.2 154 6.6 151, 152 7–8 161 7.2 152 7.3 154 8 145 8.1 151 8.2 155 9 144, 145, 152, 155 9.1 158 9.2 162 9.3 162 10 144, 145, 154 10.2 155 11 145, 154, 160 11.1–2 151 12 145, 154 12.2 155 13 145, 149, 161

207

208 Index 13.3 152, 162 14 145, 149, 152, 161 14.4 152 15 145, 153, 154 16 145, 154, 155 17 145 17.2 111 17.4 155, 156 17.5 155 Irenaeus Against Heresies 1.20.1 147 Justin Apologia i 1.27–9 10 Dialogue with Trypho 78 168 Origen Commentarium in evangelium Matthaei 10.17 169 Contra Celsum 1.51 168 Pope Innocent Letter 6 to Exuperius to Toulouse 7.30 169 Protevangelium of James 1.1 173 1.1–8.2 166 1.2 177 1.2–3 170 1.4 177 1.9 173 1.9–10 166 2.1 166 2.2 177 2.2–3 177 2.2–6 170 2.7 177 2.9 170 3.1–4.2 166 3.2–8 173 4.1 173 4.2 170 4.4 166 4.5 168 5.1 177 5.10 166

6.1–5 166 6.4 175 6.6 178 6.7 173 6.9 173 7.2–3 170 7.4–6 166 7.4–9 170 7.7 173 7.7–8 178 7.9 178 7.10 178 8.2 180 8.3 166 8.3–16.8 166 9.1–10 166 9.7 183 9.9 170 9.11–12 167 10 181 10.3–4 181 10.4 181 11 172 11.1–4 174 11.5 182 11.5–6 167 11.6 107, 175, 183 11.9 175 12.1–2 182 12.2 173 12.3–8 167 12.6 173, 175, 182 12.9 182 13.1–10 167, 173 13.2–5 173 13.8 175 13.10 175 14 172 14.1 173 14.5–8 173 14.8 183 15.1–8 173 15.4 167 15.13 174, 175 16 171 16.2 174 16.5 183 16.3–8 167 17 172 17.1–4 167 17.1–24.14 166 17.2 183 17.9–10 175 17.10 167

Index 18.1 167 18.3–11 167 19.1–18 167 19.10 182 19.15–16 107 19.17 173 19.19–20.4 167 21 172 21.1 168 21.1–12 167 22.1–2 167 22.5–23.9 167 25.1 168, 173 25.1–4 166 25.3 173

Columella De Re Rusticae 11.2.44 33

Other Ancient Sources Achilles Tatius Leucippe and Clitophon 8.16 175

Gaius Institutes 1.55 7 1.444–5 7

Aristotle Politics 1.1253b 28

Hermaphroditus fr. 11 11

Aulus Gellius Attic Nights 1.12.1–4 25 Cicero De Republic fr. 9 Letters to Atticus 1.5 14 4.1 14 6.1.12 15 9.6.1 15 9.17.1 15 9.19.1 15 10.18 36 11.6 14 11.17 14 12.15 14 12.23 14 13.23 14 On the Laws 3.8.19 10 Orations: Philippics 7–14 13.24 9 Tusculan Disputations 1.93–4 36

Digest of Justinian 1.6.1 7 23.1.14 18 23.2.4 18 48.5.21 7 48.5.24 7 50.16.195.2 7 Dio Cassius Roman History 59.7.1 24

Horace Ars poetica 156–78 18 Epistles 2.1.139–44 22 Josephus Against Apion 2.202 11 2.204 19, 26, 31 Jewish Antiquities 5.10.4 109 6.10.4 149 15.5.2 80 15.7.4 80 16.11.1–6 80 18.5.4 59 Vita 2.9 109, 149 Livy History of Rome 27.37 24 Longus Daphnis and Chloe 33 3.4.5 174 25.2 174

209

210 Index Macrobius 3.8.6–7 24 Marcus Aurelius Meditations 4.23 9 Menander 31 Musonius Rufus 31 Nossi Epigram 3 21, 30 Ovid Fasti 4.511 33 Tristia 5.5.11–12 22 Oxyrhynchus papyrus 744 11 1647 33 Philo Moses 1 5.20–4 109, 149 Special Legislation 1.314 26 2.88 26 3.20.110 11 3.20.114–5 11 3.20.117 11 4.149–50 26 Virtues 25.131–2 11 Philostratus Vita Apollonii 1.7–8 110, 149, 150 Pliny Epistulae 1.9.2 34 10.116.1 34 Plutarch Cicero 2.2 110, 149 Numa 7.5 26

Seneca Epistles 118.14 9 Ira. 1.15.2 10 Servius Aeneid 11.543 24 11.558 24 Soranus Gynecology 2.6.79 18 2.8–2.23 18 2.12.19 12 2.9.14 107 Suetonius Augustus 31.4 24 Tacitus Dialogues 28–9 12 Histories 4.53 23 Tebtunis papyrus P.Tebt. 0326 7 Tibullus 1.10.23–4 22 Ulpian 5.8–9 10, 20 11.1 7 11.18A 13 11.28 7 26.2 13 Varro Res Rusticae 2.1.10 33 Virgil Aen. 7.71–2 22 Mishnah ’Abot 5.21 108 Genesis Rabbah 63.10 108

Index m. Hagigah 1.1 27

m. Ta’anit 4.8 177

Megillah 4.6 108

Quran 3.49 146 5.113 146

Niddah 4.5 179 5.6 108

211