Jesus, Matthew’s Gospel and Early Christianity: Studies in Memory of Graham N. Stanton 9781472550576, 9780567267832, 9780567477545

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Library of New Testament Studies

435 Formerly the Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement series

Editor Mark Goodacre Editorial Board John M. G. Barclay, Craig Blomberg, R. Alan Culpepper, James D. G. Dunn, Craig A. Evans, Stephen Fowl, Robert Fowler, Simon J. Gathercole, John S. Kloppenborg, Michael Labahn, Robert Wall, Steve Walton, Robert L. Webb, Catrin H. Williams

Graham N. Stanton

Photo courtesy of Nigel Bovey/The Salvation Army

JESUS, MATTHEW’S Gospel AND EARLY CHRISTIANITY Studies in Memory of Graham N. Stanton

Edited by

Daniel M. Gurtner Joel Willitts Richard A. Burridge

Published by T&T Clark International A Continuum Imprint The Tower Building, 11 York Road, London SE1 7NX 80 Maiden Lane, Suite 704, New York, NY 10038 www.continuumbooks.com 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 permission in writing from the publishers. © Daniel M. Gurtner, Joel Willitts, Richard A. Burridge with contributors, 2011 Daniel M. Gurtner, Joel Willitts, Richard A. Burridge and contributors have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: ePDF: 978-0-567-47754-5 Typeset by Free Range Book Design & Production Ltd

In Memoriam Professor Graham Norman Stanton (1940–2009) μακάριοι οἱ νεκροὶ οἱ ἐν κυρίῳ ἀποθνῄσκοντες… ἵνα ἀναπαήσονται ἐκ τῶν κόπων αὐτῶν, τὰ γὰρ ἔργα αὐτῶν ἀκολουθεῖ μετ᾽ αὐτῶν. Revelation 14.13

Contents

Preface List of Abbreviations List of Contributors

ix xi xiii

1 Sapere Aude – ‘Dare to be Wise’: Graduation Address on Receiving an Honorary Doctorate of Divinity, University of Otago, New Zealand, 16 December 2000 Graham N. Stanton

1

2

The Gospel of Jesus: Graham Stanton, Biography and the Genre of Matthew Richard A. Burridge

5

3 The Gospel of Matthew from Stanton to Present: A Survey of some Recent Developments Daniel M. Gurtner

23

4

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How Did Matthew Go About Composing His Gospel? James D. G. Dunn

5 Matthew as ‘Gospel’ Scot McKnight

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6 Determining the Date of Matthew Donald A. Hagner

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7 Graham Stanton and the Four-Gospel Codex: Reconsidering the Manuscript Evidence Peter M. Head

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8 Fulfilling the Law and Seeking Righteousness in Matthew and in the Dead Sea Scrolls Craig A. Evans

102

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Contents

9 A Gospel for a New Nation: Once More, the e1qnoj of Matthew 21.43 Wesley G. Olmstead

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10 Judging Gentiles in the Gospel of Matthew: Between ‘Othering’ and Inclusion Anders Runesson

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11 Matthew and Hypocrisy Christopher Tuckett

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12 The Twelve Disciples in Matthew Joel Willitts

166

13 Memorial Tribute to Professor Graham Stanton, Fitzwilliam College, Cambridge, 23 January 2010 David R. Catchpole

180

Bibliography Index of Ancient Sources Index of Subjects Index of Modern Authors

187 207 217 221

Preface

The passing of Professor Graham N. Stanton, former Lady Margaret’s Professor of Divinity at the University of Cambridge, in 2009 marked the conclusion of an era in Matthean and early Christian scholarship. Stanton’s fifteen books and dozens of articles span thirty-four years and made a major contribution to scholarship about Jesus and early Christianity, especially with regard to the Gospel of Matthew. The present volume pays tribute to Professor Stanton’s scholarly legacy by engaging with the general areas of his contributions: Jesus, Matthew and Early Christianity. It originated at the 2010 SBL Annual Meeting in Atlanta, Georgia, where a session dedicated to Professor Stanton was convened by the SBL Matthew Section. Thanks go to the participants for stimulating dialogue and to the organizers at SBL, particularly Charles Haws, for his management of the session. A special thank you goes to the SBL Matthew Steering Committee: InHee Cho (Concordia University College of Alberta), Aaron Gale (West Virginia University), Lidija Novakovic (Baylor University), Daniel W. Ulrich (Bethany Theological Seminary), and Dorothy Jean Weaver (Eastern Menonite University). A final word of thanks must go to Joshua Wooden of North Park University for his assistance in formatting and indexing this volume. These are pedantic tasks without which the book would not have seen the light of day. Daniel M. Gurtner, Bethel Seminary (St Paul) Joel Willitts, North Park University (Chicago) Richard A. Burridge, King’s College London Winter 2011

Abbreviations

ABRL Anchor Bible Reference Library AnBib Analecta Biblica ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Edited by H. Temporini and W. Haase. Berlin, 1972– ANTC Abingdon New Testament Commentaries ASNU Acta seminarii neotestamentici upsaliensis AUSS Andrews University Seminary Studies BAR Biblical Archaeological Review BBR Bulletin for Biblical Research BECNT Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament BETL Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Bib Biblica BR Biblical Research BRev Bible Review BTB Biblical Theology Bulletin BZ Biblische Zeitschrift BZNW Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, Supplement CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CC Continental Commentaries CurTM Currents in Theology and Mission DSD Dead Sea Discoveries EDNT Exegetical Dictionary of the New Testament ExAud Ex auditu ExpTim Expository Times FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Herm Hermanthena HeyJ Heythrop Journal HTR Harvard Theological Review HvTSt Hervormde teologiese studies IBS Irish Biblical Studies ICC International Critical Commentary Int Interpretation

xii JBL JSJ

Abbreviations

Journal of Biblical Literature Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods JSJSup Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods, Supplement Series JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament JSNTSup Journal for the Study of the New Testament, Supplement Series JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JTS Journal of Theological Studies NIB The New Interpreter’s Bible NICNT New International Commentary of the New Testament NovT Novum Testamentum NovTSup Novum Testamentum, Supplement Series LNTS Library of New Testament Studies NAC New American Commentary NICNT New International Commentary on the New Testament NIGTC New International Greek Testament Commentary NIVAC New International Version Application Commentary NovTSup Novum Testamentum Supplements NTS New Testament Studies PTS Patristische Texte und Studien RBL Ruch biblijny I liturgiczny RHPR Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses SANT Studien zum Alten und Neuen Testaments SBF Studium Biblicum Franciscanum SBLDS Society for Biblical Literature Dissertations Series ScEccl Sciences ecclesiastiques ScrB Scripture Bulletin SNTSMS Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series ST Studia theologica STDJ Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah TDNT Theological Dictionary of the New Testament TynBul Tyndale Bulletin WBC World Biblical Commentary WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament ZNW Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche ZPE Zeitschrift fur Papyrologie und Epigraphik ZTK Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

Contributors

Richard A. Burridge, PhD (University of Nottingham). Dean of King’s College London and Professor of Biblical Interpretation, King’s College London (UK). David Catchpole, PhD (Cambridge). Emeritus Professor of Theological Studies, University of Exeter (UK). James D.G. Dunn, PhD, DD (Cambridge), FBA. Emeritus Lightfoot Professor of Divinity, Durham University (UK). Craig A. Evans, PhD (Claremont), DHabil (Karoli Gaspard Reformed University in Budapest). Payzant Distinguished Professor of New Testament, Acadia Divinity College (Wolfville, Nova Scotia, Canada). Daniel M. Gurtner, PhD (University of St Andrews). Associate Professor of New Testament, Bethel Seminary (St Paul, Minnesota, USA). Donald A. Hagner, PhD (Manchester). George Eldon Ladd Professor of New Testament (Emeritus), Fuller Theological Seminary (Pasadena, California, USA). Peter Head, PhD (Cambridge). Sir Kirby Laing Senior Lecturer in New Testament, Tyndale House (Cambridge, UK). Scot McKnight, PhD (University of Nottingham). Karl A. Olsson Professor in Religious Studies, North Park University (Chicago, USA). Wesley G. Olmstead, PhD (King’s College London). Associate Professor of New Testament and Vice President Academic, Briercrest College and Seminary (Saskatchewan, Canada). Anders Runesson, PhD, Docent (Lund University). Associate Professor of Early Christianity and Early Judaism, McMaster University (Hamilton, Ontario, Canada).

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Contributors

Christopher Tuckett, PhD (Lancaster). Professor of New Testament Studies, Pembroke College, Oxford (UK). Joel Willitts, PhD (Cambridge). Associate Professor of Biblical and Theological Studies, North Park University (Chicago, USA).

Chapter 1 Sapere Aude – ‘Dare to be Wise’: Graduation Address on Receiving an Honorary Doctorate of Divinity, University of Otago, New Zealand, 16 December 2000 Graham N. Stanton I am deeply honoured to have been awarded an honorary degree by New Zealand’s first and finest university. I say ‘finest university’ quite deliberately because that’s the term used by academics in many disciplines I keep meeting abroad. I have to confess that I am more nervous now than when I last stood on this platform aged about fifteen, playing the part of the young Martin Luther. I was dressed in similar but less colourful kit then: brown for a monk, of course. I have always valued the seven years I studied in this university. I recall with affection my teachers Angus Ross and Gordon Parsonson in History, Evan Pollard and Frank Nichol in Theology, among many others. I am a classic example of the current buzz phrase in educational circles: ‘added value’. What is ‘added value’? It’s the ability of a university, or a school for that matter, to draw out potential and to turn academic promise, however meagre, into fulfilment. My results in my early years at Otago were undistinguished, but somehow my teachers gradually fired me with passion for my subjects and set me on the path of knowledge and, more important still, on the trail of wisdom. I am certain there are many examples of ‘added value’ amongst today’s new graduates. This afternoon I want to reflect with you on the university’s best kept secret: its motto, Sapere aude – ‘Dare to be wise’. I’ve searched the university’s website high and low for a paragraph or two on the motto but there’s nothing there. Even though Latin isn’t a well-known language in New Zealand, there’s not even a translation of the Latin! I found the university shield reproduced here and there on the website, but it’s always so tiny that the motto is illegible! The only place where you will find the motto set out clearly on the website is the university shop’s advertisement for its T-shirts. I think this admirable motto has something to say to the new graduates, and also to the senior academics here this afternoon. ‘Dare to

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be wise.’ Not simply, ‘Be wise’, but ‘Dare to . . .’. ‘Dare to’ suggests that one is doing something that is difficult, off-beat, even subversive. Yes, the university’s motto is potentially subversive, for it subverts many of the values taken for granted today by governments, opinion formers, and even the educational elite the world over. What do I mean, you ask? Today, universities in the United Kingdom are forever being wooed by utilitarianism. I hope New Zealand is better at resisting the charms of this goddess who says that the main purpose of a university education is to boost the salaries of its graduates and to develop the nation’s economy. Cambridge is immensely proud of its recently announced link with the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. But what is the stated objective of this exciting new venture? To boost the British economy! Now that’s a worthy aim, but it isn’t difficult to think of possible more worthy aims. No doubt this new venture will produce much new knowledge, but will it produce ‘wisdom’? I want to differentiate between ‘knowledge’ and ‘wisdom’. Knowledge and wisdom are siblings, but they are not twins. Knowledge says that a university education is about transferable skills and economic benefits. Wisdom says, ‘great’, but the development of an inquiring mind is even more important. Knowledge says that education is about learning and performing complicated routines, mastering the new technologies. Wisdom says, ‘admirable’, but even more desirable is reflection on who are we? Who is our neighbour? What can we learn from the great tradition we have inherited? Why are we here? Where are we going? Let me be specific. Universities have traditionally arranged lectures, seminars, and tutorials as the primary means of imparting information and acknowledge. But we now live in a world where that aspect of teaching is less important, for knowledge is readily available with a few clicks on a computer keyboard. University teaching should be about developing ways of turning knowledge into wisdom. How does the knowledge being imparted to students impinge on other strands of knowledge? What is the significance of this new knowledge? And what are the moral implications? I believe there is still a place for lively, informative lectures which fascinate, excite, and stimulate. The greatest challenge I faced in my twenty-eight years at King’s College London was to share my enthusiasm for my subject in lectures with several hundred scientists, medics, and engineers. King’s London provides lectures for students in all disciplines in the general field of Theology and Religious Studies – lectures which encourage reflection on the big religious and moral questions of our time: in other words, wisdom! In Cambridge all lectures are open to all members of the university. Alas, too few take advantage of this opportunity, for most students are interested only in knowledge that improves their chances of doing well in examinations and thus qualifying for higher salaries.

Sapere Aude – ‘Dare to be Wise’

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Three weeks ago in Cambridge Her Majesty The Queen opened our new £8-million Faculty of Divinity building. Etched on the curved glass panels of the entrance doors are seven quotations in seven languages, taken from the scriptures on which our teaching and research are based. The quotation in English reads: ‘Teach one another in all wisdom.’ Surely that is the ultimate goal of university teaching. ‘Teaching one another in all wisdom’ can only take place effectively in discussion and dialogue in small groups. And teaching one another in small groups is not cost effective! That’s the nub of the dilemma universities face today. That’s why universities must struggle against the forces which value mere knowledge above wisdom. The most fulfilling part of my own teaching has been working with PhD students from around the world. They have taught me as much as I have taught them. Often our one-to-one discussions have simply been a case of sharing knowledge about this and that. But now and again there have been flashes of insight – of wisdom –- for teacher and student alike. That’s ‘teaching one another in all wisdom’. I am particularly pleased that one of my brightest and best ever PhD students is a Kiwi, Dr Chris Marshall, who has travelled from Auckland today to represent my thirty or so former PhD students. And now I must confess to the sin of pride: I am very proud of the fact that four Australians have travelled around the world to work on their PhDs with me, a mere Kiwi! But back to our quest for wisdom. I am suggesting that this university’s motto is subversive, for it encourages us all, academics and new graduates alike, to seek after wisdom, to seek after values which are underrated in today’s head-long pursuit of economic and utilitarian goals. On this university’s website I discovered a draft statement of Educational Purpose and Values which I like enormously. It is prefaced by a mission statement which refers to the university’s commitment to scholarship through excellence in teaching and research. That’s fine – but it’s conventional university-speak these days. I especially like the next phrase in Otago’s mission statement: it refers to scholarship as ‘service to local, regional, national and international communities’. Scholarship as service to others. That’s what it means to take the university’s motto seriously: Sapere aude – ‘Dare to be wise’. Wisdom embraces knowledge. Wisdom enriches knowledge. Wisdom helps us to learn how to use knowledge in the service of others, particularly those less privileged than ourselves. To turn knowledge into wisdom – that’s the life-long challenge which faces today’s new graduates. Today is 16 December. For many decades now the University of Cambridge pocket diary has printed a phrase in Latin just above the white space for 16 December: O Sapientia – ‘Oh wisdom’. This is a reminder that 16 December marks the beginning of the Advent Antiphons, a set of seven daily prayers which have been used as preparation for Christmas since the eighth century, and probably for much

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longer. The phrase O Sapientia is printed in a secular university’s diary as a reminder that the quest for wisdom is what we are about. This traditional Advent prayer encapsulates themes which are fundamental to the Jewish and the Christian moral vision. O Sapientia O Wisdom who came from the mouth of the Most High, Reaching from end to end And ordering all things mightily and sweetly: Come, and teach us the way of prudence.

Chapter 2 The Gospel of Jesus: Graham Stanton, Biography and the Genre of Matthew Richard A. Burridge*

Introduction This chapter, offered in tribute to Graham Stanton, examines the theme of the biographical genre of Matthew’s Gospel as a continuing concern throughout his life’s work, and, in doing so, raises the question of whether Stanton’s interest in Jesus and the Gospel was even more important to him than his study of Matthew. Graham Stanton was born in Christchurch, New Zealand on 9 July 1940; like a lot of children, one day he was given some money to spend, the princely sum of seven shillings and sixpence (about twenty-five cents in today’s value). Most children would have spent it on sweets or gum, but not Graham: he went and bought a New Testament! Born and brought up in the Salvation Army (where his parents taught the Sunday School) as he was, such an interest in the Bible should be no surprise for the young Graham, but this story illustrates how his interest in Jesus and the Gospel began from an early age and continued throughout his life. He went on to Otago University to study for his BD and MA, and he was licensed by the Presbyterian Church of New Zealand in 1965. Together with his beloved wife Esther, he came to Cambridge as part of an extraordinary group of doctoral candidates to study under C. F. D. Moule, including Jimmy Dunn, David Catchpole, Stephen Travis and various others during this * As well as being the External Examiner for my PhD thesis (in November 1989, see further, pp. 12–17 below), Graham Stanton was an enormous support to my work and to me as both a colleague and a friend over more than a quarter of a century, as will become clear throughout this chapter. In addition to our common interests in Jesus and the Gospels, we shared a passion for cricket, and I treasure the memory of my last visit to Graham a day or two before his untimely death in July 2009 when, although very ill and propped up on pillows before the television, he still wanted to hear about the conference I was speaking at in Cambridge, while we watched England on TV beating the Australians (our common foe!) in an Ashes test match. I gladly dedicate this piece to his memory.

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period in the late 1960s. From there, he came to King’s College London first as a lecturer, and then at the incredibly young age of thirty-seven he became Professor of New Testament, following Christopher Evans and a long line of very distinguished previous professors. Graham was Secretary of the SNTS from 1976 to 1982, and President from 1996 to 1997, as well as being Chairman of the British section (1989–92) and editor of New Testament Studies and the SNTS Monograph Series published by Cambridge University Press (1982–90). After twenty years of distinguished service at King’s College London, Cambridge lured him back to succeed his former New Testament colleague from King’s, Morna Hooker, to the same chair that his supervisor Charlie Moule himself had held, as Lady Margaret’s Professor of Divinity at Cambridge. Unfortunately, Graham was diagnosed with melanoma (cancer of the skin) in early 2003. It was a particularly vicious kind with survival rates after two years normally being quite poor, and with over 95 per cent succumbing to it within five years; yet Graham fought this illness with tremendous courage for six and a half years, an inspiration to many. It was a great loss to us all, family, friends, and biblical scholarship, when he died a couple of weeks after his sixty-ninth birthday on 18 July 2009.

The 1970s: From PhD to King’s College London

Like many writers about Matthew’s Gospel, Stanton notes that it is dominated by the five discourses of the Sermon on the Mount (chapters 5–7), the mission of the disciples (10), the parables of the kingdom (13), the life of the new community of the church (18) and the eschatological teaching of the final chapters (23–25). He compares this with the way many Graeco-Roman and Jewish writings are also composed in five sections, and he appears to give this fivefold structure more significance in his later consideration.1 Therefore, I also want to structure this analysis of Stanton’s life’s work on ‘The Gospel of Jesus’ into five sections, of which the first concentrates on the early period of the 1970s. Stanton’s doctoral thesis may have been finished in 1969, but in those halcyon days less dominated by lists of publications, it was not published until 1974 as Jesus of Nazareth in New Testament Preaching in the prestigious SNTS monograph series.2 He looked particularly at the pre-Lukan traditions about Jesus, especially in the speeches in Acts. From there he went on to look at Luke’s presentation of Jesus and 1 Graham N. Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), pp. 60–62; compare the changes made in the second edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 59–62; see also his analysis of the five discourses as ‘a giant chiasm’ in his ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount’, in Tradition and Interpretation on the New Testament: Essays in Honor of E. Earle Ellis for his 60th Birthday, ed. G. F. Hawthorne and O. Betz (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans and Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck), p. 190. 2 Graham N. Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth in New Testament Preaching, (SNTSMS 27; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974).

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Paul’s preaching and teaching about Jesus. Then he includes a whole section in chapter 5, which was extremely revolutionary for its period, about the Gospels and ancient biographical writing. Finally, in chapters 6 and 7, he looked back at how the material about Jesus came into the Gospel traditions from the early narrative and then forward to how those Gospel traditions were used in the tradition of the early church. Therefore through this very early research in his PhD, Stanton set the tracks for what he would then work on over the rest of his career – from the life of Jesus into the Gospels and from the Gospels into the early church. What is very significant, particularly in the light of the overall theme for this chapter and our book overall, is that Stanton’s doctoral work concentrates mainly on Luke and Acts, and not on Matthew. In his concern to establish the real interest of the early church in the person of Jesus, in both the Gospels and the epistles of Paul, Stanton is well aware that he is arguing against half a century of scholarly consensus ever since the work of Bultmann, which took for granted ‘the tenaciously held objection’ that the Gospels were not biographies and that the early church was not interested in the life of Jesus: indeed, ‘the very word “biography” has become to a form critic like a red rag to a bull’.3 In fact, this was one of those conclusions that everyone thought was obvious, and so never properly examined to see if it was in fact untrue. Stanton was thus the first voice of protest against the critical consensus that the Gospels were not biographies, and he makes the further significant point that they should be compared with ancient biographies, rather than modern biography (which is rather different). Bultmann’s contention that the Gospels lack any interest in ‘Jesus’ human personality, appearance and character’ and basic chronology is, in Stanton’s view, ‘based on a quite surprisingly inaccurate assessment of ancient biographical writing’.4 This is a very important point: while Bultmann may be correct to note that the Gospels contain no psychological analysis of Jesus’ personality, nor sociological setting of his life within the major events of the period, nor does ancient biography; these are the concerns of modern biography, building upon the insights of Freud, Jung, Marx, Weber and so forth. The ancients were much more interested in character, especially moral character and a concern for the typical rather than the individual.5

3 Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, p. 117. 4 Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, p. 118; see R. Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition, rev. edn with Supplement (Oxford: Blackwell, 1972), pp. 371–72. 5 See Richard A. Burridge, What are the Gospels? A Comparison with GraecoRoman Biography, rev. 2nd edn (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), pp. 117 and 120–21.

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Thus in his chapter 5 on ‘The Gospels and Ancient Biographical Writing’, Stanton considers Greek, Roman and Jewish biographical writings, as well as the Gospel of Thomas. He concludes that they are closest to Graeco-Roman biographical writings and quite distinct from Jewish writings such as the Pirqe Aboth or Rabbinic material and from later second-century gospels and gnostic writings. They tell us a ‘surprisingly large amount about the life and character of Jesus’.6 This is even true of the fourth Gospel: ‘If the evangelist did not intend, at least in part, to indicate what sort of person Jesus was, why did he write a gospel which, when placed alongside, say, either the Gospel of Thomas or Pirqe Aboth, looks so much like the Synoptics?’7 Unfortunately, Stanton was not able to follow his argument through to its logical conclusion. Having demonstrated the similarities with Graeco-Roman biographies, he concluded that ‘it is difficult to believe that on first acquaintance the Gospels (or the Gospel traditions) would not have been considered in the Hellenistic world of the first century A.D. to be “biographical”, to indicate what sort of person Jesus was’. However, such was the strength of the form-critical consensus that on the same page he refers to the ‘wholly justifiable insistence that the Gospels are not biographies’ – while in fact he has removed the justification for this view earlier in the chapter.8 Throughout the book, rather than the generic noun ‘biography’ with the difficulties of its modern connotations, he is careful to use instead the adjective ‘biographical’ of the Jesus traditions.9 However, even to conclude that the Gospels are biographical was a major step forward and it would not be long before others would draw the obvious conclusion about the genre of the Gospels and biography itself.10 Stanton concluded that we need to know what sort of person Jesus was in his earthly life, and that the biographical interest of the early church in the person of Jesus should act as a spur to contemporary evangelism and preaching, which also need to be based on the life and character of Jesus. The early church intended to include such material in its missionary preaching, for who Jesus is, is shown by his actions as well as by his words. We cannot escape such biographical material in the New Testament – and it should form part of our preaching today.11 That Jesus was crucified and raised from the dead, vindicated and exalted by God, was Graham’s own clear and orthodox Christian faith, which was rooted in his historical and literary research.

6 Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, p. 136. 7 Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, p. 184. 8 Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, p. 135. 9 Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, p. 170. 10 See Burridge, What are the Gospels?, especially pp. 78–101. 11 Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth, pp. 190–91.

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As mentioned in the introduction above, within seven years of his arrival as a lecturer at King’s College London, Stanton became the Professor of New Testament, succeeding at a very young age a long line of distinguished predecessors. The interest in the literary nature of the Gospels already noted in his doctoral work is also seen in his Inaugural Lecture delivered at King’s on 14 November 1978.12 It is very prescient, as Stanton contrasted the historical and theological approaches to the New Testament and argued strongly that we should recognize our own presuppositions as scholars. Always ahead of the game, even in 1978 he was bringing the importance of literary critics, particularly Hirsch’s Validity in Interpretation (1967), into dialogue with more historicist approaches, although he does not apply these literary concerns to his previous interest in the genre of the Gospels. The inaugural lecture concluded by arguing that what he called ‘the pastness of the text and the present stance of the interpreter’ must be allowed to illumine one another: ‘from that open-ended dialogue the interpreter’s understanding is deepened and broadened’. These richly inviting words not only bring to a close this important lecture, but they also conclude the first phase of Stanton’s work on Jesus material and the Gospel traditions, as he now began to concentrate on one particular example, the Gospel of Matthew.

The 1980s: Growing Interest in Matthew

Today, Stanton is universally acknowledged as one of the greatest recent interpreters of Matthew’s Gospel, and this chapter, together with others in this book, was originally delivered in the ‘Matthew Section’ of the SBL – yet this was not a feature of the first decade of his scholarly writing. In the published version of his PhD, the index contains fewer than fifty references to verses in Matthew, while there are twice as many to Mark’s Gospel (even though it is half the size of Matthew) and several hundreds to texts in Luke and Acts. Traditionally, an Inaugural Lecture inaugurates the direction a new professor will take his research in the years ahead: important though Stanton’s combination of historical, theological and literary approaches to the New Testament was in his inaugural, nonetheless it gave no hint of the outpouring of riches about Matthew which was to dominate the rest of his time at King’s College London. The first fruits to indicate the coming harvest were seen in his editing of a collection of significant essays from over the previous half-century (ranging from 1928 to 1974) published by SPCK and Fortress Press as The Interpretation of Matthew. As well as choosing and editing the 12 Graham N. Stanton, Interpreting the New Testament Today: An Inaugural Lecture in the Chair of New Testament Studies, King’s College London, 14 November 1978; I first read this important lecture in the 1980s while undertaking my own doctoral research and a printed copy of it is still available in the library at King’s College London. It is also reprinted in Ex Auditu 1 (1985), pp. 63–73.

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various essays, Stanton himself wrote a critical introduction, which he entitled, ‘Matthew’s Gospel, a New Storm Centre’.13 Here he noted that, despite Matthew’s widespread influence on the early church, the Gospel was less well served by modern scholars. However, in identifying it as ‘a new storm centre’, Stanton suggested that new things were brewing and beginning to move. This was prophetic as at that time scholars such as Ulrich Luz, Don Hagner, R. Schnackenburg, and W. D. Davies and Dale Allison were beginning to write major new commentaries which would appear over the next couple of decades. Stanton’s own work on Matthew began to appear in various important papers and conferences. The first of these was given at the 1982 Symposium at Tübingen on the theme of ‘the Gospel and the Gospels’, the papers of which were then collected together and published in honour of Otto Betz.14 Although the overall theme resonates strongly with Stanton’s previous research interest in Jesus and the Gospels, especially the literary genre of the Gospels (see the chapters by Robert Guelich and Albrecht Dihle), and the other speakers included former doctoral colleagues at Cambridge such as J. D. G. Dunn, it is significant that Stanton wrote the major contribution on Matthew’s Gospel (with Hengel taking Mark, I. H. Marshall on Luke, and Dunn on John). In his paper, ‘Matthew as a Creative Interpreter of the Sayings of Jesus’, he points out how the evangelist elucidates and expands the sayings of Jesus, rather than being innovative himself or creating them de novo.15 He stressed the concept of Matthew as a creative interpreter or exegete, consistently elucidating or expanding the traditions about Jesus which he found in Mark, Q or ‘M’. Stanton also argued that in drawing out the significance of the Jesus traditions, Matthew was not trying to invent a new literary form: ‘if Mark is an eu)agge/lion, so is Matthew . . . he is almost certainly not attempting to create a new genre’.16 So here we see how Stanton’s previous twin interests in the traditions about Jesus and the nature of the Gospels are being specifically applied to Matthew. In the second Durham-Tübingen symposium on ‘the Parting of the Ways’ in 1989, we can once again perceive Stanton’s continuing interest in the person of Jesus and the impact that this was having upon Matthew and upon the way in which Matthew was presenting the account. Here his paper stressed the role ‘Matthew’s Christology’ plays in the growing separation between Jews and Christians, looking 13 Graham N. Stanton (ed.), The Interpretation of Matthew (London: SPCK and Fortress Press, 1983), pp. 1–18. 14 Das Evangelium und die Evangelien: Vorträge vom Tübinger Symposium, ed. Peter Stuhlmacher (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1983); English trans. as The Gospel and the Gospels, ed. Peter Stuhlmacher (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991). 15 Graham N. Stanton, ‘Matthew as a Creative Interpreter of the Sayings of Jesus’, in Das Evangelium und die Evangelien, pp. 273–87; English trans. in The Gospel and the Gospels, pp. 257–72. 16 Stanton, ‘Matthew as a Creative Interpreter of the Sayings of Jesus’, p. 272.

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particularly at the charges and replies between Jews and Christians that Jesus was a magician and a deceiver.17 Also during this period of the 1980s, he wrote a comprehensive treatment in ANRW of all the various options regarding the place and date of Matthew which were being put forward by scholarship at the time.18 He also did something similar on Matthew’s redaction of the Sermon on the Mount in the Festschrift for E. Earle Ellis.19 In both cases Stanton was again arguing that Matthew has reshaped and re-interpreted the Jesus traditions. Against those who argued that the Sermon on the Mount had a distinctive origin or purpose apart from the rest of the Gospel (like W. D. Davies and H. D. Betz), Stanton demonstrated that the Sermon on the Mount is ‘part and parcel of Matthew’s Gospel’ as a whole, presenting the same Jesus and the same theological vision. This outpouring of essays on Matthew through the 1980s came to its fruition in the 1990 Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation which came out of King’s College London, edited by Richard Coggins and Leslie Houlden, who were Stanton’s Old Testament and New Testament colleagues at King’s at the time. Graham had three articles in that dictionary on ‘The Historical Jesus’, ‘Matthew, the Gospel of’ and ‘The Sermon on The Mount’. All of them are still brilliant, masterful, yet concise surveys of two thousand years of scholarly work on each of these key topics of biblical interpretation. Taken together, they neatly illustrate Stanton’s central concern to apply his previous concern for the historical Jesus to how those Jesus traditions were being interpreted through the specific example of Matthew’s portrayal of how ‘the Jesus of the Sermon is the Son of God through whom God is acting for mankind’.20 Through all these various papers and articles, we have suggested that Stanton’s original doctoral research interest in the person of Jesus and how the traditions about him were handled in the early church leading to the Gospels has been applied very carefully to the one specific example of Matthew’s account of the life, ministry, teaching, and death and resurrection of Jesus. What is most interesting for the purposes of our 17 Graham N. Stanton, ‘Matthew’s Christology and the Parting of the Ways’, in Jews and Christians: The Parting of the Ways, AD 70 to 135. The Second Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium on Earliest Christianity and Judaism, Durham, September 1989, ed. James D. G. Dunn (WUNT 66; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992; repr. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), pp. 99–116. 18 Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Gospel’, ANRW II.25.3 (1985), pp. 1889–951, see esp. pp. 1941–43. 19 Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount’, in Tradition and Interpretation on the New Testament: Essays in Honor of E. Earle Ellis for his 60th Birthday, ed. G. F. Hawthorne and O. Betz (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans and Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck), pp. 181–92. 20 Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Historical Jesus’, ‘Matthew, the Gospel of’ and ‘The Sermon on The Mount’, in A Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation, ed. R. J. Coggins and J. L. Houlden (London: SCM, 1990), pp. 285–90, 432–35 and 625–28.

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overall analysis here is that none of these articles attempt to relate this concentration on Matthew’s Gospel to Stanton’s original interest in the literary genre of the Gospels and their relationship to ancient biography. However, that omission was about to be corrected as in his next book he lifted his vision back up from Matthew alone to all four Gospels once again and to the person of Jesus in his next book.

1989: The Gospels and Jesus

While Stanton was producing all these important articles on Matthew during the 1980s, I was working on my own PhD, looking at how the Gospels compared with ancient biography from the point of view of literary genre. Naturally enough, Stanton’s doctoral work and his published thesis had been my guiding lodestar; for me, he was the hero who first questioned the post-Bultmannian consensus that the Gospels were sui generis, generically unique, a view which I, as a classicist working on literary theory, considered nonsense. So when he published The Gospels and Jesus, his handbook on the person of Jesus and the four Gospels, including a section on ‘the Gospels as biographies’, only a month or two before I was due to hand in my thesis for him to read as the External Examiner, I was understandably very excited. I looked forward to it enormously, knowing it would be the fruit of years of his work and, of course, it went on to become the major bestselling textbook for the next couple of decades. It is still remarkably comprehensive, written in two main parts, with chapters on each of the four Gospels and on the fourfold Gospel in Part I, and then in Part II turning to the historical Jesus and the key questions of Jesus’ identity, teaching, ministry, death and resurrection.21 Since I was comparing the Gospels with ancient biographies, following Graham’s suggestions in his revised doctoral monograph, I immediately turned to chapter 2, ‘What is a Gospel?’ I was relieved to discover that his survey of research, like the one I had put in my thesis, went from Votaw and Bultmann to Talbert and Shuler. Furthermore, he repeated the original point from his own thesis that to the form critics ‘the very word “biography” was like a red rag to a bull’, stressing once again that the Gospels were not to be compared with modern biographies, but to ancient examples.22 However, to my consternation as the dates of my submission and oral examination were drawing ever closer, I found this conclusion: ‘we can be almost certain that Mark did not intend to write the biography of Jesus in the Graeco-Roman tradition’.23 Given that Stanton was about to be my External Examiner, this was a bit of a blow! My heart only sank further as he went on to say that ‘many features of Mark would 21 Graham N. Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989). 22 Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus, pp. 15–18. 23 Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus, p. 19.

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have puzzled readers familiar with the techniques of ancient biographical writings’, namely the evangelist’s concentration on Jesus’ death, the enigmatic opening of the Gospel and its curiously abrupt ending, and the avoidance of entertaining anecdotes. Throughout my thesis I had included lots of positive comments about the importance of Stanton’s earlier groundbreaking work. Now I suddenly had to go through the whole thesis on my primitive word processor and take account of the sudden volte-face that he had made. On All Saints’ Day, 1 November 1989, I presented myself before him in his office at King’s College London for the oral defence of my thesis. It was going all right until about half-way through when Graham said, ‘Well, we had better talk about the bit where you take my new book to the cleaners. What would you say if I said a, b, or c?’, referring to the features which he thought might have puzzled ancient readers. I replied with some points from my thesis, to which he just said, ‘Yes, you’re right, I’m wrong and I’ll put it right in the next edition,’ and moved on to the next question on his list! In that instant, I learned that an internationally leading scholar’s humility could be even more extraordinary than his intellectual ability and research. After the viva was concluded, he said that as series editor for the SNTS, he wanted to publish my thesis in the same series as his own. Furthermore, he and another scholarly reader gave me a detailed critique of the thesis to assist me with the revision for its publication as What are the Gospels?24 Sure enough, in his extensively revised second edition of The Gospels and Jesus in 2002, Stanton again begins with the question of genre and the Gospels as biographies, noting that his original work took a biographical approach in 1974 ‘which was then unfashionable’. He repeats his insistence that the Gospels must be compared with ancient biographical writings, rather than modern biographies. He refers to my book, and then states that ‘there is little doubt that early Christian readers of the Gospels did read them as biographies’; a little later he concludes that ‘the Gospels are undeniably Graeco-Roman biographies’.25 Thus in returning to his original research interests in the traditions about the historical Jesus and how they were elucidated in the four Gospels, Stanton not only produced a leading textbook for students all over the world, but he also reignited the debate about the biographical genre of the Gospels and played a major part in assisting international scholarship to turn away from the previous form-critical (but theoretically nonsensical) consensus of their generic uniqueness to what has now become the new standard approach of interpreting them like other ancient biographical writings. 24 Richard A. Burridge, What are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography, (SNTSMS 70; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992; paperback, 1995). 25 Graham N. Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus, 2nd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 16–18.

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The 1990s: New Approaches For a New Gospel

Alongside this foray into the wider world of Jesus and the four Gospels to write a student textbook, Stanton’s academic research continued with its concentration on Matthew and his presentation of Jesus and the Gospel. The publication of A Gospel for a New People in 1992 provided the chance for him to bring together a large amount of his Matthean scholarship, both new and original material together with reprinting in one place a number of his various articles which were previously scattered through different journals and Festschriften.26 This makes it an interesting and unusual book, reflecting Stanton’s various interests in the different historical, theological, literary and sociological issues confronting any reader of Matthew – and thus it picks up the challenge he had laid down in his Inaugural Lecture in 1979. To organize this diversity, the book is arranged in three main sections. After an introduction setting out his views on the original setting and purpose of Matthew’s Gospel in the interface between Jewish and early Christian communities in the eastern Mediterranean in the decades after the fall of Jerusalem in ad 70, Part I examines ‘the appropriate methods for scholarly study of this Gospel’. Stanton believed that ‘Matthean scholarship is in some disarray at present, largely as the result of the use of quite diverse methods.’27 Therefore he examined the place of redaction criticism within traditional historical-critical scholarship, the importance of genre within literary criticism, and applied a sociological perspective to both Matthew and the Damascus document. While these chapters all contained new and unpublished material, some parts of them also reappeared in other important papers and articles Stanton was writing in the early 1990s. Part II was a mixture of new articles and some reprints, all concentrating on Matthew’s historical and sociological setting within the Parting of the Ways with contemporary Judaism. Part III allowed Stanton to collect together some of his other papers on specific Matthean topics, such as the Sermon on the Mount, and how Matthew expands and elucidates the Jesus traditions (reprinting the Tübingen article, note 15 above) and the Old Testament. A final chapter draws all his themes and interests together with his conclusions: ‘Matthew wrote his Gospel as a “foundation document” for a cluster of Christian communities, probably in Syria in the mid 80s . . . a “new people”.’ This explains its overriding Christological emphasis as they define themselves ‘over against both Judaism and the Gentile world at large’.28 This is perhaps the clearest expression of what we have been arguing throughout this chapter, that Stanton’s 26 Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992). 27 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, p. 4. 28 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, p. 378.

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especial interest in Matthew arises as a particular example of his overall concern for Jesus of Nazareth and how the traditions about him impacted upon and were handled within the early Christian communities of the New Testament era and immediately afterwards. Stanton’s original interest in how the Gospels related to ancient biographies was clear in his doctoral research, while his concern to incorporate insights from literary criticism alongside more historical methods was explicit in his Inaugural Lecture. As the External Examiner of my thesis and the editor of the revised version being prepared for publication in the SNTS monograph series, it is not surprising that Stanton was the first to react to it and incorporate these issues into his continuing work on Matthew. He refers back to his own doctoral research on the Gospels and ancient biographical writings while recognizing that it did not follow through its ‘logic’ in the face of the form-critical consensus; however, he is clear that ‘I now accept that the Gospels are a type of Graeco-Roman biography,’ kindly describing my book as ‘a careful and thorough study which will remain the standard discussion for a long time to come’. True to his word in my viva, he comments that he had been ‘too cautious’ in his reservations about the Gospels as biographies in the first edition of The Gospels and Jesus in 1989.29 Such concerns led him to concentrate on two particular issues: how Matthew saw his own writing with regard to the title eu)agge/lion or ‘gospel’ and how we should interpret its genre as ancient biography. That these two issues were occupying him at this period is evident from the use he makes of similar material both in this book and in two other papers, in the Festschrift for Frans Neirynck in 1992 and in a Seminar Paper for the SBL meeting in 1994.30 In both the Neirynck Festschrift and in the book, Stanton provides an interesting reflection on the title for the Gospel, arguing that Bi/bloj gene/sewj 0Ihsou~ Xristou~ (Mt. 1.1) refers to the genealogy and/or the account of Jesus’ origin (1.2-25) rather than to the book as a whole. Instead, Stanton counters the views of Koester that Marcion was the first to use eu)agge/lion to refer to a gospel book (too late) and of Hengel that it was Mark (too early, for Mark’s use of eu)agge/lion is still like Paul’s), concluding from 24.14 and 26.13 that Matthew ‘indicates clearly to his readers that his writing is “a Gospel”’.31

29 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, p. 64, see especially note 3. 30 Graham N. Stanton, ‘Matthew: Bi/bloj, eu)agge/lion or Bi/oj?’, in The Four Gospels 1992, Festschrift Frans Neirynck, ed. F. Van Segbroeck et al., BETL 100 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1992), 2.1187–201; ‘Revisiting Matthew’s Communities’, SBL Seminar Papers 1994, ed. E. H. Loverington (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994), pp. 9–23. 31 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, pp. 12–18; see also, ‘Matthew: Bi/bloj, eu)agge/lion or Bi/oj?’, pp. 1189–95.

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This takes him on to the important question of genre, to which he devotes a large part of chapter 3 on literary criticism. After discussion of the question ranging from Bultmann to his own doctoral work, as well as consideration of my revised thesis, Stanton is clear that not only is the genre of the Gospels a form of ancient biography, but also that ‘Matthew has written a gospel which is even closer than Mark to the Graeco-Roman biographical tradition.’32 What is significant is how Stanton immediately makes use of this assignation of genre to help with determining the purpose of Matthew’s Gospel. Referring to my work on the role of apologetic and polemic in ancient biographies such as Xenophon’s Agesilaus, Tacitus’ Agricola and the Cato literature,33 Stanton concludes, ‘this is precisely the social function I envisage for Matthew’s biography of Jesus’.34 This then enables him to argue from the biographical hypothesis that Matthew writes in this genre to provide a form of ‘legitimation’ for his communities, giving them ‘legitimating answers’ for their recent painful separation from Judaism.35 It is also significant that, despite the prevailing supremacy of theories about the ‘Matthean community’ (and the Johannine community similarly) at this period, Stanton uses the fact that the genre of Matthew is a gospel and form of ancient biography, rather than a letter to a specific church as with Paul, to argue for a wider intended audience of Matthean communities.36 Thus in these articles and in the book itself all of Stanton’s interests are coming together to reach a most productive climax. His earliest research into the Jesus tradition and the Gospels compared with ancient biographies and his inaugural concern for literary approaches, coupled with all his following work on Matthew’s Gospel as a particular example, combine with our debate about the biographical genre of the Gospels to produce this supreme literary, historical and sociological analysis of ‘a Gospel for a new people’: Matthew provides a legitimating narrative for those communities who discover that their Christological fidelity to the Jesus tradition has brought them into painful separation from their Jewish roots, even though they also do not wish to be assimilated into Gentile congregations. 32 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, pp. 59–69; see also, ‘Matthew: Bi/bloj, eu)agge/lion or Bi/oj?’, pp. 1196–200 33 See Burridge, What are the Gospels?, 1992, pp. 151 and 187–88, as referred to by Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, p. 70, n. 2; now in Burridge, What are the Gospels?, 2004, pp. 147 and 183. 34 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, p. 70; see also, ‘Matthew: Bi/bloj, eu)agge/lion or Bi/oj?’, p. 1200 and ‘Revisiting Matthew’s Communities’, SBL Seminar Papers 1994, p. 10. 35 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, pp. 104–107 and 378–79; see chapter 10, pp. 232–55 for the use of Matthew in early Christian-Jewish polemic and apologetic; see also Stanton, ‘Revisiting Matthew’s Communities’, SBL Seminar Papers 1994, pp. 9–23. 36 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, pp. 50–51; see also Stanton, ‘Revisiting Matthew’s Communities’, SBL Seminar Papers 1994, pp. 9–23

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Finally, in 1995 Stanton brought out the second edition of the collection of essays on The Interpretation of Matthew. He revised and updated his introduction, referring to the exciting new scholarly commentaries coming from Luz and from the combination of Davies and Allison, both of which had brought out their first volumes with the promise of more to come, and he also emphasized the new developments from a literary-critical perspective, including a major new article from Jack Kingsbury to update the selected reprints forming the bulk of the book. At the end of his revised introduction, Stanton admirably summarized the state of play with regard to several key questions, such as Matthew’s relationship to contemporary Judaism and the law, and his use of the Old Testament, as well as the benefits to be gained from social scientific approaches to the Gospel.37 Although he still wrote a few smaller pieces about Matthew after this, in many ways the second edition of The Interpretation of Matthew concluded his main Matthew phases through the 1980s and up to the mid 1990s, just as the first edition had begun it in 1982/3. What is interesting for the analysis of this chapter is how these two phases, the second and fourth of Stanton’s five periods of research, balance each other around his publication of Jesus and the Gospels in the middle in 1989. It now remains to trace how this core interest in Jesus and the Gospel led him into new directions in his final phase as he came to the end of his time at King’s College London and moved to Cambridge.

1995–2007: New Interests in Jesus and Gospels

During his last years at King’s College London and through his time in Cambridge, Stanton moved beyond the study of Matthew as a particular expression of Jesus and the Gospel to see how the Jesus tradition and the Gospels were impacting upon the early church into the second century. As in his first phase, so now there would be little specifically about Matthew, but instead, this new phase was to see significant new work on early papyri and the fourfold nature of the Gospels together with the implications of all of this for the development of the codex. This new enthusiasm was given impetus by the publicity surrounding the claims by Carsten Thiede regarding three papyrus fragments of Matthew’s Gospel held at Magdalen College Oxford, and about the possibility that fragment 7Q5 from Qumran was part of Mark 6.52-53. This began with claims in The Times on Christmas Eve 1994, which so astonished Stanton that he immediately faxed a letter to the editor to counter these claims. As the Thiede story gained more and more publicity, Stanton decided to write a more accessible book looking critically at this evidence, discussing the dates and reliability of the manuscripts, arguing for the importance of the fourfold canonical Gospels 37 Graham N. Stanton (ed.), The Interpretation of Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995), pp. 1–26.

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against the sensationalist interest in other, or ‘lost’, gospels, and going back to his constant stress on the centrality of Jesus with a clear and sensible explanation of the life, ministry and teaching of the historical Jesus through to his death and resurrection as ‘gospel truth’ indeed. This lively book, Gospel Truth, was written and published in only a matter of months, sold very widely and was translated into French, Dutch, Italian and Spanish, as well as a second English edition in 1997.38 Meanwhile, alongside this foray into popular and accessible dissemination of his scholarship, Stanton was working on his Presidential Address for the SNTS, delivered on 7 August 1996 in Strasbourg. Building upon his original interest in how the Jesus traditions were preserved in the early church and extending his work on the four Gospels, especially Matthew, Stanton now moved into how their fourfold nature was regarded in the second century. Working back from Irenaeus’ comments in Adversus Haereses III.11.8 and the Muratorian Fragment, Stanton argued that not only were the four canonical Gospels regarded as authoritative and complementary in the second century, but that the need to keep them all together is what stimulated the early church to the development of the codex, since a single scroll could not contain all four.39 By this stage The Gospels and Jesus had become the primary text for students across the world, selling in its tens of thousands. On 16 December 2000, Stanton was back at his alma mater at the University of Otago in Dunedin, New Zealand to receive an Honorary DD. His acceptance oration based upon the university’s motto, Sapere aude, ‘Dare to be wise,’ linked into the Wisdom Antiphon of Advent, O Sapientia, to make some powerful points about the purpose of higher education in our modern world.40 While he was there, he discovered that they were using the original edition of The Gospels and Jesus not only in Otago but on distance learning courses across New Zealand, so he decided it was time to update the book with a new edition, which he dedicated to the University of Otago.41 He points out in the Preface that ‘on some points I have changed my mind, but I have not been tempted to change the main thrust of the book’. In addition to accepting that ‘the Gospels are undeniably Graeco-Roman biographies’,42 as noted above, the new edition continued Stanton’s developing interest in more literary approaches, bringing in the Gospel of Thomas and updating it with the latest research on the historical Jesus. 38 Graham N. Stanton, Gospel Truth? New Light on Jesus and the Gospels (London: HarperCollins, 1995; 2nd edn, London: Fount, 1997). 39 Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, NTS 43 (1997), pp. 347–66; later lightly revised and reprinted in Graham N. Stanton, Jesus and Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), chapter 3, pp. 63–91. 40 Reprinted here as chapter 1. 41 Graham N. Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus, 2nd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); see the Preface on p. vii. 42 Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus, 2nd edn, pp. 16–18.

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I was very excited when Graham presented me with a copy of this new second edition and he encouraged me to do a revised second edition of my own PhD book. Obviously much had happened in the decade since it was first published, in that the revolution which occurred as the basic hypothesis that he and I had first put forward, that the Gospels were a form of ancient biography, had become increasingly accepted worldwide as the new scholarly consensus. He kindly offered to write the Foreword for my new edition, in which he referred back to his own original PhD work: ‘I had begun to develop a similar line of argument some fifteen years earlier. I realize that I should have been more rigorous and less timid in my own earlier work.’43 This is typical of the way he was able to combine his own internationally leading scholarship with a genuine desire to encourage and promote the work of others. By now, Stanton was undergoing major treatment for his melanoma, but this did not prevent him bringing together a number of papers and lectures, including his Inaugural Lecture as Lady Margaret’s Professor on ‘Jesus and Gospel’ and his SNTS Presidential Address on the fourfold Gospel into his final major work, which he dedicated to his predecessor and doctoral supervisor, Professor Charlie Moule.44 In this book he looked at the origins of the word ‘gospel’ and argued for its use by Jesus and about Jesus; he also looked at the impact of Jesus and the Gospels on the next generation in the work of Irenaeus and Justin Martyr, and at the earliest objections to Jesus and the Resurrection. In addition, as the biographical hypothesis he had first espoused had finally become widely accepted, he now directed his fire against another scholarly consensus which he considered was too easily assumed without proper evidence – namely that the early manuscripts of the Gospels were written by workaday ‘documentary hands’ in a downmarket utilitarian context, unlike ancient biography. First, in chapter 8, he set out to answer the question about ‘why the early Christians were addicted to the codex’, suggesting that this usage may have been from earliest times. Then, in his final chapter, ‘What are the Gospels?’, he takes it for granted that the Gospels are biographies, merely pointing out ‘I first tackled this topic when it was right out of fashion,’ but that now, following my own work and that of others, ‘broad agreement has been reached’.45 Building upon this, he argues from a careful analysis of the earliest papyri that the Gospels are not merely utilitarian handbooks, but that they were ‘copied carefully, in stylish handwriting’; ‘by the second half of the second century, much earlier than has usually been assumed, their literary qualities and their 43 Burridge, What are the Gospels?, 2004, pp. viii–ix. 44 Graham N. Stanton, Jesus and Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 45 Stanton, Jesus and Gospel; chapter 8, pp. 165–91; chapter 9, pp. 192–206, quotation from p. 192, see notes 3 and 4.

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authoritative status for the life and faith of the church were widely recognized’.46 Thus these final conclusions from the last page of his last book echo the same concerns as were evident throughout his first book, and his doctoral research which preceded it, namely a passion for how the traditions about Jesus of Nazareth were preserved and developed through the early church – and on to their relevance for us today.47 Finally, we come to the Festschrift for him which was published on Stanton’s sixty-fifth birthday, 9 July 2005, The Written Gospel.48 A group of international scholars, including friends and colleagues from every stage, from his postgraduate days through the King’s College London years to his time as Lady Margaret’s Professor at Cambridge, produced a definitive collection of essays about the current state of play regarding many of Stanton’s key themes: the preservation of the Jesus traditions and the idea of ‘gospel’ in the earliest years, the writing of each of the four canonical Gospels, and their impact on the early church, Jews and pagans through to the making of gospel commentaries. The icing on the cake (itself in the shape of a rugby ball!) was also the performance of a wonderful haka, the war dance usually performed by the All Blacks, the New Zealand rugby team, undertaken by some of his postgraduate students wearing black Kiwi shirts with ‘Stanton 65’ on their backs. It was a fitting way to bring together Stanton’s academic themes and areas of research throughout his career with his constant care and concern to nurture his postgraduates and younger scholars.

Conclusion In conclusion, I want to return to the fact that Stanton authored five main books himself, together with others which he edited and his many articles.49 We noted at the beginning that Matthew’s Gospel contains five discourses, which Stanton himself describes as ‘a giant chiasm’, which means that ‘Chap. 13 is central in every sense!’50 It is interesting how the first and fifth discourses are the two longest, balancing Jesus’ teaching for the present in the Sermon on the Mount with his teaching about the future in the eschatological discourse (over 100 verses in chapters 5–7 and 23–25). The second and fourth, the two 46 Stanton, Jesus and Gospel, p. 206. 47 It is interesting, and a sign of his concern for relevance for today, that, after these and other related articles in Jesus and Gospel, the last piece in Stanton’s list of publications should be on ‘Terrorism and Reconciliation’, in Theology 108 (2005). 48 The Written Gospel, ed. Markus Bockmuehl and Donald A. Hagner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 49 For a full bibliography, see The Written Gospel, ed. Bockmuehl and Hagner, pp. 296–300. 50 Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount’, p. 190; see note 2 above.

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shortest discourses, cover the mission and life of the church (38 and 35 verses each in 10.5-42 and 18), while at the middle of the Gospel and at medium length comes the collection of parables of the kingdom of heaven (50 verses in 13.1-50).51 Is it too fanciful to see the mark of the true Matthean scholar in our analysis of Stanton’s major work also in terms of five phases, balancing one another in ‘a giant chiasm’? The first and fifth phases, comprising his postgraduate research in Cambridge and the early years at King’s College London on the one hand (1966–80), and his last years at King’s and his final period in Cambridge on the other (1996– 2009), are both devoted to wider research about the traditions around the historical Jesus, and how they were preserved in the writing of the Gospels and the impact this had upon the early church. Interestingly, during these periods, Stanton produces little or nothing about Matthew. The second and fourth phases focus this general interest in Jesus and the Gospel on this one particular example, the Gospel of Matthew, and these phases are delineated by the first and second versions of Stanton’s editing of articles about The Interpretation of Matthew, 1982/3–1995. It is during this period that Stanton produces all the work which justifiably earned him the reputation of being one of the world’s leading experts on Matthew’s Gospel. However, right in the middle of this, he published The Gospels and Jesus, by far and away his best-selling book, which has impacted the lives of theological students and church ministers all over the world. Like Matthew’s collection of the parables of the kingdom in chapter 13, this book reveals Stanton’s central concern for how the Gospels narrate the life and teaching, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Furthermore, it was this concern for the person of Jesus which first directed Stanton to compare the Gospels with ancient biographical writing in his early groundbreaking postgraduate research and which was still dominating his final chapter about ‘What are the Gospels?’ in his last book – truly ‘central in every sense!’ The final piece of evidence for this biographical concern at the heart of Stanton’s work can be seen easily from the five titles of his main books and their common theme: • • • • •

Jesus of Nazareth in New Testament Preaching (1974) The Gospels and Jesus (1989/2002) A Gospel for a New People (1992) Gospel Truth (1995/1997) Jesus and Gospel (2004)

51 For this analysis, see Richard A. Burridge, Four Gospels, One Jesus? A Symbolic Reading, rev. 2nd edn (London: SPCK/Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), pp. 78–82.

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It is immediately obvious that all the titles which he chose include the words ‘Jesus’ or ‘Gospel’ – or indeed both! Jesus and the Gospel together form the overall passion that links all of Stanton’s work. The extraordinary flowering of Matthean scholarship in the 1980s and 1990s was a particular example displaying this fascination with Jesus and the Gospel. The other was his interest in the biographical genre of the Gospels from his original research to his last book. Interestingly, the one combination which Stanton never used was ‘The Gospel of Jesus’. However, surely it can be argued that this phrase beautifully encapsulates his approach to Matthew as the quintessential gospel account of Jesus. Yet ‘the Gospel of Jesus’ was also what led Stanton to dedicate his entire life, from the childhood purchase of a New Testament through to a pre-eminent position in international scholarship, to demonstrating how the four Gospels portray a biographical account of Jesus’ life in order to help him bring the new life of the Gospel to others. May he rest in peace – and rise in glory!

Chapter 3 The Gospel of Matthew from Stanton to Present: A Survey of Some Recent Developments Daniel M. Gurtner*

Introduction In his introduction to The Interpretation of Matthew Professor Stanton discusses ‘Matthew’s Gospel in Recent Scholarship (1994)’, providing a survey of the state of Matthean scholarship at that time.1 The purpose of this chapter is to trace some more recent developments in some topics discussed by Stanton and describe new aspects to the field since Stanton’s essay. Questions continued to be debated for the last twenty years were whether the evangelist himself and his readers were Jews or Gentiles, whether Matthew’s communities remained under pressure from Jewish synagogues or whether Jewish persecution of Christians was a thing of Matthew’s past. Further questions were discussed with respect to the theological principles by which Matthew arranged his sources, particularly the contention that his five main discourses reflect the Pentateuch, his concern with Christology and/or ecclesiology. Anti-Judaism in Matthew remains a subject of some consideration, as are other issues which may speak to Christians today. Methodological questions, Stanton observed, have been ‘particularly lively’,2 surrounding the appropriateness of redaction criticism, the place of narrative, reader response, and social-scientific methodologies. Of all the issues, though, Stanton focused on four: the relationship of Matthew’s community to contemporary Judaism, his use of the Old Testament, his attitude towards the Law and, finally, social-scientific methodology. Since Stanton, others *

I had the pleasure of engaging Professor Stanton a number of times in written correspondence while a student in hopes of studying under his supervision. Although my studies took me elsewhere, Professor Stanton was always cordial and encouraging. Moreover, he has, through his important writings, been one of the most influential figures in my scholarship and interests in Matthean studies. 1 G. Stanton, The Interpretation of Matthew, 2nd edn (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995), pp. 1–26. 2 Stanton, ‘Matthew’s Gospel in Recent Scholarship’, p. 2.

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have surveyed the field and offered prognostications about its future. In 1997, for example, Davies and Allison3 highlighted five major subjects of inquiry, including (1) Matthew’s relation to Judaism; (2) his theology; (3) literary genre; (4) Christology; and (5) his place in early Christianity. More recently (2011), Donald Senior provides a similar sketch of the landscape, taking up three topics: Judaism, Matthew’s Roman context, and his Christology.4 Some of these more recent developments will be taken up in due course. For the present, we will begin by tracing the development of two issues raised by Stanton.

Two Issues Updated Matthew and social-scientific method

In a final section in his survey of Matthean studies, Stanton addresses the then-burgeoning field of social-scientific approaches to the first Gospel. There Stanton sets out the method because of the ambiguity of Matthew’s social setting. The method is effectively developed by B. J. Malina and J. H. Neyrey (1988), but models built up on the basis of ‘distant comparisons’ of cross-cultural social settings will rarely be sharply defined. Instead, Stanton favours ‘close comparisons’ which study communities which have similar cultural and historical settings, as in the works of J. A. Overman (1990) and G. N. Stanton (1992). Both of these complement distant ‘comparisons’ in sociological studies of Matthew. Overman looks to Jewish groups and ‘sects’, while Stanton at the Damascus Document. The latter comparison shows that both were written from ‘sectarian’ communities ‘which were in sharp conflict with parent bodies from which they had recently and painfully parted company. Both writings functioned as “foundation documents” for their respective communities; they used several strategies to “legitimate” the separation.’5 Social-scientific methodologies have gained attention in Matthean scholarship since Stanton’s discussion. The most prominent is that of J. H. Neyrey,6 who looks to read Matthew in terms of honour and shame, specifically rhetoric of praise and blame, reforming ancient conventions for his own interests. L. J. Lawrence takes up the subject again in her An 3 W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr, Matthew (ICC; 3 vols; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997), 3.692–727. 4 ‘Matthew at the Crossroads of Early Christianity: An Introductory Assessment’, in Matthew’s Gospel: At the Crossroads of Early Christianity (Leuven: Peeters, forthcoming). Thanks to Fr Senior for making his essay available to me prior to publication. 5 Stanton, ‘Matthew’s Gospel in Recent Scholarship’, p. 22. 6 Honor and Shame in the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1998).

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Ethnography of the Gospel of Matthew.7 Lawrence engages Malina’s cross-cultural method, simultaneously investigating literary ethnography to link the reading of literary texts with anthropology. Her approach challenges the designation of Matthew’s rejection of honour (as defined by Malina), positing instead a model of ‘power and anti-introspection’. With this the evangelist provides comments on the internal reasoning of select characters, which questions the standard convention that Mediterranean self-consciousness was disinterested in the private introspective sphere of the self. Instead, Matthew’s interior thought and self-consciousness were ‘morally significant’.8 Furthermore, Matthew’s social world recognizes the importance of those outside one’s kin group, such as strangers or orphans, questioning Malina’s apparently rigid distinction between individualist and collectives cultures.9 Matthew’s Gospel depicts both. In addition, Lawrence finds that contrary to popular conventions, both men and women inhabit both aspects of honour and of shame. Though women are depicted in ‘traditional’ roles, they are at times portrayed wielding influence and power both within and outside the home. Lawrence’s work is what Stanton would likely call a ‘close’ comparison, and offers caution against the use of ‘distant’ comparisons for interpreting the Gospel.10 D. C. Duling has also taken up the mantle of social-scientific approaches to the Gospel of Matthew in a series of articles from 1992 to 2005. Duling first employs the method on the ‘son of David’ terminology11 using ‘etic’ and ‘homomorphic’ models. Duling finds that Matthew’s Son of David possesses all the elements for power, privilege, and prestige for obtaining honour from the rich and ruling in society. Yet contrary to the typical allocation of such honour, Jesus does not exploit it from the poor and needy. Instead, to these he offers the benefits of his honorific status, particularly the use of his power for healing.12 What seems to be evident in Matthew is voluntary marginality.13 Much 7 Subtitled: A Critical Assessment of the Use of the Honour and Shame Model in New Testament Studies (WUNT 2.165; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). 8 Lawrence, Ethnography, p. 299. 9 See also Mark D. Batluck, Review of Bruce J. Malina, Timothy: Paul’s Closest Associate. Paul’s Social Network: Brothers and Sisters in Faith (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2008), RBL 3 (2010). 10 Lawrence offers a more concise application of her methodological care in ‘“For truly, I tell you, they have received their reward” (Mt. 6.2): Investigating Honor Precedence and Honor’, CBQ 64 (2002), pp. 687–702. 11 ‘Matthew’s Plurisignificant “Son of David” in Social Science Perspective: Kinship, Kingship, Magic, and Miracle’, BTB 22 (1992), pp. 99–116. 12 See also his ‘Matthew and Marginality’, HvTSt 51 (1995), pp. 358–87. 13 The term is from W. Carter, ‘Matthew 4.18-22 and Matthean Discipleship: An Audience-Oriented Perspective’, CBQ 59 (1997), pp. 58–75, but also resonates with D. C. Duling, ‘Matthew as Marginal Scribe in an Advanced Agrarian Society’, TS 58 (2002), pp. 520–75; and D. C. Duling, ‘Matthew 18.15-17: Conflict, Confrontation, and Conflict Resolution in a “Fictive Kin” Association’, BTB 29 (1999), pp. 4–22.

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of Duling’s work has been a ‘close’ comparison, but he also finds merit in more ‘distant’ comparisons, such as ethnicity. In 200514 he used ethnicity for identifying socio-cultural features which Matthew appropriates both to maintain ethnicity boundaries and, to a degree, bend them. Indeed, Duling suggests that such a model illustrates that Matthew’s group is best located between Israel and non-Israel and, in all likelihood, was in the process of reconstructing ethnic boundaries.

Matthew and Judaism

Recent discussion has largely rejected a Gentile setting for the Gospel.15 For example, U. Luz16 recognizes that Matthew’s critique of Judaism by no means requires Gentile authorship but is decidedly Jewish: ‘It is precisely a Jewish Christian who would be expected to engage in an especially vicious debate with the synagogue that distances itself from Jesus and to pronounce such severe judgment on Israel.’17 The Gospel, then, originates from a Jewish Christian author in a Jewish Christian community. But what kind of community is that (within or outside Judaism)? The question, of course, is complex with mixed answers. Part of the complexity of the answers, as we will see, is the nature of the question: it may be difficult to conceive of a community in the first century that clearly identified itself with the degree of clear distinction sought by modern scholars. With respect to Matthew’s relationship to contemporary Judaism, Stanton surveys the work of scholars such as Bornkamm (1956)18 and W. D. Davies (1964)19 who see that Matthew’s community had not yet broken its links with Judaism after 70 ce, a ‘struggle within its own walls’ (Bornkamm). Davies even sees various passages in Matthew as a Christian response to Jamnia. J. A. Overman (1990) shows that the social developments within the Matthean community are analogous to the social and institutional developments within Judaism. It is, then, an 14 ‘Ethnicity, Ethnocentrism, and the Matthean Ethnos’, BTB 35 (2005), pp. 125– 43. 15 Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, pp. 113–45. See R. K. McIver, ‘Twentieth Century Approaches to the Matthean Community’, AUSS 37 (1999), pp. 23–38. 16 Ulrich Luz, Matthew 1–7: A Commentary, ed. Helmut Koester, trans. James Crouch (Hermeneia, A Critical & Historical Commentary on the Bible; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), pp. 45–59. 17 Luz, Matthew 1–7, p. 45 rightly citing various NT texts, not least Romans 9–11, for similar evidence. 18 Günther Bornkamm, ‘End-Expectation and Church in Matthew’, in G. Bornkamm, G. Barth and H. J. Held, Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew (London: SCM Press, 1963), pp. 15–51, also W. D. Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1964); O. L. Cope, Matthew: A Scribe Trained for the Kingdom of Heaven (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association, 1976); Goulder, Midrash and Lection in Matthew (London: SPCK, 1974), etc. 19 Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount.

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inner-Jewish conflict with the hostile synagogues led by Pharisees and scribes (intra muros). Of course there are various ways to explain the phenomenon. One school of thought is that Matthew sees himself and his community as a ‘deviant’ sect within Judaism.20 It is a group that lives in considerable tension with the dominant Jewish majority but still identifies itself as Christian Jewish.21 A permutation of this is the view of A. von Dobbeler22 who sees Matthew’s community as among the Jewish renewal movements after 70 ce, seeking to reconstitute Israel and convert Gentiles. It met with strong Jewish opposition but was not seeking its own identity outside Judaism. A more complicated form of this view sees Matthew as still within Judaism but on its way out, which explains the harsh conflict with Jewish leaders.23 Recently Anders Runesson24 has posited that Matthew originated in Pharisaic Judaism living in tension with Pharisaic groups who did not accept the messianic claims of Jesus as embraced by Matthew. Runesson’s and other studies perceive a transition in Matthew’s Gospel from an unresponsive, disobedient Jewish leadership to a people (Jew and Gentile) who will respond favourably to Jesus. A similar middle20 A. J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community (Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). He concludes that Matthew addressed a deviant group within the Jewish community in greater Syria, a reformist Jewish sect seeking influence and power (relatively unsuccessfully) within the Jewish community as a whole. A. J. Saldarini, ‘The Gospel of Matthew and Jewish– Christian Conflict’, in Social History of the Matthean Community: Cross-Disciplinary Approaches (ed. D. L. Balch; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), pp. 38–61; A. J. Saldarini, ‘Boundaries and Polemics in the Gospel of Matthew’, Biblical Interpretation 3 (1995), pp. 239–65. Andrew Overman, Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism: The Social World of the Matthean Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); Andrew Overman, Church and Community in Crisis: The Gospel According to Matthew (The New Testament in Context; Valley Forge, PA: Trinity International, 1996). David Sim, The Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism: The History and Social Setting of the Matthean Community (Studies of the New Testament and Its World; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998); David Sim, ‘Christianity and Ethnicity in the Gospel of Matthew’, in Ethnicity and the Bible, ed. M. G. Brett (Biblical Interpretation Series 19; Leiden: Brill, 1996), pp. 171–95; David Sim, ‘The Gospel of Matthew and the Gentiles’, JSNT 57 (1995), pp. 19–48. See also B. Repschinski, ‘“For He Will Save His People from Their Sins” (Matthew 1:21): A Christology for Christian Jews’, CBQ 68 (2006), pp. 248–67. 21 Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, esp. pp. 198–202. 22 ‘Die Restitution Israels und die Bekehrung der Heiden. Das Verhältnis von Mt 10,5b.6 und Mt 28,18–20 unter dem Aspekt der Komplementarität: Erwägungen zum Standort des Matthäusevangeliums’, ZNW 91 (2000), pp. 18–44. 23 E.-J. Vledder and A. G. van Aarde, ‘The Social Location of the Matthean Community’, HvTSt 51 (1995), pp. 388–408. 24 A. Runesson, ‘From Where? To What? Common Judaism, Pharisees and the Changing Socioreligious Location of the Matthean Community’, in Common Judaism: Explorations in Second-Temple Judaism, ed. W. O. Mccready and A. Reinhartz (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008), pp. 97–114. See also A. Runesson, ‘Rethinking Early Jewish-Christian Relations: Matthean Community History as Pharisaic Intragroup Conflict’, JBL 127 (2008), pp. 95–132.

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ground position is advocated by B. Repschinski, who likewise sees Matthew within Judaism but at odds with its leaders.25 Moreover, what split may have occurred seems to have been initiated by formative Judaism’s parting company with Matthew, rather than the reverse. A different slant is that of J. R. C. Cousland who suggests that while Matthew had broken with the leadership of formative Judaism, he had not fully severed his ties with the Jewish people and still entertained the prospect of their conversion.26 Stanton reacts against this reading, suggesting that many passages suggest the communities to whom Matthew is writing are defining themselves ‘over against Judaism and are being encouraged to accept Gentiles freely’.27 Specifically, he finds four points that challenge this reading. First, the several uniquely Matthean texts (Mt. 4.23, 9.35, 10.17, 12.9, 13.54) in reference to ‘their synagogues’, for Stanton, drive ‘a wedge between Jesus and his disciples on the one hand, and the synagogue on the other’.28 This he takes to mean that the synagogue has almost become an ‘alien institution’.29 Second, the church (16.18; 18.17) seems to stand in opposition to that synagogue. Third is the seeming ‘transference’ of the kingdom to a new people, including Gentiles. Fourth, Stanton reads the comment at 28.15 pertaining to rumours of Jesus’ body that have ‘been widely circulated among Jews to this day’ that ‘Jews who have not accepted Christian claims are set at a distance and referred to as an entity quite distinct from “the new people”.’30 Stanton, then, sees Matthew’s community as cutting all ties with Judaism, which raises questions as to the identity of the evangelist as Jew or Gentile. Stanton seems to lean towards ‘Jewish Christian’ and leave it at that.31 Hagner likewise responds against a Jewish reading,32 arguing that there ‘is a radical newness in the Gospel of Matthew that continually moves beyond the bounds of Judaism and requires the conclusion that Matthew’s community be described as a form of Christianity’.33

25 B. Repschinski, The Controversy Stories in the Gospel of Matthew: Their Redaction, Form and Relevance for the Relationship Between the Matthean Community and Formative Judaism, FRLANT 189 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), pp. 13–61, 343–50. 26 The Crowds in the Gospel of Matthew (NovT Sup 102; Leiden: Brill, 2002). 27 Stanton, ‘Matthew’s Gospel in Recent Scholarship’, p. 18. 28 Stanton, ‘Matthew’s Gospel in Recent Scholarship’, p. 18. 29 Stanton, ‘Matthew’s Gospel in Recent Scholarship’, p. 18. 30 Stanton, ‘Matthew’s Gospel in Recent Scholarship’, p. 19. 31 But Stanton, following S. Legasse (1972, p. 426), is careful to note that Matthew’s so-called anti-Jewish polemic can be just as polemical towards hypocritical Christians who face like judgement. 32 D. A. Hagner, ‘Matthew: Apostate, Reformer, Revolutionary?’ NTS 49 (2003), pp. 193–209. 33 Hagner, ‘Matthew: Apostate, Reformer, Revolutionary?’, p. 194.

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Others suggest the community already left and are encouraged by the evangelist to incorporate Gentiles into their movement.34 For this reading, Matthew’s community would have finally ruptured with Judaism and his Gospel looks back to that painful split. It has left the synagogue and the Gospel helps its members address the trauma of separation and reformulating their task and mission.35 For instance, P. Luomanen sees in Matthew a tendency towards social separation from formative Judaism, yet ideological affinity with it, simultaneously laying claims to the common pre-history.36 Further recent studies have called for addressing the question in a different manner. Senior highlights recent studies which reconsider the origins of rabbinic Judaism and Christianity, positing Christianity and nascent rabbinic Judaism as ‘siblings’ navigating in post-revolt Rome.37 This view sees Judaism and Christianity as distinct communities within Judaism. Though a ‘common Judaism’ (E. P. Sanders) was in place, there existed a degree of diversity within first-century Judaism.38 After the 70 ce tragedy the communities moved towards a more self-conscious identity. Important models have been proposed which call attention to the diversity within Judaism to advocate a ‘middle Judaism’ as the origins of rabbinic Judaism and early Christianity.39 34 P. Foster, Community, Law and Mission in Matthew’s Gospel (WUNT 2.177; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). 35 Luz, Matthew 1–7; G. D. Kilpatrick, The Origins of the Gospel according to St. Matthew (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1950), p. 111; D. R. A. Hare, The Theme of Jewish Persecution of Christians in the Gospel of Matthew (SNTSMS 6; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), pp. 164–65; K. Stendahl, The School of St Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1968), pp. xiii–xiv; Stanton, Gospel, pp. 126–30, 154–68; Donald A. Hagner, ‘The Sitz im Leben of the Gospel of Matthew’, in Treasures New and Old: Recent Contributions to Matthean Studies, ed. David R. Hare and Mark Allan Powell (Atlanta: SBL, 1996), pp. 27–68; Elain Cuvillier, ‘Particularisme et universalisme chez Matthieu: Quelques hypotheses à l’épreuve du text’, Bib 78 (1997), pp. 481–502; A. O. Ewherido, Matthew’s Gospel and Judaism in the Late First Century c.e. The Evidence from Matthew’s Chapter on Parables (Matthew 13:1-52) (New York: Lang, 2006). 36 P. Luomanen, Entering the Kingdom of Heaven (WUNT 2.101; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), p. 264. 37 Senior (‘Matthew at the Crossroads of Early Christianity’) cites particularly H. Perelmuter, Siblings: Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity at their Beginnings (New York, Paulist Press, 1989); A. Segal, Rebecca’s Children: Judaism and Christianity in the Roman World (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986); M. Boys, Has God Only One Blessing?: Judaism as a Source of Christian Self-Understanding (New York: Paulist Press, 2000). 38 See the recent assessment of Sanders’s position in F. Udoh (ed.), Redefining First-Century Jewish and Christian Identities: Essays in Honor of Ed Parish Sanders (Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity vol. 16; Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008). 39 G. Boccaccini, Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought, 300 B.C.E. to 200 C.E. (Minneapolis, Fortress, 1991). Similarly D. Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania, 2005).

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Other new paradigms call for reconsideration of Matthew’s selfunderstanding, advocating that Matthew’s advocacy for a Gentile mission is an appropriate extension, even fulfilment, of their Jewish heritage rather than a departure in any sense.40 This is surely a step in the right direction, though Senior even goes so far as to suggest their self-identity is in flux and not yet fixed, which he sees as resulting in the ambiguity of the Gospel. A similar view is espoused by Duling in his language of ‘marginality’ whereby one is ‘condemned to live in two different, antagonistic cultural worlds, but does not fully belong to either’.41 For Senior, following Luz,42 Matthew’s community is evolving, neither intra muros nor extra muros ‘but caught in between. Like the scribe of 13,52 the Gospel attempts to draw from its treasury things that are both new and old.’43 Similarly to Senior, R. T. France posits that the community is both inside and outside the synagogue, and the tensions created in the Gospel give this indication. They are, on the one hand, embracing the values and ideals which derive from the OT Israel and its scriptures and, on the other, a failing institution of Judaism that has a scribal establishment and ideological focus on the temple and its rites. For France, ‘Matthew portrays a new community which is both faithful to its scriptural heritage and open to the new directions demanded by Jesus’ proclamation of the kingdom of heaven, and therefore necessarily expanding beyond the bounds of the Jewish people.’44 Of the various factors to consider, a few must remain within the discussion. Perhaps most clearly, the people of God are not determined by their ethnicity (Mt. 3.9b), but their relationship to Jesus.45 Inevitably, that will cause would-be followers to leave even their own familial obligations (Mt. 8.22) and loyalties (Mt. 10.37), redefining family loyalties not in terms of ethnicity or genealogy but in terms of doing the will of the father (Mt. 12.48-50). Such departure does not mean they are no longer part of their immediate families, only that they are adhering to a higher allegiance. Another factor that should be considered in this discussion is the positive attitude to the temple and its sacrifices. Matthew depicts this while, through lament, acknowledging its destruction because of the 40 M. Konradt, Israel, Kirche und die Völker im Matthäusevangelium (WUNT 215; Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2007), esp. pp. 349–78. 41 D. C. Duling, ‘Ethnicity, Ethnocentrism, and the Matthean Ethos’, BTB 35 (2005), pp. 125–43. Cited by Senior, ‘Matthew at the Crossroads of Early Christianity’. 42 U. Luz, Matthew 21–28: A Commentary, ed. Helmut Koester, trans. James Crouch (Hermeneia, A Critical & Historical Commentary on the Bible; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), pp. 637–44; Studies in Matthew (tr. R. Selle; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), pp. 3–17; The Theology of the Gospel of Matthew (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), esp. pp. 17–21. 43 Luz, Matthew 1–7, pp. 52–53. 44 R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), p. 18. 45 So also Luz, Matthew 1–7, pp. 54–55.

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sinfulness of its leaders. This is not unlike biblical traditions of Jeremiah and Zechariah,46 and seems to reflect a degree of participation in the temple by early Christians in the book of Acts. Whether it was a place of meeting (Acts 2.46; 3.1-10), teaching (Acts 5.20-26, 42), prayer (Acts 22.17), or rites of purification (Acts 24.18), not only does some degree of participation seem implicit, but Paul is carefully depicted as having claimed to cause no offence against the temple (Acts 25.8). There is no explicit description of sacrifices, but there seems implicit some degree of participation that should be considered in the ‘parting of the ways’ question in general which may help frame the discussion for Matthew in particular. Another important factor to raise in this discussion pertains to the identification of what one means by Jewish in the first place. As Senior points out, the difficulty in situating the first Gospel is an ambiguity both from the Gospel itself and ‘mapping the complexity of Judaism and its relationship to the emergent Christian movement’.47 Recent discussion in Second Temple Studies, particularly regarding the provenance of various ‘Pseudepigrapha’ which could be Jewish or Christian, may be of some service here. Specifically, James R. Davila suggests looking for ‘boundary markers’, facets of a document that render it within the various and plural strands of Judaism within antiquity. This, of course, requires the varieties of Judaism to be recognized, while at the same time acknowledging the foundations which they all share.48 Bauckham contends the points of commonality are temple, torah, and Sabbath observance.49 In this respect, Matthew addresses all three but often in a polemical fashion. Jesus is greater than the temple, fulfils the Law, and is greater than the Sabbath. That such matters are addressed at all requires an organic connection between the Gospel, as the evangelist defines himself and his religion with respect to its origins in Judaism. Yet putting Matthew through a rubric such as Davila’s, at the very least acknowledging that the variations within Judaism itself necessarily complicate the matter, may prove fruitful.

46 See D. Gurtner, ‘Matthew’s Theology of the Temple and the “Parting of the Ways”: Christian Origins in the First Gospel’, in Built Upon Rock: Studies in the Gospel of Matthew, ed. D. Gurtner and J. Nolland (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 2008), pp. 128–53. 47 Senior, ‘Matthew at the Crossroads of Early Christianity’. 48 See especially James R. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? (JSJSup 105; Leiden: Brill, 2005), and an illuminating response by Richard J. Bauckham, ‘The Continuing Quest for the Provenance of the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha’, in The Pseudepigrapha and Christian Origins: Essays from the Studiorum Nove Testamenti Societas, ed. Gerbern S. Oegema and James H. Charlesworth (London: T&T Clark, 2008), pp. 9–29. 49 ‘The Parting of the Ways: What Happened and Why’, ST 47 (1993), pp. 135–51.

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New Issues A host of new issues could be raised at this point, not least by the numerous papers published since Stanton’s 1994 article. Of the dozens of topics we will address only four.50

Matthew and empire

A flurry of activity, principally by Warren Carter, sought to set Matthew in his Roman imperial context. Extensive discussion begins with Carter’s Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading.51 Here Carter describes the first Gospel as a ‘counternarrative’ or ‘work of resistance’ written from and for a minority community of Jesus’ disciples. The Gospel, then, is written to a group standing against the dominant Roman imperial power and synagogal control. In his Matthew and Empire: Initial Explorations52 the author contends that the Gospel contests and resists Rome’s claims to sovereignty. Instead, the evangelist posits an alternative community of disciples of Jesus. This new community anticipates the final, triumphant coming of God’s empire which ushers in Rome’s demise. Throughout the first Gospel Carter finds polemics against Roman political, social, and economic oppressions. The topic is related to a few articles by Carter, such as the paying of taxes to Caesar (Mt. 17.24-27),53 some parables (Mt. 18.23-35; 22.1-14),54 and eschatology,55 cogently summarized in a more recent publication.56 Carter’s approach is applied by David Sim who reads Matthew’s polemic like that of the book of Revelation.57 His contention is that, for example, the centurion’s statement about Jesus as Son of God is not a ‘confession’ in any sense but a recognition of their own condemnation in light of the supernatural events following Jesus’ death. 50 The important topic of Christology is addressed by Senior, ‘Matthew at the Crossroads of Early Christianity’. 51 W. Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading (Maryknoll, NY : Orbis, 2000). 52 W. Carter, Matthew and Empire: Initial Explorations (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001). 53 W. Carter, ‘Paying the Tax to Rome as Subversive Praxis: Matthew 17.24-27’, JSNT 76 (1999), pp. 3–31. 54 W. Carter, ‘Resisting and Imitating the Empire: Imperial Paradigms in Two Matthean Parables’, Int 56 (2002), pp. 260–72. 55 W. Carter, ‘Are There Imperial Texts in the Class? Intertextual Eagles and Matthean Eschatology as “Lights Out” Time for Imperial Rome (Matthew 24:27-31)’, JBL 122 (2003), pp. 467–87; cf. also his ‘Contested Claims: Roman Imperial Theology and Matthew’s Gospel’, BTB 29 (1999), pp. 56–67. 56 W. Carter, ‘Matthew’s Gospel: An Anti-Imperial/Imperial Reading’, Currents in Theology and Mission 34 (2007), pp. 424–33. 57 See D. Sim, ‘Rome in Matthew’s Eschatology’, in The Gospel of Matthew in Its Roman Imperial Context, ed. J. Riches and D. Sim (London: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 91–106.

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Few have since advocated an anti-imperial polemic to the extent of Carter and Sim, and Senior finds the cautious approach of Peter Oakes more satisfactory.58 Oakes sees in both Jewish and Christian writings a mixed attitude towards Roman imperial rule, valuing the Pax Romana, esteeming military prowess, while contemptuous of many of its values and claims. For Matthew in particular, Dorothy Jean Weaver finds the diversity of opinion59 of contemptible Roman authorities to be commendable for their faith; an example is the centurion at Capernaum. In short, ‘The Romans of Matthew’s narrative are complex characters, capable, just as Jesus’s own disciples were, of extraordinary faith, tragic moral failure and profound experiences of conversion. They are portrayed, in short, as real human beings, for whom Jesus’s maxim holds true (7,20): “Thus you will know them by their fruits.”’60 Weaver’s assessment, it seems, captures the complexity of the matter in Matthew, for whom comprehensive statements about imperial Rome have largely passed from scholarly discussion. Senior is surely correct that while immersion in a Roman context is presumed for Matthew’s readers, the primary concern for his Gospel is its relationship with Judaism.61

Ulrich Luz and Wirkungsgeschichte

While the interpretation of Matthew has been largely dominated by historical-critical concerns and methodologies, Ulrich Luz has pioneered what he calls Wirkungsgeschichte – history of effects. As opposed to Auslegungsgeschichte which is largely concerned with the history of interpretation, commentaries, and theological writings, Luz’s Wirkungsgeschichte addresses other venues of expression such as homilies, visual arts, music, and even the interpreter him/herself which makes the text relevant for modern listeners.62 Luz’s critique of historical criticism63 seems to reject the primacy of authorial intent and original meaning. He also rejects its rubric of atheism64 for its perceived lack of sympathy to 58 P. Oakes, ‘A State of Tension: Rome in the New Testament’, in The Gospel of Matthew, ed. Riches and Sim, pp. 75–90. 59 D. J. Weaver, ‘“Thus You Will Know Them by Their Fruits”: The Roman Characters of the Gospel of Matthew’, in The Gospel of Matthew, ed. Riches and Sim, pp. 107–27. 60 Weaver, ‘Thus You Will Know Them’, pp. 126–27. 61 Senior, ‘Matthew at the Crossroads of Early Christianity’. 62 Luz, Matthew 1–7, p. 63. 63 Clearly articulated in his Matthew in History: Interpretation, Influence, and Effects (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994). This work, based on his 1990 Sprunt Lectures delivered at Union Theological Seminary (Richmond, VA), outlines the limitations of the historical-critical method and posits some new horizons for history of effects, among other hermeneutical issues. 64 U. Luz, ‘Introduction: La Bible, une pomme de discorde’ and ‘Les diverses approches de la Bible, sont-elles inconciliables?’, in La Bible: Une pomme de discorde?, ed. U. Luz (Geneva: Labor et Fides: 1992), p. 37; cited in M. W. Elliott, ‘Effective-History and the Hermeneutics of Ulrich Luz’, JSNT 33 (2010), pp. 161–73 (p. 163).

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the biblical narrative. Here he is not positing a historicizing of particular texts (e.g. miracles) but he is concerned with the historical effect of the text on its readers. Such effects transcend historical exegesis, which embraces psychological, feminist, and material interpretations. Part of the impetus for his method was found in reading church Fathers65 and necessarily finds application in ecclesiastical contexts, walking the tension between diverse hermeneutical readings and strong Christian tradition.66 Luz’s commentary repeatedly expresses concern for the state of the church in Western Europe and his hope for Matthew’s influence in its revitalization. His is a ‘churchy’ message67 which aims to keep the biblical message alive and to use the bible as the source of common ground for the church.68 Elliott, interestingly, finds Luz’s primary value is gained from his trolling through history of exegesis, rather than the influence of the text on fine arts, music, and literature.69 Dale Allison concurs: the ‘chief contribution’ of Luz’s commentary is found in his ‘résumés of two thousand years of exegesis’.70 Luz has been influential but few seem to replicate his methodology. Indeed, Elliott observes that even in his 2008 Festschrift only one or two contributors discuss ‘reception history’.71 Yet it is perhaps surprising that a scholar of such ecclesiastical interests should have such a profound academic and scholarly influence. Luz has been critiqued for a protestant Lutheran view of the Sermon on the Mount and a decided inattentiveness to anti-Semitism. Be that as it may, he has decidedly opened a new door to the interpretation of the first Gospel, aided in small part by such resources as Manlio Simonetti’s contribution to the Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture72 and the even more popular The Gospel of Matthew and Its Readers: A Historical Introduction to the First Gospel by Howard Clarke, a volume replete with historical anecdotes, visual arts, (American) history and literature.73 Popular musicals such as Jesus Christ Superstar, the literary works of Mark Twain and John Steinbeck, and memorable sound bites from Abraham Lincoln and Ronald Reagan, to name but a few, have 65 U. Luz, ‘Die Bedeutung der Kirchenväter für die Auslegung der Bibel: Eine westlichprotestantische Sicht’, in J. D. G. Dunn et al. (eds), Auslegung der Bibel in orthodoxer und westlicher Perspektive (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), pp. 29–52. 66 Elliott, ‘Effective-History’. 67 Elliott, ‘Effective-History’, p. 165. 68 Luz defines the church: ‘all those who are interested in the bible belong to the Church’ (cited by Elliott, ‘Effective-History’, p. 162). 69 Elliott, ‘Effective-History’, p. 167. 70 Dale C. Allison Jr, review of Ulrich Luz, Matthew 8–20: A Commentary, RBL (2003). 71 Peter Lampe, Moises Mayordomo and Migaku Sato (eds), Neutestamentliche Exegese im Dialog: Hermeneutik–Wirkungsgeschichte–Matthäusevangelium (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2008). 72 Manlio Simonetti, Matthew, 2 vols (Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament Ia-b; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2001, 2002). 73 H. Clarke, The Gospel of Matthew and Its Readers: A Historical Introduction to the First Gospel (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2003).

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all been influenced in some capacity by Matthew’s Gospel, catalogued by Clarke in a manner that is ‘undeniably highly entertaining’.74

A sapiential reading of Matthew

Scholars working in the book of James have long recognized the sapiential influence and appropriation of Jesus’ words in the Sermon on the Mount in that book. Some have even observed facets of wisdom in Matthew in various places.75 C. M. Deutsch, for example, displayed a Wisdom Christology in a few texts in Matthew (cf. Mt. 8.18-22; 11.2–13.58; 23.34-36, 37-39).76 Most recently, Ben Witherington appropriates a sapiential reading, particularly with a Christological focus, for the entire book.77 Though his commentary is more popular than technical, its contribution plays a unique role. Witherington contends that the evangelist is a scribe in the (Jewish) sapiential tradition, as in Sir 39.1-11. Perhaps influenced by his work in historical Jesus studies, which he cites in his discussion for a sapiential reading,78 Witherington finds Matthew presenting Jesus as both the wise sage and wisdom itself. While acknowledging its presence in a number of texts (many from Q, cf. Mt. 11.2-19, 25-30; 23.34-39), Witherington posits a more thoroughgoing Wisdom Christology in the book, finding, for example, that Jesus’ walking on water (Mt. 14.22-33) resembles that of Wisdom (Sir 24.5-6). Indeed, for Witherington, Matthew presents his material ‘through the lens of a Jewish sapiential way of looking at the believing and spiritual life’.79 He suggests that the evangelist ‘so sees his task as interpreting and presenting the life and teachings of Jesus as revelatory wisdom from God’,80 the incarnation of God’s wisdom. He suggests Jesus’ teaching,

74 Dale C. Allison Jr, ‘Matthew and the History of Its Interpretation’, ExpTim 120 (2008), p. 2. 75 M. J. Suggs, Wisdom, Christology, and Law in Matthew’s Gospel (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1970); and M. D. Johnson, ‘Reflections on a Wisdom Approach to Matthew’s Christology’, CBQ 36 (1974), pp. 44–64. A related work is that of J. A. Draper, ‘The Genesis and Narrative Thrust of the Paraenesis in the Sermon on the Mount’, JSNT 75 (1999), pp. 25–48. Draper’s work contends for the centrality of Torah in the Christian community, but does not seem to broach an explicitly sapiential model. 76 C. M. Deutsch, Lady Wisdom, Jesus, and the Sages: Metaphor and Social Context in Matthew’s Gospel (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996). This is similar to her C. Deutsch, Hidden Wisdom and the Easy Yoke: Wisdom, Torah, and Discipleship in Matthew 11:25–30 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987). A more comprehensive treatment is that of F. T. Gench, Wisdom in the Christology of Matthew (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1997), who seems to suggest evidence of an incipient Wisdom Christology is lacking in Matthew. 77 B. Witherington, Matthew (Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2006). 78 Witherington, Matthew, p. 5, citing his Jesus the Sage (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994). 79 Witherington, Matthew, p. 1. 80 Witherington, Matthew, p. 7.

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in form, is ‘overwhelmingly sapiential in character’.81 The Gospel, he suggests, has ‘a thoroughgoing sapiential agenda’.82 ‘The Evangelist has skillfully woven together his source material to produce a compelling portrait of Jesus as both sage and Wisdom, as both the revealer of God and as Immanuel, as well as drawing on other major images of Christ as Son of God, Son of Man, and Christ.’83 Matthew, he posits, presents Jesus as a Jewish sage, concentrating on his public forms of wisdom teaching (parables, aphorisms, riddles, beatitudes), highlighting the fatherhood of God (more so than does Mark and as other wisdom texts), and the precedent to teaching over both preaching and healing (citing 4.34; 9.35; 11.1), criticizing the overemphasis in scholarship on Moses typology to the neglect of a sapiential Christology. He finds that Jesus is greater than Solomon and offers greater wisdom, presents a sapiential reading of the Immanuel reference, and depicts an intimacy with God typical of Jewish Wisdom literature’s portrayal of Wisdom itself, and the eschatological embodiment of Wisdom on earth.84 Jesus is a teacher of the people, as was Wisdom (cf. Prov. 1.20-30, etc.), his title as teacher is wrought with sapiential implications. The scope is rather breathtaking and Witherington may overplay his hand at times. Yet the novelty of his approach would require scholars to reconsider what type of document he is intending to write and what kind of Jesus he is intending to present at several strategic locations in the Gospel.

Matthew and Paul

In his work on the Matthean community, D. C. Sim proposes85 and develops what he perceives to be an anti-Pauline polemic in the first Gospel. For Sim, Matthew is a Law-observant Christian Jew whom he likens to Paul’s Christian Jewish opponents in Galatia.86 More recently, Sim has posited Matthew’s great commission (28.16-20) as decidedly a response to Paul’s claim to have been visited by the risen Christ and entrusted with a Gentile mission. In his reading, the Gentile mission had its origin in the commissioning by the risen Jesus, contrary to Paul’s claim. This rubric has been challenged on two occasions by Joel Willitts. First, Willitts critiques Sim’s reading of Matthew and caricature of Paul.87 Indeed, he suggests that in order for an interpreter to find an 81 Witherington, Matthew, p. 7. 82 Witherington, Matthew, p. 9. 83 Witherington, Matthew, p. 16. 84 Witherington, Matthew, p. 19. 85 D. C. Sim, ‘The Social Setting of the Matthean Community: New Paths for an Old Journey’, HvTSt 57 (2001), pp. 268–80. 86 D. C. Sim, ‘Matthew’s Anti-Paulinism: A Neglected Feature of Matthean Studies’, HvTSt 58 (2002), pp. 767–83. 87 ‘The Friendship of Matthew and Paul: A Response to the Recent Trend in the Interpretation of Matthew’s Gospel’, HvTSt 65 (2009), pp. 150–57.

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anti-Pauline Matthew, one has to assume that perspective before commencing the comparison. Matthew’s anti-Pauline stance is substantiated by appeals to ambiguous texts where Paul is not mentioned and direct interaction supposedly evident is grounded on unsubstantiated assumptions. Matthew is, rather, as in Stanton’s estimation, ‘neither anti-Pauline, nor has it been strongly influenced by Paul’s writings; it is simply un-Pauline’.88 Most recently,89 Willitts advocates a primarily descriptive task of comparing Matthew and Paul and, when reading within the ‘radical New Perspective’, posits foundational theological affinity. In raising the question of the relation between Matthew and Paul, Sim draws attention to an Antiochean connection between Paul (from his time in Syrian Antioch, cf. Gal. 2.11-14) and Matthew’s origins there. In Sim’s reading, the Antioch Incident (Gal. 2.11-14) becomes paradigmatic of the relationship between the Jewish Christianity of Matthew and the Gentile Christianity of Paul.90 Willitts challenges this presumption on a number of grounds. First is the assumption of an Antiochean provenance for Matthew, which has been reassessed towards Galilee instead,91 thus minimizing or removing Pauline influence. Second, Willitts critiques Sim’s discussion of the relevant text in Galatians pertaining to the nature, source, and players in the conflict between Peter and Paul. In Willitts’s words: It seems now likely that the conflict was not at all between a Jewish-Christian church based in Jerusalem and the frontiers of the Gentile mission, i.e. an intra-Christian one. Instead the incident revealed an inter-Jewish conflict between Jewish groups about the status and privilege of Gentile God-fearers versus Jewish proselytes.92

This, then, removes the intra-Christian polemic presumed by Sim’s model. Willitts, then, rejects the anti-Pauline reading of Matthew,93 and directs scholars to either an un-Pauline94 or pro-Pauline95 orientation. 88 Quoted by Willitts from Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Louisville: WJK, 1993), p. 314. 89 ‘Paul and Matthew: A Descriptive Approach from a Post-New Perspective Interpretive Framework’, in Paul and the Gospels: Christologies, Conflicts and Convergences, ed. Michael F. Bird and Joel Willitts (LNTS, 411; London: T&T Clark, 2011). 90 See especially Sim, Matthew. 91 See especially A. M. Gale, Redefining Ancient Borders: The Jewish Scribal Framework of Matthew’s Gospel (London: T&T Clark, 2005). 92 Willitts, ‘Paul and Matthew’. 93 See Willitts, ‘Paul and Matthew’. 94 Stanton, A Gospel, p. 314. P. Foster, ‘Paul and Matthew: Two Strands of the Early Jesus Movement with Little Sign of Connection’, in Paul and the Gospels, ed. Bird and Willitts, pp. 86–114. 95 Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount, pp. 325–32.

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The former would suggest Matthew is not addressing Pauline rhetorical concerns. The latter would fit if it recognized a ‘shared theological framework’. Willitts is content to let the uncertainty remain.

Conclusion Our survey of Matthean studies since Stanton’s important essay is quite brief. It indicates a few important things. First, some of the issues that Stanton highlighted, such as social-scientific analysis and the ongoing debate of Matthew’s relation to formative Judaism, remain important subjects of inquiry. Indeed, each has advanced in a variety of levels. As scholars in other fields advance in methodological analysis in socialscientific analyses, Matthean scholars are increasingly equipped for its application to questions surrounding Matthew. Similarly, advances in studies pertaining to Second Temple Judaism further indicate the complexities and potential pitfalls of determining Matthew’s relationship to formative Judaism. Of course, the other key issues Stanton addresses – the use of the OT and attitude towards the Law – are similarly discussed among scholars but beyond the scope of what can be covered here. Christological and historical matters are likewise lively within the field, as are more recent methodological advances, such as the advent of feminist96 and postcolonial readings.97 Inevitably, these and other matters will continue to propagate as the field continues to evolve. What seems evident, however, is that the best vantage point to see those future horizons is on the shoulders of giants in scholarship, such as Professor Graham N. Stanton.

96 See Elaine M. Wainwright, ‘Feminist Criticism and the Gospel of Matthew’, in Method for Matthew, ed. M. A. Powell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 83–117. 97 Fernando F. Segovia, ‘Postcolonial Criticism and the Gospel of Matthew’, in Method for Matthew, ed. M. A. Powell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 194–238.

Chapter 4 How Did Matthew Go About Composing His Gospel? James D. G. Dunn* In this chapter I ask two questions: (1) how did Matthew compose his gospel? – the mechanics of the process; and (2) why did he compose it as he did? – the purpose of his composition. Within the limitations of this chapter I will be able to deal only with the principal element in answering the second question – Matthew’s Christology.

How did Matthew Compose His Gospel? The solution to ‘the Synoptic problem’, which still commands consensus support, has provided the clearest answer to our question for more than a hundred years. Matthew was in the happy position of having two written sources on which to draw – Mark and Q.1 Despite a small minority attempting to promote what became known as ‘the Griesbach hypothesis’, that the traditional view of Matthew’s priority should not be abandoned, the two-source solution has retained much the strongest support of specialists in the Synoptic Gospels.2 However, the assump*

I always feel rather privileged, and somewhat nervous, when I engage in any study of Matthew, since three of my best friends are all Matthean specialists. They all have far more knowledge of Matthew than I will ever hope to achieve, and I have learned from them more than I can tell. This is especially true of Graham Stanton, whose friendship I treasured for over forty years. We met as postgraduate PhDers in Cambridge in 1965, and it was a particular delight that Graham succeeded to the Lady Margaret Chair previously filled by our shared Doctor-father, Charlie Moule. To contribute to this volume of all volumes is a special privilege, and I very much hope that this engagement with issues so familiar to Graham will be one of which he would have approved, even when we differ on particular issues. 1 The consensus view established by H. J. Holtzmann, Die synoptischen Evangelien: ihr Ursprung und ihr geschichtlicher Charakter (Leipizig: Engelmann, 1863) and B. H. Streeter, The Four Gospels: A Study of Origins (London: Macmillan, 1924). W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew (ICC; 3 vols; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988, 1991, 1997) provide a full analysis (1.97-127). 2 See particularly C. M. Tuckett, The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983).

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tion on which most research since then has operated is that an exclusively literary hypothesis (that Matthew drew the Jesus tradition which it shared with Mark and Luke entirely from the written documents, Mark and Q) is all that is needed to explain Matthew’s source of that tradition, and therefore all that need be envisaged for Matthew’s main sources. As I have argued elsewhere, such an assumption both ignores the oral culture of the earliest Christian communities and the inevitably oral character of the earliest transmission of the Jesus tradition, prior at least to the substantive writing down of that tradition by Mark. The issue is posed particularly by the almost ridiculous confidence which many invest in the assumption that all the non-Markan material shared by Matthew and Luke must have been derived from a written document (Q), a document which can be almost fully retrieved from that shared material, even when so much that is shared is strikingly divergent in detail.3 In my view, a historically more plausible hypothesis is that Matthew was able to draw on five or more collections of Jesus tradition. (1) Mark’s Gospel. The extent of the overlap between Mark and Matthew remains one of the most stunning facts to have emerged in the last two hundred years of biblical criticism. On Holtzmann’s reckoning, more than 95 per cent of Mark appears also in either Matthew or Luke. Streeter made much of the fact that 90 per cent of Mark’s subject matter reappears in Matthew ‘in language very largely identical with that of Mark’.4 Graham Stanton thought that ‘F. C. Burkitt’s seventy year old formulation can hardly be bettered: “Matthew is a fresh edition of Mark, revised, rearranged, and enriched with new material”.’5 The grounds for such confidence are easily demonstrated. There are many passages in Matthew and Mark where the wording of the two texts is so closely parallel that it is unrealistic to explain the closeness other than in terms of literary dependence, or to be more precise, in terms of Matthew’s dependence on the text of Mark. Examples come readily to hand: Mk 1.16-20/Mt. 4.18-22 Mk 10.13-16/Mt. 19.13-15 Mk 2.18-22/Mt. 9.14-17 Mk 10.32-34/Mt. 20.17-19 3 The confidence is soberly expressed by J. M. Robinson, P. Hoffmann and J. S. Kloppenborg, The Critical Edition of Q (Leuven: Peeters, 2000). More realistic is the observation in the same year of M. Hengel, The Four Gospels and the One Gospel of Jesus Christ (London: SCM, 2000), pp. 169–207: ‘I do not dispute the existence of “Q”, but only the possibility of demonstrating its unity and reconstructing it in any way which is at all reliable’ (p. 173). I refer also to my Jesus Remembered (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 147–60. 4 Streeter, The Four Gospels, pp. 151, 159. 5 Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), pp. 51–52, citing F. C. Burkitt, The Earliest Sources for the Life of Jesus (London: Constable, 1922), p. 97.

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How Did Matthew Go About Composing His Gospel? Mk 8.1-10/Mt. 15.32-39 Mk 11.27-33/Mt. 21.23-27 Mk 8.31-9.1/Mt. 16.21-28 Mk 13.3-32/Mt. 24.3-366

(2) Oral tradition which Mark also knew. A fact too often ignored is that there are other parallel passages between Mark and Matthew which are obviously versions of the same tradition (the same event or teaching), but which diverge from each other substantially in wording and detail. In some cases the hand of Matthean redaction is evident in the introduction of distinctively Matthean motifs and themes. But in many cases the more probable explanation is that Matthew knew a different oral version of the same basic tradition and preferred to use that rather than Mark’s version. I find it almost impossible to accept that Matthew did not know of any of the Jesus tradition used by Mark until he received a copy of Mark. What knowledge of Jesus do we think Matthew’s church(es) would have had or would have been content with during the forty or so years between Jesus’ mission and Mark’s Gospel? The parallel passages which diverge from the Markan text in most cases are best explained in terms of Matthew’s knowledge of and preference for versions of particular traditions different from Mark’s. We cannot, of course, assume a single source for this material, but perhaps different collections, the repertoire of various apostles, teachers and evangelists. For example: Mt.

Mk

Mt.

Mk

Mt.

Mk

5.30 8.23-27 9.27-31

9.43 4.35-41 10.46-52

10.42 15.21-28 16.1-4

9.41 7.24-30 8.11-13

17.14-21 18.1-5 28.1-8

9.14-29 9.33-37 16.1-8.7

(3) Written Q tradition. That Q was a document written in Greek is the consensus of Q scholarship.8 The possibility that Matthew and Luke made independent renderings of a common Aramaic source into such closely similar Greek is minimal. And the basic fact is that much of the 6 A similar degree of literary interdependence, but with significant Matthean editing is evident in Mk 2.23–3.6/Mt. 12.1-14; Mk 6.45-52/Mt. 14.22-33; and Mk 8.27-30/Mt. 16.13-20. 7 Many of these are set out in Jesus Remembered, pp. 217–20; A New Perspective on Jesus (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005), pp. 106–10; ‘Matthew as Wirkungsgeschichte’, in P. Lampe et al., Neutestamentliche Exegese im Dialog: Hermeneutik – Wirkungsgeschichte – Matthäusevangelium (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2008), pp. 149–66 (157–59), and ‘Reappreciating the Oral Jesus Tradition’, Svensk Exegetisk Årsbok 74 (2009), pp. 1–17 (6–8). Recognition that Matthew was probably dependent on oral versions of Markan tradition as well as on Mark, removes the need to hypothesize either an Ur-Markus or a Deutero-Mark; cf. J. Gnilka, Das Matthäusevangelium (HTKNT, 2 vols; Freiburg: Herder, 1986, 1988), 2.526. 8 See particularly J. S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), pp. 51–64.

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Q material common to Matthew and Luke is again so closely parallel in form and wording that a shared literary source (Q) provides the best solution. The best examples are:9 Mt. 3.7-10, 12/Luke 3.7-9, 17 Mt. 11.21-27/Lk. 10.12-15, 21-22 Mt. 6.24/Lk. 16.13 Mt. 12.39-45/Lk. 11.29-32, 24-26 Mt. 6.25-33/Lk. 12.22-31 Mt. 13.33/Lk. 13.20-21 Mt. 7.1-5/Lk. 6.37-42 Mt. 24.45-51/Lk. 12.42-46 Mt. 7.7-11/Lk. 11.9-13 Mt. 8.19-22/Lk. 9.57b-60a Mt. 11.2-11, 16-19/Lk. 7.18-19, 22-28, 31-35

(4) Q tradition in oral form. But as with the Markan parallels, there are again many cases in which the parallel material is notably divergent, Matthew’s version significantly different from Luke’s. In these cases it is far from obvious that both have been simply copying from a common written source (Q) – or indeed the one copying from the other. I have suggested more than once that Synoptic scholarship would benefit from making a clear distinction between the non-Markan material which they share (‘q’) and the hypothetical written document from which they derived the material (‘Q’). That ‘q’ = ‘Q’ is usually the default setting to which discussion of the ‘q’ material almost unconsciously reverts. But in an oral culture and when the Jesus tradition had been largely or predominantly known only through oral teaching and aural reception, a more plausible suggestion is that the divergent ‘q’ material probably reflects different versions of the same material in the oral Jesus tradition. The presence of doublets is a reminder that it was quite common for individual authors to know more than one version of a saying of Jesus.10 Here again one can hardly exclude the possibility that Matthew in particular felt free to redact a (written) Q tradition more heavily than in other cases – though, of course, the freer we infer Matthew’s redaction to be, the closer we come to affirming that Matthew exercised the very freedom which we infer from the variation in the Synoptic tradition was exercised by oral tradents. However, in so many cases, the differences are so inconsequential that an explanation of them as tendentious modification makes little sense. So, as with the equivalent material in Matthew parallel to yet divergent from Mark, in many cases, the more probable explanation is that Matthew knew a different oral version of the same basic ‘q’ tradition, the most likely corollary being that the Q document did not include that ‘q’ material.11 Once again it should not 9 Cf. U. Luz, ‘Matthew and Q’, Studies in Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), ch. 3. 10 Still valuable is the listing provided by J. C. Hawkins, Horae Synopticae: Contributions to the Study of the Synoptic Problem (Oxford: Clarendon, 1898; 2nd edn, 1909), pp. 80–107. 11 Streeter maintained that ‘a substantial portion of the 200 verses in question were probably derived from some other (oral) source than Q’ (Four Gospels, p. 183). D. A. Hagner,

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be inferred that the oral ‘q’ material was a single collection of Jesus’ sayings. Since the suggestion still seems to be remarkably controversial I give a more extended list of examples.12 Mt.

Lk.

5.3-12 5.13 5.15 5.18 5.25-26 5.32 5.39-42 5.38-48 6.9-13 6.20-21 7.12 7.13-14 7.16 7.21 7.23 7.24-27 8.5-13 10.7-16 10.24-25

6.20-23 14.34-35 8.16 16.17 12.58-59 16.18 6.29-30 6.27-8, 32-6 11.2-4 12.33-34 6.31 13.23-24 6.44 6.46 13.27 6.47-49 7.1-10 9.2-5/10.3-12 6.40

Mt. 10.26-33 10.34-36 10.37-38 10.39 10.40 11.12-13 16.1 18.10-14 18.15 18.21-22 19.28 22.1-14 23.23 23.25 23.29 23.34-36 24.27 24.37-41 25.14-30

Lk.



12.2-9 12.51-53 14.26-27 17.33 10.16 16.16 11.16 15.3-7 17.3 17.4 22.30 14.15-24 11.42 11.39 11.47 11.49-51 17.24 17.26-36 19.11-27

(5) Tradition which is unique to Matthew (M). The presence of such material in Matthew once again suggests that Matthew’s stock of oral Jesus tradition was still wider than what was available to him in the first four categories. And here once again it should not be assumed that the M material was a single collection or from a single source.13 Matthew (WBC 33; 2 vols; Dallas: Word, 1993, 1995) observes that ‘to a very large extent, the shape of the sayings of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew reflects the parallelism and mnemonic devices of material designed for easy memorization’ and sees in this a sign ‘of the actual preservation of oral tradition very much in the form in which it was probably given by Jesus’ (1.xlviii–xlix). 12 Several of the examples are also set out in full in Jesus Remembered, pp. 221, 226, 232–35; New Perspective on Jesus, pp. 110–13, 116–17; ‘Q1 as Oral Tradition’, in The Written Gospel, Graham N. Stanton FS, ed. M. Bockmuehl and D. A. Hagner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 45–69; ‘Matthew as Wirkungsgeschichte’, pp. 160–62; and ‘Reappreciating the Oral Jesus Tradition’, pp. 8–10. Stanton regards Mt. 5.13a, 14a, 16; 6.9-13; 7.12, 15-20, 21; 10.8, 24-25, 41; 18.10a, 14; 23.28, 32-34 as Matthew’s additions of ‘new’ words to his Q traditions, ‘but his intention is to elucidate, apply and summarize his traditions rather than to supplement them with sayings which he has created de novo’ (A Gospel for a New People, pp. 133–39). 13 G. D. Kilpatrick, The Origins of the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (Oxford: Clarendon, 1946), did assume that M was a written document, ‘more primitive in type if not in date than Mark or Q’ (ch. 2, here 36). But W. G. Kümmel, Introduction to the

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Especially to be noted are the complete units unique to Matthew:14 chs 1–2 5.33-37 6.1-6, 16-18 7.6 11.28-30

13.24-30, 36-52 17.24-27 18.15-20, 23-35 20.1-16 21.28-32

23.1-36 25.1-13, 31-46 27.3-10 27.52-53 28.9-20

If the above analysis of the Matthean building blocks is basically sound, we can then turn to asking about Matthew’s composition technique. The task here is somewhat easier than in the equivalent enquiry regarding Mark. Mark’s composition technique is difficult to discern, principally because his sources are so obscure, and without knowing his sources one can never be sure whether distinctive features of Mark were derived from his sources or are Mark’s own fingerprints. But obviously, if Matthew was drawing on written source material, then comparison of Matthew’s text with Mark (§1 above), and with what appears to have been the written Q tradition (best preserved by Luke – §3 above), should provide fairly straightforward evidence of Matthew’s editing. This was the main feature in the initial development of redaction criticism in the early 1960s,15 though it soon became obvious that over-concentration on editorial changes to sources could give an unbalanced perspective on the subject.16 Redaction criticism and narrative (or composition) criticism had to go hand in hand. Thus, in addition to evidence of redaction, the indications of editorial links, elaboration, and consistent themes and motifs naturally call for attention.17 Good examples of Matthew’s stylistic editing of Mark are the slower and more measured tone achieved by dropping so many of the devices which gave Mark’s storytelling such pace – eu)qu&j (‘immediately’) and pa&lin (‘again’), the historic present tense and parataxis.18 He drops or New Testament (1973; ET Nashville: Abingdon, 1975), notes the unlikelihood of the above material being drawn from a common written source and concludes that Matthew used only oral tradition in addition to Mark and Q (109–10); similarly S. H. Brooks, Matthew’s Community: The Evidence of His special Sayings Material (JSNTSup 16; Sheffield: JSOT, 1987), pp. 111–15; R. E. Brown, Introduction to the New Testament (New York: Doubleday, 1997), p. 206; U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (EKK 1; 4 vols; Düsseldorf: Benziger, 5th edn, 2002, 1990, 1997, 2002), 1.50–52. 14 See also Mt. 7.18-20; 10.5-6, 23; 12.5-6, 11-12, 34-37; 14.28-31; 16.17-19; 21.14-17; 24.28; 27.17, 24-25. 15 In the case of Matthew, most notably G. Bornkamm, G. Barth and H. J. Held, Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew (1960; ET London: SCM, 1963). 16 See also Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Gospel: Matthean Scholarship from 1945 to 1980’, ANRW II.25.3 (1985), pp. 1889–951 (here pp. 1896–99). 17 See further Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, chs 2–3. 18 For these features in Mark see e.g. N. Turner, A Grammar of New Testament Greek (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1976), pp. 19–20, 34.

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modifies some of Mark’s more negative comments about Jesus’ disciples or responses to Jesus.19 Other good examples are Matthew’s severe abbreviation of some of Mark’s miracle stories,20 all of which he successfully halved in length – no doubt in Matthew’s view an improvement of the storytelling.21 More important, however, is the fact Matthew took over from Mark what can be described as the ‘gospel’22 character of Mark’s structure, that is, ‘a passion narrative with an extended introduction’.23 By that I mean not simply that the Gospel of Matthew, like that of Mark, climaxes in the account of Jesus’ last week in Jerusalem, his betrayal, crucifixion and resurrection. For Matthew also took over the key elements in Mark which led up to that climax: the turning point of Peter’s confession near Caesarea Philippi,24 the passion predictions,25 the correction of any inferences drawn too easily from Jesus’ miracles, and the various foreshadowings of Jesus’ final sufferings and death.26 These are not simply cases of ‘copy and paste’. But the very fact that Matthew follows Mark’s pattern so closely, even when using the Jesus tradition in his own way or using other versions of Jesus tradition known to him, underlines the commitment which Matthew in effect took upon himself – that is, a commitment to use Mark’s Gospel genre for his own retelling of the story of Jesus and to follow the pattern of Mark’s build-up of his Gospel to the climax of Jesus’ death and resurrection. 19 E.g. Mk 3.21; 4.38; 5.31; 6.5; 8.17b; 9.10, 32; 10.35. 20 Mk 5.1-20/Mt. 8.28-34, Mk 5.21-43/Mt. 9.18-26, and Mk 9.14-29/Mt. 17.1421. See also Hawkins, Horae Synopticae, pp. 158–60. 21 For other examples of Matthew’s editorial and compositional style see Kümmel, Introduction, pp. 106–107; Luz, Matthäus, 1.27-32. Gnilka notes that Matthew favours an antithetical structure (Matthäusevangelium, 2.525); Davies and Allison draw particular attention to Matthew’s tendency to arrange his material in threes (Matthew, 1.62–71, 86–87). 22 It is clear that Mark introduced eu)agge/lion at various points to the Jesus tradition he received; see W. Marxsen, Mark the Evangelist (1956, 1959; ET Nashville: Abingdon, 1969), pp. 117–50, though it is hardly clear from Mark 1.1 that Mark intended to describe his own writing as eu)agge/lion (a ‘gospel’, a new genre). Stanton argues that it was not Mark who took this step but Matthew, referring particularly to Mt. 24.14 and 26.13 (A Gospel for a New People, pp. 15–18; also Jesus and Gospel [Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2004], p. 60). But these two verses are drawn from Mark (13.10 and 14.9). I agree with Adela Collins, Mark (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007) on Mark 14.9: ‘It seems likely . . . that here the author of Mark refers to his own work as a “Gospel”. . . . The usage . . . shows that no great distinction was made by this author, and probably his audiences, between an oral summary of the Gospel and a written Gospel’ (p. 644). 23 The characterization of Mark is usually attributed to M. Kähler, The So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic Biblical Christ (1896; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1964), p. 80 n. 11. 24 Mk 8.27-30/Mt. 16.13-20. 25 Mk 8.31/Mt. 16.21; Mk 9.30-31/Mt. 17.22-23; Mk 10.33/Mt. 20.18. 26 Mk 2.20/Mt. 9.15; Mk 3.6/Mt. 12.14; Mk 6.17-29/Mt. 14.3-12; 10.38-39/Mt. 20.22-23; Mk 12.6-12/Mt. 21.37-42, 46; Mk 13.9-13/Mt. 24.9-14; Mk 14.8/Mt. 26.12; Mk 14.18-20, 22-24/Mt. 26.21-23, 26-28; Mk 14.27/Mt. 26.31; Mk 14.33-36/Mt. 26.37-39.

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An important factor here is that there were probably other ways of remembering Jesus, perhaps as a healer, and certainly as a teacher; however limited the written Q document may have been, it represents a way of storing and communicating the teaching of Jesus. I doubt it functioned as the sole body of Jesus tradition of any particular church or community. It may only have been one of several collections of Jesus tradition, a written source serving as an aid to teachers in various churches; in which case it should not be taken as the sole indicator of the Christology of these churches.27 The point here, however, is that whatever the Q material’s function, when disentangled from Matthew and Luke, Q can not be described as ‘a passion narrative with an extended introduction’. It does not have a passion narrative. Moreover, the Q material lacks almost all of the various structural features and foreshadowings of the passion narrative which are such a feature of Mark. The Q tradition contains some allusions to Jesus’ death28 and vindication,29 but it is not a ‘gospel’ as Mark in effect (and in the event) defined the genre ‘gospel’. So the fact that Matthew drew on the Q material should not blind us to the more important fact that in Matthew the Q material is encased within the structure provided by Mark. In Matthew the ‘Q’ (and ‘q’) traditions have become part of a fuller version of the account of Jesus’ mission climaxing in his passion. At the same time, Matthew did not hesitate to adapt or mould the tradition that came to him for his own purposes.30 Examples of Matthew’s probable theological editing include: • 3.14-15: to explain why Jesus came to be baptized by the Baptist. • 5.17, 19-20: elaborating a Q (oral) tradition (Luke 16.17) to give a positive slant to Jesus’ attitude on the law. • 5.32: qualifying Jesus’ apparent denial of the legitimacy of divorce (Luke 16.18).

27 See again my Jesus Remembered, pp. 147–60. 28 Notably Mt. 10.38/Lk. 14.27 (‘whoever does not take up his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple’); Mt. 23.37-39/Lk. 13.34-35 and Mt. 23.34-36/Lk. 11.49-51 (the implication that Jesus is included among the ‘prophets and messengers’ killed); Mt. 5.1112/Lk. 6.22-23 (similarly, suffering as the lot of disciples as of prophets). See further J. S. Kloppenborg, Excavating Q (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000), pp. 369–74. 29 Mt. 10.32/Lk. 12.8; Mt. 23.37-39/Lk. 13.34-35. See further Kloppenborg, Excavating Q, pp. 374–79. 30 See also A. M. O’Leary, Matthew’s Judaization of Mark: Examined in the Context of the Use of Sources in Graeco-Roman Antiquity (LNTS 323; London: T&T Clark, 2006), pp. 111–17; she finds evidence that Matthew ‘judaizes Mark’ (pp. 136–51) and ‘torahizes’ Mark in Mt. 10 and 18 (ch. 6).

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• 9.13 and 12.7: the addition of Hos. 6.6, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice’, to two stories drawn from Mark (Mk 2.13-17, 23-28).31 • 10.5-6: the mission commission as attested in both Mark and Luke is prefaced by Jesus restricting the mission to ‘the lost sheep of the house of Israel’. • 13.58: Mark’s assertion that Jesus was unable to work miracles apart from just a few (Mk 6.5) becomes the report that Jesus did not perform many miracles there. • 14.28-31: Matthew adds to Mark’s story of Jesus walking on the water (Mk 6.45-52) the episode of Peter failing in an attempt to do the same. • 14.33: Mark’s anti-climactic conclusion to the same story (Mk 6.52) becomes an occasion for worship and confession. • 15.17: in Mk 7.18-19 Jesus denies that what enters into a person cannot render him unclean, and Mark adds that thereby Jesus cleansed all foods; in Matthew the denial is removed and Mark’s note omitted. • 15.24: Matthew inserts into the story of the Syrophoenician woman Jesus’ assertion that he was sent only to ‘the lost sheep of the house of Israel’. • 16.17-19: Matthew adds to the story of Peter’s confession of Jesus as Messiah (Mk 8.27-30) Jesus’ very strong affirmation of Peter’s status. • 17.13: the implication of Mk 9.11-13 that John the Baptist was the promised Elijah is spelled out. • 19.3, 9: Matthew subtly changes the issue of divorce into the issue of possible cause for divorce and adds the exception clause (‘except for unchastity’) to the more rigid view in Mark (10.2-12). • 21.43-45: Matthew adds fierce condemnation of the Jerusalem leadership to Mark’s parable of the tenant farmers (Mk 12.1-12). • 22.40: to Mk 12.28-31 is added the Christian view (cf. Rom. 13.9; Gal. 5.14) that Jesus’ designation of the two great commandments sums up the whole law. In many of these cases, of course, Matthew may have been able to draw on alternative versions of the Jesus tradition. But in that case we would have to say that his choice of version was theologically motivated – which is not so very different. Less open to dispute is the fact that Matthew has regularly firmed up or identified Jesus’ opponents 31 Stanton regards Mt. 9.13a and 12.7, 10.5-6 and 15.24, 21.41c and 43, 24.10-12 and 26, 26.52-54 as Matthean expansions of Mark: ‘Matthew has creatively added “new” sayings of Jesus into Marcan traditions’ (A Gospel for a New People, pp. 328–33, here p. 333).

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as Pharisees32 – the significance of which bears directly on the issue of the Gospel’s life setting and objectives.33 As for the Q material, as often noted, Matthew mostly inserts the Q material in blocks into the Markan framework,34 though a good example of his interweaving of Mark and Q tradition is Matthew’s version of Jesus’ commissioning of the twelve for mission (Mt. 10.7-16). Like Mark, Matthew’s composition style includes the provision of linking passages.35 Furthermore, Matthew has obviously gathered most of Jesus’ teaching into blocks – including, notably, the Sermon on the Mount (Mt. 5-7)36 and a fresh collection of parables, several of which were not recorded elsewhere (Mt. 13.1-53). As explanation of why Jesus used parables so intensely (Mk 4.34/Mt. 13.34), Matthew adds to Mark’s somewhat depressing ‘parable theory’ (Mk 4.10-12, but lightened by 4.34b) the further explanations of Mt. 13.35 and 32 Pharisees in Matthew: Mt.

Mk

Lk.

3.7 3.7 19.3 9.11 2.16 5.30 9.14 2.18 5.33 9.34 12.2 2.24 6.2 12.14 3.6 12.24 3.22 11.15 12.38 11.29 15.1 7.1 15.12 16.1 8.11 16.6 8.15 12.1 16.11 16.12

Mt.

Mk

Lk.

10.2 22.15 22.34 22.41 23.2 23.13 23.15 23.23 23.25 23.26 23.27 23.29 27.62

5.20 12.13 12.28 12.35

21.45

11.52 11.42 11.39 11.40 11.44 11.47

33 As R. Hummel, Die Auseinandersetzung zwischen Kirche und Judentum im Matthäusevangelium (München: Kaiserm, 1966) notes: the fact that Matthew had to deal with a uniformly Pharisaic-led Judaism points clearly to a time after the destruction of the temple (p. 17). 34 Well illustrated by the chart provided by A. Barr, A Diagram of Synoptic Relationships (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1976), familiar from student days. 35 Mt. 4.23–5.2; 6.7-8; 7.28-29; 9.32; 11.1, 20; 12.22-23; 13.1; 15.29-31; 19.1; 26.1. 36 H. D. Betz, The Sermon on the Mount (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995) argues that the Sermon on the Mount was a pre-synoptic Jewish Christian composition (pp. 44–45); but though he recognizes the oral character of both the Sermon on the Mount and the Sermon on the Plain (Luke 6.20-49) (p. 83), he assumes too readily that the latter was a pre-synoptic written document, whereas the overlap with Luke’s Sermon on the Plain suggests that it was Matthew himself who drew together other oral tradition together with the q/Q material (oral and written) to form the Sermon on the Mount. See further the critique of Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, ch. 13.

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51-52. Not least, there are several verbal motifs which are distinctive of Matthew – for example, ‘the kingdom of heaven’,37 ‘your/my Father who is in heaven’,38 ‘weeping and gnashing of teeth’,39 and particular terms which express important aspects of Matthew’s theology: a)nomi/a (‘lawlessness’),40 dikaiosu&nh (‘righteousness’),41 and proskunei=n (‘worship’),42 ‘dissembler, play-actor’ (u9pokrith/j).43 Given all this data, it is possible to gain a fairly full grasp of the techniques employed by Matthew in his use of and reworking of the Jesus tradition available to him. But this is only method. The more important question is how Matthew used these techniques to convey his message – and here, principally, his message about Jesus. What more than was available to various churches in the various collections of Jesus tradition (particularly Mark and Q) did Matthew hope to achieve? Particularly in his revision of Mark, how differently did he want to portray Jesus to the audiences to whom his gospel was to be read?

The Purpose of Matthew’s Composition: The Good News of Jesus Despite its limitations, a study of the titles used for Jesus by Matthew is the obvious starting point. (1) Somewhat surprisingly for a gospel of Jesus the Son of God, Matthew breaks Mark’s inclusio formed by Mk 1.1 and 15.39. He retains the confession of the centurion (‘Truly, this was God’s son’ – Mt. 27.54), but (unlike Mk 1.1?) his opening verse designates Jesus Christ as ‘son of David, son of Abraham’ (1.1). Matthew also omits one of Mark’s summary accounts of unclean spirits hailing Jesus as ‘the Son of God’ (Mk 3.11).

37 Thirty-two times in Matthew (and only in Matthew), in place of Mark’s and Luke’s regular ‘kingdom of God’ (used by Matthew only five times). 38 Mt. 5.16, 45, 48; 6.1, 9, 26; 7.11, 21; 10.32, 33; 12.50; 15.13; 16.17; 18.10, 14, 19, 35; 23.9. 39 Mt. 8.12; 13.42, 50; 22.13; 24.51; 25.30. 40 Of the Gospels, only in Matthew – 7.23; 13.41; 23.28; 24.12. 41 Mt. 3.15; 5.6, 10, 20; 6.1, 33; 21.32. Elsewhere in the Gospels only Luke 1.75 and John 16.8, 10. We might add di/kaioj (‘just’): Mt. 17x, Mark 2x; Luke 11x; John 3x. 42 Mt. 13x, Mark 2, Luke 2, John 11. 43 Mt. 13x; Mark 1x; Luke 3x. For full lists of words and phrases characteristic of Matthew’s Gospel or favoured by Matthew see Hawkins, Horae Synopticae, pp. 3–10; Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1.74–80; Luz, Matthäus, 1.57–78.

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On the other hand, Matthew significantly heightens the Son of God motif.44 • He begins his gospel with his version of the birth narratives whose core assertion is that Jesus was both son of God and son of David,45 though Matthew delays the explicit reference to Jesus’ divine sonship till the quotation from Hos. 11.1 in Mt. 2.15 (‘Out of Egypt I called my son’). • The temptations following Jesus’ baptism are presented as tests of Jesus’ sonship – ‘If you are God’s son . . .’ (4.3, 6) – a double temptation echoed in the mocking of the crucified Jesus (27.20, 43). • Matthew draws from the Q material the powerful saying, ‘All things have been handed over to me by my Father (cf. 28.18), and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son, and whoever the Son chooses to reveal him’ (11.27). • His revised account of Jesus walking on the water ends with the disciples confessing, ‘Truly you are God’s son’ (14.33). • Peter’s confession is elaborated – ‘You are the Christ, the son of the living God’ (16.16). • Not to be ignored is the considerable expansion of references to God as ‘Father’ in sayings of Jesus.46 (2) Matthew refers to Jesus as the Messiah (Christ) about as often as Mark, slightly emphasizing the titular significance of ‘Christ’ (1.16; 27.17, 22), but he has weakened the messianic secret motif so prominent in Mark.47 (3) As for ‘the son of man’ motif, its more frequent usage in 44 J. D. Kingsbury, Matthew: Structure, Christology, Kingdom (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975) summarized his discussion at this point: ‘while Jesus Messiah is to be sure the Son of David and the Son of Abraham, he is preeminently the Son of God’ (p. 78). Luz is critical of Kingsbury but agrees that ‘“Son of God” is the most fundamental title for Christ’ (Studies in Matthew, p. 96). 45 Jesus Remembered, pp. 342–43. 46 J. Jeremias, The Prayers of Jesus (1966; ET London: SCM, 1967), pp. 30, 38, 44, drew attention to the following statistics: • God as ‘Father’ in the sayings of Jesus – Mark 3, Q 4, special Luke 4, special Matthew 31. • Jesus referring to God as ‘my Father’ – Mark 1(?), Q 1, special Luke 3, special Matthew 13. • Jesus referring to ‘your Father’ – Mark 1, Q 2, special Luke 1, special Matthew 12. 47 See of course W. Wrede, The Messianic Secret (1901; ET Cambridge: James Clarke, 1971); also the collection of articles in C. Tuckett (ed.), The Messianic Secret (London: SPCK, 1983); H. Räisänen, The ‘Messianic Secret’ in Mark’s Gospel (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990). As Gnilka observes, the Markan ‘messianic secret’ is dissolved in Matthew (Matthäusevangelium, 2.541).

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Matthew (principally due to Matthew’s incorporation of q/Q material) somewhat diminishes the effectiveness of Mark’s abrupt juxtaposition of Peter’s confession of Jesus as Messiah with the first of the suffering Son of Man predictions (Mark 8.29-31).48 In fact, however, there is no distinctively Matthean Son of Man Christology, except that he strengthens the apocalyptic emphasis: he gives more prominence to the Son of Man’s role as judge (25.31-46; also 13.41-42; 19.28), and to the Son of Man’s future ‘coming’ (10.23; 16.28; 24.30); he is the only evangelist to speak of ‘the coming (parousi/a) of the Son of Man’ (24.27, 37, 39). (4) In contrast to Mark, Matthew highlights the messianic theme of Jesus as ‘son of David’.49 The few references in Mark50 are all taken over.51 But the theme is significantly strengthened. • The genealogy in Matthew 1 emphasizes the line of descent from David (1.1, 6, 17, 20). • Seeing Jesus’ healing power the crowds ask, ‘Can this be the son of David?’, a distinctive element in Matthew’s version (12.23). • Even the Syrophoenician woman appeals to Jesus as ‘son of David’, again distinctive of Matthew’s version (15.22), along with the insertion of Jesus’ affirmation that he had been sent only for the lost sheep of the house of Israel (15.24). • In the triumphal entry, the crowd’s acclamation (‘Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David’ – Mk 11.9-10) becomes ‘Hosanna to the son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord’ (Mt. 21.9). • Seeing Jesus’ amazing cures in the temple, the children repeat the acclamation, ‘Hosanna to the son of David’ (21.15), another distinctive feature of Matthew’s account. Where Mark may have been hesitant to highlight Jesus’ royal descent – at the climax or immediate aftermath of the Jewish revolt, Roman authorities would hardly be sympathetic towards any claimant to the throne of Israel – Matthew presumably believed that any such political fear had faded sufficiently.52 This speculation is strengthened by the 48 Mark has only the Mk 2.10 and 28 references to the son of man prior to the first of the passion predictions (8.31); but Matthew adds another eight references prior to Peter’s confession, and the first passion prediction in Matthew is not a ‘son of man’ saying (Mt. 16.21). 49 That ‘son of David’ was a messianic title would be recognized by anyone familiar with Israel’s scriptures; see e.g. 2 Sam. 7.12-14; Isa. 11.1; Ezek. 34.23-24. 50 Mark 2.25; 10.47-48; 12.35-37; cf. 2.25. 51 Mt. 9.27 and 20.30-31; 22.42-45; cf. Mt. 12.3. 52 J. Willitts, Matthew’s Messianic Shepherd-King: In Search of ‘the Lost Sheep of the House of Israel’ (BZNW 147; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007) finds in the motif evidence

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fact that Matthew also shows less inhibition in referring to Jesus as ‘King (of the Jews)’.53 (5) That Jesus was the answer to the hopes and expectations of Israel is one of Matthew’s great emphases, indicated particularly by his concern repeatedly to note that Jesus fulfilled various scriptures – scriptures whose messianic significance Jesus had brought to light:54 • 1.22-23: the virginal conception and Emmanuel prophecy (Isa. 7.14). • 2.15: ‘Out of Egypt I called my son’ (Hos. 11.1). • 2.23: ‘He will be called a Nazarene’ (?). • 4.14-16: Galilee of the Gentiles . . . (Isa. 9.1-2). • 8.17: Isa. 53.4 fulfilled in Jesus’ ministry of exorcism and healing. • 12.17-21: another servant song fulfilled in Jesus (Isa. 42.1-4). • 13.35: prediction of Jesus’ constant use of parables (Ps. 78.2). • 21.4-5: entry into Jerusalem fulfilling Zechariah’s prophecy (Zech. 9.9, with Isa. 62.11). • 26.56: unspecified scriptures fulfilled in Jesus’ arrest in the garden of Gethsemane. • 27.9: prophecy fulfilled in the use of Judas Iscariot’s betrayal price to buy a potter’s field (Zech. 11.13).55

of ‘the presence of a Jewish nationalism within at least one stream of Jewish Christianity of the mid to late first century’ (p. 232). Stanton finds indications of Jewish hostility to claims that Jesus is the Son of David (Mt. 2.3; 9.27-28; 12.23; 21.9, 15) as well as to Jesus’ exorcistic ministry (9.34; 10.25; 12.24, 27) (A Gospel for a New People, ch. 7). 53 Mt. 2.2; 21.5; 25.34, 40; 27.11, 29, 37, 42; see Gnilka, Matthäusevangelium, 2.538. 54 ‘In order that what had been spoken (through the prophet) might be fulfilled’ is one of the hallmarks of Matthew’s Gospel – 1.22; 2.15, 17, 23; 4.14; 8.17; 12.17; 13.35; 21.4; 26.56; 27.9. Note also 2.5-6, 17-18; 3.3; 11.10; 13.14-15; 21.16; 21.42; 22.43-44. ‘Some are attached to the minutiae of Jesus’ career, as if to emphasize that the whole of Jesus’ life, down to the last detail, lay within God’s foreordained plan’ (Brown, Introduction, p. 207). See also Hagner, Matthew, 1.liii–lvii; Luz, Matthäus, 1.189–99; review of bibliography in Stanton, ANRW II.25.3 (1985), pp. 1930–33; also A Gospel for a New People, ch. 15. 55 Matthew refers to the prophecy as Jeremiah’s, presumably indicating that the Zechariah passage had become merged with Jeremiah’s well-known encounter with the potter and his symbolic act in buying a field (Jer. 18–19, 32); see further my Unity and Diversity in the New Testament (London: SCM, 1977, 3rd edn, 2006), pp. 100–101, 103–104, 108; M. Knowles, Jeremiah in Matthew’s Gospel: The Rejected Profit Motif in Matthean Redaction (JSNTSup 68; Sheffield: JSOT, 1993), pp. 52–81; C. M. Moss, The Zechariah Tradition and the Gospel of Matthew (BZNW 156; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008), ch. 9.

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The prominence of Isaiah should be noted – a confirmation of the important influence which Isaiah had on earliest Christian thinking.56 (6) More disputed is the influence of a Moses prophet expectation, rooted in Deut. 18.15, 18;57 but Matthew does seem to present Jesus as a new Moses,58 or as the fulfilment of Israel’s divinely intended purpose: • The infant Jesus is spared from the murderous wrath of king Herod (Mt. 2.16-18), just as the infant Moses had been saved from the murderous command of the Pharaoh (Ex. 1–2). • The exodus motif is obviously a factor in Mt. 2.15: ‘Out of Egypt I called my son’ (Hos. 11.1). • The temptation of Jesus in the wilderness after his forty-day fast is interpreted by reference to passages from Deuteronomy 6 and 8, evoking the parallel with Israel’s wilderness wanderings (Mt. 4.1-10).59 • Only Matthew gathers Jesus’ various teachings into five blocks or sermons,60 the first (the Sermon on the Mount) when he had gone up a mountain, presumably in some echo of the five books of Moses.61 • The strong affirmation of the Law (especially 5.17-19). • Although Matthew follows Mark in his account of the transfiguration, he adds the note that Jesus’ face ‘shone like the sun’, echoing the description of Moses in Ex. 34.29-35, and he would probably have recognized and affirmed the echo of Deut. 18.15 in the heavenly voice’s command, ‘Listen to him’ (Mt. 17.5).62 56 It is unclear whether Matthew drew directly on the Hebrew text; as a rule he follows the LXX, but in one or two cases he may have followed other translations of the Hebrew, possibly an oral collection of testimonia (Kümmel, Introduction, pp. 110–12; see also Brown, Introduction, pp. 207–108, and the tabular analysis of Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1.33-57). 57 See Jesus Remembered, §15.6. 58 See particularly Dale C. Allison Jr, The New Moses: A Matthean Typology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). Kümmel unjustifiably rejected any suggestion that Matthew was trying to portray Jesus as the ‘new Moses’ (Introduction, p. 106). 59 See particularly B. Gerhardsson, The Testing of God’s Son (Matt 4:1-11 & PAR) (CB; Lund: Gleerup, 1966). 60 Each block is concluded with the same phrase – ‘And it happened when Jesus finished (these sayings)’ (7.28; 11.1; 13.53; 19.1; 26.1) – in effect designating five blocks of teaching, 5.3–7.27; 10.5-42; 13.3-52; 18.1-35; 24.2–25.46. 61 B. W. Bacon, Studies in Matthew (London: Constable, 1930), famously suggested that Matthew’s Gospel should be apportioned into five books – chs 3–7, 8–10, 11.1–13.52, 13.53–18.35 and 19–25. Discussion in W. D. Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1964), pp. 14–25. Other bibliography in Kümmel, Introduction, p. 106 n. 5. 62 So e.g. Gnilka, Matthäusevangelium, 2.96–97; Hagner, Matthew, 2.494; and further A. D. A. Moses, Matthew’s Transfiguration Story and Jewish-Christian Controversy (JSNTSup 122; Sheffield Academic, 1996).

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Jesus as ‘prophet’ is not usually regarded in the NT as a sufficiently positive evaluation of Jesus in the NT,63 and the identification of Jesus as the Moses prophet appears elsewhere in the NT only in Acts (3.22-23 and 7.37).64 Within the NT, then, Matthew’s use of the motif is the most positive Christological affirmation along these lines, and is a strong indication of Matthew’s concern that his gospel should speak forcefully to his fellow Jews. (7) Matthew, however, goes beyond what might be regarded as the traditional Jewish expectations: • The birth of Jesus is not simply symbolic of God’s presence with his people (Mt. 1.23), as in Isaiah’s prophecy (7.14). Jesus himself expresses or embodies the divine presence – ‘Emmanuel, God is with us.’ • Mt. 1.23 by itself would not be sufficient to make this point.65 But it is confirmed by Jesus’ extraordinary promise that ‘where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them’ (18.20), a saying utterly unique to Matthew and clear evidence of Matthew’s own theology.66 Regularly noted is the parallel with m. ’Abot 3.2: ‘But if two sit together and words of the Law (are spoken) between them, the Divine Presence rests between them.’ Although attributed by the Mishnah to a rabbi (Hananiah b. Teradion) who was killed in the Bar Kokhba revolt, the saying may well express a rabbinic commonplace (cf. m. ’Abot 3.3, 6).67 Like the rabbis, the post-70 Christians were faced with the crisis that the Jerusalem temple, the expression and location of the divine presence in Israel,68 had been destroyed. But where the rabbis saw the divine presence as relocated to the Torah, the Christians saw it as relocated to Jesus. • In effect the same point is made in the final words of Matthew’s Gospel (Mt. 28.20), ‘And behold, I will be with you until the end of the age’ – making a neat inclusio with the Emmanuel saying, ‘God is with us,’ of 1.23;69 the universal authority (‘all authority 63 See again Jesus Remembered, §15.6. 64 See my Beginning from Jerusalem (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), p. 93. 65 S. Gathercole, The Pre-existent Son: Recovering the Christologies of Matthew, Mark and Luke (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), reads Mt. 1.23 as asserting ‘Jesus’ identification with God’ (pp. 75–76) without asking how Isa. 7.14 would have been understood. 66 ‘18.20 is almost universally regarded not as a saying of the pre-Easter Jesus but as an utterance of the risen Lord, this because it presupposes the “spiritual” presence of Jesus among his disciples’ (Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2.790). 67 Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2.789–90; Luz, Matthäus, 3.53. 68 E.g. 1 Kgs 9.3; Pss 11.4; 76.1-2; 80.1; Ezek. 43.6-9; Zech. 2.10-11; Sir. 36.18-19; 11QTemple 46.12. 69 See further D. D. Kupp, Matthew’s Emmanuel: Divine Presence and God’s People in the First Gospel (SNTSMS 90; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

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in heaven and earth’) given to the exalted Jesus (28.18) simply enhances the point. For Matthew, Jesus was not simply Son of God, son of David, Messiah, Son of Man, Moses prophet. He embodied God’s presence and universal authority in a way that no other servant of God had done before him.70 (8) In a similar way, Matthew seems to go beyond the q/Q material in regarding Jesus not simply as the spokesman of divine Wisdom, but as himself embodying divine Wisdom. • Where Lk. 7.35 identifies Jesus and the Baptist as the children of Wisdom, Mt. 11.19 identifies Jesus with Wisdom: ‘Wisdom is justified from her works,’ alluding back to Matthew’s distinctive reference to ‘the works of the Christ’ (11.2). • In Lk. 10.21-22/Mt. 11.27 Jesus speaks in language characteristic of a teacher of wisdom. In contrast, however, in Mt. 11.28-30 (unique to Matthew) Jesus echoes ben Sira’s invitation to his pupils to put their necks under the yoke of Wisdom (Sir. 51.25-27); but Jesus’ invitation is for his disciples to take his own yoke upon them.71 • In Luke 11.49 ‘the Wisdom of God said, “I will send them prophets . . .”’; but in Matthew’s parallel (Mt. 23.34) it is Jesus himself who says, ‘I will send you prophets . . .’ • In Mt. 23.37-38, the imagery of a mother hen (‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem, . . . how often have I desired to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings’) could be as much of divine presence/protection as specifically of Wisdom.72 If 23.38 (‘your house is left to you’) is an allusion to the belief that the Shekinah (the divine presence) had departed from the temple,73 70 Mt. 28.16-20 is frequently regarded as the key to Matthew’s theology, the goal to which the Gospel has been driving; see e.g. U. Schnelle, The History and Theology of the New Testament Writings (1994; ET London: SCM, 1998), pp. 230–31 (with bibliography). J. Schaberg, The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit: The Triadic Phrase in Matthew 28:19b (SBLDS 61; Chico: Scholars, 1982), argues that the phrase is a development of the Danielic triad, Ancient of Days, one like a son of man and angels (cf. Lk. 9.26; 10.21-22; Rev. 1.4-5) (particularly pp. 183–37, 286–90). 71 See further C. Deutsch, Hidden Wisdom and the Easy Yoke: Wisdom, Torah and Discipleship in Matthew 11.25-30 (JSNTSup 18; Sheffield: JSOT, 1987) ch. 4, summary 142; disputed by Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, ch. 16. 72 Deut. 32.11; Ruth 2.12; Pss 17.8; 36.7; 57.1; 61.4; 63.7; 91.4; Isa. 31.5. The imagery is used of Wisdom in Sir. 1.5. See further M. J. Suggs, Wisdom, Christology and Law in Matthew’s Gospel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970), p. 67; J. D. G. Dunn, Christology in the Making: An Inquiry into the Origins of the Doctrine of the Incarnation (London: SCM, 2nd edn, 1989/Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), pp. 202– 204. Davies and Allison, commenting on 23.37, note the rabbinic habit of referring to the conversion of a Gentile as coming under ‘the wings of the Shekinah’ (Matthew, 3.320). 73 Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.321–22 and Luz, Matthäus, 3.382, note the

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Jesus, Matthew’s Gospel and Early Christianity then it strengthens the implication that Matthew saw Jesus as the embodiment of the divine presence/Wisdom who had now taken the place previously filled by the Jerusalem temple.

There is a danger of reading too much into this data,74 and even if it helps us to see from Matthew’s perspective, there is a question of how much of such a thrust would have been recognized by Matthew’s audiences (it only became clear when Matthew could be read alongside Luke). However, for a motif to be recognized as part of Matthew’s theology, it is not necessary to argue that it would have been obvious to his audiences (especially on a first hearing of the Gospel). And the fact that it dovetails so neatly with the more obvious motif of divine presence strengthens the probability that for Matthew Jesus = Wisdom is an entirely fair way of reading his Gospel and his intention in composing it. (9) One other feature worthy of note confirms the conclusion that Matthew drew on and shaped the Jesus tradition to present a higher Christology than his predecessors. This is the fact that Matthew uses the term proskunei=n far more frequently than either Mark or Luke.75 The term itself is ambiguous and may be used to express submission or petition before one of high authority.76 This arguably is how the term should be understood when Matthew uses it of various petitions made to Jesus during his mission (the leper, Jairus, the Syrophoenician woman, the mother of James and John).77 But Matthew was certainly well aware that the same word was regularly used in the sense ‘worship’ – as in the temptation to worship the devil (Mt. 4.9-10/Lk. 4.7-8). The sense ‘pay homage’ may still be most appropriate in Matthew’s account of the magis’ proskunei=n of the infant Jesus (2.2, 8, 11), as in Mark’s account of the sham homage offered to the condemned Jesus (Mk 15.19). But in the two usages in Matthew’s account of the appearances of Jesus after his resurrection, the most natural rendering is that they ‘worshipped’ Jesus (Mt. 28.9, 17; as also Lk. 24.52). It is presumably significant, then, that Matthew uses proskunei=n so often, and that in the earlier petitioning references he elected to use or insert proskunei=n where other versions used other terms. For Matthew there was a direct report of Josephus (War, 6.300) that at the feast of Pentecost before the destruction of the Temple the priests heard the voice of a host saying ‘We are departing hence,’ a tradition evidently known also to Tacitus (Hist., 5.13). 74 Gathercole cautions against reading such Wisdom Christology as affirming that Jesus was ‘the incarnation of an actually preexistent person or being’; it would ‘still only mean that he was in some sense the embodiment of God’s creative and redemptive purpose’ (The Pre-existent Son, p. 209). 75 See above n. 42. 76 There is an equivalent range of meaning and significance in the title ku&rioj (‘Sir/Lord’); cf. e.g. Mt. 8.2, 6, 8, and 17.15 with Mt. 8.25; 10.24-25; 14.28, 30; 17.4; and 22.43-45; discussion in Kingsbury, Matthew, pp. 103–13. 77 Mt. 8.2; 9.18; 15.25; 20.20; also 18.26; similarly Mk 5.6.

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continuity between the humble petitioning of Jesus during his mission and the worship offered to the resurrected Jesus. Such overtones are confirmed by Matthew’s one other proskunei=n reference, where, as noted above, he radically departs from Mark’s downbeat conclusion of the account of Jesus walking on the water (Mk 6.51-52) to read, ‘Those in the boat worshipped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God”’ (Mt. 14.33). This too is of a piece with Matthew’s Christology of divine presence: worship is offered to Jesus precisely because he expresses and embodies the divine presence.78 Intriguingly, all this elaboration of the Gospel of Jesus Christ was derived from the Jesus tradition. The elaboration is quite substantial, but nothing that twists the Jesus tradition unnaturally or indeed forcedly, or bends it out of shape to make a claim for Jesus which the tradition itself could not support. Jesus as God’s son was firmly rooted in the Jesus tradition – the issue of him as Messiah, and the use of ‘the son of man’ terminology, likewise. The son of David and Moses prophet themes were little taken up elsewhere, but were hardly foreign to the impact Jesus made during his mission. The argument from prophecy fulfilled pushed a case but used well-established tradition. The claims of Jesus as divine presence and Wisdom and worthy to be worshipped certainly reflected the absorption of the full impact made by his mission, teaching and resurrection; but they were still expressions of that impact and indicate how deep an impression that impact had made on those who followed him. Even with Matthew’s shaping and elaboration of the Jesus tradition, the impact made by Jesus during his mission is still clearly evident. Matthew’s Jesus is still Jesus remembered. In Matthew’s Gospel, therefore, we have a very good example of how the Jesus tradition both shaped the faith of a Christian (or Christian communities) of the 80s and was shaped by the message he/they wanted to convey regarding Jesus. We see the continuity maintained with the tradition that he/they received; the birth narrative is the only really new material included beyond the Markan, the q/Q material and other oral traditions stemming from Jesus’ mission. We see the flexibility with which the tradition was handled – which may reflect the flexibility in the way it had always been handled from the beginning, when it was almost still entirely oral in form. And we see the way it could be shaped and moulded, interpreted and adapted to bring out more clearly emphases and insights which had become clearer to the author (and his churches) in the meantime. Since Matthew became the most well-used Gospel in

78 For further discussion see my Did the First Christians Worship Jesus? The New Testament Evidence (London: SPCK, 2010), here pp. 10–11.

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the early churches,79 the acceptability and effectiveness of Matthew’s methods and aims may be inferred. Because he composed his gospel the way he did and to achieve the goal he aimed at, Matthew’s Gospel may be said to have become the model gospel.

79 For attempts to document the influence of Matthew see particularly E. Massaux, The Influence of the Gospel of Matthew on Christian Literature before Saint Irenaeus (1950, 1986; ET 3 vols, 2nd edn; Macon: Mercer University Press, 1990–93); W.-D. Köhler, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangeliums in der Zeit vor Irenäus (WUNT 2.24; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987).

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Chapter 5 Matthew as ‘Gospel’ Scot McKnight

Introduction During my Master’s programme I committed to becoming a scholar of the Gospel of Matthew and began to look for PhD programmes. Everything converged for me on applying to the University of London to study with Graham Stanton, and when my application was accepted I was set. Except for one insurmountable problem: the Rotary Foundation, who kindly awarded me a generous scholarship, assigned me to the University of Nottingham. They informed me that they were assigning fine arts students to London. I have no regrets about their decision because my years at Nottingham with Jimmy Dunn are irreplaceable and remain formative, and the bonus of those years was that Graham was External Examiner for my thesis and we have been correspondents and friends since that defence in the spring of 1986. I mourn his passing along with his worldwide family. I remember a question Graham asked in my viva voce as the opening to what became for me both a successful and memorable experience. The title for my (unpublished) thesis was New Shepherds for Israel. But Graham asked me, ‘What do you mean by “Israel” in your title?’ Then he chased that one down with the options he wanted me to consider: ‘Do you mean “true” Israel’, which connected me to Wolfgang Trilling’s monograph (Das wahre Israel), ‘or do you mean “new” Israel?’ It was probably as obvious to Graham as it was to John Muddiman, the other examiner, that I had not pondered that question deeply enough and so they kindly permitted me to wander my way into the subject. At that time I didn’t know what Graham thought, but these are words he would later pen: A ‘new people’ [used in the title of his collection A Gospel for a New People] refers to followers of Jesus (both Jews and Gentiles) in the evangelist’s day who see themselves as a distinct religious group over against both Judaism and the Gentile world. Some writers have referred to the evangelist’s readers as the ‘new Israel’ or the ‘true Israel’, but there are

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Jesus, Matthew’s Gospel and Early Christianity strong reasons for not using these phrases with reference to Matthew’s Gospel.1

I don’t remember what I said, but it was probably closer to what Graham says here than to the older supersessionistic theory. I remain quite happy, more than two decades later, to see that the title to my thesis avoided using either ‘new’ or ‘true’. I was thinking in terms of continuity, but the question Graham asked me has never left me and it remains a watershed question in the continuity/discontinuity issues for understanding the relationship of Jesus and the Jesus movements around him with their nest in Judaism. If Graham were here, though, I would ask him a question: ‘What do you mean by “gospel” when you say, “A Gospel for a New People”?’ Those of us who knew Graham are grateful for the precision of his scholarship that flowed unceasingly into precision in writing, and one of the highlights for me of his scholarship is his last book, Jesus and Gospel.2 In that book Graham pushed the thesis that the early Christian usage of the term ‘gospel’ emerged out of the Roman world’s use of the term. His summary statement is this: [The] early Christian proclamation of the Gospel was distinctive, and ultimately subversive of its rival. The key question was: whose good news? Providence’s provision of Caesars and their benefactions, or God’s once for all provision of grace through ‘a dishonoured Benefactor, Jesus Christ’?3

Graham finds here rich resources for the church’s mission in our world today and so closes this exquisite chapter of his with these words: ‘In taking up that challenge, we shall be helped by a keener appreciation of the rich and diverse ways the noun “Gospel” is used in the New Testament writings, and in particular by Paul.’4 Not only do I want to probe into the question ‘What does “gospel” mean?’ and not only do I want to follow up on Graham’s advice of probing what Paul means by ‘gospel’, but I also want to tap into another issue that has shaped deep concerns in Graham’s career: the gospel 1 Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), p. 11. For an earlier piece of Graham’s that explores these issues, see ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Gospel: Matthean Scholarship from 1945 to 1980’, ANRW II.25.3 (1985), pp. 1889–951. 2 Jesus and Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). Anticipations of the themes are found in his The Gospels and Jesus (rev. edn, New York: Oxford, 2002); Gospel Truth? New Light on Jesus and the Gospels (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1995). 3 Jesus and Gospel, p. 59. See also H. Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels: Their History and Development (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1990), pp. 1–48. 4 Jesus and Gospel, p. 62. See also W. Horbury, ‘“Gospel” in Herodian Judaea’, in The Written Gospel, ed. M. Bockmuehl, D. A. Hagner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 7–30.

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genre question.5 The first thing I read of Graham’s was his published Cambridge dissertation, which appeared in 1974 as Jesus of Nazareth in New Testament Preaching. Not only did Graham’s monograph strike into some deep (and at that time ignored) reserves in the famous study of Sir Edwyn Hoskyns and Noel Davey, The Riddle of the New Testament, which said history mattered to early Christian gospel writers and gospellers, but Graham’s dissertation paved the way for the later turn to bi/oi, biographies, to comprehend accurately the genre question, and one thus thinks of the now established conclusions of Richard Burridge.6 It is this mixture of Graham’s concerns that I want to address in this volume dedicated to his memory. I will suggest that Paul’s definition of gospel informs us about two dimensions of Matthew: his genre and what he understood his ‘gospel’ to be, namely, the ‘gospel’ about Jesus Christ that he was ‘compiling’. I will also suggest that even if Matthew’s use of the term carries with it anti-imperial connotations, that was not a major element of what is meant by the term ‘gospel’ for him.

Paul and Gospel Methodologically speaking, I can hear others saying, it is wrongheaded to begin with Paul – anyone but him! One simply doesn’t go to Paul to understand Matthew. Or at least that is how we have been taught. But that’s not exactly what the proposal is. When Paul trots out the gospel tradition in 1 Corinthians 15 he is not tossing out a new idea or a new crystallization of fragments that needed to be put together. Paul is involved in a form of Vergegenwärtigung, reactualizing and revisualizing for his audience a rock-solid, historic understanding of the word and substance of ‘gospel’. In other words, what Paul speaks of in 1 Corinthians isn’t Pauline. It is catholic and apostolic, and furthermore it is as early as it is catholic and apostolic.7 First Corinthians 15.1-28, or bits within the compass of those 5 C. W. Votaw, The Gospels and Contemporary Biographies in the Graeco-Roman World (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1970); C. H. Talbert, What is a Gospel? The Genre of the Canonical Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977); R. A. Guelich, ‘The Gospel Genre’, in The Gospels and the Gospels, ed. P. Stuhlmacher (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), pp. 173–208; M. Hengel, The Four Gospels and the One Gospel of Jesus Christ: An Investigation of the Collection and Origin of the Canonical Gospels (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2000); R. Burridge, What are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography (SNTSMS 70; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 6 Graham N. Stanton, Jesus of Nazareth in New Testament Preaching (SNTSMS 27; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974); E. Hoskyns and N. Davey, The Riddle of the New Testament (London: Faber and Faber, 1947); R. Burridge, What are the Gospels? 7 Above all, see J. D. G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), pp. 163–81, who not only sketches the substance but the pre-Pauline traditions; P. Stuhlmacher, Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments 1: Grundlegung von Jesus zu Paulus (2nd edn; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), pp. 313–26; J. D. G. Dunn, Beginning in Jerusalem (Christianity in the Making 2; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), pp. 572–87.

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verses, express the earliest apostolic and catholic understanding of gospel in a Pauline context. It was this catholic and apostolic ‘gospel summary’ that grew in all directions. To begin with, the tradition at 1 Corinthians 15 both mushroomed into the Gospels themselves as it may also have been a condensation of the early apostolic gospelling (now reflected in Acts 2, 3, 4, 10–11, 13, 14, 17). In addition, this gospel statement in 1 Corinthians 15 became the regula fidei and eventually came to a final resting spot in the Second Article of the Nicene Creed.8 In other words, by the time Mark and Matthew pick up the word ‘gospel’ they are standing on an established tradition, whether or not that tradition intentionally had its eyes on Rome. My contention is that if we want to understand what the earliest Christians, including Matthew, mean by the term ‘gospel’, and Matthew uses the term ‘gospel’ at substantive and summary moments at 4.23, 9.35, 24.14 and 26.13, we are bound to take that apostolic tradition at its word. I agree with Graham Stanton that at 24.14 and 26.13 Matthew may well be calling his writing ‘the Gospel’.9 To take that tradition at its word we have to turn to that passage in 1 Corinthians 15 and sketch its substance and tell of its import. It’s too simple to think that the traditional bit can be gleaned in the death and resurrection lines found in 1 Cor. 15.3-8 and that the rest is Pauline midrash. In fact, it is far more likely that traditional gospel bits are embedded in and scattered throughout the first twenty-eight verses, so I shall quote them all. 1 Cor. 15.1 Now I would remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand, 2 through which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you – unless you have come to believe in vain. 3 For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, 4 and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, 5 and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. 6 Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. 7 Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. 8 Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me. 9 For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. 10 But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them – though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me. 11 Whether then it was I or they, so we proclaim and so you have come to believe. 8 Made clear in Ted Campbell, The Gospel in Christian Traditions (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008). 9 E.g. Graham N. Stanton, Gospel Truth?, p. 98. I’ve heard Graham say this on a number of occasions.

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12 Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead? 13 If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; 14 and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain. 15 We are even found to be misrepresenting God, because we testified of God that he raised Christ – whom he did not raise if it is true that the dead are not raised. 16 For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised. 17 If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. 18 Then those also who have died in Christ have perished. 19 If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied. 20 But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died. 21 For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; 22 for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ. 23 But each in his own order: Christ the first fruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. 24 Then comes the end, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power. 25 For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. 26 The last enemy to be destroyed is death. 27 For ‘God has put all things in subjection under his feet.’ But when it says, ‘All things are put in subjection’, it is plain that this does not include the one who put all things in subjection under him. 28 When all things are subjected to him, then the Son himself will also be subjected to the one who put all things in subjection under him, so that God may be all in all.10

It is true that the gospel can be reduced, as it sometimes is in the earliest traditions (e.g. Rom. 1.3-4; 4.25) and far too often in the church work of evangelizing, to the saving impact of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, but in such a reductionism we would fail to see that the scope about the meaning of ‘gospel’ in much of the earliest Christian writings is shifted to the macroscopic lens. Thus, alongside texts like Rom. 1.3-4 and 4.25 is Rom. 8.34: Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us.

Here something profoundly central to gospel finds its way into the exaltation and intercession of Christ. There are other texts, like 1 Thess. 1.9-10 that press into the future or 1 Tim. 3.16 that press backward into incarnation or even Phil. 2.6-11 that go in both directions, that reveal a wider scope and suggest that the apostolic gospel embedded in 1 Cor. 15.1-28 involves not just death and resurrection, but incarnation, life, death, resurrection, exaltation, parousia and ultimate consummation. To be sure, and this is a point Graham himself has made, this early apostolic and catholic gospel does not emphasize the life or teachings of 10 All translations are from the NRSV.

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Jesus, and Graham pressed upon us to consider substantive development when Mark uses the term ‘gospel’ for what he wrote.11 But I wonder if we are not giving enough wiggle room to Paul’s terms in 1 Cor. 15.3, such as ‘Christ’, which has to imply Israel’s Story coming to fulfilment in the Story of Jesus, as is seen explicitly in Rom. 1.3, and that the term ‘died’ implies a life of enough consternation to lead to a crucifixion. But, yes, the point has to be made: Paul’s apostolic tradition emphasizes the death, resurrection and exaltation. Once again I appeal to a fuller view and go to Graham’s dissertation, which emphasized the need to get back to the life and teachings of Jesus in the early Christian kerygma.12 Leaving aside dating and redactional development, the evangelistic sermons in the Book of Acts confirm our suspicion that the apostolic and catholic gospel involved the life and teachings of Jesus because those sermons do not limit the gospel to the death and resurrection. As but one example, we can turn to that scintillating summary of Peter in Acts 10.34-43:13 34 Then Peter began to speak to them: ‘I truly understand that God shows no partiality, 35 but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him. 36 You know the message he sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ – he is Lord of all. 37 That message spread throughout Judea, beginning in Galilee after the baptism that John announced: 38 how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him. 39 We are witnesses to all that he did both in Judea and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; 40 but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, 41 not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. 42 He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one ordained by God as judge of the living and the dead. 43 All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.’

Peter’s Gospel here is macroscopic, and makes me think the ‘gospel’ tradition embedded under the re-expression of Paul in 1 Corinthians 15 may well extend to 15.28. I draw this conclusion: the earliest catholic gospel involved narrating and declaring the entire life of Jesus, and that means the Christian perception of his incarnation, his life, his death, his resurrection, his exaltation, his coming, and the consummation of all things into God. There is more to be gleaned from 1 Corinthians 15. Twice in 1 Cor. 15.3-5 the apostle Paul draws out that all these things were done ‘in 11 The Gospels and Jesus, pp. 30–33. 12 Jesus of Nazareth in New Testament Preaching. 13 Again, Jesus of Nazareth in New Testament Preaching, pp. 13–30, 67–85.

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accordance with the scriptures’.14 We may battle until the crack of doom over which precise scriptures Paul had in mind, which I suspect ought to remind us that Paul has the sweep of scripture in mind instead of some particular text, but we dare not miss that for the catholic understanding of the gospel of those pre-Pauline Christians the gospel was the completion or fulfilment of the Story of Israel in Jesus. So when Paul says ‘first fruits’ in 15.20 he’s capturing a dimension of Israel’s Story (Lev. 23.9-14), even though his connection here is not so much pesher exegesis but midrashic re-use of an image by converting the term and its suggestiveness into a metaphor for the general resurrection (Ezek. 37). He’s not done: Paul connects Jesus to Adam in a sort of recapitulation form of scripture reading in 1 Cor. 15.21-22. Most recognize at least an allusion to Dan. 2.44 when Paul says ‘after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power’ at 15.24, and then he explicitly quotes Ps. 8.7 at 15.27. Again, shoving to the side the question of historical value in the sermons in Acts because our intent is not to discern the historical so much as to discern the substantive meaning of the term ‘gospel’ where the sermons in the Acts can play a role by revealing how the author of those sermons used the terms, what any reader observes in these sermons is that they are laced together and zipped up with citations, even if sometimes mostly in an allusive form, from Israel’s scriptures. This confirms what that bedrock apostolic tradition about the catholic gospel overtly claims: the gospel took place ‘according to scripture’. One needs only to compare Acts 2.13-21, where one finds connections to Joel 2.28-32, Pss 16.8-11 and 110.1, and Acts 13.17-22, 32-37, where one finds connections to Ps. 2.7, Isa. 55.3 and Ps. 16.10. Even Paul’s Areopagus speech connects to Israel’s Story of the creation of Adam (Acts 17.24-30). To ‘gospel’ was a particular (Jesus-of-Nazarethshaped, messianic) hermeneutical (re-)reading of Israel’s scriptures. I draw this conclusion: the catholic gospel in the pre-Pauline period not only saw the whole Jesus Story as the content of the gospel, they saw that story as the story that fulfilled Israel’s inscripturated (and reinterpreted) story. At the core of the gospel is a hermeneutic. That catholic gospel told the Story of Jesus in the context of Israel’s Story. In fact, Israel’s Story was in a dialectical relationship with the Jesus Story so much so that what Jesus did and said, along with what happened to Jesus and what Israel’s Story said, mutually interpreted one another. This is the only way to understand the central label used 14 See C. H. Dodd, According to the Scriptures: The Sub-Structure of New Testament Theology (London: James Nisbet, 1952); L. Goppelt, Typos: The Typological Interpretation of the Old Testament in the New (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982); D. Juel, Messianic Exegesis: Christological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988); R. B. Hays, The Conversion of Imagination: Paul as Interpreter of Israel’s Scriptures (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005).

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for ‘interpreting’ Jesus of Nazareth: Messiah. In the catholic gospel, and here we are both on solid ground for the pre-Pauline period as well as listening to Paul’s own contributions to that catholic gospel, Jesus is the Messiah, he is the Lord, and he is the Son. It appears to me that as we gain in our appreciation of the Jewishness of both the Jesus movement and the apostle Paul, not to forget the pre-Pauline Jewish followers of Jesus who were passing on this gospel tradition, the more we begin to see the centrality of the messianism of what they called Jesus.15 That is to say, we may think today that ‘Christ’ is little more than Jesus’ last name but a first-century follower of Jesus would have been saying ‘Messiah’ and thinking ‘Messiah’! Thus, in the catholic gospel tradition the single label used for Jesus is that he is ‘Christ’ or ‘Messiah’: thus, ‘that Christ died . . .’ (15.3) and ‘if Christ is proclaimed’ (15.12; used twelve times in 15.12-28) and this Messiah is the royal Son as well (15.28). I draw now our third conclusion: the catholic gospel told the complete Story of Jesus as the fulfilment of the Story of Israel and rendered that story as the Story of Jesus as God’s Messiah, the long-awaited Davidic King for Israel. Finally, the catholic gospel in the pre-Pauline period when the word ‘gospel’ acquired its Christian meaning and content saw this Story of Jesus as the saving story.16 Paul’s summary of that tradition finds its way to the salvific intent in these words: ‘that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures’ (15.23). There is no obsession here with sins or the method of soteriology, and to gospel is to declare more than it is to persuade, but what it declares is that Jesus’ death was saving because he died ‘for our sins’.17 Surely this means that his death procured forgiveness from sins committed. This means his death involved entering the death of others and on behalf of others and for the benefit of others, and his resurrection both undid death and announced victory over death. That resurrection, in fact, is required for the forgiveness to occur (15.17). That victory over death generates the new creation and the hope 15 J. H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992); articles on ‘Der Messiahs’ in Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 8, ed. Ingo Baldermann et al. (1993), pp. 73–167; J. J. Collins, The Scepter and the Star: The Messiahs of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Ancient Literature (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1995); P. E. Satterthwaite, R. S. Hess and G. J. Wenham (eds), The Lord’s Anointed: Interpretation of Old Testament Messianic Texts (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1995); L. W. Hurtado, Lord Jesus Christ: Devotion to Jesus in Earliest Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003); M. Zetterholm (ed.), The Messiah in Early Judaism and Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007); J. A. Fitzmyer, The One Who is to Come (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007); R. Bauckham, Jesus and the God of Israel: God Crucified and Other Studies on the New Testament’s Christology of Divine Identity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008). 16 See here the brief sketch of F. Vouga, Une théologie du Nouveau Testament (Le Monde de la Biblen 43; Paris: Labor et Fides, 2001), pp. 34–41, where gospel and saving power are emphasized. 17 See S. McKnight, Jesus and His Death: Historiography, the Historical Jesus, and Atonement Theory (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2005).

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of resurrection (15.20-28). But this saving work of Christ leads all into the glorious presence of the ruling Father when the Father becomes ‘all in all’ (15.28). So now a fourth conclusion about how the (canonical) apostolic catholic gospel was framed: the gospel story was a fully saving and liberating and victorious story. I conclude, then, that for Paul and for the pre-Pauline tradition, assuming that tradition permeates the whole of 1 Cor. 15.1-28, the gospel is the declaration that Jesus is the Messiah and Lord and Saviour and that he fulfils Israel’s Story in the compass of his entire story. And this story is the saving story. Which leads to a most important question: Why is it that the first four books of the Christian scriptures are called ‘The Gospel’? Is it perhaps because they did precisely what the gospel of the catholic tradition was designed to do? I will now attempt to make a case for a positive answer to that second question and to argue that they called them ‘The Gospel’ because that is exactly what they were.

Matthew and Gospel I agree with Richard Burridge and many others: the gospels are bi/oi. But I want to contend that our study of the apostolic catholic gospel tradition clarifies what kind of bi/oj we are talking about. That apostolic at its very core and from the very beginning was a kind of life, a kind of biography. The apostolic gospel is a sub-genre of the bi/oj genre, and its intent, by the sheer telling of that gospel story, is to save and to liberate and to restore and to create a new community in direct continuity with the old community, Israel. The gospel is not just a saving message, as if it could be reduced to sin and salvation and abstracted from Israel’s history, which at times occurs from the Nicene period (ahem, Constantine) onwards in the history of the church, but the saving bi/oj Story of Jesus who is Messiah and Lord. Which means the meaning of ‘saving’ is shaped by the kind of Messiah and Lord and Saviour Jesus is.18 Our sketch of the apostolic catholic gospel above opens up for us a way of delineating the kind of bi/oj a gospel is: a gospel, then, is a gospelling bio/ j about Jesus, who is Messiah and Lord and Saviour. I return now to my Master’s degree days. When I was plotting where to do a doctorate the name Graham Stanton rose to the top of my list because he was a Matthew scholar. But I also pondered studying at the University of Chicago with Hans Dieter Betz, who was at that time working on the Sermon on the Mount. So I drove down to the university to meet with Betz in his office and then sat in on the opening-day class for 18 From different angles, see R. Bauckham (ed.), The Gospel for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998); Jesus and the God of Israel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), especially his ‘God Crucified’ chapter.

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his graduate course on the Gospel of Matthew. A most notable point was made by Betz when, after sorting through the options, he said the Gospel of Matthew is not a bi/oj or an eu)agge/lion but a Bi/bloj gene/sewj, which is the opening expression of Matthew’s Gospel.19 He may be accurate in the term that Matthew uses at this point, though I have come to the view that the Greek expression opening the first Gospel only refers to 1.1-17, that it refers oddly in a backward direction, and that it does not describe the whole book, but Betz’s view would not sabotage the larger encompassing theory at work in this chapter: if the gospel is the declaration of the Story of Jesus as fulfilling the Story of Israel, and that means declaring that Jesus is Messiah, Lord and Saviour, then we are justified in asking if the Gospel of Matthew tells that Gospel Story of Jesus or another. To balance this discussion, neither does Matthew open up by calling his text a bi/oj – but that doesn’t mean it is not a bi/oj. The absence, then, of the term eu)agge/lion at the opening of Matthew’s Gospel does not immediately deter us from asking if it was an eu)agge/lion. What matters more is not the specification of genre but the substance and function of this book, and it leads to our question: Does this book Gospel, that is, does it declare the Story of Jesus as the fulfilment of Israel’s Story in the way specified by the apostolic catholic gospel tradition and do so as a saving story? Of course, there is a canonical bundling of the first four Gospels, and there is the clear use of ‘gospel’ up front in the Gospel of Mark, which I take to be not only an opening salvo but a genre statement of the whole Gospel of Mark,20 and that means that to the degree that Matthew is generically like Mark to the same degree Matthew is a gospel like Mark. But a point needs to be emphasized: even if Mark’s use of the term ‘gospel’ up front is not a genre claim by the author, that book ‘gospels’ because it does precisely what the apostolic catholic gospel tradition does. Continuing on, if one believes, as I do, that Matthew used Mark then the use of Mark would mean that Matthew framed his Story of Jesus along the lines of the ‘Gospel’ of Mark, making his Story of Jesus, his bi/oj, a gospel bi/oj alongside Mark’s. I agree with that general conclusion, but there is a way of checking that conclusion and that is by asking if Matthew’s Gospel is in fact the explication and articulation in fuller form of what we find in 1 Corinthians 15. In other words, we ask if the definition of gospel in 1 Corinthians fits the sort of content we find in the Gospel of Matthew. Does Matthew write a bi/oj that can be seen as consistent with the catholic apostolic tradition about the substance of the gospel? In other words, does this book ‘gospel’? 19 On this expression, see now C. G. Keener, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), pp. 77–78; Dale C. Allison Jr, Studies in Matthew: Interpretation Past and Present (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005), pp. 157–62. 20 See A. Y. Collins, Mark: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), pp. 130–31.

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Does Matthew’s Gospel Tell the Whole Story of Jesus? While it is clear in the catholic gospel tradition that the focus is on the death and resurrection of Jesus, we showed above that both the apostolic catholic traditions and Paul’s own letters evince a wider perspective. We argued that the apostolic gospel tradition included the whole life of Jesus from his birth, but even more emphatically to his exaltation before the Father. Matthew’s Gospel abruptly departs from Mark’s ‘gospel’ tradition in this regard. Mark used about half of his book for the last week, while Matthew expands the ‘life before the last week’ portion of his work, beginning with the birth of Jesus. The genealogy sets the stage, and some would say rather clumsily,21 for the birth of Jesus. But what also strikes the reader of Matthew is that there is a collection of stories about Jesus’ infancy that impinge on Israel’s Story and frame the whole Story of Jesus as Davidic and royal (Mt. 1–2).22 Those stories then suddenly jump to the ministry of Jesus alongside John and then beyond John and then, now very much like Mark, emphasizing the last week of Jesus. That last week, like the apostolic catholic tradition, focuses on the death and resurrection of Jesus. But again unlike Mark, Matthew tells more stories about the resurrection and beyond (27.52–28.20), and that’s not including the anticipation of (what at least looks like) the parousia at 10.23, 16.28 and 24.29-31. What we find in the last two chapters of Matthew is not only resurrection stories but also the final commissioning of the disciples where Jesus is described in exalted and authoritative dress. One would have to assume Jesus’ resurrection and exaltation to make sense of how Matthew tells the end of his gospel. That Jesus is both dressed with ‘all authority’ and will remain as a presence among the disciples as they carry on a mission is a way of describing Jesus as exalted beyond his resurrection.23

21 See J. Schaberg, The Illegitimacy of Jesus: A Feminist Theological Interpretation of the Infancy Narratives (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987). 22 D. J. Verseput, The Rejection of the Humble Messianic King: A Study of the Composition of Matthew 11–12 (Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 1986); B. M. Nolan, The Royal Son of God: The Christology of Matthew 1–2 in the Setting of the Gospel (OBO 23; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979); J. Willitts, Matthew’s Messianic ShepherdKing: In Search of ‘The Lost Sheep of the House of Israel’ (BZNW 147; New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2007). 23 Probably no longer read today, but still worth a careful reading: W. Trilling, Das wahre Israel: Studien zur Theologie des Matthäus-Evangeliums (SANT 10; 3rd edn; München: Kösel Verlag, 1964), pp. 21–51.

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Does Matthew’s Gospel Interpret Jesus through the Lens of Israel’s Story? Clumsy or not, and I think not, Matthew’s genealogy sets a fundamental gospel tone for the entire first Gospel. The Story of Jesus comes at the end of three episodic, providentially designed periods in Israel’s Story: from Abraham to David, from David to Jechoniah in Babylon, and from Babylon to Mary and Joseph (thus making fourteen). It no longer matters what we think and how we understand such genealogies. What matters is that Matthew reads Jesus’ Story through the lens of Israel’s Story. That Story, though a word not used in the geneaology, ‘fulfils’ Israel’s Story as a whole. One could say this genealogy is the first indicator in a gospel filled with evidence that the Story of Israel comes to fulfilment in Jesus. One could say that Matthew’s Gospel comes to comprehension only as messianic hermeneutics.24 But the word ‘fulfils’ dominates the rest of Matthew’s infancy narrative. It would not be hard to find passages throughout the first Gospel that illustrate the point; in fact, it might be hard to find passages that don’t connect to Israel’s Story. Take Matthew’s temptation narrative (Mt. 4.1-11). Any narrator using ‘forty days and forty nights’ (4.2) in the context of Israel’s Story will be led back to Israel’s forty years in the wilderness, and while the use of ‘tempter’ might lead a first-century Jewish (Jewish Christian) reader to think of Genesis 3 (or Job), the temptation narrative in Matthew emerges directly from Israel’s experience in the wilderness, and that is why Matthew’s text, which is derived (I think) from Q, sends us back explicitly to Deut. 8.3, 6.16 and 6.13. Matthew’s narrative drives Jesus not only into the wilderness but us as well so that we will see Jesus fulfilling his mission as a second Israel of some sort. Paul saw Jesus as a second Adam (Rom. 5.12-21; 1 Cor. 15.21-23) and Matthew sees Jesus as the second Israel.25 Both are making gospel moves in reading Jesus this way. For a long time I resisted the appeal to Jesus as a second Moses when he ascended the mountain in Mt. 5.1 but Dale Allison’s exceptional combing of the sources to chalk up every possible connection between Matthew’s description and a Moses typology has convinced me that there is a second Moses theology at work in the Sermon on the Mount

24 A sketch of Matthew’s use of the Old Testament was ably done by Graham N. Stanton in ‘Matthew’, in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture. Essays in Honour of Barnabas Lindars, SSF (ed. D. A. Carson, H. G. M. Williamson; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 205–19; but see also R. Beaton, Isaiah’s Christ in Matthew’s Gospel (SNTSMS 123; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 25 See the discussion in D. A. Hagner, Matthew 1–13 (WBC 33A; Dallas: Word, 1993), pp. 60–70.

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(and elsewhere).26 Thus, ‘he went up the mountain’ evokes Exod. 19.3; 24.12-13; 34.1-2, 4; Deut. 9.9; 10.3, and the descent evokes Exod. 34.29. Both ‘sit’ (Mt. 23.2) and what is even more is that Jesus and Moses are set alongside one another in 5.17-48. Regardless of how covert a Moses typology might be, Matthew’s framing of the antitheses in the words of Mt. 5.17 advances this argument to the point of ‘proven’! Thus, ‘Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.’ This Greek word plhro&w, since it can’t escape the connections of so many other ‘fulfilment’ texts in Matthew, at least suggests if it does not prove that Matthew wants us to see Jesus’ teachings in the Sermon on the Mount as the salvation-historical fulfilment and climactic completion in Jesus’ own teachings. This does not whiff of supersessionism but instead of a new Israel coming to a head in the new Moses who teaches a new Torah for the new Israel.27 Early in my academic career I was drawn over and over to how Matthew frames Jesus’ healing powers. For him, Jesus is absorbing the sins and sicknesses of others in his own body as the Servant of Isaiah. Morna Hooker and C. K. Barrett long ago warned Christian readers of the Gospels that it was too simplistic to assume that a servant soteriology and Christology were at work in the mind of Jesus,28 but one place it can’t be denied is the mind of Matthew at 8.16-17: That evening they brought to him many who were possessed with demons; and he cast out the spirits with a word, and cured all who were sick. This was to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah, ‘He took our infirmities and bore our diseases.’

If his teaching and his healings are fulfilments of prime dimensions of Israel’s Story and scriptures, so also one of the more stupendous events: the transfiguration (17.1-8). Much could be said about details, like the use of e0n w|{ eu)do&khsa to connect back to the baptism of Jesus or the addition of numinosity in 17.6-7, but our scope is broader: Matthew depicts Jesus, and here he is more or less using Mk 9.2-8 and diverging from Luke’s own tack (9.28-36), as the one who ‘fulfils’ both Moses and Elijah, both the law and the prophets, and does so as one who is greater than either. 26 Dale C. Allison Jr, The New Moses: A Matthean Typology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993). 27 See R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), pp. 11–14, 182–84; D. A. Hagner, Matthew 1–13, pp. 105–106. 28 M. D. Hooker, Jesus and the Servant: The Influence of the Servant Concept of Deutero-Isaiah in the New Testament (London: SPCK, 1959); C. K. Barrett, ‘The Background of Mark 10:45’, in New Testament Essays: Studies in Memory of Thomas Walter Manson, ed. A. J. B. Higgins (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1959), pp. 1–18.

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I am struck by the density of connections one finds in the last week, not the least of which is the Passover fulfilment in the last supper narrative (26.17-29).29 Disputes have arisen over which text is in Matthew’s mind when speaking of ‘covenant’ in Mt. 26.28 (par. Mk 14.24; Lk. 22.20; 1 Cor. 11.25), whether it be to Jer. 31.31; Exod. 24.8; Zech. 9.11; or to Isa. 53.12. The text bewilders because neither the covenant text of Exod. 24.8 nor the smearing of blood in the Passover texts has anything to do with forgiveness of sins, which clearly is part of Matthew’s own take on the last supper (26.28, which adds ei0j a!fesin a(martiw~n), and it would take more than the length of this chapter to resolve the issues, if they could be resolved, but if one steps back to observe what is going on here, one has to be thunderstruck by the audacity of making the claim that Jesus makes: the Matthean Jesus, joining hands with Mark and Luke to one degree or another, thinks Jesus fulfils the Passover event itself and that his disciples, by eating his body and drinking his blood will experience the same liberating redemption ancient Israel experienced in Egypt. We can’t be delayed here with details. Our concern is with examining whether the first evangelist is ‘gospelling’. Regardless of where we dip into the text of Matthew, we come up with the purple finger of voting for a text that understands Jesus as not only participating in Israel’s Story but bringing that story to its salvation-historical fulfilment.

Does Matthew’s Gospel Tell a Messianic Story? Christians can sometimes be surprised how infrequently the ‘Messiah’ appears in the ‘Old Testament’. What this ought to remind Christians is that they have learned to read the Story of Israel through a messianic hermeneutic, and once that admission is made they can return to the New Testament to see that hermeneutic at work. Its genesis, textually speaking, is with Matthew, and it begins in 1.1: ‘An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham’. This ‘title’ is then delivered in chiastic order, for Matthew then proceeds through the Abrahamic connection (1.2-6a) and then the Davidic (messianic) connection (1.6b-11), and then onto Jesus who is the ‘Messiah’ (1.17). Then ‘the birth of Jesus the Messiah’ is narrated in 1.18-25, and King Herod inquires where the ‘Messiah’ will be born in 2.4. Matthew interprets the mighty deeds of Jesus as ‘what the Messiah was doing’, an inelegant but perfectly common rendering of ta_ e1rga tou~ Xristou~. No one who came of age in Matthean studies when I did, in the 1970s and 1980s, can fail to make a connection between the confession of Peter 29 See S. McKnight, Jesus and His Death, pp. 243–334.

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of Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of the Living God (16.16), and Jack Kingsbury’s narrative and theological reading of Matthew.30 Only after this does the word ‘Messiah’ come from Jesus himself – 16.20: ‘Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.’ Next we hear of David’s Son, the Messiah (22.42). Matthew alone, once again on the lips of Jesus, sees Jesus’ teaching ministry as messianic: ‘Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah’ (23.10). Another redactional insertion, this one again put on the lips of Jesus, in 24.5: Mk 13.6 has ‘I am he!’ and Matthew has ‘I am the Messiah!’ Matthew follows Mark at 24.23 (‘Look! Here is the Messiah!’) and 26.63 (‘tell us if you are the Messiah’) but again Matthew adds ‘Messiah’ to Mk 14.65, which has ‘Prophesy!’ and Matthew has ‘Prophesy to us, you Messiah!’ (26.68). Again, at Matthew 27.17 the redactor adds the term (‘or Jesus who is called the Messiah’) and the same happens at v. 22: ‘What should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?’ is Pilate’s question in Matthew, while in Mark it is ‘Then what do you wish me to do with the man you call the King of the Jews?’ There is enough redactional reworking in Matthew to make the claim that Matthew’s hermeneutic for Jesus is that he is Messiah. Kingsbury taught us to create a culture war between the titles of Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel, and those culture wars (unlike the other one) are by and large now over, so in this moment of peace I would simply reiterate our point: Matthew fits the pre-Pauline apostolic catholic gospel tradition by rendering the Story of Jesus through the lens of a Messianic Story.

Does Matthew’s Gospel Tell a Saving Story? It probably couldn’t have happened much sooner in Matthew’s narrative.31 Before Matthew gets Jesus out of the womb of his mother Mary, he translates Jesus’ name: ‘She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins’ (1.21). This in itself might qualify the whole Story of Jesus to be a ‘gospel’ story since, like 1 Cor. 15.3 which uses ‘for (apo) our sins’, Matthew has a Jesus who will save Israel ‘from (hyper) their sins’. John, too, baptized with reference to forgiveness of sins by summoning people to the water to confess their sins (3.6). Jesus healed as Messiah and, as we saw above, that act was a servant-of-Isaiah ministry, and his healing involved forgiving the ill of their sins. But in Matthew 9’s story Jesus connects his healing to being Son of Man with authority (9.2, 5, 6). Finally, in Matthew 26, at the last supper, Jesus’ own blood and body will procure the ‘forgiveness of sins’ (26.28). 30 J. D. Kingsbury, Matthew: Structure, Christology, Kingdom (rev. edn, Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989). 31 See S. McKnight, Jesus and His Death, pp. 360–61.

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The fundamental saving focus of the apostolic catholic gospel tradition dealt with sins, but salvation for the earliest Christians wasn’t simply ‘spiritual’, and I don’t mean even to suggest that forgiveness of sins can be reduced to the spiritual. Salvation, as so many have made so emphatically clear, was holistic: as the Shema was about heart, soul, and strength, so salvation was comprehensive. To comprehend accurately what Matthew would mean by Jesus being Saviour would entail Jesus’ healing ministries and miracles, and no finer example in Matthew can be found in Matthew’s presentation of Jesus in Matthew 5–9, with chapters 8–9 focusing on the miracles and healings of Jesus (again in perhaps a Mosaic Christology). He heals a leper (8.1-4), a centurion of some kind of paralysis (8.5-13), and many of sicknesses and diseases and evil spirits (8.14-17). Soon he is back at it again by calming a storm (8.23-27) and curing people of demonic spirits (8.28-34); he heals a paralysed man (9.1-8), sets a tax collector free from oppressing the Galilean Jews (9.14-17) and his followers from fasting obligations (9.18-22), and then he raises a dead girl, heals a sick woman, and cures the blind (9.23-34). Jesus, who is the Saviour of Israel who releases Israel from sins, saves not just by releasing the burden of sin from the inner conscience of an individual but also by liberating Israelites and others in a comprehensive manner. Our conclusion: Matthew ‘gospels’ because he tells a saving Story of Jesus that fulfils Israel’s Story. The Gospel involves declaring the salvation of Israel from its oppressing burdens through Jesus as its Messiah.

Conclusion I am not arguing that Matthew’s Gospel is actually ‘gospel genre’ as if the bi/oj theory at work today is mistaken. I am happy to call Matthew a bi/oj instead of an eu)agge/lion. But I am convinced that Matthew’s Gospel, because it tells the whole Story of Jesus, because it interprets Jesus through the lens of Israel’s Story, because it tells a Messianic Story, and because it tells a saving story about Jesus as Messiah, gospels whether it is a gospel genre or not. Towards the end of Professor Stanton’s life his work on ‘gospel’ emphasized that the early Christian usage of the term eu)agge/lion emerged out of a Greek and Roman context more so than an Old Testament context. One of the implications Graham drew, and one he spoke to me about more than once in person, was that when the early Christians used the word ‘gospel’ they were declaring that Jesus was Lord and Caesar was not. Not a few are in Graham’s corner on this one, the most notable of whom for the Gospel of Matthew is Warren

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Carter.32 A summary statement of his makes the point clear: ‘Matthew’s Gospel presents a theological challenge to Rome’s imperial propaganda’ and also ‘a social challenge to the empire’.33 I have to admit that I’m inclined here to agree with the recent statement by Martin Hengel that the earliest Christians more likely got their meaning and substance of the word eu)agge/lion from Israel’s scriptures and that an anti-imperial ideology was perhaps not as much at work as some are arguing today. In fact, Hengel’s words are stronger and, coming from someone who knew the classical source so well, they perhaps ought to be given a wide hearing: ‘It is absurd to continue to suggest, as happens again and again, that one should derive these forms of speech from the cult of Caesar.’34 But I’d like to shift this away to a slightly different point of view. Yes, I do think the term eu)agge/lion emerges from Israel’s Story but there was a particular hermeneutic at work, a Messianic hermeneutic, that we find in the pre-Pauline catholic tradition about ‘gospel’ that sheds formative light not only on the Gospel of Matthew but even on the ‘genre’ question. The first Gospel ‘gospels’.

32 Warren Carter, Matthew and Empire: Initial Explorations (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001); see also J. Riches and D. C. Sim (eds), The Gospel of Matthew in Its Roman Imperial Context (JSNTSup 276; New York: T&T Clark, 2005). 33 Warren Carter, Matthew and Empire, p. 170. Both of these are in italics in Carter. 34 M. Hengel, Saint Peter: The Underestimated Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), p. 88 n. 302.

Chapter 6 Determining the Date of Matthew Donald A. Hagner*

Introduction Given the virtual non-existence of hard data, the confidence of many scholars concerning the dating of the Gospels is nothing short of amazing. Most of the supposed certainty depends ultimately upon an uncritical acceptance of traditional conclusions held by the scholarly mainstream. ‘Everybody knows’ that Mark was written either just before or just after 70, that Matthew was written in the 80s, Luke near 90 (or a little later) and John towards the end of the century. This is a matter of critical orthodoxy, and those who have differed from it have generally been discourteously rebuffed. Those who have the temerity to challenge the status quo tend more often to be conservative scholars, who can be accused of having an axe to grind, or else established and respected scholars who can afford to think independently, like a Gundry or a Hengel, or the advocates of Matthean priority. Two remarkable proposals concerning the date of Matthew – remarkable in themselves and also remarkable because of the great difference between them – have been set forward in the past few decades, one putting Matthew extremely early and one extremely late.

Dating Matthew in the Middle of the First Century In the first of these proposals, a re-estimation of the date of papyrus fragments in Magdalen College, Oxford (P64), to c. 60, led papyrologist Carsten P. Thiede to the conclusion that Matthew was written in the 50s or even earlier.1 Thiede’s argument has won little if any support. Its one * Although I had no formal relationship with Graham Stanton, we became good friends through the meetings of SNTS. We shared an interest in the Gospel of Matthew and over the years I learned much from him, not least from his personal demeanour as a true gentleman, self-giving mentor and consummate scholar. 1 Thiede, with journalist Matthew D’Ancona, argues that comparison of the style

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virtue is that it at least appeals to something concrete, as over against the strictly theoretical, although its analysis of the evidence has been challenged. Graham Stanton regarded the proposal as unconvincing, but worth responding to, and devoted part of a small book to that end.2 Critics have pointed out that Thiede really brought forward no new or persuasive arguments, either negative, against the traditional dating of the fragments, or positive, in favour of his earlier dating. He does not show that Roberts’s arguments for a late-second-century date were incorrect. His case rests entirely on the similarity of the shape of some letters to the same letters in five first-century manuscript sources, including four from Qumran. He ignores the dissimilarity of other letters, however, and pays no attention to the more important issue of the manner in which the letters were formed. D. C. Parker, indeed, finds the shortcomings of Thiede’s arguments ‘so fundamental as to render his paper worthless’.3 Thiede, of course, is not alone in dating the Gospel early. Not a few reputable scholars have argued for a relatively early date. Scholars as diverse as J. Wenham and J. A. T. Robinson have allowed a date as early as 40.4 Many more are willing to date the Gospel sometime in the 60s.5 of the letters of P64 with that of datable materials from the first century ‘yields a date of c. A.D. 66, with a distinct tendency toward an even slightly earlier date’. Carsten Peter Thiede and Matthew D’Ancona, Eyewitness to Jesus: Amazing New Manuscript Evidence About the Origin of the Gospels (New York: Doubleday, 1996), p. 125. A new edition of the book came out under the title The Jesus Papyrus (London: Orion, 1997). This dating is a full century earlier than the original dating of the fragments by C. H. Roberts made in 1953. See Thiede’s article, ‘Papyrus Magdalen Greek 17 (Gregory-Aland P64): A Reappraisal’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 105 (1995), pp. 13–20; reprinted in TynBul 46 (1995), pp. 29–42. Roberts’s estimate was made in ‘An Early Papyrus of the First Gospel’, HTR 46 (1953), pp. 233–37. 2 Gospel Truth? New Light on Jesus and the Gospels (London: HarperCollins, 1995), pp. 11–19. See also his ‘The Early Reception of Matthew’s Gospel: New Evidence from Papyri?’, in D. E Aune (ed.), The Gospel of Matthew in Current Study: Studies in Memory of William G. Thompson, S. J. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), pp. 42–61. For other highly critical reviews, see P. M. Head, ‘The Date of the Magdalen Papyrus of Matthew (P. MAGD. GR. 17=P64): A Response to C. P. Thiede’, TynBul 46 (1995), pp. 251–85 (including photographs of the fragments); D. C. Parker, ‘Was Matthew Written before 50 CE? The Magdalen Papyrus of Matthew’, ExpTim 107 (1995–96), pp. 40–43. 3 ‘Was Matthew Written before 50 CE?’, p. 43. 4 J. A. T. Robinson (40–60+), Redating the New Testament (London: SCM, 1976); J. Wenham (c. 40), Redating Matthew, Mark & Luke: A Fresh Assault on the Synoptic Problem (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1991). 5 See, for example: W. C. Allen (a few years before or after 70), A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to S. Matthew, ICC (3rd edn; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1912); C. F. D. Moule (before 70), The Birth of the New Testament (3rd edn; London: A. & C. Black, 1981); B. Reicke (c. 60), The Roots of the Synoptic Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986); R. H. Gundry (65–67), Matthew: A Commentary on His Handbook for a Mixed Church Under Persecution (2nd edn; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994); J. Nolland (60s), The Gospel of Matthew, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005); R. T. France (60s), The Gospel of Matthew, NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007). Among other recent commentators favouring an early date are C. L. Blomberg (evidence

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And we should not neglect here those, led by W. Farmer,6 who over the past few decades have championed Matthean priority and hence an early date for Matthew, putting it before Mark, and therefore presumably at least as early as the 60s. A late first-century date for the writing of the Gospel is hardly something that should be taken for granted. In actuality, we know next to nothing about the time of the writing of the Gospel. And therefore we are limited to making guesses on the basis of what indirect indications we have, and the various hypotheses that are proposed can only be assessed on the basis of their relative strengths and weaknesses.

Dating Matthew at the End of the First Century: Hengel’s Proposal Against the conviction of the early church – indeed, down to the modern era – concerning Matthew as the earliest of the gospels, Martin Hengel (who is more respectful of patristic testimony than most) has now assigned to the Gospel of Matthew a date at the end of the first century.7 While quite a few scholars remain open to the possibility of a date towards the end of the first century, Hengel is one of only a few who decide so firmly for this late date, as the latest of the Synoptics, and who argue that Matthew depends upon Luke. Hengel mentions the work of Ronald V. Huggins, who comes to the same conclusions in an article which Hengel encountered only after he had come to similar views.8 Hengel indicates that for a long time he had accepted and worked with the conventional two-source hypothesis but that he gradually began to doubt its truth. He now writes, ‘The question of the “sources” of the three Synoptic Gospels cannot be answered in a straightforward way: apart from the priority of Mark, in the end it seems to be insoluble.’9 Although he is very pessimistic about being able to reconstruct Q, and although he argues strongly that Matthew made use of Luke in writing his Gospel, he surprisingly has no particular interest in denying the existence of Q. He is, however, opposed to building hypotheses on the slightly favours 58–69), Matthew, NAC (Nashville: Broadman, 1992); M. J. Wilkins (favours late 50s or early 60s), Matthew, NIVAC (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2004); J. A. Gibbs (mid to late 50s), Matthew 1:1–11:1, CC (St Louis: Concordia, 2006); D. L. Turner (leans toward a pre-70 date), Matthew, BECNT (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007); D. A. Carson (60s), ‘Matthew’, in Expositor’s Bible Commentary (rev. edn; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2010). 6 The Synoptic Problem (2nd edn; Dillsboro: Western North Carolina Press, 1976), and many other publications. 7 See The Four Gospels and the One Gospel of Jesus Christ, trans. J. Bowden (London: SCM, 2000), pp. 169–207. 8 Ronald V. Huggins, ‘Matthean Posteriority: A Preliminary Proposal’, NovT 34 (1992), pp. 1–22. Hengel, The Four Gospels, p. 171. 9 The Four Gospels, p. 185.

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putative document about such things as a Q community or a strand of primitive Christianity. His main point seems to be the complexity of the problem because of a multiplicity of available sources, down to and including the ongoing, indeterminate influence of oral tradition at the end of the first century. Because of the nature of the available evidence we are left with considerable uncertainty. Although, as he admits, NT scholars try to do it all the time, he stresses that ‘As we know, we cannot solve equations with several unknowns.’10 Fundamental to Hengel’s conclusion about the date of Matthew is his conviction that Matthew is dependent upon Luke. While there have been not a few who have argued for the dependence of Luke upon Matthew,11 very few have argued the reverse.12 To the majority of scholars there are several reasons for rejecting the idea that Luke depends upon Matthew. A main argument has been from the order of material. If Luke took nonMarkan sayings from Matthew, why is it that not once does he place such a saying in the same location as in Matthew’s Markan framework? How is it that Luke, furthermore, never takes up any of the Matthean additions to Mark (e.g. Mt. 3.14f.; 12.5-7; 16.17-19; 21.14-16; 26.52-54)? And how can one account for what Luke has done to Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount, scattering the material over several chapters?13 There is furthermore the problem of the discrepancies between Matthew and Luke such as in the birth narratives and the reports concerning the death of Judas. What about dependence in the opposite direction? Kümmel dismisses with a curt sentence the hypothesis that Matthew used Luke: ‘The dependence of Mt on Lk is no longer defended today and can drop from consideration.’14 Hengel, on the other hand, is convinced that Matthew is later than Luke and asserts that ‘a whole series of indications suggest that the later Matthew used the earlier Luke’.15 He calls attention to a number of instances where Matthew seems more developed than Luke, theologically and liturgically, such as in the Lord’s prayer, and the trinitarian baptismal formula in 28.19. At the same time, he argues, in places Luke seems more primitive than Matthew. Thus he says that ‘one could make a Sermon on the Mount out of the Sermon on the Plain, but not vice versa’.16 Immediately after this sentence he adds: ‘Therefore Luke cannot be dependent on Matthew, 10 The Four Gospels, p. 181. Hengel’s italics. 11 E.g. notably R. H. Gundry, Matthew, p. 608; M. D. Goulder, Luke: A New Paradigm (JSNTSup 20; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989), pp. 27–71; and W. Farmer and advocates of the Matthean priority hypothesis. 12 In addition to Huggins (note 8), Hengel mentions C. G. Wilke (1838); Goulder mentions Holtzmann (in the 3rd edn of his Einleitung [1892]). 13 For these questions, see Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament (rev. edn, trans. H. C. Kee; Nashville: Abingdon, 1975), p. 64. 14 Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament. 15 The Four Gospels, p. 173. 16 The Four Gospels, p. 176f.

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as is commonly asserted.’ Hengel compares a number of passages and shows, on the other hand, that a plausible argument can be made that Matthew is using Luke. But he ignores the fact that in many places, and even in some of his examples, the opposite explanation can also be made to sound convincing. In the few narrative passages usually assigned to Q (the passage about John the Baptist [Lk. 3.7-9, 16b = Mt. 3.7-12]; the temptation narrative [Lk. 4.1-13 = Mt. 4.1-11]; and the story of the Roman centurion [Lk. 7.1-10 = Mt. 8.5-13]) Hengel again argues for direct dependence. He stresses that these passages ill befit a logia source such as Q, and defends instead the conclusion that they reveal Matthew’s dependence on Luke. Hengel also finds historical probabilities to be in favour of a late date for Matthew. In his view, Matthew reflects the late-first-century era in which Judaism was experiencing a dramatic rebirth in the rise of rabbinic Judaism after the fall of Jerusalem. Matthew 23 reflects interaction with this rabbinic Judaism, and in particular, 23.2, ‘the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat’, reflects the emerging rabbinic viewpoint.17 Matthew’s formulations and arguments reveal a Jewish-rabbinic perspective.18 According to Hengel, Matthew no longer distinguishes between the Scribes and the Pharisees, using both terms to refer to the same opponents. Hengel points to the heightened polemical situation and the hostility towards the Jews reflected in Matthew and takes this as evidence of the parting of the ways and thus also of the late date of Matthew.19 Hengel finds the church consciousness of Matthew, with its mention of the ekklēsia and its reflection of church hierarchy and church discipline, to be signs of a late date. So too the explicit reference to the Trinity in the baptismal formula. And, although he had earlier resisted the idea, he now concludes that Matthew (with James) is deliberately opposing Paul.20 One of the perceived advantages of accepting that Luke used Matthew (or, here, that Matthew used Luke) is that there is no longer any need for the elusive hypothetical source Q. Rather than appealing to such a hypothetical source when the wording in Luke and Matthew is exactly the same in non-Markan material, Hengel argues that these verbatim agreements point to direct dependence of Matthew on Luke.21 Interestingly, he does not then go on to argue against the existence of Q and other sources, including oral sources, available to the two evangelists. ‘I do not 17 The Four Gospels, pp. 195–98. 18 Hengel notes that the same evidence was taken by Zahn and Schlatter (two conservative scholars he often agrees with) to point to Matthew as the earliest Gospel. He explains their mistake as the result of not seeing that Matthew ‘transposes the Jewish opponents of his time back into the time of Jesus’, The Four Gospels, p. 195. 19 The Four Gospels, pp. 199, 201. 20 The Four Gospels, pp. 183, 198f. 21 Verbatim agreement between Matthew and Luke in these instances points not to Q but to Matthew’s use of Luke, The Four Gospels, p. 179.

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dispute the existence of Q, but only the possibility of demonstrating its unity and reconstructing it in any way which is at all reliable.’22 Hengel’s distaste for Q is more a matter of his opposition to the claims concerning the existence of an earlier Q-type Christianity with differing Q communities and theologies. He rejects as frivolous the arguments for a QL and a QM, and especially the tendency of ‘building hypothesis upon hypothesis’.23 At the same time he stresses that the Synoptic problem is more complicated than usually assumed, because of the existence of many logia sources no longer available to us. The dependence of Matthew on Luke is for Hengel the most convincing way to deal with the problem of the ‘minor agreements’, namely those places where the words of Matthew and Luke agree against their Markan source. This phenomenon has been widely recognized as the Achilles’ heel of the two-source hypothesis. And it has been used especially by advocates of Matthean priority in support of the contention that Luke is dependent upon Matthew. Hengel uses it to support his idea of Matthew’s dependence upon Luke. Nevertheless, Hengel seems uncertain about the strength of his arguments. Thus he can conclude ‘At best we will be able to say with a certain degree of probability that most of those texts in which the agreement between Luke and Matthew is greatest have been taken over by Matthew from Luke, or at least have also been essentially influenced by him.’24 But a few pages later he refers to the ‘many good reasons’ pointing to Matthew’s dependence upon Luke which cause him to say ‘I would almost speak of stringent proof.’25 Hengel works very hard to establish a relatively earlier date for Luke (75–80), leaving the impression that once he has succeeded in that, he has established Matthew’s dependence on Luke, and thus a late date for Matthew. To prove such a date for Luke, however, in no way establishes that Matthew is later than Luke. One further argument that Hengel makes seems odd and unconvincing to me. He maintains that once a gospel had been accepted as apostolic (as in the case of Matthew), all further gospels also had to be apostolic, thus prohibiting a gospel by Luke from being acceptable.26 Huggins’s defence of Matthean posteriority focuses on three issues. First, on the matter of order, he points out that on the hypothesis that Matthew used Luke, the problem of order essentially dissipates ‘because the actual number of instances where Matthew might have departed from the Marcan outline in favor of Luke is reduced to only five for the double-tradition, each of which when taken over is easily accounted for 22 23 24 25 26

The The The The The

Four Four Four Four Four

Gospels, Gospels. Gospels, Gospels, Gospels,

p. 173. p. 181. p. 187. p. 204.

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from the point of view of Matthean redaction’.27 Second, Matthew’s main source is Mark, which he is then content to supplement with a limited amount of carefully selected Lukan material, consistent with his purposes, which he consistently joins to parallel material in the Markan outline. Matthew thus makes no attempt to conflate Mark and Luke. Third, as for differences between Matthew and Luke in the infancy and resurrection narratives, Huggins asserts that Matthew’s narratives are informed, but not determined, by the Lukan narratives. Huggins’s conclusion is that Matthean posteriority ‘appears to be a simple and compelling solution to the problem of Synoptic relationships’.28

Against a Late Dating It has to be admitted that a late date, i.e. at the end of the first century, is a possibility that cannot be ruled out. So too, it is possible that Matthew used Luke as one of his sources. Inevitably many things remain possible when we are confronted with as many unknowns as in Synoptic relationships. All we can do here is to argue that, from what we know, a late date is not required for the Gospel of Matthew. A post-70 date, though less improbable, should also be recognized as only a possibility and not something to be taken for granted. A few points need to be addressed. (1) It is not clear that Matthew knew and used Luke any more than it is that Luke knew and used Matthew. There are arguments against affirming dependence in either direction. The Q hypothesis, despite its conjectural basis, is still a viable and convincing explanation for the nonMarkan material common to Matthew and Luke. If this is true, then the dating of these two Gospels is a separate question in each instance, and is to be estimated independently. (2) The much-appealed-to statement in Mt. 22.7 is something of a red herring. In this parable, when those who were invited to the marriage feast did not come, ‘The king was angry, and he sent his troops and destroyed those murderers and burned their city.’ Many take this as a Matthean insertion into the parable, as a deliberate ex eventu allusion to the destruction of Jerusalem. It is common to take it as decisive evidence for a post-70 date of the Gospel. Ulrich Luz is typical here. He flatly states, ‘The terminus a quo is the formation of the Gospel of Mark and the destruction of Jerusalem (22:7).’29 Matthew’s insertion – if it is that – seems rather odd, even alien, in the parable of the invitation to the wedding feast. But the language employs hyperbolic rhetoric, and moreover it has been shown to be a conventional figure for punitive ex27 28 29 tion to

‘Matthean Posteriority: A Preliminary Proposal’, p. 5f. ‘Matthean Posteriority’, p. 22. Matthew 1–7. Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), p. 58. Luz pays no attenthe difficulty of dating Mark.

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peditions.30 Matthew does allude to the destruction of Jerusalem in 24.2, but this is taken from Mk 13.2 and is presented as a prophecy made by Jesus. To his credit, Hengel does not take 22.7 as settling the question of a late date for Matthew. He says the possibility that the statement is drawn from a source cannot be excluded, and that it certainly cannot be used as categorical proof of a post-70 date.31 (3) If we accept the validity of Markan priority, then the date of Mark does serve as a terminus a quo for the date of Matthew. We have little certainty, however, concerning the date of Mark. The main question that comes into play in the dating of Mark is whether it is written before or after 70, i.e. whether the reference to the destruction of the temple (Mk 13.2) is an actual prophecy of Jesus recorded in Mark, or whether it is a ‘prophecy’ ex eventu, and put into the mouth of Jesus by the evangelist. Since the words tie in with other statements made by Jesus in Mark (e.g. 14.58; 15.29; cf. Mk 13.30, ‘this generation will not pass away before all these things take place’; Mk 9.1, ‘some standing here will not taste death before they see the kingdom come with power’) it would seem reasonable to take the words as a genuine prophecy. Many scholars are inclined to date Mark in the last years of the 60s, just prior to the fall of Jerusalem. Not uncommonly one finds it said that if Matthew is dependent upon Mark, then it must have been written a decade later, so that if we determine that Mark was written in the late 60s, then Matthew was written late in the 70s. Why such a long time would be required between the two remains unclear. I see no reason why more than a year or two is needed, if that much time, especially if Mark from the beginning, as the Papias testimony indicates, bore the stamp of Peter’s authority. (4) A comparison between the Matthean and Lukan redaction of Mark’s apocalyptic discourse seems to indicate Luke as later than Matthew, and as reflecting clearly a post-70 perspective. As Hengel admits, ‘Matthew’s gaze, like that of Mark, is directed more towards the future than towards the past.’32 Luke’s account, on the other hand, seems clearly retrospective: But when you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, then know that its desolation has come near. Then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains, and let those who are inside the city depart, and let not those who are out in the country enter it. . . . For great distress shall be upon the earth and wrath upon this people; they will fall by the edge of the sword, and be led captive 30 K. H. Rengstorf, ‘Die Stadt der Mörder (Matt. 22.7)’, in Judentum, Urchristentum, Kirche, ed. FS J. Jeremias and W. Eltester, BZNW 26 (Berlin: Töpelmann, 1960), pp. 106–29. 31 The Four Gospels, p. 194. 32 The Four Gospels, p. 316, n. 753.

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The perspective here seems rather clearly to be post-70 and later than that of Matthew’s account (Mt. 24.15-22). According to Hengel, Matthew is writing between twenty to thirty years after the event and for him the remote historical event of the fall of Jerusalem lacks interest, and so he ignores Luke’s account of it. On the other hand, it seems more probable that the event had not yet occurred, that Luke had not yet been written, and that it is for this reason that Matthew seems to keep ‘a considerable distance from the Jewish War and its immediate fearful consequences’.33 The event was probably still in the vague future for Matthew. As we have already noted, Hengel places much stress on the nature of the Judaism that lies in the background of Matthew. It seems to him to reflect a situation after the endeavours to reconstitute Judaism in the meetings at Yavneh in the late 80s. That is, he sees Matthew’s Gospel as engaging in competition with the emerging Pharisaic Judaism. Hengel regards 23.2 as decisive for understanding the background to the Gospel, ‘The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat; so practice and observe whatever they tell you, but not what they do.’ He quotes the Talmudic expert H.-J. Becker: ‘The statement in Matt. 23:2 is best explained against the background of an established and largely-accepted rabbinic self-understanding during the time of the presidency of Rabban Gamli’el in the great Bet Din.’34 Hengel regards this as confirming evidence that the Gospel was written between 90 and 100. ‘If we consider the contemporary context more precisely, an earlier date is hardly possible.’35 It is of course true that Matthew 23 fits this later period well. The question, however, is whether this is a necessary conclusion, or whether this language may not also have been appropriate for earlier times. Already in the time of Jesus the Pharisees were the chief interpreters of the law and thus in effect sat in Moses’ seat. So too thirty years later – still before 70 – the Pharisees continued to be in a position of authority, already representatives of a rabbinic form of Judaism before the destruction of the temple and decades before the Yavneh deliberations. Nearly half a century ago, W. D. Davies also argued for a Jewish background to Matthew related to what has been called scholastic rabbinism.36 33 The Four Gospels, p. 194. 34 Auf der Kathedra des Mose. Rabbinisch-theologisches Denken und antirabbinische Polemik in Mt. 23, 1–12. ANTZ 4 (Berlin: Institut Kirche und Judentum, 1990), p. 49f. Hengel, The Four Gospels, p. 197. 35 The Four Gospels, p. 198. 36 The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1964), pp. 256–315. Already in 1928, E. von Dobschütz (ZNW 27, pp. 338–48) had argued that Matthew was a converted rabbi: ‘Matthew as Rabbi and Catechist’. An English translation of this essay is available in Graham N. Stanton (ed.), The Interpretation of Matthew (London: SPCK, 1983), pp. 19–29.

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In the introduction to their ICC commentary on Matthew, Davies and Allison refer to ‘four links in the chain binding Matthew to the Jamnian period’:37 (1) The Sermon on the Mount, which is organized into three major parts corresponding to the triad mentioned by Simeon the Just (m. ‘Aboth 1.2): ‘Upon three things the world stands: upon Torah, upon temple service, and upon acts of piety.’ The sermon follows the schema: Torah (5.17-48); the Christian cult (6.1-18); and attitudes and obligations (6.19–7.12). (2) Hosea 6.6, ‘I desire mercy and not sacrifice,’ quoted in the NT only in Matthew, against the Pharisees (9.13 and 12.7). This text is not quoted by any pre-70 rabbi, and ‘was probably an important watchword of Johannan ben Zakkai in the period following the destruction of the temple’.38 The church makes the claim, contra the Pharisees, that the meaning of the passage is found in the ministry of Jesus, not in rabbinic exegesis of the law. (3) The title ‘rabbi’ first became an authorized title for Pharisaic teachers in the Yavneh consultations. The prohibition of the use of the title in Mt. 23.5-10 possibly is a reaction to this development. (4) The birkat ha-minim, the so-called ‘benediction of the heretics’, was a liturgical addition to the Eighteen Benedictions made at Yavneh, for the purpose of excluding Jewish Christians from worshiping in the synagogue.39 Although not a few Matthean scholars have used this development as the determining factor in assigning a date to the Gospel, Davies and Allison wisely resist doing so. Not only is there much uncertainty about the birkat ha-minim,40 but in addition ‘it is not possible to determine whether the tone and content of Matthew disclose a situation effected by the issuance of the benediction against the heretics’.41

37 The Gospel according to Saint Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988), 1.134. 38 Matthew, 1.135. 39 Davies and Allison, Matthew (1.136) quote the following version from the Cairo Genizah, as published by Solomon Schechter: For the apostates let there be no hope. And let the dominion of arrogance be speedily uprooted in our days. And let the nôs.rîm [‘Nazarenes’; some regard this word as a later addition] and the mînîm [‘heretics’] perish in a moment. Let them be blotted out from the Book of life and not be inscribed with the righteous. Blessed are thou, O Lord, who humblest the arrogant. 40 For a balanced view, see W. Horbury, ‘The Benediction of the Minim and Early Jewish-Christian Controversy’, JTS 33 (1982), pp. 19–61; reprinted in Jews and Christians in Contact and Controversy (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), pp. 67–110. See too J. Marcus, ‘Jewish Christianity’, in The Cambridge History of Christianity, Vol. 1 Origins to Constantine, ed. M. M. Mitchell and F. M. Young (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 87–102. 41 Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1.136. But the statement that immediately follows, ‘What we can be relatively sure of, however, is this: Matthew was composed in the general period in with the birkat ha-minim was first formulated,’ begs the question.

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Davies and Allison notwithstanding, these links together do not make a strong chain, in my opinion. The first provides an interesting similarity, but the logion, attributed to Simeon the Just who was active in the Maccabean period, almost certainly was familiar long before the eighth or ninth decade of the first century. The second – the conclusion drawn from Matthew’s use of Hos. 6.6 – is a possible, but hardly necessary, inference. The third depends on the use of the word ‘rabbi’ in a formal, authorized sense. But the title is used earlier than Yavneh in a lesser, informal sense, and this could lie behind Matthew’s prohibition. Fourth, since it is hardly certain that Matthew presupposes the birkat ha-minim, it provides no unambiguous support for a late date for Matthew. A case can be made for a late date of Matthew, but it is necessarily based upon conjectures and possibilities. Again we come to the uncertainty that we regularly encounter in dating the Gospels. If we cannot be certain about a late date for Matthew, then perhaps an openness to the possibility of an earlier date is appropriate.

In Favour of a Pre-70 Date Some years ago I changed my mind about the date of Matthew. I had earlier, without a lot of investigation I admit, espoused the majority view that Matthew was written in the 80s.42 It was when I was working on my commentary on Matthew, in particular in my attempt to make sense of the eschatological passages in the Gospel, that I began to entertain the possibility of a pre-70 date. As I examined Matthew’s redaction of the apocalyptic discourse in Mark 13, I noticed Matthew’s surprising addition of the word eutheōs, ‘immediately’, at the beginning of 24.29. Although the interpretation of the passage is of course much debated, I had decided (following Luke’s lead [Lk. 21.20-24] in understanding the same Markan material) that Mt. 24.15-28 described the destruction of Jerusalem that would take place in ad 70. The verses that follow, i.e. 24.29-31, refer to the coming of the Son of Man and to the end of the age. Thus when Matthew inserted the word eutheōs he showed that he thought the parousia and the end of the age would follow immediately upon the destruction of Jerusalem. He could never have made that insertion if he were writing ten or thirty years after the fall of the city.43

42 See my article, ‘Matthew, Gospel of’, in The International Standard Biblical Encyclopedia (revised), gen. ed. G. W. Bromiley (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979–88). 43 I later discovered that Gundry had made this observation in his commentary, Matthew: A Commentary on his Literary and Theological Art (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), p. 603.

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It is possible but unlikely, I think, that the insertion of the word is just a rhetorical flourish, the insertion of immediacy into a prophecy for the sake of vividness. We know too that when it comes to eschatological expectation, not even repeated disappointment can cancel out the idea of eschatological imminence. But the fact is that the insertion goes against Matthew’s regular practice of omitting Mark’s word for ‘immediately [euthus]’. The most natural explanation of the insertion of ‘immediately’ in 24.29 is that the evangelist, like the other disciples of Jesus, associated the destruction of Jerusalem with the end of the age. For them, the one inevitably implied the other. This is already apparent from their question in 24.3, ‘Tell us, when will this be [i.e. the destruction of the temple], and what will be the sign of your coming and of the close of the age?’ Jerusalem and the temple had been destroyed in the sixth century bc; if they were to be destroyed again, that would surely signal the end of the age. The disciples were unable to conceive of the two being separated by an interim period, of whatever length. This analysis enables us to make sense of the otherwise confusing data provided in the Synoptic Gospels. Thus, in my view, when Jesus spoke of something that would happen within the lifetime of some who heard him preach, and that that generation would not pass away before it happened, he meant only the destruction of Jerusalem. But Jesus left the time of his parousia and the end of the age indeterminate: ‘But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only’ (cf. Acts 1.7). The disciples, however, connected the two in their minds, and thus it was easy to apply imminence sayings (i.e. that Jesus made concerning the destruction of Jerusalem) also to the end of the age. So horrible would be the second destruction of Jerusalem that it took on an eschatological aspect in their minds and it became the chronological precedent to the immediate end of the age.44 While such an analysis suggests confusion on the part of the disciples, this should not be a distressing surprise. On the details of eschatology the disciples must be excused for not being omniscient (cf. Acts 1.6f.).45 This does not in any fundamental way challenge their authority or their knowledge on other matters. It should suggest to all of us the appropri44 See my Matthew 14–28, WBC (Dallas: Word, 1995), pp. 711–13; ‘Imminence and Parousia in the Gospel of Matthew’, in Texts and Contexts, ed. FS L. Hartman, T. Fornberg and D. Hellholm (Oslo/Boston: Scandinavian University Press, 1995), pp. 77–92; ‘Matthew’s Eschatology’, in To Tell the Mystery: Essays on New Testament Eschatology in Honor of Robert H. Gundry, ed. T. E. Schmidt and M. Silva (JSNTSup 100; Sheffield: JSOT, 1994), pp. 49–71. 45 Some years ago at a public meeting where I presented my views, a well-known person in the audience commented that I had saved the infallibility of Jesus, but at the high cost of affirming the fallibility of the disciples. The observation was true, but on the specifics of eschatology I do not think it is much of a concession to say that the disciples did not have all the answers.

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ateness of humility concerning the minutiae of future eschatology and in particular the dangers of thinking we know more than we do. There are of course other reasons than Matthew’s insertion of ‘immediately’ in 24.29 for accepting a pre-70 date for the Gospel. (1) A key question is whether Matthew and his readers have essentially broken their relationship with the synagogue. Does Matthew reflect a situation where Jewish Christians are to be thought of as intra muros or extra muros? Some scholars who conclude that the Gospel presupposes a break with Judaism think that this is reason to date the Gospel late, probably after the institution of the birkat ha-minim, or at least after 70. What has often misled scholars here is the mistaken idea that only with the liturgical imposition of the birkat ha-minim can we speak of a break between the believers in Jesus and the synagogue. There is even a recent trend to conclude that there was no such break until as late as the fourth century.46 Part of the confusion here is what is meant by the ‘break’, i.e. what meaning is assigned to the ‘parting of the ways’. Those who assign the parting of the ways to the fourth century have in mind an arbitrary, single, early and decisive act that involved an absolute split that excluded all further contact between Jews and Christians. But it is surely possible to speak of a break that does not fit those severe criteria. The parting of the ways is better understood as a gradual process occurring at different speeds in different places, but already beginning in the first century.47 The birkat ha-minim reflects an already advanced stage of the parting of the ways. Even earlier the tragic events of ad 70 escalated the hostility between the church and the synagogue.48 But hostility between the two had begun nearly from the beginning of the church, as the narrative of Acts demonstrates.49 Matthew’s apparent break with the synagogue necessitates a post-70 date for the Gospel no more than does the remark in 22.7. (2) If neither the birkat ha-minim nor the fall of Jerusalem constitutes decisive evidence for the parting of the ways, then Matthew’s engagement with Pharisaism and his polemic against Judaism do not necessarily indicate a post-70 date for the Gospel. Indeed, although there are no insuperable reasons that much of this material could not go back to Jesus 46 See A. H. Becker and A. Y. Reed (eds), The Ways That Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007; originally published by Mohr Siebeck, 2003); D. Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judeo-Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004). 47 See my forthcoming article: ‘Another Look at “the Parting of the Ways”’, in a volume honouring the late Martin Hengel to be published by Mohr Siebeck in Tübingen. 48 For a description of the plight of Jewish-Christians addressed in Matthew, see my ‘The Sitz-im-Leben of the Gospel of Matthew’, in Treasures New and Old: Contributions to Matthean Studies, ed. D. R. Bauer and M. A. Powell (SBL Symposium Series 1; Atlanta: Scholars, 1996), pp. 27–68. 49 Gundry rightly observes, ‘By the time Jerusalem was destroyed, the church had long since become a counterpart to the synagogue’, Matthew, p. 601.

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himself, it also seems likely that Matthew reflects his own Sitz-im-Leben of intense competition with the synagogue and the authorities of the Pharisees. Contra Hengel, there is no reason to think that this is evidence pointing to the end of the century.50 As J. A. T. Robinson points out, before 70 Matthew and his community would have needed vis-à-vis the Pharisees and Judaism to be in the process of articulating their views on a variety of important and sensitive subjects, such as the law, the temple, and the interpretation of scripture.51 Graham Stanton held that Matthew’s community had recently parted from Judaism, and that this is the explanation of Matthew’s anti-Judaism. Matthew’s debate with Judaism was a part of the process of self-definition. Jewish persecution was a present experience, but the community still felt itself called to maintain its mission to Israel. Concerning the date of Matthew he wrote: Along with most scholars, I accept that Matthew’s carefully revised and considerably extended edition of Mark must have been written some time after the traumatic events of ad 70, probably between 80 and 110, and within this period earlier rather than later. But it is impossible to be more precise. This is a real frustration since both Judaism and Christianity were developing very rapidly in these years. It is obviously hazardous to link the origin and setting of the Gospel to any particular historical event within this broad period.52

Despite his acceptance of the consensus, Stanton’s scholarly reserve here is noteworthy. I find nothing in his extensive work on the Gospel of Matthew that absolutely requires a post-70 date. (3) It is revealing to compare Matthew’s redaction of Mark 13 with Luke’s. Luke 21 is clearly written from a post-70 perspective and attempts to help the reader to understand that Jesus in Mark was prophesying – at least in the early part of the discourse – the Roman invasion of Jerusalem. By contrast, there is no evidence of conscious or unconscious post-70 redaction in Matthew’s Olivet Discourse. (4) Several subjects that Matthew addresses would be anachronistic if he were writing after 70, when the temple was no longer standing. His concern with the temple priests and sacrifices in 12.6-7, including the quotation of Hos. 6.6, is an example.53 50 ‘The undisputed persecution of the church by Paul when he was a Pharisee and his anti-Pharisaical theology after becoming a Christian show, however, that conflict between Pharisaism and Christianity need not point to a post-Jamnian date … At the very least, anti-Pharisaism in Matthew easily fits into the pre-Jamnian period,’ Gundry, Matthew, 600f. 51 Redating the New Testament, p. 103. 52 ‘The Communities of Matthew’, Int 46 (1992), pp. 379–91. 53 See Robinson, Redating the New Testament, p. 104: ‘Matthew’s concern here, like that of the author to the Hebrews, is evidently to present Jesus as the substitute for Christians of all that the temple stands for. Yet there is no more suggestion in the one

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Another example is Matthew’s interest in the payment of the halfshekel tax (17.24-27). Would Matthew have included this material in his Gospel after 70 when this tax for the Jerusalem temple was pre-empted for the temple treasury of Jupiter Capitolinus in Rome (Josephus, BJ 7.218)? According to the Mishnah, the shekel dues ‘apply only such time as the Temple stands’ (Shek. 8.8).54 So too, the specific mention of offering at the altar and leaving one’s gift at the altar, in 5.23-4. Why would Matthew include reference to this if the temple were no longer standing when he wrote? A further example of anachronism, if the temple no longer stands when Matthew writes, are the references to ‘swearing by the temple’ and swearing by ‘the altar’ in 23.16-22. It is, of course, possible that Matthew simply records the material because it was a part of the tradition available to him. At the same time, however, one wonders if in that case he would not have at least altered the material to make it relevant to his readers. (5) Further anachronistic material can be seen in Matthew’s seven references to the Sadducees (compared to a single reference in Mark and Luke). These do not fit well a time after 70, when the Sadducees ceased to exist. Rather, they too are possibly pointers to a pre-70 date. (6) In the passage containing the instructions to flee occupied Jerusalem to the mountains (24.20) Matthew adds to his Markan source, the words ‘Pray that your flight may not be in winter or on a sabbath.’ But such an insertion makes little sense if in fact Matthew was writing after, let alone years after, the event itself. What would be Matthew’s motive in going out of his way to issue such a warning to pray? (7) Finally, it is worth pointing out that the pre-70 conclusion is consonant with the early patristic evidence. The famous testimony of Papias (c. 110) that ‘Matthew compiled the oracles [ta logia] in the Hebrew [Aramaic] dialect and every person translated them as he was able’ (Eusebius HE 3.39.16) cannot be appealed to here since it remains unclear what ta logia refers to. It is more likely that the word refers to either a collection of OT messianic texts (Matthew’s fulfilment quotations) or, more probably, to a collection of the sayings of Jesus, perhaps on the order of Q, than it does to a gospel. But even if we leave Papias aside, there is evidence from Irenaeus that Matthew issued ‘a written Gospel among the Hebrews in their own dialect, while Peter and Paul were preaching at Rome, and laying the foundations of the church’ (Adv Haer 3.1.1 = Eusebius HE 5.8.2). It seems fair to say that the reference to a gospel written in the Hebrew dialect goes back to the testimony of Papias. The early church consistently understood Papias as referring to than the other that the levitical system is not still in active operation.’ We may recall that Hengel tried to use the Hosea quotation in support of a late date. 54 Robinson, Redating the New Testament, p. 105. Cf. H. W. Montefiore, ‘Jesus and the Temple Tax’, NTS 11 (1964), pp. 60–71.

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Matthew’s Gospel. But Papias says nothing about when the Gospel of Matthew (if that is what he had in mind in his reference to the logia) was written, whereas Irenaeus does, dating it during the ministries of Peter and Paul in Rome, i.e. in the 60s. Similarly, when Clement of Alexandria says that Mark was written during the lifetime of Peter (Eusebius HE 2.15.1f.; 6.14.6f.), then at least in his view Matthew would have been written even earlier. A parallel conclusion can be drawn from Irenaeus’ statement that Mark was written shortly after Peter’s death; Matthew again would be earlier (Adv Haer 3.1.1 = Eusebius HE 5.8.2). No one in the early church was apparently prepared to date Matthew after 70. The evidence briefly canvassed here cannot, of course, demonstrate an early date for Matthew.55 But a cumulative argument of some strength emerges from it. At least it shows that there is some positive evidence for a pre-70 date while at the same time raising some questions about the adequacy of a late date. Especially intriguing is the anachronistic material. Unless Matthew was a master at finding and including material that was irrelevant to his readers, his Gospel makes the most sense in a pre-70 context.

Conclusion The wide range of dates assigned to the Gospel of Matthew should, if nothing else, show us that there is no room for undue confidence on the question. The most that we hope to have done here is to show that nothing in Matthew proves a late date and, to the contrary, much within the Gospel is consonant with an early date. The Christian, liturgical and ecclesiastical theology of Matthew can easily have developed before 70. A look at Paul’s undisputed letters makes that abundantly clear. Similarly, the parting of the ways between the church and the synagogue was a long and painful process that began to occur much earlier than is usually admitted. It is not in the least difficult to imagine Jewish Christians in the 60s who were conflicted, who finding themselves between Judaism and Christianity, or rather, belonging in a sense to both, had to struggle to define their faith over against the dominant perspective of the Pharisees. It is just to these people, in the process of defining themselves in relation to the synagogue, that Matthew writes. Not only is there nothing that clearly rules out a date in the 60s, but on the positive side, the Gospel coheres and makes good sense of the situation that existed in the 60s. Since there is credible evidence that points to an early (i.e. pre-70) date for Matthew, and since we simply do not know enough to exclude that possibility, it would seem that a scholarly humility is appropriate. 55 For the strength of the cumulative case, see Gundry, Matthew, pp. 599–609.

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In determining the date of Matthew scholars should exhibit openness to the possibility of a date earlier than critical orthodoxy currently allows. Nevertheless, because of the indirect nature of the evidence, dogmatism – on either side – is of course out of the question.

Chapter 7 Graham Stanton and the Four-Gospel Codex: Reconsidering the Manuscript Evidence Peter M. Head*

Graham Stanton on the Fourfold Gospel In the summer of 1996 Graham Stanton, then Professor of New Testament at King’s College London, gave his Presidential Address to the Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas in Strasbourg on the subject of ‘The Fourfold Gospel’. The essay was published in New Testament Studies in the following year and subsequently reprinted (lightly revised) in his recent book Jesus and Gospel, by which time Graham had become Lady Margaret’s Professor of Divinity at the University of Cambridge.1 In this essay Stanton dealt with ‘the origins and theological significance of the fourfold Gospel’, tackling both the ways in which Christian writers used and referred to the Gospels, and the evidence of the earliest manuscripts. Following especially T. C. Skeat, with whom Stanton had regular correspondence throughout this period, Stanton argued for a close association in the second century between the developing four-Gospel canon consciousness and the production of actual four-Gospel codices.2 Stanton argued that Irenaeus’ well-known commitment to an exclusive * I was fortunate to get to know Graham through the British New Testament Conference and through his New Testament seminars at King’s College, and then enjoyed him as a senior colleague in the Divinity Faculty at Cambridge. Fortunately he always encouraged disagreement and new discussions of the relevant evidence. On hearing an early version of this chapter he wrote ‘I am very grateful to you for your contribution to the NT conference last Saturday. Your presentation was superb both from a content as well as an IT point of view. It was good to have your Skeat/Stanton demolition set out so clearly.’ I have written some more personal reflections about Graham and our relationship in response to his passing at http://evangelicaltextualcriticism.blogspot.com/2009/07/ graham-stanton.html. 1 Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, NTS 43 (1997), pp. 317–46; chapter 3 of Jesus and Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 63–91. 2 Stanton refers to Skeat ten times in the main text of ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, including not only several published works, but also personal correspondence (note 36 on p. 327 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 73, n. 38).

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four-Gospel canon (Adv. Haer. III.11.8) is not innovative, but reflects a very well established outlook; and further that the Muratorian Canon confirms this view: ‘that the fourfold Gospel was well established towards the end of the second century’.3 Stanton took a further step in linking the development of a fourfold Gospel canon consciousness with the existence of ‘codices containing all four Gospels’. He posed the question: ‘Could Irenaeus and the writer of the Muratorian Fragment have used codices containing all four Gospels?’4 Stanton answered this in the affirmative, arguing that ‘well before the end of the second century there was a very well-established tradition of four-Gospel codices’.5 In support of this conclusion Stanton (building on the work of Skeat) attempted a three-pronged argument based on three proposed examples of four-Gospel codices: P45, which really is a four-Gospel codex; and two others which provided, in his view, ‘fairly solid evidence’ for four-Gospel codices: P4 + 64 + 67, and P75. The three examples were constructed differently and independently and probably had predecessors which reached back into the second century. These manuscript finds in the East are balanced by the evidence from Irenaeus and the Muratorian Canon in the West.6 Stanton suggested that Justin Martyr ‘may well have had a four-Gospel codex in his catechetical school in Rome by about ad 150’;7 and that the fourfold Gospel probably existed before Marcion – the separation of Luke from Acts may be explained as due to Luke’s incorporation into the fourfold Gospel.8 The four-Gospel codex and the fourfold Gospel canon go hand in hand from that point and reinforce each other: ‘the four-Gospel codex strongly encouraged acceptance of the fourfold Gospel, and vice versa’.9 Evidence for a conviction of a fourfold Gospel canon by the end of the second century is, as Stanton noted, widely recognized, and rightly so in my opinion.10 It is rather less clear, however, that the acceptance of the four-Gospel canon was closely linked with the technological advance of rela3 Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, p. 325 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 71. 4 Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, p. 326 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 71. 5 Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, pp. 328–29 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 74. 6 Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, p. 329 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 74. 7 Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, p. 331 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 77. 8 Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, pp. 334–35 = Jesus and Gospel, pp. 80–81. 9 Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, p. 340 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 86. 10 A broader range of evidence is surveyed (as Stanton notes in ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, p. 317 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 63) in H. von Campenhausen, The Formation of the Christian Bible (ET; London: Black, 1971), pp. 147–209. Also more recently T. K. Heckel, Vom Evangelium des Markus zum viergestaltigen Evangelium (WUNT 120; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), pp. 266–355; M. Hengel, The Four Gospels and the One Gospel of Jesus Christ: An Investigation of the Collection and Origin of the Canonical Gospels (London: SCM, 2000); J. A. Kelhoffer, Miracle and Mission: The Authentication of Missionaries and Their Message in the Longer Ending of Mark (WUNT 2.112; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), pp. 123–56; D. Hannah, ‘The Four-Gospel “Canon” in the Epistula Apostolorum’, JTS 59 (2008), pp. 598–633.

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tively common and influential four-Gospel codices.11 In this chapter we shall reconsider the manuscript evidence relevant to this question of whether fourGospel codices were ‘a very well-established tradition’ in the early period.

P. Chester Beatty I (P45) There is no reason to doubt that P45 is a papyrus codex which originally contained all four Gospels and Acts by a single scribe. Of the original codex thirty leaves survive, with portions of all five texts extant.12 Almost complete pages of 25 x 20 cm are preserved (the upper margin is preserved in some leaves but the bottom margin is never preserved; the complete width of a column is preserved on six pages); these contain a substantial amount of text in a wide single column (with around 39 lines per page and 50 letters per line). Some pagination survives (specifically 193 [Acts 14.15-23], 199 [Acts 17.9-17), and two conjoint leaves (leaves 11 & 12 [Luke 10.6–11.46] and leaves 13 & 14 [Luke 11.50–13.24]). From this data it emerges that the original codex was a multi-quire ‘uniones’ codex with around 110 leaves (one sheet = two leaves = four pages per quire) in the order: Matthew, John, Luke, Mark, Acts.13 Clearly we are on solid ground in taking P45 as originally a complete codex with the four Gospels (and Acts) from the third century. Three features of P45 are worth noting at this point. First, that it is by general consent the latest of the three manuscripts mentioned by Stanton, generally dated to the middle of the third century.14 Second, in relation to other NT manuscripts on papyrus P45 is exceptional in the size of the pages and the amount of text on each page, containing more letters per page than any other NT manuscript on papyrus.15 Third, it is made up of multiple small quires sewn into a single codex. 11 Prior to Stanton von Campenhausen asserted that ‘The fact that Irenaeus and the Muratorian canon regard the fourfold Gospel as a spiritual unity is a theological phenomenon and nothing to do with book production’, Formation, p. 174. 12 F. G. Kenyon, The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri. II: The Gospels and Acts. 1. Text (London: E. Walker, 1933); 2. Plates (London: E. Walker, 1934); C. Horton (ed.), The Earliest Gospels: The Origins and Transmission of the Earliest Christian Gospels – The Contribution of the Chester Beatty Gospel Codex P45 (JSNTSup 258; London and New York: T&T Clark International, 2004). 13 T. C. Skeat, ‘A Codicological Analysis of the Chester Beatty Papyrus Codex of the Gospels and Acts (P45)’, Hermathena 155(1993), pp. 27–43. 14 Aland provides reports from nine scholars all dating P45 in the third century: K. Aland, Repertorium der Griechischen Christlichen Papyri. I. Biblische Papyri (PTS 18; Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1976), p. 269. 15 See T. J. Kraus, ‘Ad fontes: Gewinn durch die Konsultation von Originalhandschriften am Beispiel von P.Vindob.G 31974’, Bib 82 (2001), pp. 1–16 (esp. p. 11) ET: ‘Ad fontes – The Benefit of the Consultation of Original Manuscripts as for instance P.Vindob.G 31974’, in Ad Fontes: Original Manuscripts and Their Significance for Studying Early Christianity – Selected Essays (TENTS 3; Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 25–45 (esp. p. 33).

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P4, 64, 67 As we have already noted, right before Stanton published his ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, T.C. Skeat had published an argument that these three papyrus manuscripts were in fact ‘The Oldest Manuscript of the Four Gospels’.16 Stanton accepted that ‘Skeat has now shown beyond reasonable doubt that P64 + P67 + P4 are from the same single-quire codex, probably our earliest four-Gospel codex, which may date from the late second century.’17 Stanton goes further than Skeat in deducing from the quality of the production and layout that the codex was ‘a splendid “pulpit edition” intended for liturgical use’. The production values inherent in the codex so described suggest the important corollary: ‘This codex does not look at all like an experiment by a scribe working out ways to include four Gospels in one codex: it certainly had predecessors much earlier in the second century.’18 It is obviously the case that these three fragmentary manuscripts (now in Paris [P4], Oxford [P64] and Barcelona [P67]) have significant similarities of general appearance, hand and layout. It has long been unanimously accepted that P64 and P67 come from the same manuscript of Matthew. But recent studies have not corroborated Skeat’s claim that these Matthew fragments along with the Luke portions of P4 represent surviving portions of a four-Gospel codex. Suffice to say that Skeat made errors of method, deduction and presumption which call into question his case in all of its particulars, even allowing for the proposed identification of P4 & P64 & P67 as surviving remnants of the same original codex (which itself remains unproven, and in my opinion an uncertain basis for further deductions).19 16 T. C. Skeat, ‘The Oldest Manuscript of the Four Gospels?’, NTS 43 (1997), pp. 1–34 (see p. 33 for reference to help and encouragement from Stanton). Skeat’s article was reprinted in The Collected Biblical Writings of T.C. Skeat, ed. J. K. Elliott (NovTSup 113; Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 158–92. 17 Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, p. 327 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 73. J. K. Elliott recently wrote: ‘Skeat’s careful detective work has persuaded many New Testament scholars of his conclusions’, ‘Introduction’, The Collected Biblical Writings of T.C. Skeat, p. xvi; cf. E. J. Epp, ‘The Codex and Literacy in Early Christianity and at Oxyrhynchus: Issues Raised by Harry Y. Gamble’s Books and Readers in the Early Church’, Critical Review of Books in Religion 10 (1997), pp. 15–37, at p. 17; M. Hengel, The Four Gospels, pp. 235–236 and n. 176. 18 Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, p. 328 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 74. 19 For further information see P. M. Head, ‘The Date of the Magdalen Papyrus of Matthew (P. Magd. Gr. 17 = P64): A Response to C. P. Thiede’, TynBul 46 (1995), pp. 251–85. Note especially observed organic differences in the papyrus (K. Aland, ‘Neue Testamentliche Papyri II’, NTS 12 (1965–66), pp. 193–210; esp. 193: Oxford/Barcelona papyrus is ‘von heller Farbe’, while Paris papyrus is ‘tiefdunkel’; C.P. Thiede, ‘Notes on P4 = Bibliothèque Nationale Paris, Supplementum Graece 1120/5’, Tyndale Bulletin 46 (1995), pp. 55–57); differences in outdentation practice (Thiede, ‘Notes on P4’, p. 56; P. W. Comfort, ‘Exploring the Common Identification of Three New Testament Manuscripts: P4, P64 and P67’, TynBul 46 (1995), pp. 43–54, esp. at p. 50) and the fun-

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There is simply insufficient evidence to conclude that the manuscript was originally a single-quire codex, and there is no evidence that the original codex (of whatever format) contained anything beyond the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.20 It is worth noting that even if we were to accept for the sake of argument the proposal that the Lukan and Matthean pieces actually do represent an original single manuscript, there is no evidence which would allow us to deduce that such a codex contained more than Matthew and Luke. The extension from Matthew and Luke to a four-Gospel codex is made by the double surmise: (1) that it is improbable to think that Luke would have followed Matthew, hence another Gospel must have intervened; and (2) that ‘a codex containing three Gospels is unthinkable’.21 This shows the impact of the presumption, which is inappropriately used to deduce (beyond the available evidence) that this was part of a four-Gospel codex.22

P. Bodmer XIV (Luke) and XV (John) or P75 The third manuscript brought into this discussion by Skeat (and followed by Stanton) is P75, an extant papyrus manuscript containing large portions of Luke and John in a single quire codex.23 Essentially Skeat moved from the combination of Luke and John in one text, through a surmise that this combination seems unlikely, to the suggestion that there may have been another single quire codex containing Matthew and Mark sewn together and bound up with Luke and John.24 This is of course, not impossible, but there is, it needs to be noted, absolutely no evidence in support of this view. Indeed this conjecture is not actually evidence for a real historical ancient four-Gospel codex, but is rather the product of the presumption that such four-Gospel codices are more likely to have existed in antiquity than other damental difference in provenance noted by Comfort and discussed, but not resolved, in Skeat, ‘The Oldest Manuscript of the Four Gospels?’, pp. 24–25. 20 P. M. Head, ‘Is P64&67 and P4 the Oldest Manuscript of the Four Gospels? A Response to T.C. Skeat’, NTS 51 (2005), pp. 450–457; Scott Charlesworth, ‘T. C. Skeat, P64+67 and P4, and the Problem of Fibre Orientation in Codicological Reconstruction’, NTS 53 (2007), pp. 582–604. 21 Skeat, ‘The Oldest Manuscript of the Four Gospels?’, p. 15. 22 It is worth noting here that discussion of this subject is not over: two other papers were presented at the Atlanta SBL in 2010 on this subject: C. E. Hill, ‘Skeat’s Thesis, Not Dead Yet? On the Making of P4, P64, and P67’ and Tommy Wasserman, ‘A Comparative Textual Analysis of P4 and P64–67’. Hill in particular attempted a cautious rehabilitation of Skeat’s thesis. 23 R. Kasser and V. Martin, Papyrus Bodmer XIV–XV: Evangiles de Luc et Jean (2 vols; Geneva: Bibliotheca Bodmeriana, 1961). Luke 3.18–4.2; 4.34–5.10; 5.37–18.18; 22.4–24.53; Jn 1.1–11.45, 48-57; 12.3–13.10; 14.8–15.10. 24 T. C. Skeat, ‘The Origin of the Christian Codex’, ZPE 102 (1994), pp. 263–68 (esp. at p. 264), noted also in Skeat, ‘The Oldest Manuscript of the Four Gospels?’, pp. 30–31; and Stanton, ‘The Fourfold Gospel’, pp. 326–27 = Jesus and Gospel, p. 72.

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combinations. It also fails to deal with the actual evidence of the manuscript itself, which tells against this suggestion. This codex is a single-quire codex from which both the early chapters of Luke and the later chapters of John are missing, with probably the six outermost sheets completely missing.25 This evidence of damage is evidently shared by both the beginning and end of the quire – the outside portions of the codex (which tells against it being bound with another large quire). In any case there is no ancient Christian parallel to using such large quires in a multiple-quire codex – this is just not the way books were created in the period. Further there is evidence that the codex was repaired for continued use after the beginning of Luke and the end of John had departed – this is not compatible with the presence of another major quire in front of this one. In addition some portions of the damaged outside page (both from Luke and John) were used in creating a leather binding for this codex – suggesting it was regarded as a complete item.26 And in any case no trace of Matthew and/or Mark is found in the Bodmer papyri. Of the three strands of evidence for early four-Gospel codices proposed by Stanton and Skeat, two may be discounted as not based on sufficiently solid evidence and argumentation (both depend rather on a kind of presumption which expects four-Gospel codices), only one remains, and that, P45, looks more like an exceptional than a typical product reflecting ‘a very well-established tradition’. We simply lack solid evidence for earlier four-Gospel codices. But that does not actually exhaust the available evidence from the manuscripts.

25 Originally the single quire would have contained around 144 pages, made up from 36 sheets in a single quire (26 x 26 cm square sheet); these sheets were stacked with horizontal fibres on the upper surface and vertical fibres on the lower surface (of each sheet). There is no evidence of pagination or gathering numbers which would have been decisive in determining the original make-up of the product (both upper and lower margins are extant, so the likelihood is that such evidence was not present). Turner argues that the increasing number of letters per line and lines per page can be explained on the basis that the scribe worked with an already prepared codex with definitely limited space, E. G. Turner, The Typology of the Early Codex (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1977), pp. 74, 86 (p. 3 has 39 lines with 24–25 letters; p. 24 has 44 lines with 24–25 letters; p. 98 has 43 lines with 30+ letters). 26 See S. A. Edwards, ‘P75 under the Magnifying Glass’, Novum Testamentum 18 (1976), pp. 190–212; T. S. Pattie and E. G. Turner, The Written Word on Papyrus: An Exhibition Held in The British Museum 30 July–27 October 1974 (London: British Museum Publications Ltd, 1974), p. 30 (No. 42); for the texts see now Marie-Luise Lakmann, ‘Papyrus Bodmer XIV–XV (P75): Neue Fragmente’, Museum Helveticum 64 (2007), pp. 22–41; J. M. Robinson, ‘Fragments from the Cartonnage of P75’, HTR 101 (2008), pp. 231–52.

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The Proportions of the Gospels in the Early Manuscripts As the early papyri manuscripts of the New Testament are now numbered up to P127 there are quite a large number of Gospel manuscripts among them. For example, counting all the papyrus manuscripts there are twenty-seven which include John; twenty-five include Matthew; ten include Luke; and only three include Mark.27 This preponderance of manuscripts of Matthew and John is striking, and equally so if we limit ourselves to early manuscripts (from the period up to the end of the third century).28 It seems to me unlikely that this reflects random distribution for (at least) two reasons – first, this corresponds very closely to the popularity of the respective Gospels in the early church, inasmuch as this can be determined from the evidence of the citations of the Gospels in the church fathers. The citation preference throughout in writers of the second and third centuries involves a clear ranking of the Gospels in the early church in the order: Matthew, John, Luke, Mark – which fits exactly the ratio we have in early papyri manuscripts.29 Second, the ratio of fragmentary Gospel manuscripts changes dramatically in the later period – the proportions of Gospel material preserved fragmentarily among extant majuscule manuscripts (that is of course manuscripts on parchment or vellum, not on papyrus) is as follows: Matthew: thirty; Mark: twenty-two; Luke: nineteen; John: twenty-two; corresponding much more closely to what might be expected given the expectation (supported on the basis of the fuller extant manuscripts) that the Gospels were transmitted predominantly within the fourGospel codex format only in the later period (and of course hinting at the possibility that technological advances from the fourth century onwards contributed most decisively to the development of the four-Gospel codex).30 27 K. Aland, M. Welte, B. Köster and K. Junack (eds), Kurzgefasste Liste der griechischen Handschriften des Neuen Testaments (ANTT 1; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1994) with supplements. 28 In a list of ‘Christian Literary Texts in Manuscripts of the Second and Third Centuries’ L.W. Hurtado has thirteen of Matthew; one of Mark; seven of Luke and sixteen of John, The Earliest Christian Artifacts: Manuscripts and Christian Origins (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), pp. 217–20. 29 From the listings citations in Biblica Patristica: Index des citations et allusions bibliques dans la littérature patristique (3 vols; Paris: CNRS, 1975, 1977, 1980, with a supplement on Philo, 1982) we can determine the following: the first volume, which deals with the period up until Clement and Tertullian, has seventy pages for Matthew (pp. 223–93); twenty-six pages for Mark (pp. 293–319); fifty-nine pages for Luke (pp. 319–78) and thirty-six pages for John. The second volume, which deals with the third century apart from Origen, has sixty-four pages for Matthew (pp. 235–99); five pages for Mark (pp. 299–304); eighteen pages for Luke (pp. 304–22); and thirty-one pages for John (pp. 322–53). The figures for Origen (the third volume) are fifty-seven pages for Matthew (pp. 224–81); five pages for Mark (pp. 281–86); twenty-three pages for Luke (pp. 286–309); and thirty-eight pages for John (pp. 309–47). 30 These numbers are calculated on the basis of the fragmentary majuscule material (consisting of less than or equal to two pages in total) listed in Aland 1994 (with supple-

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Third, the manuscript evidence from Oxyrhynchus (the source of a majority of our NT manuscripts on papyrus) strongly suggests that the Gospels were copied and circulated individually and not in multi-gospel manuscript formats. Of the early Oxyrhynchus Gospel manuscripts on papyrus it has been argued that none of the eighteen texts were likely to have been from a four-Gospel codex: sixteen of the eighteen were written in such a way that no known codex could possibly contain all four Gospels; the other two had other features which strongly suggested they were originally single-Gospel codices.31 Although the four-Gospel canon was conceptualized at Oxyrhynchus (evidence includes knowledge of Irenaeus and the use of excerpts from four Gospels on amulets), this does not seem to have coincided with the presence of any four-Gospel codices. If on other grounds Oxyrhynchus seems to be generally representative of the textual situation in Egypt this suggests it might be reasonable to disconnect the two issues: codex construction from canonical conception.

Conclusion Based on the manuscript evidence considered here I would suggest that the two things which Stanton wanted to join together – the technological hardware of the four-Gospel codex and the theological conviction about the canonicity of the four Gospels – should rather be separated. There is more of a mismatch between the actual manuscript evidence and the convictions that can be discerned in some aspects of the Christian literary evidence than Stanton allowed. While the fourfold Gospel canon certainly seems to have existed by the end of the second century, there is no reason to think that Christians in that era would have been familiar with four-Gospel codices. The available manuscript evidence does not support the existence of fourGospel codices in the second century, and there is only one in the third century. They do not seem to have become common until the fourth century, and in that step the technological innovation of the parchment codex may well have played an important part in enabling larger books to be produced and bound. There is thus a need, in my view, to set asunder that which Professor Stanton joined together – ments). Given the different lengths of the Gospels Mark looks over-represented and Luke under-represented in this sample, but given the nature of the extant material these differences are hardly likely to be significant except in the great differences from ratio of surviving material from the early papyrus period. 31 P106 (P. Oxy 4445) is written in a compact manner, but has pagination which indicates the codex only contained John; P5 (P. Oxy 208 & 1781) also has small lettering but is clearly a single-quire codex; see Peter M. Head, ‘Early Papyrus Manuscripts from Oxyrhynchus and the Development of the Canon’ (forthcoming).

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the four-Gospel canon and the four-Gospel codex; and to seek for some means of conceptualizing the growing canon consciousness separately from the specifically four-Gospel-codex theory.

Chapter 8 Fulfilling the Law and Seeking Righteousness in Matthew and in the Dead Sea Scrolls Craig A. Evans*

Introduction Not long after the publication of the Dead Sea Scrolls found in the first cave, scholars began making comparisons with the Gospel of Matthew. Krister Stendahl’s The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament offered a benchmark contribution to the discussion. Though dated, it remains a classic.1 The publication of the last of the Scrolls some twenty years ago has given interpreters the opportunity to reassess what light these important writings shed on the Gospel of Matthew. One of these interpreters was Graham Stanton,2 in whose honour the present study is offered. This study focuses on Matthew’s understanding of the fulfilment of the Law, as part of the quest for righteousness,3 and in what ways this understanding coheres with similar concerns in the Scrolls. *

In the 1990s Graham Stanton was keen to have me relocate to the United Kingdom. It seems several religion departments consulted with him whenever there was an opening in New Testament. I was flattered by the generous expressions of interest, gave one or two of these vacancies some thought, but in the end did not apply. However, I did visit Cambridge several times during Graham’s tenure as Lady Margaret’s Professor of Divinity and on a couple of occasions was given the opportunity to present papers at the New Testament Seminar. The engagement with Graham and his colleagues and students was stimulating and cordial. The receptions in his home, with Esther tirelessly pressing delicious treats upon one and all, were delightful. I miss those wonderful days. 1 K. Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament (ASNU 20; Lund: Gleerup, 1954; rev. edn, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968). More will be said below about Stendahl’s hypothesis. 2 See Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), pp. 85–107. 3 I acknowledge at the outset my dependence at many points on R. Deines, Die Gerechtigkeit der Tora im Reich des Messias: Mt 5,13-20 als Schlüsseltext der matthäischen Theologie (WUNT 177; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). I believe that Deines’s thesis is correct and that Mt. 5.17-20, in which Jesus’ understanding of righteousness is made clear, is indeed the key to understanding the theology of Matthew.

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Matthew and Fulfilment Language About one dozen times the Matthean evangelist speaks of scripture as ‘fulfilled’ (where he uses the verb plhro/w). It is always in reference to the Prophets.4 Only once does the reference include the Law, that is, at 5.17, where the Matthean Jesus declares: ‘Think not that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets; I have come not to abolish them but to fulfill them.’ Five specific prophecies had been fulfilled in the birth narrative (chaps 1–2)5 and in first chapter of the Sermon on the Mount Jesus will teach his disciple how they might fulfil the Law of Moses (and I refer here to the so-called antitheses) and so give evidence of a righteousness that ‘exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees’ (5.20). The Law (o( no&moj), like the Prophets (oi9 profh~tai), is to be fulfilled. Matthew 5.17-48 expands on this conviction by providing five examples of how Jesus’ interpretation of the Law – in contrast to the deficient understanding and practice of the scribes and Pharisees (v. 20) – fulfilled the Law. The Matthean evangelist also seems fond of the combination ‘the Law [o( no&moj] and the Prophets [oi9 profh~tai]’. It occurs four times in Matthew (5.17; 7.12; 11.13; 22.40), compared to twice in Luke, once in John, and not at all in Mark.6 The phrase ‘Law and the Prophets’ is found in the preface to the book of the Wisdom of ben Sira, where ben Sira’s grandson says that his father devoted himself ‘especially to the reading of the Law and the Prophets’. The phrase also occurs in 2 Macc. 15.9 (‘Encouraging them from the law and the prophets’) and 4 Macc. 18.10 (‘he taught you the law and the prophets’), and several times in rabbinic literature (e.g. b. Ta‘anit 20a, where we have the standard tripartite reference to the canon of scripture: ‘the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings’; cf. b. Ta‘anit 17b, where we have ‘Moses and the Prophets’).7 4 See 1.22; 2.15, 17, 23; 4.14; 5.17; 8.17; 12.17; 13.35; 21.4; 26.54; 27.9. The verb plhro/w occurs some sixteen times in Matthew, thirteen times in reference to prophecy. 5 See 1.22-23 (Isa. 7.14); 2.5-6 (Mic. 5.2); 2.15 (Hos. 11.1); 2.17-18 (Jer. 31.15); 2.23 (Judg. 13.5; Isa. 11.1). 6 For a concise overview of this important topic, see Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Gospel: Matthean Scholarship from 1945 to 1980’, ANRW II.25.3 (1985), pp. 1889–1951, esp. pp. 1934–37. 7 There is an interesting rabbinic tradition, in which the words of Jesus are presented somewhat differently: ‘I did not come to destroy the Law of Moses nor did I come to add to the Law of Moses’ (b. Shabbath 116a–b). This version may have been influenced by a saying of Agesilaus, as collected by Plutarch (c. 45–125 ce): ‘I would not become a lawgiver to enact another set of laws, for in the present laws I would make no addition, subtraction, or revision’ (Moralia 214 bc: ‘Sayings of the Spartans’, p. 73). In the Hebrew version of Matthew, preserved and commented upon by Shem Tov, the verse reads: ‘Do not think that I came to annul the Torah, but to fufill it.’ See G. Howard, The Gospel of Matthew according to a Primitive Hebrew Text (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1987), pp. 16–17. On fulfilling the Law and the Prophets, see R. G. Hamerton-Kelly, ‘Attitudes to

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Matthew and Righteous/Righteousness Language Comparison of Matthew with the Gospels of Mark and Luke reveals that the Matthean evangelist is particularly fond of righteousness and its word group.8 What precisely should be made of this emphasis has been an item of debate (usually with reference to Paul). These words occur twenty-six times in Matthew, twenty times in Luke, and only twice in Mark (2.17; 6.20). The Matthean occurrences are as follows (with brief comments, including parallels from Qumran): Matthew 3.15: ‘Answering, Jesus said to him: “Permit it this time, for it is appropriate for us to fulfill all righteousness”. Then he permitted him’ (a0pokriqei\j de\ o9 I0 hsou=j ei]pen pro\j au0to/n: a1fej a1rti, ou3twj ga\r pre/pon e0sti\n h9mi=n plhrw~sai pa=san dikaiosu/nhn. to/te a0fi/hsin au0to/n). To ‘fulfill’ all ‘righteousness’ brings together two of the evangelist’s favourite concepts. In Matthew Jesus not only fulfils prophecy (as in the infancy narrative, but also in various places in his ministry), he also fulfils the legal requirements of Torah (as exemplified especially in the so-called antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount, 5.21-48). Although many interpretations have been offered with respect to the phrase, ‘fulfill all righteousness’, in my opinion John Meier’s suggestion that the fulfilment of prophecy is primarily in view is the most probable, given what the evangelist says elsewhere.9 There is no precise parallel at Qumran (however, see 1QHa 9:28 ‘all righteous works [hqdch y#(m lwk]’; 4Q512 frag. 34, line 16 ‘righteous in all your works [hky#(m lwkb qydch]’). Matthew 5.6: ‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied’ (maka/rioi oi9 peinw~ntej kai\ diyw~ntej th\n dikaiosu/nhn, o3ti au0toi\ xortasqh/sontai). The idea of hungering and thirsting for righteousness is approximated in several Qumran texts: ‘He created insight for all those who pursue knowledge . . .’ (4Q299 frag. 8, line 7); ‘How can you say, “We are weary of insight, and we have been the Law in Matthew’s Gospel: A Discussion of Matthew 5,18’, BR 17 (1972), pp. 19–32; Deines, Die Gerechtigkeit der Tora im Reich des Messias, pp. 289–370. 8 See, for examples, Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount’, in G. F. Hawthorne and O. Betz (eds), Tradition and Interpretation in the New Testament (E. E. Ellis Festschrift; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), pp. 181–92; W. Popkes, ‘Die Gerechtigkeitstradition im MatthäusEvangelium’, ZNW 80 (1989), pp. 1–23; A. F. Segal, ‘Matthew’s Jewish Voice’, in D. L. Balch (ed.), Social History of the Matthean Community: Cross-Disciplinary Approaches (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), pp. 3–37; D. A. Hagner, ‘Righteousness in Matthew’s Theology’, in M. J. Wilkins and T. Paige (eds), Worship, Theology and Ministry in the Early Church (JSNTSup 87; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), pp. 101–20; R. Deines, ‘Not the Law but the Messiah: Law and Righteousness in the Gospel of Matthew – An Ongoing Debate’, in D. M. Gurtner and J. Nolland (eds), Built upon the Rock: Studies in the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), pp. 53–84. 9 J. P. Meier, Law and History in Matthew’s Gospel (AnBib 71; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute Press, 1976), pp. 76–80.

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careful to pursue true knowledge . . .”?’ (4Q418 69 ii 11); ‘. . . Your law, and You have opened up my mind and strengthened me to pursue Your way’ (4Q436 frag. 1, line 6); ‘You shall pursue righteousness and righteousness alone [qdc qdc], so that you may live, entering and inheriting the land that I am about to give you . . .’ (11QT 51.15). Jesus’ beatitude may allude to Ps. 107.5-6, in which the words for hunger (peina=n) and thirst (diya=n) appear in the Greek version (i.e. the LXX 106.5-6): ‘hungry and thirsty [peinw~ntej kai\ diyw~ntej], their soul fainted within them. Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress.’ But the prophetic tradition may once again have made a contribution. One thinks of Isa. 49.10, ‘they shall not hunger or thirst [ou) peina&sousin ou)de\ diyh&sousin], neither scorching wind nor sun shall strike them down, for He who has pity on them will lead them, and by springs of water will guide them’, or Jer. 31.15, which in the Greek version (i.e. LXX 38.25) reads ‘I have saturated every thirsting soul and I have filled every hungering soul [e0me/qusa pa~san yuxh_n diyw~san kai\ pa~san yuxh_n peinw~san e0ne/plhsa]’. Jesus’ promise that those who hunger and thirst for righteousness ‘will be filled’ speaks to the prophetic hope found in Isa. 25.6: ‘the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast well-aged of aged wine, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear’ (cf. Isa. 41.17-18; 43.20; 44.3; 49.9-10; 55.1-3), a passage that contributes to the theme of the messianic banquet in the age to come (cf. Luke 14.15-24). Matthew 5.10: ‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven’ (maka/rioi oi9 dediwgme/noi e3neken dikaiosu/nhj, o3ti au0tw~n e0stin h9 basilei/a tw~n ou0ranw~n). The sentiment of this beatitude is paralleled in places in Qumran literature: ‘pure lives they loathed from the bottom of their heart. So they persecuted [Pdr] them violently . . .’ (CD 1.21); ‘pursued [Pdr] the Righteous Teacher to destroy him . . .’ (1QpHab 11.5). Apocalyptic literature of late antiquity foretells coming persecution of the righteous: ‘Woe to you, sinners, for you persecute the righteous; for you shall be delivered up and persecuted because of injustice, and heavy shall its yoke be upon you’ (1 Enoch 96.7); ‘you will make void the law, and despise the words of the prophets by evil perverseness. And you will persecute righteous persons, and hate the godly; the words of the faithful you will abhor’ (T. Levi 16.2); ‘there shall be false prophets like tempests, and they shall persecute all righteous persons’ (T. Judah 21.9). These two beatitudes, as in the case of the other Matthean beatitudes, contain eschatological promises. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be satisfied and those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness will possess the kingdom of God. This eschatological element presents us with an interesting point of comparison with the list of beatitudes in 4Q525, in which eschatological blessing is at best

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implied: ‘Blessed are those who adhere to his laws . . . Blessed are those who rejoice in her . . . Blessed are those who search for her with pure hands. . . . Blessed is the man who attains wisdom’ (frags 2 + 3 col. 2, lines 1–3). The fragmentary lines at the bottom of col. 2 (i.e. lines 8–13) may contain eschatological promises. If we assume that the beatitudes of the Qumran text are more typical of Jewish beatitudes, then the more pronounced eschatological perspective of Jesus’ beatitudes may be distinctive.10 Matthew 5.20: ‘For I say to you that unless your righteousness exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven’ (le/gw ga\r u9mi=n o3ti e0a\n mh\ perisseu/sh| u9mw~n h9 dikaiosu/nh plei=on tw~n grammate/wn kai\ Farisai/wn, ou0 mh\ ei0se/lqhte ei0j th\n basilei/an tw~n ou0ranw~n). At times the Scrolls complain of the shallowness of their opponents’ commitment to Torah (cf. CD 1.18-21; 1QHa 10.31-33), labelling their opponents ‘seekers of smooth things’.11 The affirmation of Jesus serves a similar function. If Matthew’s apologetic is to make any headway in the setting of the synagogue, the evangelist will have to show that Jesus was not a law-breaker, nor did he encourage his followers to break the law. The discontinuity between Jesus and the teachers of the synagogue is due to the law’s fulfilment, not its abandonment. There is no question that Jesus transgressed the oral law; but the written law, understood in the light of the whole of Scripture, he fulfilled. Matthew 5.45: ‘[I]n order that you become sons of your Father in heaven, because he makes the sun rise over the wicked and the good, and rains upon the righteous and the unrighteous’ (o3pwj ge/nhsqe ui9oi\ tou= patro\j u9mw~n tou= e0n ou0ranoi=j, o3ti to\n h3lion au0tou= a0nate/llei e0pi\ ponhrou\j kai\ a0gaqou\j kai\ bre/xei e0pi\ dikai/ouj kai\ a0di/kouj). Becoming ‘sons of your father’ is defined in 5.48, where Matthew’s Jesus enjoins his followers to ‘be perfect, as [their] heavenly Father is perfect’. The injunction roughly approximates Deut. 18.13: ‘You shall be perfect [Mymt] before the Lord your God’), as well as the view expressed in 10 G. J. Brooke, ‘The Wisdom of Matthew’s Beatitudes (4QBeat and Mt. 5:3–12)’, Scripture Bulletin 19/2 (1989), pp. 35–41. Brooke rightly notes that although the beatitudes of Jesus stand in the tradition of Jewish wisdom, they do contain new elements, such as eschatology and judgement. For further discussion, see H.-J. Fabry, ‘Der Makarismus –mehr als nur eine weisheitliche Lehrform: Gedanken zu dem neu-edierten Text Q 525’, in J.-Z. Hausmann (ed.), Altestamentlicher Glaube und biblische Theologie (FS H. Dietrich; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1992), pp. 362–71; É. Puech, ‘The Collection of Beatitudes in Hebrew and in Greek (4Q525 1–4 and Mt. 5, 3-12)’, in F. Manns and E. Alliata (eds), Early Christianity in Context: Monuments and Documents (SBF 38; Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1993), pp. 353–68; J. H. Charlesworth, ‘The Qumran Beatitudes (4Q525) and the New Testament (Mt. 5.3-11, Lk. 6.20-26)’, RHPR 80 (2000), pp. 13–35. 11 The phrase twqlx y#rwd (1QHa 10.32) may be rendered literally ‘those who seek the smooth things’. It is speculated that this is a deliberate allusion to religious interpreters who seek (i.e., #rd) legal rulings (twklh) from Scripture. Some have suggested that these are the Pharisees, but Qumran’s criticism could apply to other groups.

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CD 7.5: ‘by these laws, in perfect [Mymt] holiness, according to all the instructions, God’s covenant stands firm’. The association of righteous with perfect is attested in 1QHa 9.36: ‘O you righteous [Myqydc], put an end to injustice. All you whose way is perfect [Mymt] take hold of [. . .] of the destitute’. W. D. Davies has opined that Mt. 5.48 is paralleled by 1QS 1.13 (‘to direct their strength according to the perfection of His ways’) and other passages.12 Davies suggests further that in style and authority Jesus approximates a teacher of righteousness, including his building a fence around the Law (i.e. in reference to the antitheses; cf. 1QS 10.25: ‘I shall encompass it close about, so to preserve faith and strict judgment – conforming to the righteousness of God’). Matthew 6.1: ‘Watch lest you practice your righteousness before people to be seen by them; if you do not, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven’ (prose/xete [de\] th\n dikaiosu/nhn u9mw~n mh\ poiei=n e1mprosqen tw~n a0nqrw&pwn pro\j to\ qeaqh=nai au0toi=j: ei0 de\ mh/ ge, misqo\n ou0k e1xete para\ tw|~ patri\ u9mw~n tw|~ e0n toi=j ou0ranoi=j). The Rule of the Community enjoins the men of the Yahad ‘to hold fast to all good deeds; to practice [tw#(l] truth, righteousness [hqdc] and justice’ (1QS 1.5; cf. 1QS 8.2). Matthew 6.33: ‘But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you’ (zhtei=te de\ prw~ton th\n basilei/an [tou= qeou=] kai\ th\n dikaiosu/nhn au0tou=, kai\ tau=ta pa/nta prosteqh/setai u9mi=n). Seeking righteousness recalls the beatitude of Mt. 5.6. Coupling the quest for righteousness to the kingdom brings the preaching of Jesus and Matthew’s interests together. To seek righteousness is also to seek the kingdom. This pithy admonition sums up the essence of Jesus’ message, especially as it is heard in Matthew’s Gospel, in which emphasis is placed on righteousness (as seen, for example, in Mt. 5.6, 10).13 God’s ‘righteousness’ has been defined in the antitheses in Mt. 5.21-48. For an approximate parallel from Qumran, see 4Q420 frag. 1a, col. iib, line 3: ‘he will express himself [ . . . he will see]k truth and justice, and in seeking for righteousness . . .’. Matthew 12.37: ‘[F]or by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned’ (e0k ga\r tw~n lo/gwn sou dikaiwqh/sh|, kai\ e0k tw~n lo/gwn sou katadikasqh/sh|). These words may allude to LXX Ps 50.6 (Hebr. 51.4), a verse quoted by Paul in Rom. 3.4, ‘so that you may be justified in your words’, and possibly echoed at Qumran: ‘And I ha[ve done] what is evil [in your eyes] so that you are just in your words [Kyrbdb qdct]’ (4Q393 frag. 1, col. ii, line 2). Jesus’ warning of condemnation on the basis of speech finds an approximate parallel in CD 12 W. D. Davies, ‘“Knowledge” in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Matthew 11:25-30’, HTR 46 (1953): pp. 113–39, here p. 115. 13 Some early mss (e.g. )) read ‘strive first for the kingdom and his righteousness’ or (e.g. B) ‘strive first for righteousness and his kingdom’. Whichever reading is accepted, there is no doubt that ‘kingdom’ refers to the ‘kingdom of God’.

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20.11 ‘They will be condemned along with the Men of Mockery, because they have uttered lies against the correct laws . . . .’ Matthew 13.17: ‘[F]or truly I say to you, many prophets and righteous persons longed to see what you see, but did not see, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear’ (a0mh\n ga\r le/gw u9mi=n o3ti polloi\ profh=tai kai\ di/kaioi e0pequ/mhsan i0dei=n a4 ble/pete kai\ ou0k ei]dan, kai\ a0kou=sai a4 a0kou/ete kai\ ou0k h1kousan). On the combination of ‘prophets and righteous’, see Mt. 10.41. The juxtaposition of prophets and righteous is found in rabbinic literature as well: ‘God said, “My children have been guided through the world by the righteous and the prophets like a swarm of bees”’ (Deut. Rab. 1.6 [on Deut. 1.1]); and in the Dead Sea Scrolls: ‘He must not be executed, for he is a righteous man, he is a [trus]tworthy prophet’ (4Q375 frag. 1, col. i, lines 6–7). On seeing and hearing in the Scrolls, see 4Q413 frag. 1, col. ii, line 3; 4Q434 frag. 1, col. i, line 3 (‘He has opened their eyes to see his ways and their ears to hear’); 4Q504 frag. 1, col. viii, line 3. Matthew 13.43: ‘Then the righteous will shine as the sun in the kingdom of their Father’ (to/te oi9 di/kaioi e0kla/myousin w9j o9 h4lioj e0n th|= basilei/a| tou= patro\j au0tw~n). We probably have an allusion to Dan. 12.3, especially when it is remembered that Dan. 12.2 speaks of resurrection: ‘Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever’ (Dan. 12.3). In the pesher on Isa. 54.12a (‘I will make your pinnacles of agate, your gates of carbuncles’) we are told that the priests will make the Urim and Thummin ‘shine in judgment’, that they be ‘like the sun with all its light’ (4Q164 frag. 1, lines 4–6). See also Wis. 3.7 (‘they will shine forth’); 4 Ezra 7.97 (‘their face is to shine like the sun . . . they are to be made like the light of the stars’). Matthew 13.49: ‘Thus will it be at the end of the age; the angels will go forth and separate the wicked from the midst of the righteous . . .’ (ou3twj e1stai e0n th|= suntelei/a| tou= ai0wn~ oj: e0celeu/sontai oi9 a1ggeloi kai\ a0foriou=sin tou\j ponhrou\j e0k me/sou tw~n dikai/wn . . .). The reference to ‘end of the age’ may allude to Dan. 12.13 (‘you shall rise for your reward at the end of the days’). The language of separation may echo LXX Lev. 20.25 (cf. 2 Cor. 6.17). The wicked and the righteous are contrasted often in the Scrolls (e.g. CD 11.21; 1Q34bis frag. 3, col. i, lines 2, 5; 4Q177 frag. 7, line 5; frag. 9, line 7; 4Q253a frag. 1, col. i, line 4; 4Q271 frag. 5, col. i, line 14; 4Q511 frag. 63, col. iii, line 4; 4Q521 frag. 14, line 2). Matthew 21.32: ‘[F]or John came to you in the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him; but the toll collectors and the harlots believed him. But even when you saw it, you did not later repent and believe him’ (h]lqen ga\r 0Iwa/nnhj pro\j u9ma=j e0n o9dw|~ dikaiosu/nhj, kai\ ou0k e0pisteu/sate au0tw|~, oi9 de\ telw~nai kai\ ai9 po/rnai e0pi/steusan au0tw|~: u9mei=j de\ i0do/ntej ou0de\ metemelh/qhte u3steron tou= pisteu=sai au0tw|~). The expression ‘way of righteousness’ (o9do\j dikaiosu/nhj) is encountered

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in many early Jewish and Christian texts (e.g. Hebr. Ps. 23.3; LXX Ps. 22.3; LXX Prov. 2.20; 8.20; 12.28; 16.7, 31; 21.16, 21; Tob. 1.3; 1 Enoch 82.4; 92.3; 94.1; 99.10; Jub. 1.20; 23.26; Josephus, Ant. 13.260; 2 Pet 2.21; Barn. 1.4; 5.4).14 It is hardly surprising that it appears at Qumran as well. We are told that the wicked have ‘turned aside from paths of righteousness’ (CD 1.15-16). But God has acted on behalf of those who have obeyed him, ‘making straight the paths of true righteousness [tm) qdc ykrd lwk wynpl r#ylw] and causing his heart to fear the laws of God’ (1QS 4.2-3). The expression ‘making straight the paths’ is an unmistakable allusion to Isa. 40.3 (‘prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway’), a foundational prophecy for the Qumran sect (cf. 1QS 8.12-16) and, apparently, for John the Baptist as well (cf. Mark 1.2-3 and par.). For Qumran, these ‘paths’ of God constitute ‘true righteousness’. It may well be that ‘way of righteousness’ in Mt. 21.32 also alludes to Isa. 40.3 (cf. Mt. 3.3). Matthew 23.28: ‘Thus even you on the outside appear to people as righteous, but within you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness’ (ou3twj kai\ u9mei=j e1cwqen me\n fai/nesqe toi=j a0nqrw/poij di/kaioi, e1swqen de/ e0ste mestoi\ u9pokri/sewj kai\ a0nomi/aj). This verse may well be a Matthean expansion of 23.27 (‘Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within they are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness’). The author of the Damascus Covenant complains of ‘Shoddy-Wall-Builders’ and ‘White-Washers’ (CD 8.12; 19.24). The point is similar: the opponents of the men of Qumran may appear to build a wall, but it is weak and will fail; they may appear washed and clean on the outside, but they are lawless and unethical (cf. CD 8.1-19; 19.1–20.12). Matthew 25.46: ‘[T]hese will depart to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life’ (kai\ a0peleu/sontai ou[toi ei0j ko/lasin ai0w&nion, oi9 de\ di/kaioi ei0j zwh\n ai0w&nion). Again we have an allusion to Dan. 12.2-3 (‘ . . . some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt . . . ’). The expression ‘eternal punishment’ (ko/lasin ai0w&nion) is found only here in the writings of the New Testament. It occurs in T. Reub. 5.5 (‘has been reserved for eternal punishment [ei0j ko&lasin tou~ ai0w~noj teth&rhtai]’) and T. Gad 7.5 (‘is reserved for eternal punishment [threi= ei0j ai0w~na th_n ko&lasin]’). We find approximations at Qumran (e.g. 1QS 2.15 ‘for eternal destruction [Mymlw( tlkl]’; 5.13 ‘eternal destruction [Mlw( tlkl] with none spared’; 1QM 1.5; 9.5-6; 4Q427 frag. 7, col. ii, line 10; 4Q510 frag. 1, line 7). For texts that link the righteous with long life or eternal life, see Pss. Sol. 13.11 (‘the life of the righteous will be forever; but sinners will be taken away into destruction’); T. Asher 5.2; T. Abraham A 1.1; 11.10; 20.14. 14 Rightly regarded as a ‘traditional Jewish expression’, in W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (3 vols, ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988–97), 3.170.

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In 1980 the question of Matthew’s use of these words was addressed in compelling fashion by Benno Przybylski.15 He criticized the tendency of many scholars, especially German scholars, to ‘Paulinize Matthean theology’ and thereby invest Matthew’s use of di/kaioj (‘righteous’) and dikaiosu/nh (‘righteousness’) with Pauline nuances.16 Przybylski concluded that Matthew’s use of these words is consistent with their usage in early Judaism.17 The evidence of the Dead Sea Scrolls, which is assessed only in part by Przybylski, bears this out. qydc (‘righteous’), hqdc (‘righteousness’) and qdc (‘righteousness’) occur some 250 times in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Only a few passages may be cited here: So listen, all you who recognize righteousness [qdc], and consider the deeds of God. (CD 1.1) So He raised up for them a Righteous Teacher [qdc hrwm] to guide them in the way of His heart. (CD 1.11) . . . without these rules they shall obtain nothing until the appearance of one who teaches righteousness in the last days [Mymyh tyrx)b qdch hrwy]. (CD 6.10-11). He is to discern who are the true Sons of Righteousness [qwdch ynb] and to weigh each man’s spiritual qualities . . . (1QS 9.14) Then [the Sons of Rig]hteousness [qdch ynb] shall shine to all ends of the world, continuing to shine forth until the end of the appointed seasons of darkness. (1QM 1.8; cf. 13.10) [. . . For the wicked man hems in] the righteous man [qydch]. (Hab. 1.4b)

15 B. Przybylski, Righteousness in Matthew and His World of Thought (SNTSMS 41; Cambrige: Cambridge University Press, 1980). 16 See Przybylski, Righteousness in Matthew, pp. 105–15. 17 This is not to say that Paul’s understanding of dikaiosu/nh in Gen. 15.6 is without parallel among the Scrolls. The appearance of the phrase hqdcl Kl hb#xnw (‘and it will be reckoned to him for righteousness’) in 4QMMT (cf. 4Q398 frags 14–17, col. ii, lines 7 = 4Q399 1 ii 4) suggests that Paul was not shadow boxing but was contending with an understanding of righteousness and possibly an exegesis of Gen. 15.6 actually held by his contemporaries. See M. G. Abegg Jr, ‘Paul, “Works of the Law”, and the MMT’, BAR 20/6 (1994), pp. 52–55; J. D. G. Dunn, ‘4QMMT and Galatians’, NTS 43 (1997), pp. 147–53. And more recently J. D. G. Dunn and J. H. Charlesworth, ‘Qumran’s Some Works of Torah (4Q394–399 [4QMMT]) and Paul’s Galatians’, in J. H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Princeton Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls. Vol. 3: The Scrolls and Christian Origins (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2006), pp. 187–201.

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[The ‘wicked man’ refers to the Wicked Priest, and ‘the righteous man’] is the Teacher of Righteousness . . . (1QpHab 1.12–13)

In his contribution to the Festschrift for Joseph Baumgarten John Kampen argues that righteousness is more important for Matthew’s self-designation than Przybylski has allowed.18 Agreeing with Baumgarten’s earlier study,19 Kampen plausibly suggests that the vocabulary of righteous and righteousness functioned as a ‘sectarian indicator’ and as such has important affinities with Matthew’s use of this language.20 This is supported in an important way by the observation that in both Matthew and in the Damascus Document the communities’ respective teachers (‘the Righteous Teacher’ in the former, Jesus of Nazareth in the latter) define what is righteous for their communities.21 In a Jewish context to define righteousness is in effect to define orthodoxy.22 Kampen concludes that the Matthean evangelist ‘is advocating a particular way of life within the Jewish community which is not accepted by the majority, but which is considered by its adherents to be true “righteousness” . . . They were the “righteous” Jews who practiced a way of life based on their understanding of “righteousness”.’23

18 J. Kampen, ‘“Righteousness” in Matthew and the Legal Texts from Qumran’, in M. Bernstein, F. García Martínez and J. Kampen (eds), Legal Texts and Legal Issues: Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Cambridge 1995 (STDJ 23; Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 461–87. 19 J. A. Baumgarten, ‘The Heavenly Tribunal and the Personification of Sedeq in Jewish Apocalyptic’, ANRW II.19.1 (1979), pp. 219–39. 20 Kampen has compared Matthew to the Dead Sea Scrolls at other points; cf. ‘A Reexamination of the Relationship between Matt 5:21-48 and the Dead Sea Scrolls’, in D. J. Lull (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature 1990 Seminar Papers (SBLSP 29; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), pp. 34–59. See also D. J. Lull, ‘The Matthean Divorce Texts Reexamined’, in G. J. Brooke (ed.), New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Paris 1992 (STDJ 15; Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 149–67; D. J. Lull, ‘The Sectarian Form of the Antitheses within the Social World of the Matthean Community’, DSD 1 (1994), pp. 338–63. 21 Przybylski, Righteousness in Matthew, pp. 17–23. Kampen (‘“Righteousness” in Matthew’, p. 471) concurs. Kampen comments that the ‘conflict over the correct definition of righteousness characterizes the entire work [i.e. CD]’. 22 J. C. Reeves (‘The Meaning of Moreh Sedeq in the Light of 11QTorah’, RevQ 13 [1988], pp. 287–98) accordingly has recommended translating qdc hrwm as ‘true lawgiver’, a suggestion that meets with Kampen’s (‘“Righteousness” in Matthew’, p. 472) qualified approval. Kampen (p. 479) ends his survey of the usage and meaning of qdc and hqdc at Qumran by concluding that for the community of the renewed covenant righteousness had more to do with their special identity as chosen people than it did with stricter legal interpretations. At this point Kampen disagrees with the conclusion of E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion (London: SCM; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), p. 312. For his extensive survey of righteous and righteousness in Qumran, see Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, pp. 239–328. 23 Kampen, ‘“Righteousness” in Matthew’, pp. 484, 487.

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In recent work Graham Stanton has reached similar conclusions, citing Przybylski’s work with approval.24 Echoing Mt. 21.32 (discussed above), Stanton sums up the theme of the Gospel of Matthew under the rubric ‘the way of righteousness’.25 As has Kampen, Stanton also examines the social dynamic witnessed in the Damascus Covenant (CD and fragmentary copies at Qumran) and draws some interesting comparisons with Matthew. Among other things, Stanton sees both the Matthean and Essene communities as ‘renewal or protest’ movements within the parent Judaism, movements that socially and religiously distanced themselves from the parent.26 What is of interest for the present study is that at the heart of the disagreement between parent and offspring was a debate over what constituted true righteousness. For the community behind the Damascus Covenant (what would in time become the ‘Essenes’) the quest for God’s righteousness was the very raison d’être (cf. CD 1.1). To succeed in this quest for righteousness God raised up a ‘teacher of righteousness’ (1.11; 6.11; 20.32), who pointed out the ‘paths of righteousness’ in contrast to the wicked who abandoned those paths (1.16), and taught faithfully God’s ‘righteous laws’ (3.15; 20.31). Similarly, in Matthew we read that Jesus’ purpose is to fulfil ‘all righteousness’ (Mt. 3.15; cf. 5.17). He blesses those who thirst for righteousness (5.6) and who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness (5.10) and warns his disciples that their righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees (5.20). Although Jesus in Matthew is not called the ‘Teacher of Righteousness’, there is little doubt the evangelist would have approved of this sobriquet.

Matthew and the Fulfilment of Righteousness And finally, emphasis on righteousness is inevitably linked to the understanding of Scripture and its fulfilment (legally and prophetically). 24 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, p. 126 n. 4. 25 Chap. 4 in Graham N. Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus, 2nd edn (Oxford Bible Series; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 58–78. 26 Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, p. 91. Hence Stanton’s reference to ‘New People’. See also Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Gospel’, pp. 1911–21. Stanton remarks that ‘Matthew’s community is extra-muros yet (is) still defining itself over against Judaism’ (p. 1914). This is, of course, the major sticking point in Matthean scholarship – to what extent was the Matthean community still part of its Jewish parent. Besides Stanton’s work, anyone interested in this thorny question should consult A. J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community (Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994); J. A. Overman, Church and Community in Crisis: The Gospel according to Matthew (The New Testament in Context; Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996); D. C. Sim, The Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism: The History and Social Setting of the Matthean Community (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998).

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Matthew’s understanding of the fulfilment of Scripture was compared to that of the Scrolls by Krister Stendahl more than fifty years ago.27 Although many have questioned his hypothesis of a Matthean school, the recommendation that Matthew’s eschatological and typological interpretation of Scripture be compared to Qumran’s pesher interpretation has served as a point of departure for Matthean scholarship since.28 The Gospel of Matthew contains more than sixty explicit quotations of Scripture (at least twice as many as any other Gospel). Although the evangelist’s citation of scripture, often introduced with the words ‘in order that it be fulfilled’, does not exactly parallel the common formula of the Scrolls, ‘this is that’ (wr#p), the comparison of scriptural details and patterns with specific events in the life and ministry of Jesus is certainly cognate. Bertil Gärtner’s criticism of Stendahl’s comparison between Matthew and Qumran pesharim is valid to some extent.29 After all, Matthew does not provide verse-by-verse commentary on extended passages of scripture. Comparing scripture and event, often cast in an eschatological perspective, is in essence what Matthew has done and that is quite similar to what is done in many of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Moreover, pesher-type exegesis at Qumran is not confined to the pesharim proper, where we have verse-by-verse commentary; it is also found in writings where Scripture is cited in an ad hoc fashion (e.g. 4Q285 frag. 5, lines 1–3). Here the comparison is closer to what we have in Matthew. The principal difference is that the Scrolls are futuristic; fulfilment is awaited. Matthew’s perspective is historical; fulfilment has occurred. The perspectives are obviously quite different, but the hermeneutics are comparable.30 The Law of Moses is to be fulfilled in a manner that exceeds the self-serving and often hypocritical interpretations and practices of Jesus’ opponents (usually the Pharisees and scribes). If this is done, then true righteousness is achieved, which is what the disciple of Jesus is commanded to seek (Mt. 6.33). But this task of fulfilling the Law is paralleled by the eschatological achievement of fulfilling the prophets as well, who foretold the coming of the Messiah and added their own interpretation of the true meaning of the Law of Moses (cf. Mt. 9.10-13 and 12.1-8, where Hos. 6.6 is cited).

27 Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament, pp. 183–202. 28 See also R. H. Gundry, The Use of the Old Testament in St. Matthew’s Gospel with Special Reference to the Messianic Hope (NovTSup 18; Leiden: Brill, 1967), pp. 155–59. For another critique of Stendahl, see Stanton, A Gospel for a New People, pp. 349–53. 29 B. Gärtner, ‘The Habakkuk Commentary (DSH) and the Gospel of Matthew’, ST 8 (1954), pp. 1–24. 30 Also see Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Gospel’, pp. 1930–34.

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Conclusion In Matthew fulfilling prophecy and fulfilling the Law are inextricably linked. Because he is the Messiah, the birth, life, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus fulfil the prophetic scriptures. Also, because he is the Messiah, his teaching fulfils the Law of Moses, defining and exemplifying ‘all righteousness’, which his apostles, in the post-Easter setting, are to teach to all nations (28.18-20). The ministry of Jesus begins with his declaration that he must ‘fulfill all righteousness’ (3.15) and ends with his charge to his apostles to teach all the nations all that he has commanded them (28.18-20), which of course includes his understanding of true righteousness and how the Law is truly to be fulfilled.

Chapter 9 A Gospel for a New Nation: Once More, the e1qnojof Matthew 21.43 Wesley G. Olmstead*

Graham Stanton on Matthew 21.43 Matthew 21.43 has long featured prominently in discussions of Matthew’s theology, the relationship of his Gospel to Judaism and the social setting of the first Gospel. In this respect, Graham Stanton’s work certainly offered no exception. For him, Mt. 21.43 was ‘as important as any other verse in the Gospel for our understanding of the relationship of Matthew’s community to Judaism’.1 In defending the title for the monograph that presented many of the fruits of his lifetime’s research in this Gospel, Stanton wrote: While Matthew does not use the phrase ‘a new people’, he did see Christians in his own day as a distinct entity over against Judaism. This is confirmed by the important redactional verse 21.43. . . . My title, ‘A Gospel for a New People’, does not correspond precisely to the evangelist’s terminology, but it does sum up his intentions.2

This conclusion, however, has faced such serious challenges in subsequent years that it is probably possible to speak of an emerging consensus3 which *

It is my special delight to contribute to this volume that honours my Doctorvater. Students of Matthew’s Gospel around the world have been the beneficiaries of his careful scholarship; those who knew him benefited even more from his generous friendship. It is perhaps a fitting tribute to his humility to say that I’m confident that his enthusiasm for this essay would have been considerably higher had it challenged instead of supported one of the central pillars of his understanding of this Gospel. 1 Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), p. 118. 2 Stanton, Gospel for a New People, p. 18. Professor Stanton repeatedly returned to discussion of this pivotal Matthean text (see e.g. pp. 151, 332). In his view, the evangelist conceived of this ‘new people’ over against both Jewish and Gentile worlds, but not as either ‘new’ or ‘true’ Israel, since both terms suggest more continuity between Israel and the church than emerges from his Gospel (p. 11). 3 See Paul Foster, Community, Law and Mission in Matthew’s Gospel (WUNT 2.177; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), pp. 22–79, for a survey of recent treatments of

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argues that Stanton’s reading is fundamentally anachronistic. Instead of the e1qnoj of 21.43 being defined over against Judaism, it is argued that for Matthew this e1qnoj refers to ‘a group of leaders . . . that can lead Israel well’.4 This chapter revisits one part of this discussion and argues that, while Stanton’s conclusion should be nuanced, it more faithfully represents Matthew’s own position than does the emerging consensus.

Anthony Saldarini and the Emerging Consensus Anthony Saldarini writes out of the conviction that Matthew’s debate with Judaism remains intra muros:5 ‘For many in the first century, believers in Jesus did not form a different functioning religion but were seen as part of the Jewish community’.6 In this chapter, I set aside the larger complex of questions surrounding the social origins of this Gospel to focus more sharply on the narrower problem of the interpretation of e1qnoj in Mt. 21.43. But understanding Saldarini’s wider thesis helps us to appreciate the argument he mounts when he turns to this text.

the social location of Matthew’s community; Foster too can speak of a new consensus (which he challenges). For representatives of this emerging consensus, see: J. Andrew Overman, Matthew’s Gospel and Formative Judaism: The Social World of the Matthean Community (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); Anthony J. Saldarini, Matthew’s ChristianJewish Community (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1994); David C. Sim, The Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism: The History and Social Setting of the Matthean Community (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998); Boris Repschinski, The Controversy Stories in the Gospel of Matthew: Their Redaction, Form and Relevance for the Relationship between the Matthean Community and Formative Judaism (FRLANT 189; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000). 4 Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, p. 61; see further pp. 44–45, 58–64, 78–81. Although, as one would expect, their interpretations differ in important respects, the following Matthean scholars agree that the e1qnoj of Mt. 21.43 refers to a new leadership group for Israel: Amy-Jill Levine, The Social and Ethnic Dimensions of Matthean Social History: ‘Go nowhere among the Gentiles . . .’ (Matt. 10:5b) (Lewiston: Mellen, 1988), pp. 206–15; Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1991), pp. 302–305, 308; J. Andrew Overman, Church and Community in Crisis: The Gospel According to Matthew (Valley Forge: Trinity Press, 1996), pp. 299–304; Sim, Christian Judaism, pp. 148–49; W. Carter and J. P. Heil, Matthew’s Parables: Audience-Oriented Perspectives (Washington: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1998), pp. 163–65; W. Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Socio-Political and Religious Reading (JSNTSup 204; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000), pp. 429–30; Repschinski, Controversy Stories, pp. 40–42; David L. Turner, Matthew (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008), pp. 516–19; Charles H. Talbert, Matthew (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010), p. 252. 5 See further Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Gospel: Matthean Scholarship from 1945–1980’, ANRW II.25.3 (1985), pp. 1889–951. 6 Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, p. 4.

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Saldarini argues that the e1qnoj of Mt. 21.43 refers to Matthew’s own group.7 When Jesus announces that ‘the kingdom of God will be taken from you and given to an e1qnoj . . .’ (Mt. 21.43), the ‘you’ who suffer this devastating loss is Israel’s leaders.8 In turn, they will be replaced by a new, more faithful, set of leaders – namely, Matthew’s own community. Saldarini marshals several lines of evidence in defence of this reading. First, throughout Matthew 21–23 Jesus is engaged in sharp and sustained dispute with the Jewish leadership.9 Second, the evangelist makes this identification explicit. In the immediate aftermath of the story, Matthew notes: ‘And when they heard them, the chief priests and Pharisees knew that he was speaking his parables about them’ (Mt. 21.45; emphasis added).10 Third, Saldarini draws attention to the logic of the story. The unmistakable images in the opening lines of Jesus’ parable recall Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard and suggest that, as there, so here the vineyard is ‘the house of Israel’ (Isa. 5.7). But, in Jesus’ story, unlike Isaiah’s, the vineyard itself is fruitful – the problem is not the vineyard, Israel, but the tenants, Israel’s leaders.11 Fourth, the context in which Isaiah 5 is set and its parallels to Matthew 21 offer further support. Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard gives voice to YHWH’s displeasure with ‘the house of Israel’, but even here this displeasure is not undifferentiated. At Isa. 3.13-15, the prophet declares that YHWH enters into judgement against the elders of the 7 Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, pp. 60–61; similarly, Repschinski, Controversy Stories, p. 42: ‘The new tenants are the disciples of Jesus, the Matthean community.’ 8 Similarly, e.g., Klyne R. Snodgrass, The Parable of the Wicked Tenants (Tübingen: Mohr, 1983), pp. 87–95; Snodgrass, ‘Recent Research on the Parable of the Wicked Tenants: An Assessment’, BBR 8 (1998), pp. 187–215 (192–93); Levine, Social and Ethnic Dimensions, pp. 206–15; Harrington, Matthew, pp. 302–305, 308; Robert H. Gundry, Matthew: A Commentary on His Handbook for a Mixed Church under Persecution (2nd edn, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), p. 430; Overman, Church and Community in Crisis, pp. 299–304; David D. Kupp, Matthew’s Emmanuel: Divine Presence and God’s People in the First Gospel (SNTSMS 90; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 91, 95; Sim, Christian Judaism, pp. 148–49; W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew (ICC; 3 vols; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988–97), 3: pp. 189–90; Repschinski, Controversy Stories, pp. 40–42; John Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), p. 876; Turner, Matthew, pp. 516–19; Talbert, Matthew, p. 252. 9 Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, pp. 55–58. 10 In Saldarini’s words, ‘Matthew makes the chief priests and Pharisees apply the parable to themselves (21.45), not to Israel as a whole’ (Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, p. 59). To this, others would add that the ‘you’ of Mt. 21.43 most naturally refers to Jesus’ dialogue partners, the chief priests and elders of the people (21.23, cf. 21.28, 32, 33) and the Pharisees (21.45); so, e.g., Repschinski, Controversy Stories, p. 41. 11 Cf. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, p. 60: ‘The parable assumes that the vineyard (Israel), though it has been badly managed, can be given to other tenants (leaders) who will make it bear fruit (21:41).’

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people who have ‘devoured the vineyard’ and stored ‘the spoil of the poor’ in their houses. For Saldarini, both the lesson from Isaiah and its parallel in Matthew are clear: ‘Though the people are mentioned, the attack is pointed at the leaders, . . . When [Isaiah and Matthew] complain about Israel and the people, they refer to the injustice of certain of the people, specifically the leaders.’12 Finally, Saldarini argues that the semantic range of e1qnoj is surprisingly broad; both in Matthew and in the extant Greek literature of his day, e1qnoj is used with a wide range of meanings. While it can refer to a nation or people, it can equally refer to a trade guild or social class or political sub-group. Saldarini concludes that e1qnoj does not refer ‘to a new nation to replace the old, rejected nation, Israel’, but instead ‘almost certainly refers to his own group as the ethnos which produces the fruit of the kingdom’.13 Saldarini’s argument is clear and, for many, convincing. In the balance of this chapter, however, I argue that none of the lines of evidence that he presents offers compelling warrant for his reading. The parable points to a national, and not merely a leadership, crisis.

A Gospel for a New Nation: A Critique of the Emerging Consensus When Saldarini points his readers to the context in which this parable is set, he rightly acknowledges the shaping influence of the wider Matthean narrative on our understanding of the parable of the Tenants in general and of Mt. 21.43 in particular. But, in my view, he nevertheless underestimates its importance and fails to appreciate the significance of that narrative, and especially its presentation of the death of Jesus,14 for the interpretation of our parable. In what follows, I argue that the story that Matthew tells effectively counters Saldarini’s first three arguments, offering the strongest evidence that the e1qnoj of Mt. 21.43 cannot refer merely to a new group of leaders.15

12 Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, pp. 61–62. 13 Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, p. 60; similarly Repschinski, Controversy Stories, p. 316. 14 D. R. A. Hare, Matthew (Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox, 1993), p. 250, refers to this parable as the ‘parable of the passion’. My point is that Matthew’s parable of the passion must be read in light of his actual passion narrative. 15 For a more comprehensive development of this argument, see Wesley G. Olmstead, Matthew’s Trilogy of Parables: The Nation, the Nations and the Reader in Matthew 21.28–22.14 (SNTSMS 127; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 49–97.

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The Matthean narrative YHWH and Israel

Jesus’ parable of the Tenants tells the story of YHWH and his people, Israel. So too, however, does the Gospel of Matthew. In the first chapters of his Gospel, Matthew works hard to demonstrate that God’s purposes for Israel find their fulfilment in Jesus – he is Messiah, son of David, son of Abraham (Mt. 1.1, 17) and son of God (Mt. 1.18-25, cf. 2.15) – whose mission will be to deliver his people from their sins and be their shepherd (Mt. 1.21; 2.6). Moreover, by divine providence, YHWH’s son Jesus identifies with Israel by recapitulating the pivotal moments in her history. Like Israel, Jesus is called by YHWH in exodus out of Egypt (Mt. 2.15); like Israel, Jesus goes into exile (Mt. 2.16-18, cf. 1.11-12) but exile will not have the last word (Mt. 2.19-21); like Israel, in obedience to YHWH, Jesus enters the Jordan (Mt. 3.13-17); like God’s son Israel, God’s son Jesus is tested in the wilderness.16 Unlike Israel, Jesus meets these (same!) tests with fidelity to his Father. Jesus, Matthew seems to suggest, not only represents the fulfilment of Israel’s hopes but also fulfils Israel’s role as God’s son. God’s people will be reconstituted around him. That Jesus chooses twelve apostles (Mt. 10.2-4) and promises them roles in judging the twelve tribes of Israel (Mt. 19.28) offers confirmation of this reconstitution. If Matthew’s twofold prologue (Mt. 1.1-2.23; 3.1-4.11) tells the story of YHWH and his people by insisting that Israel’s history is reaching its climax in Jesus, then that same note of fulfilment is struck as Jesus launches his mission. Both Baptist and Messiah announce the imminent intervention of Israel’s God to reign as he had always said he would (cf., e.g., Isa. 9.2-7; 52.7-10). Matthew clearly regards the narrative he writes as the continuation and climax of Israel’s story. Matthew’s Jesus could have said: ‘Do not think that I came to abolish Israel’s history; I did not come to abolish but to fulfil.’ But, as both John and Jesus make clear, this note of imminent eschatological fulfilment demands a response from Israel (Mt. 3.1-12, cf. 4.17). Matthew traces this response throughout the balance of this Gospel and, in so doing, carefully distinguishes between Israel’s leaders and her crowds. When we meet Matthew’s redactional reworking of the Jewish leaders’ response to the parable of the Tenants (Mt. 21.45-46), we are on familiar ground: Israel’s leaders and her people continue to be divided in their response to Jesus, and Matthew carefully underlines this polarization. In fact, this division continues into Matthew’s passion narrative.

16 Cf. Lloyd Gaston, ‘The Messiah of Israel as Teacher of the Gentiles: The Setting of Matthew’s Christology’, Int 29 (1975), pp. 24–40 (28): ‘At his baptism Jesus was declared to be Son of God, and this term is immediately defined in the temptation story to mean the representative of Israel, God’s son (cf. Exod. 4:22f.).’

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Matthew 26.1-2 signal to the reader that Jesus will be handed over to be crucified at the Passover. With a touch of irony,17 the evangelist informs his readers that when the chief priests and elders of the people plot Jesus’ arrest and execution, they decide: ‘Not at the feast, lest there be a riot among the people’ (Mt. 26.5). Israel’s leaders must still tread carefully because the people side with the prophet from Nazareth. In Mt. 27.11-26, Jesus stands before Pilate and, as the story reaches its fateful climax, once more Israel’s leaders and the crowds play leading roles. When the governor asks the crowd whom they wish him to release, Jesus or Barabbas (Mt. 27.17), the response that Matthew records is pivotal in his story and differs from Mark in several important respects. Among the most significant of these modifications, we note two: (1) Matthew’s e1peisan tou_j o!xlouj replaces Mark’s ane/seisan to\n o1xlon; (2) at the end of the sentence Matthew adds: to_n de\ 0Ihsou~n a)pole/swsin. The evangelist proceeds deliberately, making explicit what is implicit in Mark: persuaded by the chief priests and elders, the crowds call for Barabbas’s release and Jesus’ destruction (Mt. 27.20). The posture of Israel’s leaders has not changed; they aim to destroy Jesus (Mt. 27.20, cf. 12.14; 21.46; 26.3-5, 14-16, 56-66; 27.1-2). The same cannot of course be said of the crowds. The popular estimation of Jesus, which only days before had caused such obvious concern to Israel’s leaders (Mt. 26.3-5), now swings and accomplishes their purpose. When the governor asks ‘What then shall I do with Jesus?’ they all (pa&ntej) reply: ‘Let him be crucified’ (Mt. 27.22). Pa&ntej is uniquely Matthean. Pilate’s protests fall on deaf ears (Mt. 27.23). Sensing that he was making no headway but rather that a riot was erupting (cf. Mt. 26.5), the governor accedes to the demands of the crowds. In a ceremony designed to purge the guilt of innocent blood in Israel (cf. Deut. 21.1-9), Pilate declares himself ‘innocent of the blood of this man’ (Mt. 27.24). What the governor vainly scrambles to avoid, all the people (pa~j o( lao_j) willingly accept: ‘His blood be upon us and upon our children.’ With these words, so tragically misunderstood in the church’s history,18 Matthew brings his innocent blood motif to its climax (cf. Mt. 21.33-46; 23.29-36; 27.3-10, 19). YHWH’s people have brought their cup of rebellion to full measure (cf. Mt. 23.32) and provoked his judgement. For our present purposes, however, we need to return to our earlier point: Matthew’s parable of the passion must be read in light of his actual passion narrative. If this is right, then the implications seem remarkably clear: the judgement that the parable announces falls on those who have mistreated and murdered the landowner’s servants and son. Matthew’s carefully edited passion narrative leaves no doubt: 17 What Jesus affirms – that the Passover will be the stage on which his passion is played out – they deny. 18 See further Olmstead, Matthew’s Trilogy, pp. 61–64, 85–86.

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at the story’s pivotal point, the chief priest and elders have persuaded the crowds to share responsibility for Jesus’ execution, so eliciting the judgement of their God. The kingdom of God is taken from them. But what of the e1qnoj to whom the kingdom is given (21.43)? In what follows, I suggest that the role granted to the nations in this narrative helps to answer this riddle. Jesus and the Nations

As we have seen, Matthew tells the story of YHWH and his people, Israel. This is not to say, however, that the nations’ role in this narrative is incidental. As was the case with Israel herself, the vantage point at the end of the story helps us to appreciate the importance of Matthew’s story for the nations. In the Gospel’s final pericope Jesus, having been raised from the dead, meets the eleven apostles on a mountain in Galilee and commissions them. Not surprisingly, we meet here typically Matthean Christological and ethical concerns. But both grammatically and in terms of narrative development, the heart of Jesus’ commission is the command to ‘make disciples of all the nations (pa/nta ta\ e1qnh)’ (Mt. 28.19). Here, at its conclusion, Matthew’s narrative signals a striking new direction. Here too, however, like the scribe discipled in the kingdom of the heavens (Mt. 13.52), Matthew brings forth from his treasure new things and old. In this new commission, YHWH’s ancient purposes are fulfilled. According to the age-old covenant promise, all the nations (pa/nta ta\ e1qnh) of the earth would be blessed in Abraham and in his descendants (Gen. 12.3, cf. Gen. 18.18; 22.18; Ps. 72.17; Sir. 44.21-23). Here Jesus commissions his followers to bring that covenant blessing to all the nations.19 But what is old in terms of the scriptural narrative is new in Matthew. In Matthew’s Mission Discourse, Jesus had commissioned the apostles: ‘Do not go to the way of the Gentiles and do not enter a city of the Samaritans. Go instead to the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (Mt. 10.5-6). This commission flows directly out of Jesus’ understanding of his own mission. In the story of the Canaanite woman, Jesus explains his inaction in the face of the woman’s urgent need with the programmatic declaration: ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (Mt. 15.24). From one perspective, the commission Jesus issues in 28.18-20 startles; from another, the ground has been well prepared. We pause briefly to highlight two or three of these anticipatory texts. In Matthew 3, John the Baptist appears on the scene calling YHWH’s people to repentance in light of the imminent dawning of his kingdom. But John’s explosive warning to the Pharisees and Sadducees also offers important insight into Matthew’s understanding of the people of God. In the Baptist’s view, the dawning kingdom would entail both blessing 19 See further Olmstead, Matthew’s Trilogy, pp. 71–73, and T. Dozeman, ‘Sperma Abraam in John 8 and Related Literature’, CBQ 42 (1980), pp. 342–58.

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and judgement, both inclusion and exclusion (Mt. 3.11-12). What would protect one from ‘the coming wrath’ (Mt. 3.7) was not national privilege (‘Do not presume to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our father”’ [Mt. 3.9]) but ‘fruit worthy of repentance’ (Mt. 3.8). Notice, however, that YHWH’s purposes would not be frustrated; his promise to Abraham would not go unfulfilled: ‘For I say to you that God is able to raise up children to Abraham from these stones’ (Mt. 3.9). The Baptist does not say that YHWH will raise up other children to Abraham, but he does clearly articulate his understanding of the criterion for membership in YHWH’s people. It is an understanding that the evangelist shares. Matthew’s account of the centurion from Capernaum returns to several of these motifs. Jesus heals the centurion’s servant (Mt. 8.13), but only20 after he displays an astounding faith: ‘Truly I say to you, in no one in Israel have I found such great faith’ (Mt. 8.10). In Matthew’s version of the story,21 the centurion’s faith leads Jesus, like John before him, to reflect upon the composition of the people of God: ‘And I say to you that many will come from east and west and sit at table with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of the heavens. But the sons of the kingdom will be cast out into outer darkness. There, there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth’ (Mt. 8.11-12). So the centurion becomes paradigmatic for the many Gentiles22 who will sit with Israel’s patriarchs in the coming kingdom. Jesus’ word is doubly provocative. First, while the Gentile centurion and many like him find places at the kingdom banquet, the sons of the kingdom are assigned to the place of judgement (cf. Mt. 13.42, 50; 22.13; 24.51; 25.30). Second, when Jesus speaks of the many ‘who will come from east and west’, he takes up a familiar image from Israel’s sacred texts. Isa. 43.4-7 offers a typical example: Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you, I give people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life. Do not fear, for I am with you; I will bring your offspring from the east, and from the west I will gather you; I will say to the north, ‘Give them up’, and to the south, ‘Do not withhold; bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth – everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made’.23

20 As many Matthean commentators recognize, Mt. 8.7b should be understood as a (slightly indignant) question: ‘Shall I come and heal him?’ See, e.g., Ulrich Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (EKK; 4 vols, Zürich: Benzinger, 1985–2002), 2.14. 21 The Lukan parallel is located in another context; see Lk. 13.28-29. 22 For the argument that this saying has nothing to do with Gentiles, either for Jesus or for Matthew, see Dale C. Allison Jr, ‘Who will come from East and West? Observations on Matt 8.11-12/Luke 13.28-29’, IBS 11 (1989), pp. 158–70; and for a critique of Allison, see Olmstead, Matthew’s Trilogy, pp. 204–205 n. 34. 23 See also Ps. 107.1-3; Isa. 49.1-26(12); Zech. 8.1-8(7); Bar. 4.36-37; 5.5-6; Pss. Sol. 11.2-3; cf. LXX Deut. 30.4.

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Those who come ‘from east and west’ in these texts are Israel’s own exiled children, rescued by YHWH from the nations. In Jesus’ saying, the exiles returning home are the nations. In Matthew’s narrative, the point is not that the nations replace Israel but rather that faithful Gentiles find a place with the people of God at the eschatological feast. For Jesus, as for John, participation in the eschatological people of God turns not on descent from Abraham but on faithfulness to Abraham’s God. But whereas John insists that YHWH could raise up new children to Abraham, Jesus insists that he will. In Mt. 15.21-28, the evangelist recasts the traditional story of the Syrophoenician woman – in Matthew she is a Canaanite. Under Matthew’s editorial hand, a series of parallels emerge between this woman and the centurion from Capernaum. But the two accounts also differ in fundamentally important respects. Jesus’ interaction with the centurion leads him to anticipate the inclusion of the nations in the eschatological people of God. Jesus’ encounter with the Canaanite woman, on the other hand, becomes an occasion to articulate the exclusive focus of his mission: as Israel’s Messiah, he is sent only to Israel (Mt. 15.24, cf. Mt. 10.5-6). There is no hint in this pericope itself (as there is in Mark’s: ‘Let the children be fed first’ [Mk. 7.27]) that this situation is temporary. Nevertheless, viewed from the vantage point of the end, this woman becomes another representative of the many from among the nations who are swept into the eschatological people of God. Matthew is able to articulate Israel’s salvation-historical primacy in the strongest terms, even as he develops his Gentile sub-plot.24 After the temple incident (Mt. 21.12-17), Jesus responds to the inevitable challenge of his authority (Mt. 21.23-27) with a trilogy of parables (Mt. 21.28-22.14). In quite different ways, each of the three parables tells the story of YHWH and his people. Each of the parables points to the prophetic tradition. In one way or another, each of them points to the climax of that tradition. Each of the parables tells the story of the rejection of YHWH’s servants, the judgement that that rejection elicits, and YHWH’s renewed initiative. Each of the parables is about exclusion and inclusion – about judgement on the one hand and participation in the kingdom of God on the other. Each of the parables is about the startling reconstitution of the people of God. Tax gatherers and prostitutes displace Israel’s chief priests and elders in the kingdom (Mt. 21.31b-32) because they do the will of the Father (Mt. 21.31a, cf. 7.21-23). The kingdom is taken from the former tenants and given 24 This brief sketch could be misunderstood to suggest that Matthew’s characterization of individual Gentiles and of the nations is universally positive. This is patently not the case (cf., e.g., Mt. 6.7, 32; 18.17; 27.27-32). My point is rather that these isolated incidents anticipate the eventual inclusion in the eschatological people of God of those from among the nations who embrace the dawning kingdom.

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to new ones, who give back to the God of Israel the fruit that is rightfully his (Mt. 21.41, 43, cf. Mt. 3.8-10; 7.15-20; 12.33-37; 13.18-23; 21.18-22). The guest list for the wedding banquet of the king’s son is completely rewritten, since the first invited are now dead (Mt. 22.7-10), but even the replacement guests face the king’s inspection (Mt. 22.1114). When Matthew’s reader meets his trilogy of parables, she finds herself in familiar territory. The ethical notes that have been so important in this Gospel ring clearly, even in these parabolic contexts. As John and Jesus herald the dawning of YHWH’s reign, the only adequate response is the fruit that flows from genuine repentance. This ‘fruit worthy of repentance’, this ‘will of the Father’ is at once the mark of genuine discipleship and, consequently, the mark of those who enter the kingdom of Israel’s God. It is the mark of the eschatological people of God. These observations are of first importance for our understanding of the subject of this chapter – the e1qnoj to whom the kingdom is given (Mt. 21.43). I have argued that, for both John and Jesus, membership in the people of God is marked by fidelity to the God of Israel and not by national privilege. I have also argued that Jesus anticipated an eschatological people of God in which faithful Gentiles would take their places next to Abraham and Isaac and Jacob. Finally, I have argued that, from the first lines of his narrative, Matthew anticipates its concluding pericope, where Jesus sends his apostles out on a mission designed to sweep the nations into the one people of God in fulfilment of his promise to Abraham. If these arguments are valid, we can hardly imagine that when Matthew refers, in the context of reflection upon the reconstituted people of God, to the e1qnoj to whom the kingdom of God will be given, that the nations are somehow excluded now or that he thinks merely of a new leadership group for Israel. As Matthew’s Gospel depicts it, then, Jesus represents the fulfilment of Israel’s history and, thus, of her hopes. Jesus’ mission is to Israel (full stop). He comes as Israel’s Messiah and YHWH’s Son, announcing the imminent dawn of YHWH’s reign and reconstituting Israel around himself. But the entrance requirement for membership in this reconstituted Israel as the kingdom dawns is not descent from Abraham but faithfulness to Abraham’s God. In Matthew’s story, a band of Jewish apostles stand at the heart of this eschatological people. But, as the first evangelist tells it, many in Israel – both leaders and crowds – have rejected YHWH’s kingdom and his anointed. The leaders have led the people down a devastating path with enormous consequences; the kingdom of God is taken from them and given to the reconstituted people of God. As we shall see, the relationship between Israel’s leaders and her people in Isaiah 3 and 5, to which Saldarini appeals, is strikingly similar.

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Isaiah 3 and 5

Saldarini rightly argues that neither Matthew nor Isaiah offers an ‘undifferentiated’ critique of Israel. That is, both evangelist and prophet distinguish between the people of Israel and her leaders. And Saldarini rightly links Isa. 3.13-15 to Isa 5.1-7; the two texts are related in important ways.25 But in my view, it is not true that ‘[w]hen they [i.e. Matthew and Isaiah] complain about Israel and the people, they refer to the injustice of certain of the people, specifically the leaders’.26 Once again, in Isaiah as in Matthew, Saldarini’s thesis seems to drive his reading of the text rather than to emerge from it. In the opening chapters of Isaiah, the prophet regularly distinguishes between the nation and its leaders. Indeed, the prophet repeatedly underscores the role of Israel’s leaders in her downfall. At 1.10, the prophet addresses them with biting irony: ‘Hear the word of the Lord, you rulers of Sodom (Md&s; yn'yciq;; LXX, a1rxontej Sodomwn)!’ Isa. 1.23 laments: ‘Your princes are rebels (MyrIr:wOs K7yIr"A#&f; LXX, oi9 a!rxonte/j sou a)peiqou~sin) and companions of thieves. Everyone loves a bribe and runs after gifts. They do not defend the orphan, and the widow’s cause does not come before them.’ At 3.12, the prophet declares: ‘My people – children are their oppressors, and women rule over them. O my people, your leaders mislead you, and confuse the course of your paths.’ Isa. 3.13-15, however, states YHWH’s case against Judah’s leaders most potently: The Lord rises to argue his case; he stands to judge the peoples. The Lord enters into judgment with the elders and princes of his people (wyrF#&fw: wOm@(a yg"q;zI-M(i; LXX: meta_ tw~n presbute/rwn tou~ laou~ kai\ meta_ tw~n a)rxo&ntwn au)tou~): It is you who have devoured the vineyard; the spoil of the poor is in your houses. What do you mean by crushing my people, by grinding the face of the poor? says the Lord God of hosts.

Isaiah 3.13-15 both indicts the elders and rulers of the people and prepares for Isaiah 5’s Song of the Vineyard. When Isa. 5.7 identifies the ‘vineyard of the Lord of hosts’ as ‘the house of Israel and the people of Judah . . . his pleasant planting’, Isaiah’s reader knows that the elders and rulers of the people bear primary responsibility for the failure of the nation, YHWH’s vineyard. However, to say that the prophet lays this burden of culpability chiefly on the shoulders of Judah’s leaders is not 25 So also H. G. M. Williamson, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 1–27 (ICC; 3 vols; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2006–), 1.271: ‘The coincidence of destroyed and vineyard occurring together here and at 5.5 suggests that they should be interpreted in the light of one another. In that case, vineyard must be a metaphorical reference to the people of Israel, which suits the wider context well (cf. LXX and V “my vineyard”; T “my people”).’ See, further, Steven M. Bryan, Jesus and Israel’s Traditions of Judgement and Restoration (SNTSMS 117; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 49–52. 26 Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, p. 62.

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to say that the nation is absolved. Alongside the indictment of Judah’s leaders that punctuates Isaiah 1–5 stands an even more prominent series of charges placed at the feet of the nation. The book opens with an accusation that YHWH brings against his people: Hear, O heavens, and listen, O earth; for the Lord has spoken: I reared children and brought them up, but they have rebelled against me. The ox knows its owner, and the donkey its master’s crib; but Israel does not know, my people do not understand. Ah, sinful nation ()+'t O & ywOg;% LXX e1qnoj a(martwlo&n), people laden with iniquity, offspring who do evil, children who deal corruptly, who have forsaken the Lord, who have despised the Holy One of Israel, who are utterly estranged! (Isa. 1.2-4)

Nothing in what follows suggests that this is anything other than what it appears to be, namely a censure of YHWH’s people.27 On the contrary, in the ensuing chapters YHWH’s case against the nation is developed. Isaiah 2.5-6a introduces another charge: ‘O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord! For you have forsaken the ways of your people, O house of Jacob.’ At 2.8, the complaint becomes more specific: ‘Their land is filled with idols; they bow down to the work of their hands, to what their own fingers have made.’ Again, there is no hint that this rebellion is limited to Judah’s leadership. Isaiah 3.8 simply declares: ‘For Jerusalem has stumbled and Judah has fallen, because their speech and their deeds are against the Lord, defying his glorious presence.’ Thus, the prophet indicts both leaders and nation on behalf of YHWH. There is no evidence that the complaints issued against the nation and the people refer only to the leaders. In fact, the judgement that YHWH announces offers strong evidence to the contrary. Most obviously, the judgement that Isaiah’s song announces against the vineyard, that is, against the house of Israel, falls on the vineyard itself: ‘I will remove its hedge, and it shall be devoured; I will break down its wall, and it shall be trampled down. I will make it a waste; it shall not be pruned or hoed, and it shall be overgrown with briers and thorns; I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon it’ (Isa. 5.5b-6). In spite of their regular participation in Israel’s worship (Isa. 1.11-15), the failure of YHWH’s people to do justice and righteousness, to maintain covenant fidelity, has elicited his judgement (Isa. 5.7, cf. 1.16-17, 21-23; 5.8-12, 18-24), a judgement that would entail both defeat and exile: ‘Therefore my people go into exile (ym@( i a hlfgf% Nkvl)f without knowledge’ 27 Cf. Williamson, Isaiah 1–27, 1.41: ‘It was shown above that the four terms used to designate the people (nation . . . people . . . generation [seed] . . . children) manifest a conscious semantic development in the direction of narrowing. The use of M(, “people”, and Mynb, “children”, shows that the same group is intended as in vv. 2–3, whence we also learn that they are named “Israel”. There is thus an implication that both the nation corporately and the individuals who comprise it are alike guilty.’

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(Isa. 5.13, cf. 5.25-30; 6.9-13). That YHWH’s judgement falls on the nation demonstrates that neither rebellion nor accountability was limited to Judah’s leaders. Instead, her elders and rulers have led the nation away from the covenant with devastating consequences. As in Isaiah, so in Matthew. I have argued that neither the wider Matthean narrative, nor Isaiah 5 to which Jesus’ parable alludes, offers support for Saldarini’s reading of Mt. 21.43; instead, both provide strong reasons for rejecting it. We turn, finally to examine the use of e1qnoj itself in Matthew and in Israel’s sacred texts and insist that, here too, Saldarini’s argument must be rejected.

The use of e1qnoj The Septuagint

Whatever may be said of the use of e1qnoj in contemporary Jewish and non-Jewish sources, when we turn to Israel’s sacred writings we find remarkable consistency in its use; in spite of hundreds and hundreds of occurrences, the word does not have a wide range of meanings. Instead, it usually refers simply to people who share a common ancestry, people who live in a particular region, etc. We should be careful not to read modern conceptions of politics or ethnicity back into these texts, but when we heed that warning ‘nation’ often remains the best available English gloss for e1qnoj in the LXX. In what follows, we discuss briefly some representative texts. Not surprisingly, e1qnoj becomes part of the stock vocabulary in Israel’s conquest texts. Lev. 20.23-26 charges YHWH’s people: You shall not follow the practices of the nations (tw~n e0qnw~n) that I send away from you, because they did these things and I abhor them. And I said to you: ‘You will inherit their land and I will give it to you for your possession, a land flowing with milk and honey’. I am the Lord your God who separated you from all the nations (pa&ntwn tw~n e0qnw~n). . . . And you shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God who separated you from all the nations (pa&ntwn tw~n e0qnw~n) to be mine, am holy.

Deuteronomy 7.1 is typical:28 ‘When the Lord your God leads you into the land, into which you enter to inherit, he will also drive out great nations (e1qnh mega/la) before you.’ Here there can be no ambiguity about the referent of e1qnh, because a list of those nations follows immediately: the Hittites, the Girgashites, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites – ‘seven nations more numerous and stronger than you’ (e9pta_ e1qnh polla_ kai\ i0sxuro&tera u(mw~n). None of this, however, takes place because of the righteousness of YHWH’s people, but because of the godlessness of these nations (dia_ th_n a)se/beian tw~n e0qnw~n 28 Cf. Deut. 4.38; 11.23; 12.29-30; 17.14; 18.9, 14; 19.1; Josh. 23.3, 4, 9, 13; 24.18; 2 Kgs 16.3; 17.8, 11; 21.2, 19; 2 Chron. 28.3; 33.2, 9.

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tou&twn) and in order that YHWH’s covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob might be established (Deut. 9.4-5). Something similar may be said about the exile; here, of course, the nations are not dispersed but instead receive Israel’s scattered children. In the midst of the covenant (blessings and) curses outlined in Leviticus 26, we read: ‘I will scatter you among the nations (ei0j ta_ e1qnh) and the sword will come upon you and devour you and your land will be desolate and your cities will be desolate’ (Lev. 26.33). . . . ‘And you will perish among the nations (e0n toi=j e1qnesin) and the land of your enemies will devour you’ (Lev. 26.38). Similarly, Deut. 28.64: ‘The Lord your God will scatter you to all the nations (ei0j pa&nta ta_ e1qnh), from one end of the earth to the other, and there you will serve other gods, gods of wood and stone, which neither you nor your fathers have known.’29 And, of course, texts that envision return from exile characteristically refer to the nations. Deuteronomy 30.3 sets the pattern for these texts: ‘The Lord will heal your sins and have mercy on you, and will again gather you from all the nations (pa&ntwn tw~n e0qnw~n) into which he scattered you.’30 The nations also figure prominently in the eschatological expectations of the prophets, if sometimes only to be subjugated by Israel or by her God. Isaiah 60.11-12, for example, declare: Your gates shall always be open; day and night they shall not be shut, to bring to you the power of the nations and kings led in procession (ei0sagagei=n pro_j se\ du&namin e0qnw~n kai\ basilei=j a)gome/nouj). For the nations and kings that will not serve you shall perish; and the nations shall be utterly laid waste (ta_ ga_r e1qnh kai\ oi9 basilei=j, oi3tinej ou) douleu&sousi/n soi, a)polou~ntai, kai\ ta_ e1qnh e0rhmi/a| e0rhmwqh&sontai).31

More often in the LXX, however, we meet the expectation of the conversion of the nations. Isaiah 2.2-3 offer a classic expression of this hope: For in the last days the mountain of the Lord shall be manifest and the house of God on top of the mountains, and it shall be raised above the hills, and all the nations shall come to it. Many nations shall come and say, ‘Come, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, and to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will announce to us his way, and we will walk in it: for out of Zion the law will go forth, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem’.32

29 Cf., e.g., Deut. 4.27; 28.32, 36, 65; 30.1; Neh. 5.8; Hos. 8.8; 9.17; Joel 3.2 (LXX 4.2); Zech. 7.14; Jer. 46.28 (LXX 26.28); Bar. 2.13, 29; 4.6; Lam. 1.3; 2.9; Ezek. 6.8, 9; 11.16; 12.15-16; 20.23; 22.15; 34.13; 36.19, 20, 21, 22, 23. 30 Cf. Isa. 11.12; 49.22; 52.10; 66.20; Ezek. 11.17; 28.25; 34.13; 36.24; 37.21; 38.12; 39.27. 31 Cf. Mic. 7.16. 32 Cf. Amos 9.12; Mic. 4.2; Zeph. 2.11; Zech. 2.11 (LXX 2.15); Isa. 18.7; 25.6-7; 49.6; 51.4-5; 56.7.

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Sometimes, of course, notions of the nations’ worship and their subjugation stand side by side.33 If the plural e1qnh is often defined over against Israel,34 not infrequently the singular e1qnoj refers to Israel itself. The Psalmist declares: ‘Blessed is the nation (to\ e1qnoj) whose God is the Lord, the people (la/oj) he has chosen for his inheritance’ (Ps 33.12 [LXX 32.12]). Or again: ‘He announces his word to Jacob, his decrees and judgements to Israel. He has not done so for any other nation (panti\ e1qnei); he has not shown them his judgements’ (Ps. 147.19-20 [LXX 147.8-9]). Deuteronomy 4.34 looks back to YHWH’s mighty act of deliverance at the exodus: ‘Did God attempt to go and take for himself a nation (e1qnoj) from the midst of another nation (e0k me/sou e1qnouj) by trial and by signs and by wonders and by war and by a mighty hand . . . ?’ At 2 Sam. 7.23, David asks: ‘Who is like your people (lao/j), Israel? Is there another nation (e1qnoj a1llo) on earth whose god guided it to redeem for himself a people (lao/n)?’35 At Gen 12.2 YHWH makes a promise to Abraham that will find echoes throughout the biblical narrative: ‘I will make you a great nation (e1qnoj me/ga) and I will bless you and magnify your name and you will be blessed.’ In one of several reaffirmations of the promise,36 YHWH encounters Jacob en route to Egypt and his reunion with Joseph (Gen. 46.3). Not incidentally, Israel emerges from Egypt a great multitude (Exod. 1.7-10, cf. 12.37-38) – a ‘great nation’ (e1qnoj me/ga; Deut. 26.5, cf. Josh. 24.4). But the echo of Gen. 12.2 in Exodus 32 is particularly instructive for our purposes. There, moved to wrath by the rebellion of his people while Moses lingers on the mountain, YHWH says to Moses: ‘And now, let me alone and, because of my fierce anger against them, I will consume them and I will make you a great nation (e1qnoj me/ga)’ (Exod. 32.10). Moses intervenes on behalf of the people and YHWH relents; but even as YHWH considers this radical judgement on his people, he reaffirms his commitment to Abraham. Matthew is not the first, then, to use this language in texts about the 33 Cf., e.g., Zech. 14.18, 19; Isa. 11.10. 34 Among the many texts where this is apparent, note, e.g., 1 Sam. 8.5, 20; 1 Kgs. 11.2; 1 Chron. 14.17; 16.26; 18.11; 1 Esd. 1.49; 8.69; Neh. 5.9; Joel 2.17, 19; 3.2 (LXX 4.2); Amos 9.9; Obad. 1.15-16; Mic. 4.2, 11; Zech. 1.15; 2.8 (LXX 2.12); 8.13, 22-23; 12.3, 9; 14.2-3, 16, 18, 19; Mal. 3.12; Isa. 8.9; 14.2; 29.7; 52.5; 55.5; 60.11-12; 61.6; 62.2; Jer. 9.26 (LXX 9.25); 10.2-3, 25; 14.22; Lam. 1.10; Ezek. 5.7-8, 15; 16.14; 20.9, 14, 22, 32;22.4, 16; 23.30; 25.8; 34.28-29; 36.5, 6, 7, 15, 30, 36; 37.28; 38.16, 22; 39.7, 21, 23; 1 Macc. 1.11, 13, 14, 15, 43; 2.12, 18, 40, 68; 3.10, 25, 26, 45, 48, 52, 58; 4.7, 11, 14, 45, 54, 58. Sometimes, however, ‘all the nations’ seems to include Israel; cf., e.g., Deut. 7.6-7. 35 Cf. Deut. 4.7-8; Judg. 2.20; 1 Chron. 17.21; Zeph. 2.1, 9; Mal. 3.9; Isa. 1.4.10.6; Jer. 5.9, 29; 7.28; Jer. 31.36 (LXX 38.37); Ezek. 36. 13, 14; 37.22; 38.12; 1 Macc. 3.59. 36 Cf. Gen. 18.18; Exod. 32.10; 33.13; Num. 14.12; Deut. 4.7-8; 7.6; 9.14; 26.19; see further Olmstead, Matthew’s Trilogy, pp. 91–95.

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(re-) constitution of the people of God. What then of Matthew’s own use of e1qnoj? Matthew

In Matthew e1qnoj has an even more limited range of meaning than it does in the LXX; of course, it appears much less frequently. Of its fifteen occurrences37 twelve are plural. When the word is plural, it can refer either to Gentiles (cf., e.g., Mt. 4.15; 20.19) or to the nations (e.g. Mt. 20.25). In either case, apart from 21.43, the word is never without ethnic import.38 At Mt. 10.5b-6, for example, Jesus commands the twelve: ‘Do not go in the way of the Gentiles (ei0j o(do_n e0qnw~n mh_ a)pe/lqhte) and do not enter a city of the Samaritans. Go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.’ Here e1qnoj is defined over against the Samaritans (10.5) and the house of Israel (10.6). It means Gentiles or Gentile nations. We find something similar in chapter 12, where the evangelist turns to Isaiah 42 to interpret Jesus’ mission. In Isaiah 42, YHWH’s servant, whom the LXX explicitly identifies as Israel (LXX Isa. 42.1), will: (1) bring forth justice for the nations (Isa. 42.1 LXX: kri/sin toi=j e1qnesin e0coi/sei); and (2) be a covenant to the people, a light to the nations (Isa. 42.6 LXX: ei0j fw~j e0qnw~n). This vocation now belongs to Jesus, and in his name will the nations hope (kai\ tw|~ o)no&mati au)tou~ e1qnh e0lpiou~sin; Mt. 12.21, cf. LXX Isa. 42.4). Four times in Matthew, we meet the phrase ‘all the nations’ (pa/nta ta\ e1qnh). Jesus’ followers will face opposition from all the nations39 because of their allegiance to him (Mt. 24.9). In the universal judgement scene (Mt. 25.31-46) that concludes Jesus’ final discourse, all the nations are gathered before the Son of Man (Mt. 25.32) and then separated on the basis of their treatment of the least of the king’s brothers (Mt. 25.40, 45). In the remaining two texts, all the nations become the object of Jesus’ followers’ mission: ‘This Gospel of the kingdom will be preached in all the world as a testimony to all the nations’ (Mt. 24.14); and, as we have seen, in the climactic scene that draws this narrative to conclusion, the apostles are commissioned to make disciples of all the nations

37 Seven of these are demonstrably traditional: 6x: Mt. par. Mk (10.18*; 20.19, 25; 24.7, 7, 14*); 1x: Mt. par. Lk. (6.32); the remaining eight are without parallel in the Gospel tradition: 1x: Mt. diff. Mk (24.9); 1x: Mt. diff. Lk. (10.5); 6x: no par. (4.15; 12.18, 21; 21.43; 25.32; 28.19). 38 By ethnic I mean simply: ‘relating to a group of people having common national or cultural tradition’ (OED). 39 Tw~n e0qnw~n appears to be Matthew’s contribution to the saying; where Mark has ‘You will be hated by all because of my name’ (Mk 13.13), Matthew has ‘You will be hated by all the nations because of my name’ (Mt. 24.9).

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(Mt. 28.19). Although the point is contested,40 pa/nta ta\ e1qnh should be understood inclusively: it refers to all the nations, including Israel. But even if one adopts the less likely reading that these texts refer to all the Gentiles, the noun retains obvious ethnic force. Unfortunately, the use of e1qnoj at 21.43 is one of only three singular occurrences of the noun in Matthew’s Gospel; the other two are both found at Mt. 24.7. There, e1qnoj simply means what our survey of LXX texts would have led us to expect: ‘For nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom. . . .’ Matthew’s use of e1qnoj does not exhibit the diversity that Saldarini suggests but instead exhibits the same tendencies as Israel’s sacred texts. One might be forgiven, however, for thinking that Matthew’s use of e1qnoj at 21.43 remains puzzling. What might prompt the evangelist to employ a word that elsewhere has ethnic force, only immediately to define it ethically (‘which produces its fruits’)? The evidence that we have considered enables us to offer a twofold answer. First, negatively, e1qnoj in 21.43 signals what the narrative will confirm, namely that the ‘you’ from whom the kingdom of God is taken was not (for Matthew) restricted to the leaders: the presence of the new e1qnoj implies the absence of the old. But second, positively, in employing e1qnoj here, Matthew takes up the language of Israel’s founding narratives to signal fulfilment. In Jesus, son of Abraham, and those who follow him in giving back to the God of Israel the fruit that is rightfully his (cf. 3.7-10), YHWH is establishing a nation in answer to his promise to Abraham – he is making an e1qnoj me/ga (Gen. 12.2).

Conclusion I have argued that none of the lines of evidence that Anthony Saldarini puts forward in defence of his reading of Mt. 21.43 proves compelling. We should not regard the transfer of the vineyard (Mt. 21.41) or the kingdom (Mt. 21.43) merely as the signal of change in leadership in Israel. Matthew thinks not merely of a leadership crisis but of a national crisis. But we should also find in Matthew’s narrative, in this parable and in this verse more continuity with Israel than Professor Stanton suggested. Reading this parable against the backdrop of the wider (Matthean and, indeed, biblical) narrative, we should find here paradoxically both judgement and fulfilment: judgement because, in joining hands with their leaders in spilling the innocent blood of Israel’s last and greatest prophet, the Son (Mt. 21.33-46), YHWH’s people have filled 40 For the view that pa&nta ta\ e1qnh does not include Israel, see D. R. A. Hare and D. J. Harrington, ‘“Make Disciples of all the Gentiles” (Mt 28:19)’, CBQ 37 (1975), pp. 359–69; for the view taken above, see further John P. Meier, ‘Nations or Gentiles in Matthew 28:19?’, CBQ 39 (1977) pp. 94–102.

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up their cup of rebellion (Mt. 27.15-25, cf. 23.29-36) and so elicited his judgement – the suspension of national privilege (Mt. 21.43); fulfilment because in reconstituting Israel around Jesus, Israel’s God was maintaining covenant fidelity with Abraham in the most surprising of ways, by sweeping the nations into that nation he promised to make great. This is a Gospel for a new nation.

Chapter 10 Judging Gentiles in the Gospel of Matthew: Between ‘Othering’ and Inclusion Anders Runesson*

Introduction Graham Stanton’s contribution to Matthean studies is outstanding and lasting. Not only did he produce some of the most insightful analyses of the first Gospel, he also gave the scholarly community a wide-ranging and often-quoted study of Matthean scholarship; in 1985 he covered the years between 1945 and 1980, and then, ten years later, he included studies published until 1994.1 Already in 1985, Stanton noted that one of the main issues in Matthean studies was the question of Matthew’s identity and relation to contemporary Jewish communities. In 1995, this is the first problem Stanton lists as currently debated: ‘Was the *

I first became acquainted with the work of Graham Stanton as an undergraduate student some twenty years ago as I searched my way through the Gospel of Matthew. This interest developed into a licentiate thesis on the judgement theme in Matthew, and has since continued with a focus on the relationship between Matthean communities and other forms of Judaism, a topic of great concern to Professor Stanton. I regret that I did not have the opportunity to meet Graham Stanton; throughout my studies I have benefited greatly from his insightful analyses and ability to direct us all in new ways in the study of Matthew. Indeed, it is fair to say that Graham Stanton’s work has been one of the major catalysts for much of contemporary scholarship on the first Gospel. When Eve-Marie Becker of Aarhus University and I planned a conference on the earliest Gospels some years ago, Graham Stanton was among the first scholars we invited. Unfortunately, his health had by then deteriorated to such a degree that he was unable to join us. His gracious response to our invitation, however, revealed the kindness of a true gentleman, who in his immense learning never lost sight of that which matters most. He will be missed by all who knew him and by all scholars of the first Gospel who have now lost one of the field’s most important voices. It is an honour for me to contribute to this volume in memory of Professor Stanton, one of the great scholars of our time. 1 Graham N. Stanton, ‘The Origin and Purpose of Matthew’s Gospel: Matthean Scholarship from 1945 to 1980’, ANRW II.25.3 (1985), pp. 1890–951; Graham N. Stanton, ‘Introduction: Matthew’s Gospel in Recent Scholarship (1994)’, in Graham N. Stanton (ed.), The Interpretation of Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995), pp. 1–26.

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evangelist himself a Jew or a Gentile? Were his Christian readers mainly Jews or Gentiles? Were Matthew’s communities still under strong pressure from neighbouring synagogues? Or was Jewish persecution of Christians a matter of past history for the evangelist’s communities?’2 Sixteen years later, in 2011, these questions still occupy centre stage in Matthean scholarship, and discussion is as passionate as ever. As David Sim, a former student of Stanton, notes in a forthcoming study, ‘The debate identified by Stanton concerning whether this Christian community was still within Judaism or had separated from it, both physically and ideologically, has intensified considerably and is now without question the dominant theme in Matthean studies.’3 This quest has often been addressed as the intra or extra muros debate. Discussion has reached even the level of language; the terms we use as we examine and analyse Matthew’s text and context. Terms are not innocent, objective tools, but often carry within them assumptions of older scholarship. Since the answer to any question already lies, to a certain degree, within the question itself, the conclusions we give birth to become the offspring of the language we use. Terminology is pregnant with meaning often unnoticed in the analytical process, which it nevertheless controls from within. Rethinking the way we speak may therefore result in the discovery of new landscapes.4 Key terms that have been considered and reconsidered in Matthean scholarship as it applies to the so-called intra or extra muros debate, one of Stanton’s main concerns, are ‘Christianity’ and ‘Judaism’. The way we speak about the ‘religion’ portrayed in this text will often reveal our position. It is awkward to talk about ‘Matthean Judaism’, as opposed to ‘Christianity’, without conveying the message that Mattheans were Jews, practising a form of Judaism. On the other hand, designating the people behind the text ‘Christians’ signals for most readers continuity with modern religious phenomena, and thus indicate a ‘religion’ which is not Judaism.5 Another such pair of terms is that of ‘synagogue’ 2 Stanton, ‘Recent Scholarship’, p. 2. 3 David C. Sim, ‘Matthew: The Current State of Research’, in Eve-Marie Becker and Anders Runesson (eds), Mark and Matthew. Comparative Readings I: Understanding the Earliest Gospels in their First Century Settings (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), p. 36. 4 I have discussed terminology and its pitfalls in ‘Inventing Christian Identity: Paul, Ignatius, and Theodosius I’, in Bengt Holmberg (ed.), Exploring Early Christian Identity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), pp. 59–92. 5 Cf. Amy-Jill Levine, ‘Matthew’s Advice to a Divided Readership’, in David Aune (ed.), The Gospel of Matthew in Current Study: Studies in Memory of William G. Thompson, S.J. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), pp. 22–41. Note especially the conclusion on p. 30: ‘the Gospel is, finally, a Christian, not a Jewish, text’. Levine, however, has previously argued that, for Matthew, ‘there is no reason to see the command to baptize as a replacement for circumcision’, The Social and Ethnic Dimensions of Matthean Salvation History: ‘Go Nowhere Among the Gentiles …’ (Matt. 10:5b) (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 1988), p. 181. Terminologically, the two comments may be confusing, since circumcision and Judaism belong together in common speech, as opposed to circumcision and Christianity. See

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and ‘church’. Since ‘church’ today signals a non-Jewish institution, it is difficult to speak of Matthew’s ‘church’ as opposed to Matthew’s ‘synagogue’ without implicitly indicating for the majority of readers that the Matthean institution was something other than a Jewish synagogue. Such a view, however, needs to be argued rather than assumed.6 Contributing to the intra or extra muros debate, thus taking up Stanton’s challenge to investigate these questions further, I would like to focus in this study on one aspect of the larger picture: the problem of Gentiles and ‘othering’ in the Gospel. If we can identify Matthew’s relationship to non-Jews, this would implicitly say something about the context in which this text was authored, revealing who was regarded as an insider and outsider respectively, and why. As we shall see, Matthew’s relationship to the Gentile world was complex. While no systematic theology of Gentiles can to be reconstructed, a certain pattern of thought is still clearly detectable. This pattern should be the object of analysis not only in relation to Judaism, but also within the larger context of ‘religious’ developments in the Graeco-Roman world. This is what I shall attempt to do here. We will proceed as follows. First, in an attempt to go beyond interpretive concerns dating to later times, we shall begin by outlining what would have been first-century socio-religious mechanisms of what we would call ‘religious’ division. Of the factors we isolate as important in relation to this larger frame of reference, we shall then take a closer look at a few key themes in Matthew, which relate to insider and outsider issues and the process of ‘othering’. The primary procedure here will be to focus on divine judgement discourse as it targets individuals and also Donald A. Hagner, ‘Matthew: Apostate, Reformer, Revolutionary?’, NTS 49 (2003), pp. 193–209. Hagner critiques Andrew Overman, Anthony Saldarini and David Sim, who in his view ‘overstate their case when they conclude that the religion of the Matthean community was not Christianity but Judaism’. For Hagner, Matthew is best described as a ‘Jewish form of Christianity’ (p. 193), and the author is a ‘revolutionary’, not a ‘reformer’ of or an ‘apostate’ from Judaism (pp. 208–209). The fact that Sim can talk about Mattheans as a ‘Christian’ community (see the quotation above, n. 3), despite Hagner’s comments, shows that the study of the earliest followers of Jesus is in urgent need of in-depth terminological discussion and clearly outlined definitions of the terms eventually chosen. Such discussions need to be sensitive to the same issues that apply to all translation work, including the modern context and how specific words are used today as opposed to in antiquity. 6 The term e0kklhsi/a, used twice by Matthew (16.18; 18.17) and translated ‘church’ in most English translations of the New Testament, was one of many synagogue terms in the first century. Matthew’s use of this term may thus not be referred to in order to claim a change of institutional setting on the part of Matthew’s community. For the nature of the first-century synagogue, see Anders Runesson, The Origins of the Synagogue: A SocioHistorical Study (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2001), pp. 169–235. For the diverse synagogue terminology of the first century and a catalogue covering the primary sources, see Anders Runesson, Donald D. Binder and Birger Olsson, The Ancient Synagogue: From its Origins to 200 c.e. A Source Book (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity Series 72; Leiden: Brill, 2008).

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groups in the Gospel text. We shall conclude with a few comments on ethnicity and the Gentile mission in Matthew.

Identifying an Ancient Frame of Reference for intra or extra muros Analysis The intra or extra muros metaphor is deceptively simple: were Mattheans inside or outside the walls of . . . what? The walls of the institution of the synagogue? If so, were they inside or outside the municipal institution of the public synagogue, or of one of the many first-century Jewish association synagogues?7 Other ‘walls’ could relate to theology, law, the hermeneutics of halakhic discussions etc., all set within a first-century context in which diverse Jewish groups entertained different perspectives and conclusions on such issues, without therefore ceasing to be Jewish. If this is the situation in which we find various expressions of Judaism in the first century, what would it take for us to be able to speak of Mattheans as within or outside ‘Judaism’? While we need to look closely at ancient institutional realities as they apply to synagogues and Graeco-Roman associations to answer such questions, we are going to focus here on developments in the GraecoRoman world, in which some aspects of a ‘parting-process’ would be involved. Judaism was and still is a religion closely associated with a specific ethnic group, the Jewish people.8 We also know that what became Christianity claimed its roots within this ethnic religion, but eventually lost the ethnic aspect and with it the connection to the land and the Jewish law. This development has often, implicitly or explicitly, been described as a somewhat unique process, as if the origins of Christianity as a non-Jewish religion were a distinctive and exceptional historical development. If, however, we can find similar ‘de-ethnocizing’ processes in or around the first century as we look at other cults or ‘religious’ traditions, we may be able to shed some light more specifically on the Matthean situation. As it happens, in antiquity such ‘de-ethnocizing’ developments were not infrequent. Steve Mason and others have argued, correctly in my view, that what we call ‘religion’ today compares best to ancient philosophy (and mystery cults).9 When the ancients thought ‘religion’, however, they usually did so 7 For the basic distinction between two different types of synagogues, see Runesson, Origins, esp. pp. 213–35. For the application of this distinction in historical Jesus studies, see most recently Graham H. Twelftree, ‘Jesus and the Synagogue’, in Tom Holmén and Stanley E. Porter (eds), Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (Leiden: Brill, 2011), pp. 3105–34. 8 This is so regardless of the possibility of conversion and the fact that ethnic identity is basically constructed as a social category. 9 Steve Mason, ‘Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History’, JSJ 38 (2007), pp. 457–512.

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in ways that merged ethnic aspects with a specific land, specific laws, and worship of a specific god. In other words, the concepts of land – law – god – people were intertwined in a world in which the political and the religious were inseparable. Interestingly, there were several processes in the ancient world in which deities, which were once associated with a specific nation, began being worshipped by individuals with other ethnic backgrounds. Famously, this happened with the Egyptian cult of Isis and Serapis, as well as with several other cults, so that while most people would have known about the deity’s (exotic) background as connected to a specific people and area, the ethnic aspect was weakened and became, in and of itself, a matter of little or no concern among worshippers.10 I have argued elsewhere that the so-called parting of the ways process between ‘Judaism’ and ‘Christianity’ needs to be analysed against this more general background, in which the ethnic aspect of a cult originally associated with a specific land becomes weakened.11 Such a de-ethnosizing process also affects the other aspects mentioned above, including the connection between the deity and a specific land (Israel), and a specific set of laws (the Torah). Regarding Judaism, we know that similar dynamics had already begun to make themselves known before the arrival of Jesus and his followers on the historical scene. People from other, non-Jewish ethnic backgrounds attended Sabbath worship in Diaspora synagogues; we usually refer to them as god-fearers.12 This phenomenon did not mean that 10 Of special interest is the creation and/or promotion – with Hellenized iconography – of Serapis by Ptolemy I (305–283 bce), with the aim of uniting Egyptians and Greeks under his rule. As connected to and intertwined with the Isis cult, the worship of Serapis subsequently spread over the Mediterranean world, including Greece and Rome; from the lower strata of society in domestic and semi-public contexts to Roman public cult with a temple constructed by Caligula on the Campus Martius, and subsequently full recognition of the cult given by Caracalla in 217 ce. For discussion of the rise and spread of the Serapis and Isis cult in the Mediterranean world, see Sharon Kelly Heyob, The Cult of Isis Among Women in the Graeco-Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 1975), pp. 1–36. See also Sarolta A. Takács, Isis and Sarapis in the Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 1995). Cf. John Scheid, ‘Religions in Contact’, in Sarah Iles Johnston (ed.), Religions of the Ancient World: A Guide (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), p. 121. I have discussed the movement of Serapis and other cults between domestic, semi-public and public contexts in Anders Runesson, ‘Was there a Christian Mission Before the Fourth Century? Problematizing Common Ideas about Early Christianity and the Beginnings of Modern Mission’, in Magnus Zetterholm and Samuel Byrskog (eds), The Making of Christianity: Conflicts, Contacts, and Constructions (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011 [forthcoming]), pp. 47–83. 11 Runesson, ‘Inventing Christian Identity’. 12 Evidence for non-Jewish individuals in synagogue settings comes not least from the New Testament, especially Acts (for sources and discussion, see the index in Runesson et al., Source Book, covering the synagogue up to 200 ce.) For later inscriptions and nonJewish authors, see sources and discussion in Louis H. Feldman and Meyer Reinhold (eds), Jewish Life and Thought Among Greeks and Romans (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), pp. 137–45. For evidence from Late Antiquity, cf. Steven Fine, ‘Non-Jews in the Synagogues of Late-Antique Palestine: Rabbinic and Archaeological Evidence’, in Steven Fine (ed.),

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Jewish ethnic identity in relation to the God of Israel was weakened, but rather indicates to us that the general process in the Graeco-Roman world in which ‘ethnic gods’ were worshipped more widely affected Judaism too. For these non-Jews, the God of Israel was incorporated among the many other gods that were seen as powerful and therefore worthy of attention. What we see with the emergence of non-Jewish Christianity is on a different scale compared to the position of the sympathizers in the synagogue. Claiming the God of the Jewish people as their own God, nonJewish Christians worked deliberately and effectively from at least the early second century onwards to break up the connection between the God of Israel and the land of Israel, as well as to dissolve the interrelatedness of the Jewish law and the people of God, the latter of which they now claimed to be.13 But was Matthew part of or affected by this development? If so, we would have to expect that the text would express attempts at dissolving not only connections between land and law and God, but also any distinctions between the Jewish people and other peoples, ‘the nations’. In the following we shall look at the latter process, attempting to identify who the ‘other’ is in this text, and see how Matthew constructs the ‘outsider’, often using the concept of divine judgement in combination with comments related to ethnicity. What was the Matthean approach to people not Jewish? While much discussion has centred on the conversion of individual Gentiles in this regard, Warren Carter has recently emphasized systemic, empire-related aspects of the question.14 Could such a focus assist us in understanding Matthew’s relationship to non-Jews, and thus, by implication, to Jews and Judaism?

Jews, Gentiles, and Proselytes: Mapping God’s Wrath and Redemption I would like to make three claims here that will shed light on the ethnoreligious factor in the socio-religious worldview of Matthew. We shall then return to discuss each of them in the order mentioned. First, the idea of the Jewish people as a chosen people is still an active category for Matthew. Second, Gentile culture is condemned by Matthew, and so are Jews, Christians, and Polytheists in the Ancient Synagogue: Cultural Interaction During the Greco-Roman Period (London: Routledge, 1999). 13 The letters of Ignatius of Antioch provide, in my view, the earliest clear evidence of such developments. 14 Warren Carter, ‘Matthew and the Gentiles: Individual Conversion and/or Systemic Transformation?’, JSNT 26.3 (2004), pp. 259–82. Cf. David C. Sim, The Gospel of Matthew and Christian Judaism: The History and Social Setting of the Matthean Community (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998); David C. Sim, ‘Matthew, Paul and the Origin and Nature of the Gentile Mission: The Great Commission in Matthew 28:16-20 as an Anti-Pauline Tradition’, HvTSt 64 (2008), pp. 377–92.

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those Jews who adapt to it. Third, the boundary of the chosen people is not the boundary of salvation.

The irrevocable gift: the Jewish people as the chosen people in Matthew

While several scholars have claimed that the status of the Jewish people as the people of God has been abolished in Matthew’s Gospel, it is difficult to find supporting evidence in the text for such a view.15 The genealogy introduces Jesus as the son of Abraham as well as the son of David, thereby identifying him not only as firmly contextualized within the Jewish people, but also as the one who will fulfil God’s promises to Abraham.16 These promises to Abraham were quite specific: to make of him a people, to give him a land, and to make the status of other nations dependent on how they treated him and his descendants (Gen. 12.2-3); those who bless will be blessed, those who curse will be cursed. This pattern of the outsider blessing or cursing the insider is a criterion of judgement that Matthew will return to several times in his story.17 Further, the land promise is directly related to Jesus as the messianic Son of David, who will be the legitimate ruler replacing the illegitimate king Herod, who, consequently, attempts to kill the newborn Jesus.18

15 See, e.g., Rudolph Schnackenburg, The Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002). While Schnackenburg, on the one hand, can state that the author of the Gospel is a ‘second-generation (Hellenistic) Jew’, who is best regarded as ‘a person with Jewish views and Jewish ways of speaking’ (pp. 6–7), on the other hand he asserts that for Matthew, ‘the break with Judaism, which had become strong under the leadership of the Pharisaic scribes, had occurred’ (p. 6). For Schnackenburg, Matthew portrays ‘the church’, which includes both Jews and Gentiles, as the ‘new people of God’, which implies that ‘Israel’ is no longer under the ‘reign of God’ (212; cf. the comments on Mt. 3.9, pp. 31–32). As we shall see, such a perspective on Matthew may be challenged not only on terminological but also on exegetical grounds. 16 For a detailed discussion of Matthew’s birth narrative, emphasizing its political aspects and implications for the interpretation of the Gospel as a whole, see Anders Runesson, ‘Giving Birth to Jesus in the Late First Century: Matthew as Midwife in the Context of Colonisation’, in Claire Clivaz, Andreas Dettwiler, Luc Devillers, Enrico Norelli, in collaboration with Benjamin Bertho (eds), Infancy Gospels: Stories and Identities (WUNT, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, [forthcoming]). 17 See Mt. 25.31-46; cf., positively, 10.40-42. We shall return to this below. 18 Matthew’s relationship to the land has been treated somewhat unsatisfactorily by scholars in the past, most likely because of the long-standing notion in Christian tradition more generally, which spiritualizes sayings about the land in the New Testament (and later texts). Such views have recently been challenged with regard to historical Jesus studies, and more specifically as related to the Gospel of Matthew. For discussion, see Joel Willitts, Matthew’s Messianic Shepherd-King: In Search of ‘The Lost Sheep of the House of Israel’ (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007), pp. 157–73.

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These Abrahamic promises do not mean, however, that Matthew would assume that all Jews thought they would automatically be saved on the basis of their ethnic identity,19 even less so that he thought along such lines regarding Jesus’ followers (they too are Jews in Matthew’s text). On the contrary, just as in the Hebrew Bible, not everyone, especially not the leaders of the people if they did not meet the requirements that apply to good shepherds,20 will make it. This is made clear immediately after the birth narrative, with the words of John the Baptizer: ‘Do not presume to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham’ (Mt. 3.9). While this text has often been interpreted as if Matthew, using the voice of the baptizer, were here abolishing the Jewish ethnic dynamic, John Nolland is, in my view, correct in noting that, ‘We ought not to think that any downgrading of the importance of Abrahamic descent is intended (cf. 1:1). What is being denied is not privilege but immunity from God’s outrage at the abuse of privilege.’21 The ethnic aspect, combined with a theology of chosenness, is kept intact throughout the Gospel, although responses to the Messiah are focused on as the divider between those who repent and those who do not. The Jewish people are the centre of Matthew’s world,22 and their Messiah creates a centre within that centre. Just as it would make little sense to argue that the prophets of the Hebrew Bible would claim that the people had lost their (ethnically based) status as chosen when they disobeyed the God of Israel – even when only a few righteous remained – there is nothing in Matthew’s Gospel that would seem to go beyond the traditional theme of divine judgement as applied to God’s own people.23 19 Contra Schnackenburg, Matthew, pp. 31–32. Cf. R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), p. 111. See also, e.g., Sir. 5.4-7. 20 Cf. Ezek. 34, a text which closely resembles the pattern of thought in Matthew’s Gospel. 21 John Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), p. 144 (my emphasis). As Nolland states, ‘[t]he promise to Abraham stands’ (p. 145). For the imagery of stones, cf. Isa. 51.1-2. 22 Cf. texts such as Mt. 10.5-6, in which even Samaritans are excluded. The reason for this exclusive focus on the Jewish people is probably connected to the fact that Jesus is presented as the restorer of the Jewish nation, the kingdom of Israel (cf. Acts 1.6); Samaritans, obviously, would not take part in such restorative work; neither would nonJews. It is an entirely different question that some non-Jews could, and did, acknowledge Jesus as their lord (Mt. 2.1-12; 8.5-13; 15.21-28). Such recognition supports the Matthean Messiah’s rule and claim to the land in accordance with the promises to Abraham, just as Rahab supported Joshua’s conquest, Bathsheba’s non-Jewish husband defended David’s kingdom, and Tamar and Ruth saved the royal Davidic lineage (cf. Mt. 1.3, 5, 6; for discussion, see Runesson, ‘Matthew as Midwife’). 23 This is true even if threats of loss of the status of chosenness were sometimes pronounced. In such cases, reassurance of redemption follows; cf. Hos. 1.8-2.3 (Engl. 1.8–2.1). Interestingly, the same pattern occurs as Paul reinterprets Hosea in Rom. 9.2426; cf. 11.26-32.

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Those who are judged are judged as Jews, as the people of God. The outcome of the judgement is not the loss of peoplehood, but various forms of unpleasantry, including death and its aftermath, based on the fact that, as God’s people, they should have known better.24 For the leaders of the people, judgement implies their replacement (cf. Ezek. 34.10; Mt. 2.6; 9.36; 21.43, 45-46).25 Matthew maintains the ethnic aspect as intertwined with the law (Mt. 5-7), including its ritual worldview,26 as well as with the land, which 24 This is the basic rhetorical logic of passages like Mt. 11.20-24 (cf. 10.14-15; 12.41-42). Here, Bethsaida, Chorazin and Capernaum are threatened with judgement based on a comparison with non-Jewish cities. The weight of the argument lies precisely in the fact that even non-Jews, from whom, according to Matthew, not much could be expected (Mt. 5.47; 6.7; 6.32; 20.25-26; see further below), would have understood the power of the Messianic deeds of Jesus that these Jewish cities were exposed to; therefore, the Jewish cities will receive harsher condemnation, precisely because they are God’s people and should therefore have been able to know better. These passages thus in fact belittle non-Jews rather than the other way around: the ignorance of Gentiles is the audienceshared point of departure for the effectiveness of the rhetoric. 25 The parable of the tenants in the vineyard in Mt. 21.33-46 has been the object of various interpretations and debate. Many scholars, including Stanton (A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992], pp. 331–32; cf. pp. 270–71), have based their assessment of Matthew’s relation to ‘Judaism’ on this parable, claiming that v. 43 refers to the Jews’ loss of their status as the people of God (see also the discussion in Wesley G. Olmstead, Matthew’s Trilogy of Parables: The Nation, the Nations, and the Reader in Matthew 21:28-22:14 [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003]; cf. Louise Joy Lawrence, An Ethnography of the Gospel of Matthew [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003], p. 67). For several reasons, I find this an unlikely reading of the text. While no full discussion can be included here, a couple of details may be mentioned that caution, in my view, against reading this parable as if it were dealing with peoplehood and replacement of ethnic groups. First, Mt. 21.45-46, redacted by Matthew to include the Pharisees together with the chief priests (cf. Mk 11.27; Mt. 21.23), makes explicit that the group targeted by the critique and divine judgement is the leadership (for the designation ‘elite’, see Lawrence, Ethnography, p. 76), since ‘they realized that he was speaking about them’ as opposed to the Jewish crowds, who ‘regarded him [Jesus] as a prophet’. Second, as Schnackenburg (Matthew, p. 210) notes, the vineyard seems, in Matthew, to refer to Jerusalem. Thus, Matthew, contrary to Mark 12.8, has the son first dragged out of the vineyard and then killed outside ‘the fence’, which had previously been built around it (Mt. 21.39; cf. v. 33; Heb 13.12). See also Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1992), p. 302. Thus, it seems as if Matthew, shortly after Jesus has entered Jerusalem (21.7-11) and is teaching in the temple, confronting the high priests and the elders (21.23), has Jesus predict his own death at the hands of the leaders. As a result of his death, however, God will take the kingdom from the Jerusalem leadership and give it to Jesus’ followers; more precisely, the leadership will be given to his twelve disciples who will rule Israel’s tribes (21.41, 43; cf. 19.28). For the meaning of ethnos (v. 43), see John S. Kloppenborg, The Tenants in the Vineyard: Ideology, Economics, and Agrarian Conflict in Jewish Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), pp. 191–93; Harrington, Matthew, p. 303. 26 The following ritual categories are active and affirmed in Matthew’s narrative: (1) Prayer (6.5-7); (2) Almsgiving (6.3-4); (3) Fasting (6.17-18); (4) The Jewish law/the commandments (5.17-19; 19.17): (a) dietary laws (15.1-20), (b) other purity laws (8.4, 5-13;

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Matthew is the only New Testament writer to call gh~ I0 srah&l, the land of Israel (Mt. 2.20, 21), signalling both the unity of the land (the designation clearly refers to both Galilee and Judaea) and claiming ‘Israelite’, i.e. Jewish, ownership of it, in contrast to the factual situation under the Romans after the war.27 It seems clear, thus, that we find in Matthew a focus on the chosen people, i.e. the Jewish people, and the struggle for establishing the kingdom of God is taking place in its midst. Such struggle come at a time when non-Jews – the Romans, and therefore also their gods – are in charge of the fragmented land, and control politics, administration and cult, since the temple of Jerusalem had been destroyed. The question is now what Matthew has to say about non-Jewish culture and worship in such a setting. Should we expect a Jewish view,28 which had given up on Jewish perspectives on the land and the law and embraced a non-Jewish way of life, combined with worship of the now temple-less God of Israel, intending to spread this view to other Jews (Mt. 10.5-6) as well as to ‘all nations’ (Mt. 28.19-20)? Or is there reason to believe that the Gospel would voice hostility against the culture of those who colonized the land that Matthew calls Israel’s? From a postcolonial point of view and from observations made regarding reactions of individuals and groups in different social strata in colonized societies, the burden of proof would rest with those who would insist on the former alternative. As we shall see, however, while the latter scenario is clearly part of Matthew’s perspective, there are unexpected complexities involved as the Gospel portrays and ‘interacts’ with non-Jews. 23.25-26), (c) the Sabbath (12.1-14.28 24.20), (d) festivals (Passover [26.2, 17-35]), (e) tithing (23.23), (f) the temple cult and practices connected with the temple, including the temple tax (5.23-24; 12.3-5; 17.24-27; 23.19-21), (g) most likely circumcision; (5) Public ritual reading of Torah in synagogue settings. To this should be added that those upholding the rituals described and promoted in the text also took part in sacred meals (the Eucharist), and they required baptism of people who wanted to join their association. Both of these latter traditions likely go back to the historical Jesus in some form, and fit firmly within a Jewish ritual world. On the temple, affirmed by Matthew as a legitimate institution, see the recent study by Daniel M. Gurtner, ‘Matthew’s Theology of the Temple and the “Parting of the Ways”; Christian Origins and the First Gospel’, in Daniel M. Gurtner and John Nolland (eds), Built Upon the Rock: Studies in the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), pp. 128–53. 27 If Matthew was written, and this is likely, in the 80s or 90s, the political context in the land was this: Roman procurators had first governed the whole land, after Agrippa I’s short reign, until 52, and then the land was split up again as Agrippa II ruled the north (53–c. 100) and Roman procurators controlled Judaea and Samaria. After the death of Agrippa II, Rome ruled both north and south as one province, Judaea, and this was also the situation at the time of the second revolt 132–35. Seen from a Jewish (religiopolitical) perspective, Matthew’s claim on the land as ‘the land of Israel’ is culturally logical and historically plausible. This interpretation is made even more plausible when considering the place of the writing of the Gospel to be Galilee, which, in my view, is a more likely theory than Antioch (see Runesson, ‘Rethinking’, pp. 106–107, and literature referred to there). 28 As Schnackenburg phrases it: see above, n. 15.

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Constructing the other: non-Jewish culture and society condemned

Briefly stated, when non-Jewish culture and customs are addressed generally in the narrative, everything Gentiles do must be shunned by Matthew’s audience.29 When Matthew’s Jesus is expounding Jewish law, non-Jews function as examples of what not to do (5.47); when Jesus’ followers are taught to pray, it is explicitly said that they must not imitate non-Jewish practices (6.7); when Jesus instructs his audience to trust God and not to worry about the future, non-Jews are singled out as the opposite of the proper attitude (6.32). As for non-Jewish society, imitation among Jesus’ followers of non-Jewish hierarchies and power positions is explicitly forbidden (Mt. 20.25-26). Indeed, when Matthew’s Jesus establishes the rules for his e)kklhsi/a, expulsion from this association30 results in a change of status of the expelled person, so that he or she is now to be regarded as a non-Jew (Mt. 18.17). The ‘other’ is, thus, constructed based on an ethnic criterion. But not only the Gentiles are portrayed as the stereotypical outsider. Those who collaborate with them – the tax collectors (18.17; 5.46) – share this disgrace. By implication, then, the good insider behaves like a good Jew, that is, someone living within a Jewish context according to the teachings of Jesus, the centre within the centre. Against such a background, Jesus’ prohibition against expanding the kingdom into the non-Jewish world in Mt. 10.5-6, while often regarded as problematic,31 makes perfect sense. It is no wonder either, that the Gentiles of Gadara ask Jesus to leave their territory immediately after he has rid the area of demons and unclean animals, forbidden to Jews, thus claiming this territory for the God of Israel (Mt. 8.28-34).32 Indeed, the word e1qnoj is mentioned fourteen times by Matthew; except for Mt. 21.43, none of these references are positive but either generalize non-Jewish behaviour negatively, or speak of non-Jews as guilty of hate, 29 Cf. the discussion in Sim, Christian Judaism, pp. 247–55; Carter, ‘Systemic Transformation’, pp. 280–81. 30 For the historical reconstruction of the Matthean e)kklhsi/a as a Jewish association synagogue, see Anders Runesson, ‘Rethinking Early Jewish–Christian Relations: Matthean Community History as Pharisaic Intragroup Conflict’, JBL 127.1 (2008), pp. 95–132. 31 Cf. Morna D. Hooker, ‘Uncomfortable Words: The Prohibition of Foreign Missions (Mt. 105-6)’, ExpTim 82 (1971), pp. 361–65. The solution proposed by Hooker is that this view on mission was limited in time to the period before the resurrection. While this is likely, one still has to explain the Matthean perspective that made such a prohibition both logical and desirable during this period; the resurrection does not abolish the focus on the Jewish people, it just widens the territorial claim. 32 Cf. Ulrich Luz, Matthew, 3 vols (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001–2007), 2.24. While Luz states that ‘[t]he Jewish-Christian Matthew knows that a large herd of pigs does not belong in the holy land’, and he has previously concluded that this area was regarded by Matthew to be part of ‘biblical Israel’, i.e. the holy land (see vol. 1, pp. 166–67), he does not pursue further the ethno-political and national implications of these conclusions. From a post-war first-century Jewish and non-Jewish perspective, however, it would seem difficult to avoid these dimensions of the story, and therefore also the political claim inherent in it.

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torture and killing of the followers of the Messiah (24.9).33 The Gentiles are also the ones who will mock and kill the Messiah himself (20.19). Such is the culture and behaviour of the non-Jews that justice needs to be proclaimed to them (12.18), and the only hope they have is in the Jewish Messiah (12.21; 28.19-20).34 The non-Jewish world seems to have the final word as Roman soldiers torture and mock Jesus as a fake Jewish king, using words like ‘Hail, King of the Jews!’ (27.27-31). Later, the centurion together with the soldiers present at the site of the execution are struck by ‘great fear’ as they realize whom they have killed (27.54).35 Finally, the Gentiles need to be instructed in Jewish law, as it has been interpreted by Jesus, as Jesus sends his disciples to make all nations his followers (Mt. 28.19-20).36 At this point, someone might object and note that, while this may be true about the Gentiles, it is equally true about the Jewish people. After all, Matthew insisted the Jews too needed instruction in the law as Jesus interpreted it. In which sense, then, would Gentile culture be more condemned than Jewish ways of life? The answer is simple: in the narrative, the Jewish Messiah is represented as the centre within the centre of the Jewish people itself, and is thus described as giving expression to the true interpretation of things Jewish. Matthew’s Jesus is not promulgating law as disconnected from the people; it is the Jewish law that is taught and whoever follows that law follows the ways of Judaism in their Matthean-Messianic form. Thus, from Matthew’s point of view, those Jews who trusted in Jesus as the Messiah and accepted this form of interpretation of the law lived Judaism to its fullest. If non-Jews were 33 While it is not entirely clear which group it is that will execute the torture and killing (cf. Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Socio-Political and Religious Reading [London: T&T Clark, 2000], p. 471), the similarity in wording when the same scenario is described as applied to Jesus – in which case it is explicitly stated that non-Jews are the ones guilty for this violence (20.19) – makes it likely that non-Jews are meant here too. Thus, Jesus’ followers will be handed over by fellow Jews to suffer at the hands of nonJews in the same way as Jesus was. 34 For Matthean rhetoric regarding specific non-Jewish cities as they relate to specific Jewish cities in terms of repentance, see above, n. 24. 35 As David C. Sim, ‘The “Confession” of the Soldiers in Matthew 27:54’, HeyJ 24 (1993), pp. 401–24, has argued, contrary to more traditional readings the passage is most likely not meant to be interpreted as favourable towards Gentiles. 36 I find it very difficult to escape the conclusion that what Jesus has taught throughout the Gospel to his disciples and to other Jews, especially in Matthew 5–7, is the Jewish law (cf. 5.17-19), and that, consequently, when he commands his disciples to teach all nations what he has taught them, it follows that the content of that teaching is the Jewish law, regardless of how we choose to interpret the content of that law. The point here is simply that Matthew states that the Jewish law is binding for all nations, not only for the Jewish people. By implication, then, non-Jewish law and culture are rejected as incompatible with the universal rule of the God of Israel. With the idea of mission follows the fact that what is targeted for mission is regarded as somehow inadequate or illegitimate. In this case, that inadequacy refers to Gentile ways, and the solution is Jewish law as interpreted by the Messiah of Israel.

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taught the same things as the disciples were, as Mt. 28.19-20 says they should be, this would be true of them too, since after the resurrection no distinction is upheld between Gentile and Jewish followers of Jesus.37 In sum, then, in my view there can hardly be any doubt that Matthew uses non-Jewish ethnic identity and culture as a tool when constructing the ‘other’ in relation to the insiders, and warns of behaviour not approved by the God of Israel. If this is correct, however, what happens to non-Jews in terms of salvation and the kingdom of heaven? Is salvation restricted to the Jewish people and those non-Jews who join them? As it turns out, while Matthew rejects non-Jewish identity and culture and maintains the notion of the Jewish people as the people of God, salvation is not confined to the Jewish people.

The chosen people as the guarantor of salvation beyond itself

Matthew’s narrative provides, it seems, three paths for non-Jews as the Messiah opens for the kingdom of heaven to enter the world. First, the status of the women mentioned in the genealogy may provide us with an indication of the Matthean perspective (Mt. 1.3, 5). It is possible, even likely, that Rahab, Tamar and Ruth were understood in Matthew’s time as they were in later Jewish tradition, namely as proselytes, not Gentiles.38 Matthew seems thus to signal as early as in the very first verses of his Gospel the appropriateness of non-Jews joining the (Messianic) Jewish people as proselytes. This perspective aligns well with what we have argued above, namely the centrality of the Jewish people for Matthew and the need for non-Jews to turn away from their Graeco-Roman culture and worship. Since ethnicity was intertwined with the political, ‘conversion’ would have meant a shift in loyalty for proselytes to accommodate Jewish law and land within their identity. As examples to follow, Rahab assisted Israelite take-over of the land, and Tamar and Ruth secured the royal Davidic lineage. If this is correct, it would explain the sudden – and narratively otherwise unexpected – appearance of Gentile mission in Mt. 28.19-20, the political dimensions of which cannot be ignored. The Great Commission is nothing less than an assault on the Roman Empire, with the aim of subverting its power in favour of the God of Israel.39 Jerusalem, the city of the great King, as Matthew calls it,40 not Rome, is the centre of the world in this story. This was already indicated in the 37 There is, however, such a distinction between Jews and Gentiles who respond positively to Jesus before the resurrection. See further discussion in the next section. 38 Tamar: b. Sotah 10a; Rahab: e.g. Mek. Exod. 18.1; Ruth: Midr. Ruth 1.16-17. For discussion, see Runesson, ‘Matthew as Midwife’. 39 Cf. Carter, ‘Matthew and the Gentiles’, who emphasizes both Matthew’s aim at subverting the Roman Empire and the Matthean insistence that the Gentiles who join them must keep the Torah. For the latter point, see esp. pp. 260, 282. 40 Mt. 5.35; cf. Ps. 48.3 (Engl. 48.2). Matthew also refers to Jerusalem as ‘the holy city’: Mt. 4.5; 27.53.

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eastern Magi’s recognition of and subordination to the Jewish Messiah (Matthew 2). It was also anchored in scripture through the reference to the Queen of the South who, from a Matthean point of view, travelled from the periphery to the centre to meet the king in Jerusalem (Mt. 12.42). The scene is that of an empire; the ‘provinces’ gather at the centre. Regardless of the problem of whether circumcision is implied or not in Matthew 28, it is clear that Matthew’s Jesus requires complete submission to Jewish law for those Gentiles who were once outsiders and now must become insiders.41 The term appropriate for such expansion, which makes no distinction between Jew and Gentile, would be proselytism, aiming at incorporating non-Jews into the chosen people, the restored Israel. As the empire is taken on, the Gentile ‘other’ is saved from his or her ‘otherness’ through complete identification with the centre, through becoming a proselyte. But this is not the end of the Gentile story for Matthew. A second narrative pattern is evident in the text. For those Gentiles Jesus meets as he walks through the land of Israel, the proper response to Jesus is subordination and recognition that the Jewish Messiah is their king too. We see this pattern in the centurion’s plea for a share in the blessings of the coming kingdom in Mt. 8.5-13, but also as the Canaanite woman of Mt. 15.21-28 acknowledges her status as a humble outsider loyal to the Davidic king. The point of the two stories is precisely that these non-Jews are and remain outsiders and still, in faith, acknowledge Jesus as the legitimate Jewish ruler whose authority extends beyond the Jewish people. Since their status is not presented as a de-ethnocizing force that would transform the status of the Jewish followers – turning all of Jesus’ followers into non-Jewish worshippers of the God of Israel42 – the relationship of the centurion and the Canaanite woman (as well as previously the Magi of Mt. 2) to Judaism in this specific Messianic form resembles very much that of the so-called God-fearers’43 relation to non-Messianic Judaism. The difference is, of course, that the former’s trust in the God of Israel is channelled through a focus on the Messiah. This difference legitimizes, in my view, the use of a specific term for them: Christ-fearers.44

41 Matthew 5.17-19; 28.20. In 5.19, Matthew uses a!nqrwpoj when Jesus prohibits neglecting even the minor commandments when people are teaching the law to others. This may indicate an anticipation of a wider application of the Jewish law than the Jewish people, although the audience here is certainly Jewish. See also discussion above, and n. 38. 42 Until the last two verses of the Gospel, the focus of Jesus’ and his disciples’ mission is on the Jewish people, maintaining peoplehood as an active category as related to the Jewish Messiah. Matthew 15.24, 27 is quite clear on this, and it is the recognition of the status difference on the part of the woman that makes Jesus heal her daughter. Faith expands beyond borders, but does not abolish them, according to the Matthean Jesus. 43 On God-fearers, see above, n. 12. 44 For this terminology, see Runesson, ‘Inventing Christian Identity’, p. 73.

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The question is, however, if the narrative progression of the Gospel suggests that this category of Gentile response to Jesus is still valid after the resurrection, or whether the ultimate eschatological turn of events brings with it a new reality for these Christ-fearers. Since the pre-resurrection centripetal movement of approved Gentiles around Jesus (they search for him, he does not look for them, but restricts his mission to Jews only45) is centrifugally reversed in 28.19-20 (Jesus actively takes on the known world through his disciples), and Jewish law is now to be taught to all, which implies the abolishing of the very ‘otherness’ that marked the Christ-fearers, it seems to me that for Matthew the approved status of the Christ-fearers was limited in time. As Jesus receives ‘all authority (e)cousi/a) in heaven and on earth’ (28.18), the transformation of the world has begun and all need to change in accordance with even the most minor of the commandments in the Jewish law (Mt. 5.19). While during Jesus’ life on earth the blessings of the Davidic Messiah were shared beyond the limits of the Jewish people by those who recognized his authority,46 it seems that the resurrection shuts down that possibility. But as this door closes, Matthean suffering combined with a Jewish theology of the ‘other’ opens another, third, scenario with regard to inclusion in the coming kingdom. Reality perforates theology and transforms it as post-war suffering and persecution forces an inclusive approach to salvation beyond the insiders. The parable47 of the sheep and the goats in Mt. 25.31-46 deals specifically with the ‘outsider’, regardless of ethnic or other identity markers. This text spells out the criteria of salvation for those who do not belong among Jesus’ followers. There are two key interpretive issues in this parable, which control, ultimately, how the text is understood: the identity of pa&nta ta_ e1qnh (25.32) and of the e0cousi/a (25.40, 45). As Sherman Gray has shown, interpretations have varied through the centuries.48 From an exegetical perspective in which the parable is understood within the narrative frame of the Gospel of Matthew itself, it seems difficult to avoid the conclusion that (1) ‘the least’ are not the same as or included in ‘all the nations’ and (2) ‘the least’ refers to followers of Jesus, i.e. the insiders.49 While there is debate about whether Jews who have not recognized Jesus as the Messiah are included in ‘all the nations’, or if this expression refers only to nations 45 Mt. 10.5-6; 15.24; cf. 9.36. 46 Cf. the discussion of Gen. 12.3 above. 47 William D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (3 vols; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988–1997), 3.418 prefer the designation ‘word-picture’, but cf. Sherman W. Gray, The Least of My Brothers. Matthew 25:31-46: A History of Interpretation (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), pp. 351–52, who argues for the parabolic nature of the pericope. 48 Gray, Least of My Brothers. 49 J. Winandy, ‘La scène du jugement dernier’, ScEccl 18 (1966), pp. 169–86; Gray, Least of My Brothers, pp. 357–58.

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other than the Jewish people, for the purposes of the argument I want to make here, this matters less.50 The central point of the parable is the fact that none of those judged (positively or negatively) knew Jesus or his teaching, but that they, representing the ‘outsiders’, are judged on the basis of how they have interacted with the followers of Jesus, thereby activating the principle of blessing or cursing Abraham and his descendants (Gen. 12.3).51 Some of the language used relates, in fact, quite closely to Genesis 12: the sheep to the right are said to be blessed (25.34) as a consequence of their actions towards ‘the least’, and the goats to the left are cursed for the same reason (25.41). Interestingly, the sheep to the right are related to the creation of the world, the time when the kingdom was prepared for them (Mt. 25.34). This supports a reading of the parable in which we are dealing only with non-Jews, since in Jewish theo-historical narratives, Jewish foundations go back not to the creation story but to the story of Abraham and Sarah (cf. Mt. 1.1).52 Further, the fact that the sheep shall ‘inherit’ (25.34; klhronome/w) the kingdom evokes images of a covenant made when the world was created, a covenant between God and all human beings. We know of other such (later) Jewish traditions of a covenant between God and Adam from Rabbinic literature, although the Noahide covenant is more famous.53 Such discourses related to the beginnings of creation were formulated to answer questions regarding the status of the ‘other’, of the non-Jew. Keeping within the bounds of this covenant would enable non-Jews to enter the kingdom, i.e. to achieve the status of righteous Gentiles. I would maintain that this is the thought pattern we find in Matthew too, with the addition of a specific messianic criterion (the son of man as 50 For discussion, see, e.g., France, Matthew, pp. 957–61. If one reckons with two separate judgement scenes for Israel and the nations respectively, as in some other contemporary Jewish texts (cf. Gray, Least of my Brothers, p. 358), and understands as intact the category of the chosen people as applied to Israel as a whole, including the Mattheans, then ‘all nations’ would indicate that this scene takes place after the judgement of Israel and thus excludes the people of God. It should be noted, again, that the fact that Israel is still seen as the people of God does not mean that it will avoid judgement. This is true both of those Jews who have joined the Jesus movement and those who have not. This interpretation fits the fact that ‘the least’ are not judged in this parable, despite the fact that the Gospel states clearly that Jesus’ followers will also be judged. As for the criteria of judgement, one may note that similar principles are applied to Jews who are not part of the Jesus movement in Mt. 10.40-42. See further below. 51 Cf. discussion above. See also Blaine Charette, The Theme of Recompense in Matthew’s Gospel (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992), pp. 155–59. 52 Cf. the discussion in Davies and Allison, Matthew, vol. 3, ad loc., and the six possible interpretations mentioned there. 53 Texts mentioning a covenant with Adam (including six commandments) include, e.g., Gen. Rab. 16.6; Deut. Rab. 2.25; Num. Rab. 14.12. Cf. Exod. Rab. 30.9, where different collections of laws were given to key figures in the Hebrew Bible (six commandments to Adam, seven to Noah, eight to Abraham, nine to Jacob, and ‘all’ to Israel).

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the judge, and his followers as the criterion of judgement). This means that Matthew maintains the possibility of salvation outside the messianic community, although related to it via deeds of loving kindness shown to the community by these outsiders. Therefore, when Stephen Wilson notes regarding Matthew that, ‘the only salvation offered was through Christ’,54 this statement is only partly true: salvation is indeed said to be bound to the Messiah (via his community), but may also be achieved by people who were not part of the community of Christ-believers. For contemporary Christian communities and scholars, this interpretation of Matthew may sound strikingly modern and pluralistic since it opens up for people who are not Christians to be included in the kingdom. However, understood within a Jewish interpretive frame, such salvation-inclusive theology goes back to antiquity and is still, in its basic form, an active principle in Jewish communities today. This type of theology is rarely a desk product written by the powerful; it is the kind of theology that grows from a reality of persecution, in which a minority is harassed by the surrounding majority. Those within the majority who depart from the pattern of persecution, and help and save the suffering can rarely be ignored by those who were helped. Perhaps this theological principle receives its clearest modern expression in the laws governing the identification of righteous Gentiles at the Yad Vashem in Jerusalem. Matthew 25.31-46 follows the same basic theological logic, on a much smaller scale, in post-war Galilee,55 first devastated by war and now plagued by the increasingly permanent presence of the Roman military.56 Salvation, then, is from the Jews, but does not exclude those who do not belong among them as long as they, knowingly or unknowingly, fulfil the covenant-like requirements of compassion laid down for the human race as the world came into being. It seems to me that as long as this parable is read from a late antique or later (non-Jewish) Christian perspective, in particular when understood as part of Christian theologies of salvation, its imagery and message will be found to be in one way or the other inconsistent, resisting ‘logical’ readings.57 Such inconsistencies, however, tend to dissolve when a Jewish interpretive frame is applied. This brings us to a few concluding remarks. 54 Stephen G. Wilson, Related Strangers: Jews and Christians 70–170 C.E. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), p. 55. 55 On the place of authorship, see n. 27. 56 For the origin of the judgement scene as a Matthean composition, see Robert H. Gundry, Matthew: A Commentary on His Literary and Theological Art (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984), p. 511. But cf. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.417–18, who argue that Matthew wrote the parable using previously existing oral tradition. Interestingly, they note on p. 418, n. 10 that Bultmann considered the pericope to be a Jewish parable reworked by Christians. 57 This is shown not least by the history of interpretation of the parable, from antiquity to today; see Gray, The Least of My Brothers. Matthew had no knowledge of, nor would he have accepted, Cyprian’s claim extra ecclesiam nulla salus.

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Conclusion: Maintaining Ethnicity and Expanding the Realm Reading Matthew in the light of ancient de-ethnocizing processes, it seems clear that our author refuses to let go of the central parameters of ancient cult, the unity between a god, a people, a specific set of laws and a land. The centre remains Jewish in all four aspects. This, however, does not exclude non-Jews from entering the centre on the same conditions as the Jews. What really sets Matthew apart from non-Jewish cults, even those which experienced a weakening of the ethnic connection, is the blatant claim that the God of one nation, Israel, is to be acknowledged by all nations as the supreme God (Mt. 28.18-20). Such a claim is, however, well anchored in Jewish holy scripture.58 Matthew aims at worldwide dominance for the God of Israel and his Messiah, thereby opposing the current rule of the gods of Rome. As Carter has noted, this is not only about individual Gentiles joining the Mattheans; Matthew aims at a systemic transformation of the world.59 On a theological level, however, salvation is ultimately anchored in creation, although even here the Messianic criterion is active in that the nations are judged according to deeds of loving kindness as performed towards Jesus’ disciples (Mt. 25.31-46), in accordance with the Abrahamic principle of blessing and cursing in Gen. 12.3. The Gentiles who meet this criterion, in the parable called the ‘sheep’, are the good, as opposed to the bad (‘goats’), in a condemned world currently, but temporarily, governed by Rome. The proselytes, however, are as essential for God’s people as any of Jesus’ other ancestors – and future followers. They must all keep the Torah in the same way, since, for Matthew, there are not two sets of laws as in Acts 15.19-21, 28-29; 21.20-26. After the resurrection there is no distinction between Gentile and Jew, although Matthew interprets this in a manner different from Paul.60 In sum, then, addressing the problem of Matthew’s view of Gentiles in the context of current debate, the following may be noted. First, the question of Matthew’s view of Gentiles cannot be solved by looking at and analysing the phenomenon of Matthean mission alone. Second, both Matthew’s Torah rhetoric (‘don’t behave like the Gentiles!’) and the fact that Jesus orders the Gentile world to be transformed shows clearly that Matthew’s form of Judaism was anti-Gentile in the sense

58 See, e.g., Isa. 65.17–66.24 and Ps. 98. 59 Carter, ‘Matthew and the Gentiles’. See also John Riches, ‘Matthew’s Missionary Strategy in Colonial Perspective’, in John Riches and David C. Sim (eds), The Gospel of Matthew in Its Roman Imperial Context (London: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 128–42. 60 Matthew’s position seems to be closer to that of the Pharisaic Jesus-followers of Acts 15.5.

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that it aimed at the suppression of Gentile customs and culture.61 Third, this did not mean for Matthew a withdrawal from interaction with Gentiles, but rather the other way around: in order to achieve the goal of transforming the empire, the Gentile world had to be taken on directly and on a global scale. People, land, law and God join together in the Matthean worldview in ways foreign to later Christian texts but common to other forms of Judaism, including non-messianic streams like rabbinic Judaism. This, I believe, challenges the identification of the Gospel of Matthew as a Christian text. Rather, it is, at its very core, a Jewish text. I would agree with Donald Hagner that Matthew may indeed be labelled a ‘revolutionary’.62 However, while Hagner understands this term to refer to Matthew’s relationship to ‘Judaism’, I would see its content as directed against the non-Jewish world; the world that very recently had crushed the Jewish revolt, destroyed the Jewish temple, ruled the Jewish capital and was now increasing its presence in Galilee. The people who produced the Gospel of Matthew were indeed revolutionaries, and their message and goal was a radical form of Judaism. While I have engaged a problem in the study of Matthew that Graham Stanton singled out as a key question for future studies of the first Gospel, I have gone somewhat beyond his own conclusions. For Stanton, building especially on a particular reading of Mt. 21.43, Mattheans had parted company with ‘Judaism’ and, consequently, existed in the socio-religious place commonly termed extra muros. In my mind, however, it is difficult to escape the conclusion that Matthew is expounding and missionizing Judaism, as he believed Judaism should be after the coming of the Messiah, the Son of David. I cannot think of a better approach, however, to honour an esteemed colleague such as Graham Stanton than to engage his thinking in new, critical and creative ways, thereby acknowledging one’s deep and lasting appreciation of his scholarship. This is what I have tried to do here. May he rest in peace and may his memory be for a blessing.

61 This approach to the non-Jewish world differs from Paul’s, as it may be reconstructed from the undisputed letters; these writings portray a more open attitude to non-Jews, perhaps because Paul grew up in the Diaspora and Matthew most likely lived in Galilee. 62 See above, n. 5.

Chapter 11 Matthew and Hypocrisy Christopher Tuckett* Graham Stanton’s collection of essays on Matthew1 will rightly remain one of the standard works on that Gospel for many years to come. Among those essays are two particular gems, both dealing with the Sermon on the Mount (henceforth SM). One, entitled ‘Interpreting the Sermon on the Mount’, is a more general essay ranging over a number of key issues in study of the sermon and written for a slightly less specialized readership.2 As such it reveals all the very best in Stanton’s scholarship, showing an unerring ability to identify key issues in contemporary debates and then providing judicious arguments to make a clear and persuasive way through the jungle of competing scholarly opinions.

* I knew Graham Stanton for over thirty years, during which time he became successively adviser, mentor, reference-writer and friend. He has left a treasure of memories for me (some perhaps not for the public domain!). In the present context, two such memories in particular stand out. The first was my first direct contact with Graham. It was in the somewhat nerve-wracking context of my PhD viva where he was the External Examiner; the setting was made even more potentially worrying by some passages in my draft thesis where I had ventured to criticize his views (before knowing he would be an examiner of the thesis!). It was thoroughly typical of Graham that he never mentioned these instances once, let alone felt it appropriate to challenge me. And the same attitude was exemplified many years later when Graham came to Oxford and was talking in a discussion about his own views on Matthew as well as about possible future work which might still be done. He said that, for him, the last thing on earth that mattered was whether anyone agreed with his own views: what was all-important, and for him exciting and stimulating, was the fact that people were still engaged in research on Matthew and that there were still new insights to be gained. Such selflessness and total lack of the slightest sense of his own self-importance were absolutely typical of Graham and why he remains such a role model for all who were privileged to know him. The present chapter attempts to highlight this aspect of Christian discipleship that Graham exemplified and is offered here as a somewhat inadequate tribute to his memory. 1 Graham N. Stanton, A Gospel for a New People. Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992) 2 Stanton, Gospel for a New People, pp. 285–306. The essay was originally written as a dictionary article for J. B. Green, S. McKnight and I. H. Marshall (eds), A Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels (Downers Grove: IVP, 1992).

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The other essay, entitled ‘The Origin and Purpose of the Sermon on the Mount’,3 is slightly more specialized. In it, Stanton engages with the theories of another giant of SM scholarship, Hans Dieter Betz. In particular, Stanton critiques some of Betz’s views about the origins of the SM.4 Betz is well known for propounding the view that the SM represents a block of preformed tradition, which is taken over en bloc by Matthew into his Gospel. As such it forms a section of mostly undigested tradition, since the ideas of the SM and the ideas of Matthew differ at some points. According to Betz, ‘the SM contains a theology that is independent of Matthew and different at characteristic points’.5 For Betz, the SM represents the views of a Jewish Christian group, hostile to the Gentile mission as undertaken within Pauline communities, with a minimal Christology and a distinctive eschatology (reflected in Mt. 7.21-23). The SM, according to Betz, is thus the product of a firmly Jewish Christian author or redactor: Jesus is primarily the interpreter of the Torah, and the soteriology of the SM is no different from the soteriology of the Torah generally. Betz put forward his general views in a series of articles and essays in the 1970s and 1980s, and collected them in a volume of collected essays (Essays). Stanton’s own essay is primarily a response to that earlier collection. Since then, Betz has published his magisterial commentary on the SM (and the Lukan Sermon on the Plain) in the Hermeneia series, providing further clarification and detail for his overall theories and interpretation.6 Stanton’s critique (as one might expect from its author!) focuses on all the key issues and provides a strong and reasoned counter-argument at many points to Betz’s overall theory. He focuses, for example, on Betz’s claim that the genre of the SM is that of an epitome, presenting the theology of Jesus in a systematic fashion.7 He casts doubt on whether it is appropriate to interpret texts such as Mt. 5.17-20 and 7.15-27 as part of an anti-Pauline polemic.8 He also deals at length with the passage in 7.21-23 and the claim that the eschatology and/or Christology of the small pericope is different from other passages in Matthew. More generally, Stanton argues that, in a number of ways, what is said in the SM coheres well with what is said in the rest of Matthew and hence the SM is to be seen as ‘an integral part of Matthew’s Gospel’.9

3 Stanton, Gospel for a New People, pp. 307–25. 4 Stanton’s engagement is primarily with H. D. Betz, Essays on the Sermon on the Mount (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). 5 Betz, Essays, p. 18. 6 H. D. Betz, The Sermon on the Mount (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995). 7 Gospel for a New People, p. 310–11. See now Betz’s own response in Sermon, pp. 73ff. 8 Stanton, Gospel for a New People, pp. 312–14. See too C. E. Carlston, ‘Betz on the Sermon on the Mount: A Critique’, CBQ 50 (1988), pp. 47–57 (51–52). 9 The sub-heading of the section on pp. 318–25.

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I do not wish to dissent in general terms from Stanton’s general thesis. However, there may be one point at which some distinction between the SM and significant parts of the rest of Matthew may be discernible. The difference may not however be between an excessively ‘Jewish Christian’, Torah-centred SM with a minimal Christology and a less Jewish Christian (perhaps less Torah-focused) Matthew with greater Christological awareness: in fact it may be in some respects rather the reverse. As one of the points of potential agreement between the SM and the rest of Matthew, Stanton refers to the references in the SM where the followers of Jesus are told that their righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees (5.20), that they must be ‘perfect’ (5.48), and that they must not be like the ‘hypocrites’ (6.2, 5, 16) in relation to almsgiving, prayer and fasting: and these hypocrites ‘the reader naturally assumes to be none other than the scribes and Pharisees of 5.20’.10 As Stanton rightly notes, ‘these same points are developed in chapter 23’, where again the scribes and Pharisees are held up as examples not to be followed and castigated as ‘hypocrites’ six times. The point seems obvious that, at one level, there is clear continuity, if not identity, between what is said in Matthew 5–6 and what is said in Matthew 23. Closer inspection may, however, reveal some subtle, but real, differences between the two contexts, suggesting at least some distinctions which might be drawn (though what the implications might be is not so clear). There is no question that there is agreement in some of the key terms used in the two passages, above all the charge of ‘hypocrisy’ which is levelled against some. But there may be some differences between the two contexts about what precisely the ‘hypocrisy’ in question might be. In chapter 23, the situation seems for the most part clear. The primary charge against the scribes and Pharisees, articulated at one level as that of being ‘hypocrites’, is that they do not do what they are meant to do, and indeed what they teach others to do.11 Thus the teaching of the scribes and Pharisees is (infamously in one way) initially affirmed fully and without apparent equivocation: ‘The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat; therefore do whatever they teach you and follow it’ (23.2-3a). What is wrong with them is that they themselves fail to put their own teaching into practice: ‘But do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach’ (23.3b).12 With only an occasional exception, this is then carried 10 Stanton, Gospel for a New People, p. 321. 11 For a very full discussion of ‘hypocrisy’ in Matthew, focused primarily on the material in Matthew 23, see D. E. Garland, The Intention of Matthew 23 (Leiden: Brill, 1979), pp. 91–123. 12 Garland rightly refers to the differences between individual woes. In particular, it is not so clear that all the accusations against the scribes and Pharisees involve explicitly conscious dissimulation (as the English word ‘hypocrisy’ might imply): cf. e.g. vv. 13, 15, 23. So too an alleged mismatch between their saying and doing does not fit all the woes either (though it dominates what is said in vv. 3–10). What does seem to be more of a

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through into the rest of the speech. The scribes and Pharisees are accused of ignoring the ‘weightier’ parts of the Law: justice, mercy and faithfulness (v. 23). They are inwardly full of wickedness and uncleanness (evidently presumed to be a moral quality); they are like whitewashed tombs but inwardly are full of ‘hypocrisy and lawlessness (a)nomi&a)’ (v. 28). Clearly the two nouns are closely related (if not precisely synonymous or interchangeable): the scribes and Pharisees are telling others to obey the Law but are failing to do so themselves. In the final woes of the chapter, the polemic is heightened even more with the charge laid against the addressees that they are guilty of murder itself directed against God’s own messengers. Clearly then the scribes and Pharisees should be doing one set of things by their own standards, but are doing something else instead and failing to live up to their own standards of behaviour. The meaning of ‘hypocrisy’ seems clear: as ‘hypocrites’, the scribes and Pharisees do not practise what they preach. Perhaps strikingly, there is nothing very obviously Christological in the discourse as a whole (beyond the fact that Jesus is the speaker), at least in relation to the content of the teaching which is presupposed and which the hearers are said to have ignored and disobeyed:13 the criterion for proper behaviour is presumed as common ground between Jesus and his addressees, and it is the Jewish Torah (just occasionally its interpretation through the tradition14). This is the standard by which the hearers are assessed and condemned. In chapters 5–6, the situation is arguably slightly different. In chapter 6, there are three negative references to ‘the hypocrites’ who act as negative examples whose behaviour and/or attitude is not to be followed (vv. 2, 5, 16). In each of the mini-discussions about the proper way to undertake almsgiving, prayer and fasting, the disciples of Jesus are told not to follow the example of ‘the hypocrites’ in parading their religiosity in public. When giving alms, the followers of Jesus are exhorted not to ‘sound a trumpet’ before them or to make a public display of their actions in the synagogues; when praying, they are not to do so in public, whether on ‘street corners’ or in synagogues; and when fasting they are not to disfigure themselves or make it apparent to others what they are doing. What is clearly rejected is a specific way of performing religious duties, and perhaps a specific common element is their actions and their failure to do what they should do. ‘They are railed at for their doing; the clash inheres in the fact that what they do is opposed to God’s will’ (Garland, Intention, p. 101). 13 Though see below for brief consideration of the final charge of Jesus in vv. 34–36. 14 E.g. in vv. 16–22 on oaths and swearing: on this see briefly Stanton, Gospel for a New People, p. 140, who points out that this criticism of the teaching of the scribes and Pharisees implies that the affirmation of their teaching in vv. 2–3a cannot be taken at face value on its own. But even here it is noticeable that the critique of 23.16-22 of the scribes and Pharisees is that they have not obeyed what the Law itself says about oaths; the teaching of Jesus in Mt. 5.33-37, which seems to call into question the principle of all swearing and is perhaps more radical, does not seem to come into the picture here: see E. Haenchen, ‘Matthäus 23’, ZTK 48 (1951), pp. 38–63 (47–48).

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motivation underlying such activity. The ‘hypocrites’ do what they do in order to be seen by others and to gain praise from others: as such, they will have had any reward that might be coming to them and hence they will, by implication, miss out on the heavenly reward that they no doubt yearn for and perhaps think they have earned. What is however striking is that activities mentioned are all accepted as religious obligations, and indeed presumed to be right and proper in themselves: there is no attempt to call into question the religious value, indeed the fundamental religious obligation, of almsgiving, prayer and fasting. These are assumed as self-evidently good and indeed obligatory. What is questioned is the motivation with which one might undertake these activities. But then unlike the ‘hypocritical’ scribes and Pharisees of chapter 23,15 the ‘hypocrites’ here are ‘doing’ what they are meant to be doing at one level: they are giving alms, praying and fasting.16 It is not that they are telling others to undertake such things but not doing them themselves. Their ‘failure’ is in their motivation, not in their activity (or in any lack of activity). The criticism is thus at a rather different level, arguably more ‘radical’, than the critique mounted in chapter 23. Whether the ‘hypocrites’ of 6.2, 5, 16 are the ‘scribes and Pharisees’ of 5.20 is also not clear. Stanton’s claim that this identification is naturally assumed by ‘the reader’ (cf. above) is probably justified if the ‘reader’ is the reader of Matthew’s finished Gospel. Betz, however, would argue that, if the SM does indeed represent a block of earlier tradition, then this assumption may not be justified at an earlier stage of the tradition. And indeed very few would doubt that the SM does include earlier traditions. As many commentators have noted, the word u9pokrith&j in chapter 6 seems to retain its meaning of ‘playactor’ without degenerating into a general term of abuse for outsiders.17 Moreover, there is no explicit equation made between these ‘hypocrites’ and the ‘scribes and Pharisees’ of 5.20, so that it is by no means certain that the two are to be equated.18 15 The only exception in chapter 23 might be verse 5, where the scribes and Pharisees are accused of doing all their deeds to be seen by others, including ‘mak[ing] their phylacteries broad and their fringes long’. This accusation of doing things to be ‘seen by others’ is very close to the charges brought against the ‘hypocrites’ in ch. 6 (cf. the reference to being ‘seen by others’ in 6.5). This is almost the only charge against the scribes and Pharisees in the chapter which seems similar to the implied accusations in ch. 6 where people are not accused of disobeying the Law, but rather of obeying it but for the wrong reasons and/or motivation. For the transition from v. 4 to v. 5, see Haenchen, ‘Matthäus 23’, pp. 41–42, who argues that there is a clear seam in the tradition here. 16 One might argue that such people, although claiming to pray, are not ‘truly’ praying to God if they are concerned primarily with what other human beings think of them; but this will not apply to giving alms or fasting. 17 See Betz, Sermon, pp. 356–57. 18 See Betz, Sermon, p. 347; also U. Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 1–7) (Zürich and Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger & Neukirchener, 1985), p. 324 (at least for the pre-Matthean tradition: for Matthew the two would have been equated); Garland, Intention, p. 121

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Nevertheless, it is agreed by most that the two passages are not entirely unrelated. The section in 6.1-18 forms an extended section on teaching on the behaviour expected of the followers of Jesus whose righteousness is to ‘exceed’ that of the scribes and Pharisees (5.20) and who are to be ‘perfect’ (5.48).19 The demands of the teaching in chapter 6 are thus part of the demand for a righteousness which ‘exceeds’ that of the scribes and Pharisees, and also is in turn to be connected with the demands of the antitheses of 5.21-48. What though is this ‘higher righteousness’ and how does it relate to the ‘righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees’? It is widely agreed that ‘righteousness’ in Matthew is primarily an ethical term: it denotes the right behaviour which God demands.20 Hence it is not a soteriological term, as in Paul. But what then does 5.20 demand of the followers of Jesus? Is it that they are to perform quantitatively better than the scribes and Pharisees, but judged by exactly the same norms? Or is it that the norms which the followers of Jesus must obey are more demanding qualitatively than those of the scribes and Pharisees? The norms of the scribes and Pharisees are clearly those of the Jewish Law: the ‘righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees’ is therefore the right behaviour of human beings as required by the demands of the Jewish Law. Is it then that followers of Jesus are (simply) to obey the Jewish Law better than the scribes and Pharisees do? Or are they given higher standards to follow? This raises a range of very difficult issues in relation both to the interpretation of 5.20, and 5.17-20, and also the antitheses of 5.21-48 insofar as these seem to spell out the demands of the ‘righteousness’ expected of the followers of Jesus. The question of the relation of the antitheses to the Jewish Law raises enormous issues and problems which it is only possible to touch on in this context. Whether the teaching of the antitheses is intended to challenge, to subvert, or to affirm and confirm the teaching of the Law is not clear, a lack of clarity that is reflected in the range of scholarly opinion on the issue. Further, it may well be that there is some tension, and/or lack of agreement, between different layers in the tradition and not all the antitheses may imply the same in this context.21 19 See Stanton, Gospel for a New People, p. 321, also pp. 302–303, for the connection between these passages in this way. 20 See G. Strecker, Der Weg der Gerechtigkeit: Untersuchung zur Theologie des Matthäus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962), pp. 149–58; B. Przybylski, Righteousness in Matthew and His World of Thought (SNTSMS 41; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980). 21 Cf. well-known distinction made by many between nos 1, 2, 4 and 3, 5, 6 (famously R. Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition [Oxford: Blackwell, 1968], pp. 135–36), partly on the basis of the existence of parallels to the sayings elsewhere in the tradition (for the second group and not the first), and partly on the basis of differing attitudes to the Law (the first group allegedly radicalize the Law but without challenging it, the second go against the Law: whether the situation is quite so simple is not clear, since the fourth antithesis, on oaths, seems to call into question the demands of the Law itself).

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At the level of Matthew, Stanton argues persuasively that Matthew himself cannot have thought that the teaching of the antitheses undermined the authority of the Law in any fundamental way: 5.17 seems to preclude such a possibility; and the use of the passive verb ‘it was said’ in the introduction to each antithesis is probably a divine passive (implying ‘it was said by God’), in which case it is almost impossible to conceive of Matthew’s Jesus contradicting what God has said.22 Hence there is considerable force in Stanton’s claim that the so-called ‘antitheses’ are not intended, at least by Matthew, to be antitheses at all: they are not regarded as contravening, or contradicting, in any fundamental way what ‘was said to those of ancient times’.23 However, it may well be the case that, whilst affirming a generally positive attitude to the Jewish Law, Matthew’s formulation of the sayings in vv. 17 and 18 do leave open the possibility for small changes in the content of the demands to take place. The language of Jesus ‘fulfilling’ the Law suggests a process that is more than simply affirming (or even just ‘doing’) the Law, albeit within a context of overall continuity; and the double e33wj clause in v. 18, in particular the second e3wj clause at the end of the verse (e3wj a2n pa&nta ge&nhtai), may hint at the possibility that the time when a jot or tittle will fall from the Law might already be past for Matthew’s readers, perhaps referring to the death of Jesus (if ‘all things’ have already ‘happened’ with the life and death of Jesus).24 Thus, whilst affirming a fundamental continuity with the Law, the Matthean Jesus may be leaving open the possibility of an element of change and development as well. It seems clear that the demands of the (so-called) antitheses go further than the demands of the Law itself. Moreover, the prefacing of the antitheses by the sayings in 5.17-20 suggests that the issue is above all the relationship between the teaching of Jesus and the Law. It is not just a matter of different possible interpretations of the Law. Hence it is hard to see the antitheses as (simply) Jesus giving ‘interpretations’ of the Law which compete with, and perhaps seek

22 Stanton, Gospel for a New People, p. 301. 23 Gospel for a New People: ‘the term “antitheses” is something of a misnomer’. 24 The literature on the topics here is vast. For this interpretation of v. 18, see e.g. J. P. Meier, Law and History in Matthew’s Gospel (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1976), pp. 30–35; less specifically R. Morgan, ‘Towards a Critical Appropriation of the Sermon on the Mount: Christology and Discipleship’, in D. G. Horrell and C. M. Tuckett (eds), Christology, Controversy and Community. New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole (Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 157–91 (187): Matthew ‘probably sets a limit to the abiding validity of the law, while declining to define this’. For excellent surveys of different options in the interpretation of vv. 17 and 18, with full bibliographies, see e.g. R. A. Guelich, The Sermon on the Mount (Waco: Word Books, 1982), pp. 138–49; W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr, A Critical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (3 vols; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988–97), 1.482–95.

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to correct, alternative interpretations.25 Rather, it would seem that the antitheses represent (at least for Matthew) the demands of Jesus which ‘surpass those of the Torah without contradicting the Torah’.26 These demands go beyond the stage of legal norms and focus on the motives and inner dispositions that lie behind, and generate, concrete acts of behaviour.27 Hence not only is murder condemned, but also feelings of hatred and enmity; not only is adultery condemned, but also the logically prior lust that may not lead to any concrete sexual misdemeanour. And it is this general idea that follows on in the section in 6.1-18, where all the emphasis is on the motivation that lies behind concrete behaviour and where those who lack the required motivation are branded as ‘hypocrites’. ‘The “greater righteousness” of 5.20 is . . . purity of motive, rather than mere outward observance.’28 The ‘greater righteousness’ of 5.20, insofar as it is exemplified in 5.21-48 and 6.1-18, thus seems to encompass a demand that is qualitatively different and more exacting (not just quantitatively more) than the righteousness that is demanded by Torah observance which is the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees. Further, the demands made in the so-called antitheses also carry with them a high, but implicit, Christological claim. Much has been written on the ‘but I say to you’ in the second half of each antithesis. Parallels in Jewish literature have been sought, but generally found to be not really parallel to what appears here on the lips of Jesus.29 The claim that is implied here seems to be somewhat startling, and certainly then rather unlike that of any contemporary interpreter of the tradition: Jesus is not here (simply) offering what he claims is the definitive interpretation of the Law (see above). Rather, he is moving beyond the Law itself claiming the right to ‘legislate’ for his followers. As such it implies a very high level of implied claimed authority. It may be that the term ‘messianic’ has been overused in this context in the past:30 there is little 25 So e.g. Betz, Sermon, p. 209, in line with his general theory that the SM reflects the views of a thoroughly Jewish Christian group. 26 See Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1.508, cited by Stanton, Gospel for a New People, p. 302. The claim about ‘not contradicting the Law’ may indeed be true to Matthew’s intention in general, though is slightly difficult to maintain in detail! 27 Morgan, ‘Christology and Discipleship’, p. 181: the antitheses are not a moral code but ‘springboards into a different kind of moral discourse. They are better understood, like the Beatitudes, as in effect a description of discipleship.’ 28 Stanton, Gospel for a New People, p. 303; cf. too Morgan, ‘Christology and Discipleship’, p. 187: this section of the SM ‘reveal[s] a disposition rather than impose a set of moral rules’. 29 See Betz, Sermon, p. 208, discussing the theories of Daube, Lohse and others. 30 Cf. the often-cited claim of E. Käsemann, ‘The Problem of the Historical Jesus’, in Essays on New Testament Themes (London: SCM, 1964), p. 37: ‘The words e)gw_ de_ le&gw embody a claim to an authority which rivals and challenges that of Moses. But anyone who claims an authority rivalling and challenging Moses has ipso facto set himself above Moses; he has ceased to be a rabbi, for a rabbi’s authority only comes to him as derived

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evidence that any (strictly) ‘messianic’ expectation within Judaism associated expectations of a new legislator. Hence to claim that Jesus is here making an implicit ‘messianic’ claim is probably unjustified.31 Nevertheless, we have all now become aware of the fact that New Testament Christology may not be exclusively tied to specific titles.32 Hence, the fact that the ‘but I say to you’ formulation cannot be correlated with specifically ‘messianic’ claims does not mean that it is devoid of Christological significance.33 Rather, it seems to suggest a peculiar and highly distinctive claim to authority by the Matthean Jesus. Hence, rather than the SM reflecting only a minimal Christology, it would seem that here there is a very highly charged Christological claim built into the language, even though such a claim cannot easily be ‘translated’ into a neat, single Christological ‘title’ or single-word category.34 In summary, it would seem that the antitheses of 5.21-48, and the teaching against the ‘hypocrites’, has a profound Christological claim behind it, and moreover provides teaching of Jesus that goes beyond the requirements of the Jewish Law in significant ways. All this is, however, in one way something of a contrast with significant parts of the rest of the Gospel. Certainly, in relation to the charge of hypocrisy, the situation is rather different in chapter 23 (the main place where the issue of hypocrisy recurs in the Gospel). There, the norm presumed is that of the Jewish Law itself and the charge made against the scribes and Pharisees is that they themselves have failed to obey the basic demands of the Law.35 Occasionally, there is perhaps a reflection of legal debates about the relative importance of different parts of the Law (cf. the reference in v. 23 to the ‘weightier matters of the Law’, i.e. justice, mercy and faith, as opposed to tithing laws);36 but elsewhere the charge from Moses . . . For the Jew who does what is done here has cut himself off from the community of Judaism – or else he brings the Messianic Torah and is therefore the Messiah.’ 31 So rightly Betz, Sermon, p. 210 (citing Käsemann explicitly). Cf. too Carlston, ‘Betz on the Semon on the Mount’, p. 55: ‘the enthusiasm for finding an “implicit christology” in the antitheses may have been carried a bit too far by Ernst Käsemann and others’. 32 The article of L. E. Keck, ‘Toward the Renewal of New Testament Christology’, NTS 32 (1986), pp. 321–43, has been seminal. 33 Cf. Carlston, ‘Betz on the Semon on the Mount’, p. 55, continuing the sentence noted above: ‘the statements [in the antitheses] can hardly be understood as reflecting mere school debates within Jewish Christianity … They seem to rest on some kind of Christology that Judaism would not and could not accept. They hardly represent, then, Jewish “orthodoxy”.’ Also Morgan, ‘Christology and Discipleship’, p. 184: ‘The Antitheses do in a sense subordinate the law to Jesus himself. As its true and authoritative interpreter Jesus is not merely a scribe but in some sense sovereign to it . . . Jesus and his words are what define God’s will.’ 34 See Stanton, Gospel for a New People, p. 320, against Betz generally on the issue of whether there is only a minimal Christology in the SM, though he does not appeal to 5.21-48 to substantiate his claim that ‘the Christology of the Sermon itself is not minimal’. 35 See above. 36 Perhaps too the debates about oaths in vv. 16–22 could fall into this category.

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is that the opponents are simply guilty of breaking the Law, even to the point of murder. There is scarcely any hint of a charge of wrong selfcentred motivations,37 nor is there any hint of an implicit Christological claim by Jesus. Indeed there is virtually nothing explicitly Christological in the chapter at all, at least in relation to the ethical teaching which is presupposed: nowhere, for example, are the scribes and Pharisees accused of opposing Jesus, of refusing to follow him, or of ignoring his teaching.38 The ‘righteousness’ demanded of the scribes and Pharisees (to use the language of 5.20, though such language is not used in Matthew 23) remains that demanded by the Law. There are also several other places in Matthew where the ideas presupposed cohere rather more closely with the general picture of Matthew 23 than with Matthew 5–6 in this respect. In the Markan stories where Jesus is involved in legal debates (e.g. on Sabbath observance, food laws, divorce, etc.) which Matthew then takes up and re-presents, Matthew’s redactional work has been analysed many times and the results are well known. Matthew seems to work very hard to show that Jesus operates within the parameters of the Jewish legal system and that any alleged breaches of the Law can be, and (by the Matthean Jesus) are, justified on the basis of reasonable, reasoned arguments on the basis of the Law. Thus in the story of plucking corn on the Sabbath (Mt. 12.1-8/Mk 2.23-28), Matthew’s Jesus adds the extra justification (from the Pentateuch) of the example of priests working on the Sabbath to justify the disciples’ actions in breaking Sabbath Law (Mt. 12.5-6); he also appeals to the text of Hos. 6.6 as further justification (Mt. 12.7). Jesus’ appeal is to the authority of scripture itself to justify a possible breach of Sabbath Law. Similarly in the following story of the healing of the man with the withered hand (Mt. 12.9-14/Mk 3.1-6), Jesus appeals to the precedent of a sheep falling into a pit on the Sabbath, coupled with a qal wahomer appeal, to justify healing the man with the withered hand; and the claim that this is legal is then the conclusion of this reasoned argument (v. 12: ‘so it is lawful . . .’) rather than the blunt rhetorical and provocative question which appears in Mark (Mk 3.4 ‘Is it lawful . . .?’).39 37 Only 23.5 seems to come into this category. 38 There may be an implied hint of such an accusation at the end of the discourse, where the scribes and Pharisees are accused of killing, and sometimes crucifying, the ‘prophets, wise men and scribes’ sent to them; but it is only implicit. At the surface level, all these are sent by Jesus in Matthew (unlike Lk. 11.49). By implication, perhaps, the Jesus of Matthew will be included in sharing the fate of these messengers in his crucifixion; but that is still future in the story. There is still nothing in the charges of Matthew 23 against the scribes and Pharisees that accuse them of ignoring the teaching of Jesus: what they have disobeyed is (what is claimed to be) the fundamental demand of the Jewish Law itself (though perhaps the claims about what is ‘fundamental’ could be disputed and dependent on implicit claims to authority). 39 There are well-known difficulties here arising from the fact that, as far as our evidence goes, it appears to be the case that rescuing a sheep that had fallen into a pit on

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In the debate about Corban oaths, the Matthean Jesus refers to the authority of the Law as the basis for his opposition to the practice of Corban oaths, and indeed raises the stakes in the discussion by introducing the command from the Decalogue about honouring one’s parents by saying that it is what ‘God’ said (Mt. 15.4), redacting Mark’s reference here to this as what ‘Moses’ said (Mk 7.10). The fundamental authority for the teaching of Jesus is the teaching of the Jewish Law, here presented as having a divine origin and hence divine authority. Similarly, in his response to the question about the greatest commands in the Law (Mt. 22.34-40), Matthew rewrites the concluding comment of Jesus to affirm that, given the primacy (at one level) of the commands to love God and love one’s neighbour, the rest of the Law is affirmed and maintained: ‘on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets’ (v. 40). And the claim that all the other commands of the Law ‘hang’ on these two is probably intended to imply that the other commands can be derived from these.40 In similar vein, at other points in Matthew where Jesus is in debate and/ or dispute with other opponents, he characteristically refers his opponents to the text of scripture as (apparently) sufficient and full justification for his own actions. Thus in 9.13, in defence of his actions in eating with tax collectors and sinners, he tells his opponents (here Pharisees) ‘go and learn what this means’, citing the text from Hos. 6.6, ‘I desire mercy and not sacrifice.’ The text of scripture provides, at one level, the ultimate appeal to back up the claims of Jesus. Similar too is the response of the Matthean Jesus in 21.16 to the chief priests’ and scribes’ response to the reaction of the crowds and children to Jesus’ actions in the temple: ‘have you never read . . .’ with the citation then of Ps. 8.3. In many places in Matthew outside the SM, it seems, the ultimate authority is Jewish scripture; and human beings are judged on the basis of how they have behaved in relation to the demands of scriptural law. They are not generally judged on whether they have obeyed the teaching of Jesus.41 Nor are they judged on the basis of their motivations as opposed the Sabbath was not regarded a justifiable breach of Sabbath Law. Nevertheless, Matthew seems unaware of this, though the evidence can be interpreted in many ways: e.g. the very fact that decisions about the issue are expressly given (e.g. in CD 11.13-14 and b. Shab. 128b) suggests that the issue was a disputed one; and Matthew’s Gospel can be taken as part of the evidence that at least some Jews believed that this was a situation where the Sabbath Law could legitimately be overridden. 40 G. Barth, ‘Matthew Understanding of the Law’, in G. Bornkamm, G. Barth and H. J. Held, Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew (London: SCM, 1963), p. 77. 41 Mt. 25.31-46 might be an interesting text in this context: where the demands to feed the hungry, visit the prisoners, etc. come from is not stated – are these specific commands of Jesus, or are they universally accepted ethical demands that can be assumed to be universal? On this, see however Stanton’s essay ‘Once More: Matthew 25.31-46’, in Gospel for a New People, pp. 207–31, which argues that the object of the actions/nonactions by those assembled for judgement may well be followers of Jesus (rather than the

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to their concrete ethical actions. Indeed it is a well-known feature of Matthew’s Gospel generally that Matthew (and/or the Matthean Jesus) constantly stresses the fundamental importance of concrete ethical action, rather than motivation, as the basis for judgement (cf. 7.15-20, 21-23, 24-27; 16.27; 21.28-32, 43; 25.31-46). All this makes the teaching of Matthew 5–6, and the specific nature of the hypocrisy which is condemned there, all the more striking in relation to some other parts of the Gospel. In one way, the teaching of Matthew 5–6 does not quite cohere with the rest of the Gospel. But this is not, as Betz argues, because the views of the SM represent those of a ‘Jewish Christian’ group with a minimal Christology. Rather, the teaching here may implicitly challenge at least one important tenet of ‘Jewish Christianity’, viz. an exclusive adherence to the Jewish Law as the sole criterion for right behaviour, and it does so on the basis of a highly significant and positive, albeit implicit, Christology. Nevertheless, the implications of Matthew 5–6, and the ideas embedded in them, are not out of place in relation to the whole of the rest of Matthew’s Gospel. Thus, even the references by Jesus in Matthew to scripture for support for himself and his actions are not univocal. In a perceptive essay, Michael Knowles has analysed these appeals,42 and he shows how it is implicitly not only the text itself which authorizes Jesus and his activity; rather, it is the text as interpreted by Jesus: the texts themselves are presumably as well known to the Jewish leaders and authorities as they are to Jesus. What is at stake is the understanding and the interpretation (and/or application) of the texts. By metaphorically sending the Jewish leaders away to ‘go and learn’ what the texts mean, the Matthean Jesus is not simply giving them new information about the existence of written texts of which they were ignorant before: he is claiming that his interpretation and application of the texts is what is ultimately authoritative. The implicit claim to authority is thus both to the scriptural text and to himself as the authoritative interpreter of the text. Further, the Christology embedded in the antitheses, and in the demand for the ‘greater righteousness’ as reflected in 6.1-18, fits well with other parts of the Gospel. For all that the Matthean Jesus claims that he has come to ‘fulfil’ the Law, and for all that he refers ostensibly to the authority of scripture as warrants for his actions, it is ultimately his teaching which forms the basis for Christian discipleship. The miniparable at the end of the SM about the wise and foolish man who builds his house upon rock/sand corresponds to those who hear – and put into poor and needy generally); and that the motif of threatening judgement on the basis of the criterion of how others have treated members of a (possibly beleaguered) community is one that recurs in apocalyptic literature. 42 M. P. Knowles, ‘Scripture, History, Messiah: Scriptural Fulfilment and the Fullness of Time in Matthew’s Gospel’, in S. E. Porter (ed.), Hearing the Old Testament in the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), pp. 59–82.

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practice – the words of Jesus, not the words of the Torah (7.24-27). So too at the end of the Gospel, the charge of the risen Jesus to the disciples is that they should go and make more disciples, teaching them to observe everything that Jesus himself has taught them: the focus of ethical behaviour is to be the teaching of Jesus, not the teaching of the Torah.43 Similarly, it is Jesus in Matthew who promises that, where two or three are gathered in his name, he will be there in the midst of them (18.20), with all the echoes of talk about the divine presence of the Shekinah, as well as the allusive reference to the Torah.44 And whatever the precise allusion in mind, it is the Matthean Jesus who claims that his yoke is easy (11.29), with perhaps echoes of the ‘yoke of the Torah’ as a contrasting yoke.45 The demands of the Jesus of Matthew 5–6, implying an authority and a status that transcends that of the Jewish Law, and with expectations for behaviour on the part of his followers that is qualitatively different from that expected from other Jews, is not out of line with that of the rest of the Gospel. Matthew’s Gospel is renowned for containing separate elements that do not easily fit into a coherent whole. In a famous statement, often repeated, Charlie Moule once wrote: ‘One thing is clear about the enigmatic Gospel according to Matthew as we now have it: it embraces a considerable breadth of tradition, and no one absolutely consistent outlook can be extracted from it.’46 At one level, it may well be that the slight variation in the nature of ‘hypocrisy’ which is reflected in Matthew 6 and in Matthew 23 is part of this lack of uniformity across Matthew that has always been such a plague on any who would seek a consistent viewpoint reflected throughout the Gospel.47 Yet genuine discipleship, which comes without 43 See Morgan, ‘Christology and Discipleship’, pp. 166–67: ‘Christology (God’s presence in Jesus), not the earlier gift of the law, is the key to his [Matthew’s] theology and ethics.’ See too D. A. Hagner, ‘Matthew: Apostate, Reformer, Revolutionary?’, NTS 49 (2003), pp. 193–209 (203); also C. M. Tuckett, ‘Matthew: The Social and Historical Context – Jewish Christian and/or Gentile?’, in D. P. Senior (ed.), The Gospel of Matthew at the Crossroads of Early Christianity (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), pp. 99–129. 44 Cf. the saying from m.Ab. 3.2, often cited in this context as a parallel and contrast: ‘If two sit together and the words of the Torah (are spoken) between them, the Shekinah rests upon them.’ 45 Cf. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2.289–90. So too, I have sought to argue in a recent essay (Tuckett, ‘Social and Historical Context’) that, however much the Matthean Jesus claims that he has not come to destroy the Law and the prophets, it would seem that de facto Matthean Christians did not feel themselves under obligation actually to obey the key demands of the Law in relation to Sabbath, food laws or circumcision (even if they clearly believed they could justify their behaviour in terms that were in keeping with many non-Christian, Jewish presuppositions). 46 C. F. D. Moule, The Birth of the New Testament (London: A. & C. Black, 1981), p. 127. 47 And indeed, as noted earlier, it is not easy to subsume all the charges of ‘hypocrisy’ in Matthew 23 itself under a single category, as Garland has shown.

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any self-seeking and seeking the praise of others, and for which the implied attack on the ‘hypocrites’ in chapter 6 forms the counterpart, is at the heart of Matthew’s Gospel as part of the demand for the ‘greater righteousness’ that must be the hallmark of the true follower of Jesus and which in turn is the counterpart of the unique status of Jesus himself within the Gospel.48 As such, the demands not to be like the hypocrites in Matthew 6 are indeed an ‘integral part of the Gospel’, as Stanton rightly recognized. It is perhaps that feature of discipleship that was so characteristic of Graham Stanton himself, both as a scholar and as a human being, and why, for many, he was such an inspirational figure and an exemplification of the Gospel he gave so much to interpret and to serve.

48 One could also refer here to the centrality of the love command for Matthew’s ethics and hermeneutics (cf. Barth, ‘Matthew Understanding of the Law’, and many others since); and in a very real sense, any kind of self-seeking is the complete antithesis of love where the interests of, and concern for, the other are paramount.

Chapter 12 The Twelve Disciples in Matthew Joel Willitts* Matthew 10.5 begins with the phrase tou/touj tou/j dw&deka (‘these twelve’). With the demonstrative pronoun, Matthew closely ties what follows in the Mission Discourse with the appointing of the twelve disciples in Mt. 10.1-4. Within five verses Matthew refers to the disciples as ‘twelve’ three times: first calling them tou/j dw&deka maqhta&j (‘the twelve disciples’, 10.1), then tw~n dw&deka a)posto/lwn (‘the twelve apostles’, 10.2) and then simply tou/j dw~deka (‘the Twelve’, 10.5). Although Matthew likely takes up the identification of the disciples with the number twelve from his sources,1 he makes the identification more * I first met Professor Graham Stanton in the spring of 1998. He had just been named the next Lady Margret Chair of Cambridge University and was finishing up his stint at King’s College when I visited with him. My wife and I were on a tour of universities in the UK, and Cambridge was high on our list. It would not be until 2001 that I would get reacquainted with Graham as I began my studies at Cambridge. In 2001 I began an MPhil at Cambridge and Graham was the coordinator of the programme. The three MPhil students would meet fortnightly in Graham’s office, studying Galatians. I remember well the nature of those meetings and Graham’s very causal posture, as he discussed some exegetical point leaning back in his chair, arm over his head. After my MPhil year I began a PhD at Cambridge on Matthew’s Gospel; Graham however was not my supervisor. Of course I had regular contact with Graham during those years with the NT senior seminar and the occasional invitation to have tea in his office afterwards. This was a coveted invitation. Yet, in the spring of 2003, with my supervisor on sabbatical, I was assigned to Graham for the Easter term. The early draft of this chapter was the result of that term under Graham’s supervision. This work did not end up appearing in my thesis and it is with great pleasure that I am able to present it here in a volume in his memory. Graham was a skilled researcher, a fair critic, and a balanced thinker. I’ve rarely if ever read or heard him argue beyond his evidence. What marked me most, however, was Graham’s generous spirit and his ability to combine a vibrant Christian faith with worldclass scholarship. I am blessed to call Graham one of my professors. 1 Cf. Schuyler Brown, ‘The Mission to Israel in Matthew’s Central Section’, ZNW 69 (1978), pp. 73–90 (74); Ulrich Luz, (‘The Disciples in the Gospel According to Matthew’, Interpretation of Matthew [Graham N. Stanton ed.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995], pp. 115–48 [116]), makes much of this point, writing: ‘A tendency to identify the circle of the disciples with the 12 is already present in the pre-Matthean tradition, above all in Mark. So we gain the impression, contrary to Strecker, not that Matthew consciously

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explicit as seen in his unique collocation oi9 dw~deka maqhtai/ (Mt. 10.1; 11.1; 20.17). The conclusion that Matthew has a special interest in the disciples as twelve men is unassailable. The function of the twelve disciples in Matthew, however, has been variously understood over the last half-century. While Georg Strecker2 argued for a historically unique function for the Twelve in the 1960s and Ulrich Luz3 for a transparency function in the 1970s, most today, I think, would agree with the view of Davies and Allison who suggest that both elements are evinced in Matthew; the Twelve are uniquely historical and yet transparent. They write: ‘It would be an error, we think, to set the evangelist’s “historicizing” of the twelve (Strecker) over against the tendency to make them “transparent” (Luz).’4 In this way, theologically speaking, the Twelve serve both a Christological and an ecclesial function in Matthew, as Graham Stanton himself observed.5 The argument of this chapter assumes the correctness of the hybrid view espoused by Davies and Allison and seeks to provide an overarching framework that makes sense of the unity of these two disparate elements. As yet no suitable explanation has been given that does justice to the evidence. The question I’m asking in this chapter is why Matthew’s twelve disciples function in this dual manner? What about Matthew’s story of Jesus renders the twelve disciples at one and the same time uniquely historical and historically transcendent? I wish to offer the hypothesis that Matthew’s thoroughgoing Davidic messianism explains his dual presentation of the Twelve. As the Son of David, on the one hand, Matthew’s Jesus is the eschatological Teacher of Wisdom par excellence; he is the Wisdom of God personified. On the other hand, as the Son of David, Matthew’s Jesus is the king over an eschatologically restored kingdom of Israel who will rule both Israel and the nations. equates the 12 with the disciples, but rather that this had by his day already become established, and that Matthew is laying no particular stress on it.’ Luz is certainly correct to observe the pre-Matthean tradition, but the conclusion he draws about the importance of the Twelve for Matthew does not adequately hold up under the evidence. This will be discussed further below, yet to illustrate the point Luz observes that Matthew does not speak of the twelve until 10.1. Though this is true, at this point Matthew refers to them as twelve three times. This repetition signals that in the Mission Discourse the Twelve have particular significance for Matthew. 2 Georg Strecker, ‘The Concept of History in Matthew’, The Interpretation of Matthew (Graham N. Stanton ed.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995), pp. 81–100 (87–88). 3 Brown, ‘Mission’; Luz, ‘Disciples’, p. 128. 4 W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew (ICC 2; 3 vols; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), pp. 158–59; Robert A. Guelich, The Sermon on the Mount: A Foundation for Understanding (Waco: Word Books, 1982), p. 53; Michael J. Wilkins, The Concept of Disciple in Matthew’s Gospel: As Reflected in the Use of the Term Maqhth/j (Leiden: Brill, 1988), pp. 198–99. 5 Graham N. Stanton, The Interpretation of Matthew (Studies in New Testament Interpretation; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995), p. 10.

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Thus, the dual functions of the Davidic Messiah as Teacher of Wisdom and political ruler are the basis for the dual functions of the Twelve. The reason the disciples have two observable functions in Matthew is because Matthew’s Jesus, as the Davidic Messiah, Son of David, is both Teacher and Lord. In support of this hypothesis I will (1) present the Davidic messianism of Pss. Sol. 17 which features a conflation of Wisdom and royal rule; (2) rehearse the centrality of Davidic messianism in Matthew showing its affinity with Pss. Sol.; and (3) describe the disciple function (representative and transparent) and political function (unique and historicizing) of the Twelve within this framework.

Davidic Messianism in Ancient Judaism It comes as a surprise to many students who begin to study Jewish messianism, at least it did to me, when they come to realize that Davidic messianism was neither the only type of messianism nor a widely held and unified expectation. Studies have shown that Davidic messianism was but one stream of eschatological expectation and this not widespread. Of the vast amount of extant ancient Jewish literature outside the New Testament there are only a few texts that evinced a Davidic flavour of eschatological expectation. Of these texts, arguably the most important is the Pseudepigraphon Psalms of Solomon. Penned some time in the last quarter of the first century bce, Pss. Sol. was the hymnbook of a pious Jewish sectarian group in and around Jerusalem. One of the hymns, Pss. Sol. 17, contains an explicit and detailed Davidic messianic expectation. Here I wish briefly to highlight just one important element of the Davidic messianism in Pss. Sol. 17: the amalgamation of royal and sapiential traditions.6 In the presentation of the work of the Davidic Messiah by the author of the psalm, every aspect of the king’s character and function is shaped by Wisdom traditions: he expels sinners with ‘wisdom and righteousness’ (Pss. Sol. 17.23); he destroys Gentile lawlessness with a ‘word of his mouth’ (Pss. Sol. 17.24); he will know who are the sons of God (Pss. Sol. 17.27); he will judge the peoples and nation in the ‘wisdom of his righteousness’ (Pss. Sol. 17.29); he will strike the earth with the ‘word of his mouth’ (Pss. Sol. 17.35); he will bless the people ‘in wisdom’ (Pss. Sol. 17.35); he will remove sinners by ‘the strength of his word’ (Pss. Sol. 17.36); he will be made ‘wise by the counsel of understanding’ (Pss. Sol. 6 In her survey of Wisdom traditions in the Second Temple period, C. Deutsch (Lady Wisdom, Jesus, and the Sages: Metaphor and Social Context in Matthew’s Gospel [Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1996], pp. 17–31) omits discussion of Pss. Sol. This omission left an important element of Wisdom’s profile in the literature missing: that of Wisdom as king.

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17.37); and ‘he will instruct’ the house of Israel ‘by having his words purified’ and ‘his words will be as the words of the holy ones’ (Pss. Sol. 17.42-43). Perhaps most interesting is the summary statement about the character of the Messiah’s reign. Echoing the eschatological promise in Isaiah 54.13, the author says the Davidic Messiah ‘will be a righteous king over them, taught by God’ (Pss. Sol. 17.32). The result of his ‘being taught’ according to the next clause is that the people over whom the Messiah rules will be righteous (‘there will be no unrighteousness’ – Pss. Sol. 17.32). The Messiah is God’s teacher par excellence. What the Messiah teaches, the people live. So foundational is Wisdom to the psalmist’s picture that B. Mack wrote: ‘Take wisdom out of the picture and everything falls apart.’7 What is more, he suggests that the notion of wisdom employed here is ‘mythologically conceived, that of her universal reign. This reign can be imagined as her own. Or it can be imagined as that of the king she blesses and exalts (cf., e.g. Wisd. of Sol. 7–9).’8 This observation is important because it reveals the confluence of the traditions related to the future reign of the Davidic king and that of Wisdom. In the Messianic Age both the Son of David and Wisdom will reign universally. According to the author of the psalm the future Davidic king and Wisdom are one and the same person.9 The merging of the traditions of the coming of Davidic Messiah and the reign of Wisdom is perhaps most clearly visible in the motif of the ‘yoke’, an important image for both Wisdom and political governance in the Greek Bible.10 In Pss. Sol. 17.29-31 the term zugo_j primarily 7 Burton Mack, ‘Wisdom Makes a Difference: Alternatives to “Messianic” Configurations’, in J. Neusner, W. S. Green and E. S. Frerichs (eds), Judaisms and their Messiahs at the Turn of the Christian Era (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), pp. 15–48 (41). 8 Mack, ‘Wisdom Makes a Difference’. 9 See Joseph Klausner, The Messianic Idea in Israel, from Its Beginning to the Completion of the Mishnah (London: G. Allen and Unwin, 1956), p. 324; Mack, ‘Wisdom Makes a Difference’, pp. 40–41; Nicholas Perrin, ‘Messianism in the Narrative Frame of Ecclesiastes?’, RB 108.1 (2001), pp. 37–60 (45). 10 See Georg Bertram, ‘zugo/j’, TDNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964), 2.896–98. In the LXX the term has a literal and figurative meaning. With respect to the former, zugo/j can refer to ‘scales’ or ‘yoke’ in both a secular and ethical sense (Bertram, ‘zugo/j ‘, p. 896). On the other hand, the figurative meaning of the word is found in a few poetic-Wisdom contexts – such as Sirach 6.30 (Bertram, ‘zugo/j’, 2.896–97), but the overwhelming use is in the political sphere. And it is on these latter contexts that the use of zugo/j is paralleled here in Pss. Sol. In these contexts, zugo/j can refer to the political sovereignty over Israel of either foreign nations or of YHWH (Bertram, ‘zugo/j’, 2.898–97). Bertram however inappropriately distinguishes between political and theological in his categories. In the case of both YHWH and foreign powers a political sense is maintained. Other uses of the image should rightly be seen as political. For example, there is the Rabbinic phrase the ‘yoke of Torah’ (cf. m. Abot 3.5; m. Ber. 2.2) although this is often

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connotes the political governance of the Messiah over Israel and the nations. He will judge peoples and nations in the wisdom of his righteousness. Selah. That is to say, he will have the people of the nations serve him under his yoke, and he will glorify the Lord in a place to be seen by the whole earth and he will cleanse Jerusalem and make it holy, as it was even from the beginning, as a result nations will come from the ends of the earth in order to see his glory, when bear the gifts of her children who had fainted, and to see the glory of the Lord, with which God had glorified her.11

The psalmist characterizes the execution of the Messiah’s government over the Gentiles with two clauses in 17.29-30. The first describes the nature of his reign with the phrase ‘the wisdom of his righteousness’. The second depicts his regime with the term ‘yoke’ (u(po_ to_n zugo_n au)tou~). The Messiah’s ‘yoke’ is his sovereign governing authority, under which the Gentiles willingly place themselves.12 The phrase is also used in Pss. Sol. 7.9, where the people of Israel are said to be ‘under your [God’s] yoke’. As in 17.30, zugo/j again connotes political sovereignty over Israel and implies protection from enemies, direction, discipline and compassion. The messianic yoke placed in relationship to Wisdom reveals that ‘wisdom and wisdom’s king rule by instructing’.13 Sapiential and political are brought together with the image ‘yoke’. In sum, according to this line of Davidic messianism, the Son of David is the end-time teacher of Wisdom; through his words and works he is the Wisdom of God. His wisdom, moreover, serves political ends. It is discussed without reference to the political connotation (cf. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2.289–90). In addition the use of zugo/j in the Shema was called accepting ‘the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven’ in Rabbinic literature (cf. George W. Buchanan, The Consequences of the Covenant [NovTSup 20; Leiden: Brill, 1970], p. 66). Buchanan points out that rabbis said that the one who separated himself from sin, meaning that he observed such rules as dietary laws, took upon himself the Kingdom of Heaven. In this way, Israelites could remain faithful to the government of the Kingdom of Heaven in spite of the concrete absence of it in Jerusalem in the Land of Palestine (Buchanan, The Consequences of the Covenant, p. 67). Buchanan further remarks that Jews who took up this yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven ‘comprised a subversive force against any “wicked” which controlled Palestine’ (Buchanan, The Consequences of the Covenant, p. 67). For a list of references in the Rabbinic literature about ‘yoke’, cf. H. L. Strack and P. Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament (München: C. H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1922), 1.608–10. 11 Author’s own translation. 12 Cf. John Nolland, ‘A Fresh Look at Acts 15.10’, NTS 27 (1980), pp. 105–15 (111): ‘When a Jewish writer spoke of the law as “the yoke of the kingdom of heaven,” he spoke of an obligation to which one gladly committed oneself. . . . The imagery of yoke cannot be used without suggesting that there is constraint imposed, hard work required, obligation undertaken, etc., but it frequently escapes any sense that the yoke is an undesirable thing’ (emphasis added). 13 Mack, ‘Wisdom Makes a Difference: Alternatives to “Messianic” Configurations’, p. 41; emphasis added.

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with wisdom that the Messiah governs both Israel and the nations in the eschaton. Thus, when living under the Messiah’s authority Israel and the nations are both disciples and citizens.

Davidic Messianism in Matthew’s Gospel By all accounts, Matthew’s Christology is thoroughly Davidic. The opening line of the Gospel reveals the centrality of the Davidic promise tradition in the first Gospel: ‘An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham’ (Mt. 1.1).14 L. Novakovic speaking of the genealogy as a whole states: On the one hand it demonstrates that Jesus, as any other member of the genealogy, is David’s descendant and therefore rightly called the son of David. On the other hand, its numeric structure indicates that Jesus is not only a son of David . . . but that he is the Son of David. As the last member of the series of three times fourteen generations Jesus is the goal of history – the long awaited Davidic Messiah.15

This opening salvo is nicely matched with the conclusion of the Gospel which recently R. T. France has noted reverberates with a Davidic royal tone: ‘And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me”’ (Mt. 28.18). As France has rightly observed, this passage reveals that Matthew’s narrative culminates with the ‘theme of kingship which was introduced by the Davidic royal genealogy. . . . It is the universal kingship of the Son of Man which has emerged as a distinctive feature of Matthew’s presentation of Jesus.’16 While there is little need to defend the argument that Matthew presents Jesus’ person, mission and contribution in a way that exploits the Davidic significance, what is noteworthy is that this presupposition exercises little hermeneutical influence on readers when interpreting the details within Matthew’s narrative, not least the question of the Twelve. What fresh perspective might be gained on Matthew’s presentation of the Twelve were we to allow his thoroughgoing Davidic messianism to exercise influence in our interpretation? This question will be addressed in due course. Here I wish to highlight Matthew’s affinity with what we observed in Pss. Sol. Matthew reveals a close kinship with Pss. Sol.’s Davidic messianism generally, a fact significantly underplayed by most scholars. The many 14 See Joel Willitts, Matthew’s Messianic Shepherd-King: In Search of the Lost Sheep of the House of Israel (BNZW 147; Berlin; New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2007), pp. 1–2. 15 Lidija Novakovic, Messiah, the Healer of the Sick: A Study of Jesus as the Son of David in the Gospel of Matthew (WUNT 2.170; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), p. 42. 16 R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), p. 1113.

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parallels between Pss. Sol.’s and Matthew’s messianism I have pursued elsewhere, but here I wish to point out the affinity that Matthew has with Pss. Sol. on the element discussed above: the merging of Wisdom and royal traditions.17 Championing the sapiential reading of Matthew most recently is B. Witherington in his commentary on Matthew.18 Witherington writes, ‘The Evangelist has skilfully woven together his source material to produce a compelling portrait of Jesus as both sage and Wisdom, as both revealer of God and as Immanuel, as well as drawn on other major images of Christ as Son of God, Son of Man, and Christ.’19 One important passage for any discussion of Wisdom traditions in Matthew is 11.25-30.20 Within the context of a Gospel that has established Jesus as the Davidic Messiah, his messianic activities (11.2) are used in 11.19 as verification of his identity as ‘Wisdom’. For Matthew, as for the author of the Pss. Sol., the e1rga of Wisdom are the e1rga of Messiah.21 As C. Deutsch puts it, ‘in 11.19 Matthew identifies Wisdom with Jesus the Christ’.22 Matthew 11.28-30 is considered ‘the most significant wisdom statement in the work’23 and records Jesus saying: ‘Come to me all who are wearied and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls; because my yoke is pleasing and my burden is light.’ This passage, as many have observed, has an obvious parallel to the Wisdom imagery of Sirach 51.23-27, especially with the use of the term ‘yoke’.24 Yet, what differentiates Matthew from the author of Sirach is also what differentiates Sirach from Pss. Sol.: the intermingling of Davidic and Wisdom traditions.25

17 See my forthcoming ‘Matthew and Psalms of Solomon’s Messianism: A Comparative Study in First-Century Messianology’, BBR (forthcoming 2012). 18 Ben Witherington, Matthew (Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary; Macon: Smyth & Helwys, 2006). 19 Witherington, Matthew, p. 17; see also Deutsch, Lady Wisdom, p. 35. 20 Celia Deutsch, Hidden Wisdom and the Easy Yoke: Wisdom, Torah and Discipleship in Matthew 11. 25-30 (JSNTSup 18; Sheffield: JSOT, 1987); Deutsch, Lady Wisdom, pp. 36–39. 21 See Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2.264; Deutsch, Lady Wisdom, p. 34; John Kampen, ‘Aspects of Wisdom in the Gospel of Matthew in Light of the New Qumran Evidence’, Sapiential, Liturgical and Poetical Texts from Qumran: Proceedings of the Third Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies (Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 227–39, p. 236; Witherington, Matthew, pp. 237–40 22 Deutsch, Lady Wisdom, p. 35, emphasis added. 23 Kampen, ‘Wisdom’, p. 227; Witherington, Matthew, p. 239 24 See Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2.292–93; Deutsch, Lady Wisdom, p. 37; Witherington, Matthew, pp. 239–40. 25 See Witherington’s discussion of the Matthean Jesus’ unique use of the Wisdom tradition (Witherington, Matthew, p. 240).

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Matthew’s Jesus is the legitimate Davidic king, the personification of Wisdom who calls upon Israel, those who are ‘wearied’ (kotiw~ntej) and ‘burdened’ (pefortisme/noi),26 to place themselves under his political authority as their Wisdom King. Deutsch comes close to this reading when she states, ‘Thus the “hidden things” and “yoke”, the content of the revelation and teaching of this passage, have a three-fold referent to apocalyptic instruction about the Reign of God, the significance of Jesus in that Reign, and to Jesus’ halachic interpretation.’27 Just as was visible in Pss. Sol., so here in Matthew, the governance of Messiah is shaped by the Wisdom tradition and takes the form of ‘learning’. It must be emphasized, however, that this congealing of Wisdom and royal traditions does not diminish the political sense. With the Wisdom tradition attached, Davidic kingship does not become any less a political authority. Instead Matthew’s Davidic kingship is a government exercised as the Wisdom of God and, as such, is completely righteous and just, exercised through the power of God. Deutsch credits Matthew with the transformation of the symbol of Lady Wisdom in his application of the symbol to Jesus. Matthew’s creativity notwithstanding, it seems that the author of the Pss. Sol. – nearly a century before Matthew wrote – had already transformed the symbol of Lady Wisdom. Thus, I must disagree with Deutsch when she speaks of Matthew’s use of Wisdom as ‘startling’.28 When compared to Pss. Sol. Matthew appears much less creative and seems to be firmly within an established Davidic messianic tradition. For Matthew then, as it was for the author of the Psalms, those under whom Messiah Jesus rules are both his disciples and his political subjects. I believe it is this duality that may go a long way in explaining why Matthew evinces historicizing and transparent tendencies. What unifies all believers in Jesus in all times is their position as disciples, as learners, of the eschatological Teacher of Wisdom. What differentiates the Twelve from the rest, however, is their unique political function within Messiah’s regime. The Twelve are primus inter pares; they are political officers, ones from among these disciples no doubt, but selected to an office of civil service. The final two sections of this chapter develop these two sides of Matthew’s use of the Twelve.

The Twelve with the Disciples As S. Freyne pointed out many years ago, the Twelve’s organic relationship with the wider group of disciples is underscored by Matthew’s use

26 Cf. also Mt. 9.36 for a similar description of the condition of Israel. 27 Deutsch, Lady Wisdom, p. 38. 28 Deutsch, Lady Wisdom, p. 46.

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of the term ‘disciple’ together with the title ‘the Twelve’.29 Matthew does use the terms maqhta/i and dw&deka together or interchangeably, but they are not synonymous.30 In the narrative preamble to the Mission Discourse mentioned at the beginning of the chapter, Matthew refers to a group of disciples larger than the Twelve, from which the Twelve were selected (9.36–10.4).31 One apparent affect of this narrative frame is to highlight the continuity between the Twelve and disciples. As Freyne puts it: ‘their fundamental role is to be disciples of Jesus and it is only then that they can constitute the body that has special significance for Israel’.32 These redactional moves justify, to a degree, Luz’s observations about the transparent-like character of the disciples in Matthew. The Twelve, as disciples of Jesus, provide an example of the qualities of discipleship for every generation. Again Freyne captures this well: Much more are they the founders of the true Israel, as its first genuine members who have shown the practical acceptance of Jesus that is involved in being a true believer. Even when their special prerogatives are stressed, their essential oneness with the whole community of disciples is always operative. . . . It is unnecessary to look in Matthew for any clearly defined distinction between the community of believers and their apostolic leaders, except perhaps on the occasion of the introduction of the group at 9:37–10:1ff and of course 16:16ff and 28:16ff. The apostle is first and foremost a disciple, and because of this character the instruction which he receives, the explanations which he looks for, even his failures, are community events valid for all who would model themselves on them by seeking to follow Jesus.33

Freyne’s interpretation takes little account of Matthew’s Davidic perspective, however. We can make more sense of Matthew’s understanding of the Twelve’s relationship with all disciples if we take Freyne’s helpful observation and read it within the messianic framework here 29 Seán Freyne, The Twelve: Disciples and Apostles: A Study in the Theology of the First Three Gospels (London and Sydney: Sheed & Ward, 1968), p. 185. Matthew makes more explicit the identification of the Twelve with the disciples: except for describing Judas as ‘one of the Twelve’ he always qualifies dw&deka by adding either maqhtai/ (10.1 [cf. Mk 6.7]; 11.1; 20.17 [cf. Mk 10.32]; 26.20 [cf. Mk 14.17]; cf. also 28.16, the ‘eleven disciples’) or a0po/stoloi (10.2 [cf. Mark 6.7]). 30 Cf. Wilkins, Disciple, p. 167, who states, ‘Matthew has a literary and theological purpose for generally identifying the maqhtai and dwdeka, but he does not exclude the existence of other disciples. . . . Therefore, unless Matthew states otherwise, he refers to the Twelve when he refers to the maqhtai, but he does not mean to imply that Jesus has no other disciples.’ 31 Cf. also Freyne, Twelve, p. 170, who notes, ‘It would seem from normal Greek usage that the two groups are distinct, even if closely related.’ 32 Freyne, Twelve, p. 170 emphasis added. 33 Freyne, Twelve, pp. 205–206. Given the tendency in Matthew to watermark the disciples in the narrative, the exceptions stand out in Matthew all the more.

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set forth. The reason the Twelve’s discipling is transcendent is because of who Jesus was and continues to be. As he is the end-time Teacher of God’s Wisdom, all believers past, present and future must be learners. The instruction that Jesus dispenses to them is divine Wisdom. One corollary to this point is that the continuity with all disciples of every age does not collapse the historical distance between Matthew’s audience and the time of Jesus’ earthly mission. There is not, as J. Brown has stated, a ‘one-to-one correspondence between the disciples and the real author’s community’.34 Matthew maintained the distance.35 The distance notwithstanding, Matthew’s audience is linked to the Twelve and the other disciples of Jesus’ day because the later generations of disciples relate to a resurrected and present Messiah Jesus (Mt. 28.20) and all his subjects are his students. Thus, Matthew’s instruction on discipleship as well as the events surrounding Jesus have relevance for even a contemporary audience of Matthew’s Gospel. According to Matthew 28.19-20, discipleship is not confined to the past or to a few select people. Rather, discipleship is required of all nations (pa/nta ta/ e1qnh) that follow Jesus, because Jesus is the Davidic Messiah. On this basis, Luz is right: ‘All that is essential is hearing, understanding and doing the words of the earthly Jesus. And precisely that is the essence of true discipleship in every age. Thus, characteristic for Matthew’s concept of discipleship is the tendency to make the past – which Matthew emphasizes – transparent for the present.’36

The Twelve over against the Disciples That being said, the Twelve in Matthew have a unique function for Israel, as alluded to above by Freyne. Matthew’s portrait of the Twelve within the context of Davidic messianism also brings into light their unique political function. While sharing the identity of a pupil of the Messianic Teacher of Wisdom with all disciples, the Twelve have a distinct political function that encompasses past, present and future.37 According to Matthew, they are not subjects of the kingdom in the same 34 See J. Brown (The Disciples in Narrative Perspective: The Portrayal and Function of the Matthean Disciples [Atlanta GA: SBL, 2002], pp. 133–37) where she critiques the view of Luz and others who see the disciples as transparent for Matthew’s community. 35 Eugene E. Lemcio, The Past of Jesus in the Gospels (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 36 Luz, ‘Disciples’, p. 129. 37 Scot McKnight, ‘Jesus and the Twelve’, BBR 11.2 (2001), pp. 203–31 (213). Most scholars argue that the function of the Twelve in Matthew’s Gospel is primarily symbolic. The college of the Twelve symbolizes the eschatological restoration of Israel (cf. M. Eugene Boring, ‘Matthew’, NIB 8 [Leander E. Keck ed.; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995], pp. 89–505 [253]; Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2.158–59; Freyne, Twelve, p. 25).

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way as are all other Israelites. Within the eschatological Israel inaugurated in Jesus’ mission, they are both members of the community, and designated as leaders over it. In Matthew’s narrative they are not introduced, in contrast to Mark and Luke, until their sending in Mt. 10.1-5a. The reason for this is not, as some suggest, because they are unimportant for Matthew. Matthew’s emphasis, as has been pointed out often, is on Jesus. The disciples do not play the primary role in the narrative. With the camera’s focus tightly on Jesus, the disciples are slightly blurred in the background. This Tendenz, while true of all four canonical Gospels, is more pronounced in Matthew. In comparison Matthew noticeably omits the names of specific individuals and at times has even omitted the term ‘disciple’. Wilkins surmises that Matthew ‘in approximately half of his omissions [of maqh/thj vis-à-vis Mark or Q], isolates Jesus for the purpose of giving him focused attention’.38 He has arranged his maqh/thj material in such a way as to accentuate the figure of Jesus Christ. Wilkins writes: Matthew has highlighted the Christology of his Gospel through the disciples. In the true sense that Mt is a ‘Gospel,’ the author has incorporated ‘a paradigmatic history angled to set forth the fulfilment of God’s redeeming motive and activity in Jesus.’ Matthew’s angle is especially apparent in his use of maqh/thj. While they should not be relegated to extras, as Conzelmann does, the maqh/thj serve a purpose in Matthew’s Gospel of accentuating Jesus in his words and deeds.39

Most influential for determining the political function of the Twelve is Matthew’s presentation of their roles in (1) the earthly mission of Jesus, (2) the ecclesia and (3) the eschaton. Although the Twelve play a more supporting role in the overall story told by Matthew, they are key figures nonetheless, only slightly blurred by Matthew’s redactional priorities.

The term ‘symbolic’ can be filled with a wide range of meanings and I find it problematic. On the one hand, if by symbolic one means ‘something that represents something else’ – so that the symbol is not in some way related to the substance or reality for which it stands – then this seems inappropriate for Matthew. And such a sense of the term seems inadequate to denote the Twelve. However, on the other hand, if the word has reference to something along the lines of a synecdoche, a part for the whole – a representative part which stands to represent the whole reality – then this would fit Matthew’s conception of the role of the Twelve quite well. The kingdom of God has broken into the present age and with it the Twelve are the ‘first-fruits’ – using a Pauline term – of the kingdom. This is consistent with Matthew’s ‘realised eschatology’ (cf. Dale C. Allison Jr, The End of the Ages Has Come: An Early Interpretation of the Passion and Resurrection of Jesus [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985]; John P. Meier, Law and History in Matthew’s Gospel: A Redactional Study of Mt.5:17-48 [AnBib 71; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1976]). 38 Wilkins, Disciple, p. 156. 39 Wilkins, Disciple, pp. 165–66.

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Earthly mission The Twelve are first introduced in the context of mission in Mt. 10.1-5. In constructing his narrative, Matthew has apparently omitted the calling story, which appears in both Mark and Luke (Mk 3.13-19a; Lk. 6.12-16), and has purposefully included the names of the twelve disciples/apostles with the mission. This in effect makes the calling of the twelve disciples functional: they are designated for a particular purpose in Jesus’ kingdom mission. They are called by three different designations in this context: tou/j dw&deka maqhta&j (10.1), then tw~n dw/deka a)posto&lwn (10.2) and then simply tou&j dw&deka (10.5). Only here does Matthew denote the Twelve with the term a)posto&loi. Though the term and its appropriateness in a pre-resurrection situation continue to be controversial, it is enough for our purposes to point out the functional nature of the designation. They are called tw~n dw&deka a)posto&lwn in Mt. 10.2 because of the predicate or functional nature of the term (i.e. they are the sent ones – 10.5a). Moreover, in Mt. 28.16-20 the Twelve (minus one) are given an additional complementary mission, one that is in continuity with and an extension of the earlier mission.40 Thus, the Twelve’s importance as emissaries of the coming kingdom is underscored by Matthew.41 Ecclesia Matthew records Jesus giving the Twelve authority over eschatological Israel in Mt. 16.17-19 and 18.18. Some interpreters attempted to make the case that the authority given to Peter in Matthew 16 was further democratized in Matthew 18 to include not only the Twelve but the whole community.42 However, the specific pericope in Matthew 18 does not support this conclusion.43

40 See Joel Willitts, ‘The Friendship of Matthew and Paul: A Response to a Recent Trend in the Interpretation of Matthew’s Gospel’, HvTSt 65.1 (2009), pp. 1–8. 41 Time will not allow for more detail at this point, but McKnight’s work on the question of the meaning of the sending and mission of the Twelve points in the very interesting direction of a dual significance (McKnight, ‘Jesus’, p. 231). He argues, The connotations of his choice and sending out of the Twelve show . . . significant parallels with Qumran leadership . . . and the covenant reestablishment as found in Joshua 4 . . . [and] there is significant evidence for us to think that Jesus had in mind a restored Israel – twelve new leaders, the land under control, a pure Temple, and a radically obedient Israel. The two themes of covenant and eschatology that swirl around the number ‘twelve’ form a combined witness to the centrality of Jesus’ vision for Israel. 42 See recently France, Matthew, p. 696; Grant Osborne, Matthew (Clinton Arnold ed.; ECNT; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2010), p. 687; David L. Turner, Matthew (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2008). 43 Cf. Freyne, Twelve, pp. 194–95.

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First of all, if E. Martinez’s argument is close to being correct that the occurrences of oi9 maqhtai/ subsequent to Mt. 10.1-4 refer exclusively to the Twelve, then perhaps we should be predisposed to the idea that Mt. 18.1 is an address specifically to the Twelve.44 While it must be admitted that Martinez’s case is at times overstated, and there is content within the community discourse that has a broader reference than the Twelve (i.e. 18.4-5; 6-9), the logion of 18.18 falls within a section of instructions on community discipline, and its grammar seems to favour the narrower interpretation.45 In addition, this authority within the community is hinted at in the feeding stories (14.13-20; 15.32-39) where the Twelve are distributors of the meal to the people present. In the Feeding of the Five Thousand Jesus very pointedly tells them ‘you give them something to eat’ (14.16), possibly implying their leadership responsibility over the community as its under-shepherds. Eschaton Matthew reports in Mt. 19.28 that Jesus has given them a political role in his future kingdom as rulers of the Twelve Tribe nation. ‘Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man is seated on the throne of his glory, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the tribes of Israel”.’ There is some debate about the meaning of the term ‘judge’ in the passage, but what is clear is the future orientation of the logion (‘at the renewal of all things’, e0n th|~ paliggenesi/a|).46 This logion suggests that Matthew has a concrete and tangible expectation of the future role of the Twelve in the kingdom when it is consummated. Jesus promises that at the restoration of ‘all things’, when the Son of Man is seated on his throne, these twelve individuals who have followed him and whom he has chosen from among the disciples will be seated on twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel. As Davies and Allison put it: ‘they one day [will] rise to govern eschatological Israel’.47 44 Ernest R. Martinez, ‘The Interpretation of Oi Mathetai in Matthew 18’, CBQ 23 (1961), pp. 281–92. 45 See A. Jones, ‘The Gospel of Jesus Christ According to St Matthew’, A Catholic Commentary on Holy Scripture; London: Nelson, 1953), pp. 847–904 (884). He observed the change from the singular to the plural in vv. 17 and 18. He writes, ‘[18:]15-17 were addressed, in the singular, to any Christian; now our Lord addresses the Apostles (“you”; cf. 18:1), not members of the Church at large. He associates their powers with Peter’s without prejudice to Peter’s exclusive custodianship of the keys or to his function as the one foundation, 16:17-19. The apostolic body, with Peter, is given wide powers which include that of formal excommunication or reconciliation.’ 46 For a recent discussion of the issue see McKnight, ‘Jesus’, pp. 226–28; see also F. Büchsel, ‘paliggenesi/a’, TDNT (Gerhard Kittel ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964), 1.686–89. 47 Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2.159.

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*** The chapter has offered the hypothesis that Matthew’s presentation of the twelve disciples as both historic and transparent can be best explained by appeal to his thoroughgoing Davidic messianism. When Matthew’s presentation of the Twelve is set within a Second Temple Davidic messianic framework, of the likes of Pss. Sol., the two elements of Matthew’s presentation make sense as outcomes of the unique profile of the Messiah. The eschatological Son of David is both Sage and King. As the Teacher of Wisdom all his followers are disciples, and as the political ruler over Israel he appoints leaders to judge the restored twelve-tribe kingdom. For Matthew the twelve men are both disciples and phylarchs.48

48 See William Horbury, ‘The Twelve and the Phylarchs’, NTS 32 (1986), pp. 503–27.

Chapter 13 Memorial Tribute to Professor Graham Stanton, Fitzwilliam College, Cambridge, 23 January 2010 David R. Catchpole When the news came through on the morning of 18 July last year that Graham’s long battle with cancer had ended, there ran through my mind for some reason the words of tribute paid to one of Shakespeare’s most compelling and poignant heroes. When that life had ended, the tribute paid was simply this: His life was gentle, and the elements So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, ‘This was a man!’

More than that – much more than that – can be said of Graham. Sadly we shall never see his International Critical Commentary on the letter to the Galatians, so we shall not read what he made of that letter’s allusions to Barnabas, Paul’s sometime companion in Christian mission as well as theological confrontation. We need not doubt that, even though Graham would almost certainly have identified with Paul in the face of Barnabas’s theological wobbles concerning ‘the truth of the Gospel’, he would also have warmed to the man whom Luke portrayed with a few deft strokes of his pen as ‘a good man . . . full of the Holy Spirit and faith’, convincingly summed up (even if with the aid of a linguistic lapse) as ‘son of encouragement’. That is the profile to which everyone who knew Graham seems to return: ‘This was a man . . . a good man . . . a son of encouragement.’ To understand that, one must take due account of what Graham received as well as what he gave. He was always keen to acknowledge his debt to his former supervisor and long-time friend, Charlie Moule, a debt accumulated during the more than forty years since he and Esther came far away from their homeland to study here in England. When Charlie died, Graham wrote about him in the student newspaper as ‘a gentle, kind and genuinely humble person [who] encouraged us to develop our immature and not very well informed

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insights . . . [and] who wrote thousands of letters of encouragement in his distinctive hand’. You could say that Graham was thus nurtured to be to all of us the encouraging friend and colleague that he was – but that would be only half of the truth, for what we are recalling and giving thanks for today is not just nurture but nature. It was part of the very fabric of Graham’s being – he did not have it in him to be anything else. ‘A man . . . a good man . . . a son of encouragement.’ For the crowd of witnesses – undergraduates, from teaching whom he did not shrink; postgraduates, with whom he loved to interact and to whom he also openly expressed debt as well as delight; and colleagues of kaleidoscopically varied abilities and temperaments – for them all, Graham remains a very special person indeed. A former Cambridge undergraduate whom he taught wrote to me in moving terms about just how fortunate she felt she was to have been supervised by Graham – his patience, his enthusiasm, and (she added) support that extended far beyond academic concern. ‘[Later on], unsure of myself and fearing the unknown, I recalled his implicit faith in me and my abilities, and that helped me to trust myself.’ Then the work with postgraduates: that was, as we have heard from Graham himself in his Otago address, his special delight. None of us who were privileged to be present here in this college for the presentation of his Festschrift on his sixty-fifth birthday will forget the delight those postgraduates showed in him. We got the message from their truly spine-chilling rendition of the All Blacks’ haka, and of course there was the All Blacks jersey to go with it, the number 65 on the back making Graham, by my reckoning, the seventh/eighth reserve as lock at the heart of the scrum – something he would, I think, have settled for happily, especially for a match against the Wallabies! The postgraduates’ delight in him was undoubtedly a recognition not only of the depth of his own scholarship but also, and this is not to be minimized, that degree of personal security that enabled him to enjoy debate and not to mind if he lost the argument – or pretended to have lost it! In that vein, he did not, as some do, exert pressure on his students to emerge from the process of research with conclusions that were a carbon copy of his own. Not at all! One of the most notable of his former graduate students, who on matters Matthean reached different conclusions from Graham, paid his own tribute, thus: ‘Graham provided the perfect balance of constructive criticism and genuine encouragement . . . his [was a] gracious disposition to encourage and support scholars whose views did not always coincide with his own.’ So there we have it again: Graham, ‘a man . . . a good man . . . a son of encouragement’. And what of the colleagues? Here we enter the anxiety-racked world of university teachers at the end of one century and the beginning of another,

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Graham’s world and ours. At this point I want, if I may, simply to be the mouthpiece for two of his closest colleagues, one from King’s days and the other from more recent times in Cambridge. First, from King’s: The first thing that comes to mind was that he was far and away the best head of department I’ve ever had and I haven’t had a colleague of whom I was more fond and for whom I had a greater respect as a person. He had a unique capacity to involve people in decision-making, encourage those who were young or new or on the edges, and excite a collegial vision for the department. He invariably took genuine personal delight in the successes of individual colleagues and his eyes would light up with delight when he announced someone’s achievement at a school meeting, communicating a kind of vicarious pride on behalf of the whole department. If it provided an excuse for celebratory cakes at coffee time, then he would ensure this happened.

And now from Cambridge: Graham was an outstanding encourager of young scholars (and colleagues more generally). He was also a wonderful supporter of the faculty. In this respect note should in particular be taken of the instrumental role, again conducted while he was very ill, that he took in raising the relevant sum of money to ensure the ongoing survival of the Lady Margaret’s Chair. This required a deftness of touch and a subtlety of negotiation skills that few could boast, even when they were fit and well. The university, as well as the faculty, owes him a huge debt of gratitude. This point is connected with another observation I would like to make. Graham was not just a compassionate softie but a man of wisdom and resolve who could, I think, be tough when he needed to be (without ever appearing to be tough, of course). He had vision . . . A possibly final point relates to his utter lack of cynicism, and his capacity to think the best about things. It is so easy nowadays to adopt a jaundiced view of almost everything but Graham seemed incapable of joining the moaners. During his illness I never heard him utter a world-weary remark or betray a sense of self-pity.

This was the Graham that others of us saw within the Society for New Testament Study. To be elected President, as Graham was, seemed altogether fitting. To be trusted as Secretary, which Graham had been, was altogether a tribute to his tireless efficiency. But other qualities were needed – diplomacy, for example, when we met in a capital city not a million miles from here (not London, please note!) where the goodly fellowship of New Testament scholars adopted the mindset of a noble army of martyrs, and had their respect for the dictum that ‘the fruit of the Spirit is patience’ tested to breaking point! And perhaps one could highlight a related quality that brings to mind a wonderful prayer by the Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow: ‘Teach me

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to act firmly and wisely without embittering or embarrassing others.’ Graham did just that, treating his colleagues invariably with firmness and wisdom, with respect and courtesy. We must turn in a moment to Graham’s notable contribution to the field of New Testament studies that he loved. But before we do so, let us pause over his Cambridge colleague’s reference to his work in securing the future of the Lady Margaret’s Chair. In this respect he was a true successor of its first occupant, John Fisher, who (as is well known) showed no little doggedness is securing the necessary benefaction of the Lady Margaret Beaufort. And let us set that in the context of his skilful holding together of the dual commitment to university and college. In this college, it is clear that he made a telling contribution to corporate life, including service as Chair of the Library Committee and strong support for the Chapel and the Chaplains, involving himself when occasion demanded – as it inevitably did! – as an energetic fund-raiser. It hardly needs to be mentioned that the motto of Fitzwilliam College is Ex antiquis et novissimis optima (the best of old and new), and it therefore seems peculiarly fitting that Graham as a specialist in the study of the Gospel of Matthew should belong to the fellowship here. For, as Graham and many others have observed, that Gospel offers a striking sketch of the ideal teacher-cum-student, ‘the scribe trained for the kingdom of heaven . . . who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old’ (Mt. 13.52). And without exaggeration we may say that Graham’s professional work fits that profile precisely. First, Graham was convinced that Matthew’s Gospel was the first narrative which Christians designated as ‘gospel’, a term of bold political thrust and confident theological announcement of the arrival of a new era of peace, a term which had its origin in the ‘street language’ of Graeco-Roman society. Commenting on Graham’s work on this matter, that distinguished centenarian who originally appointed Graham at King’s and who was later succeeded by him there, Christopher Evans, has written, ‘I always thought Graham was at his best in dealing with the familiar. I remember him at his inaugural as Lady Margaret’s Professor, dealing with the word “gospel” and its occurrence in the Priene inscription. This was very old hat, but he invested it with freshness.’ Second, perceptive readers of Graham’s books will have noted how frequently he uses the adjective ‘careful’. That ideal, which he himself practised, is never clearer than in his reflections about method in the study of the Gospels. Positioning himself in the tradition of redaction criticism, i.e. the study of the theological implications of editorial activity, he nevertheless had wise words to say about the refining and re-balancing of that discipline – words which we all could do with revisiting from time to time.

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Third, and in the same vein, he was keen to draw on fresh insights from modern literary criticism, but was sceptical about a ‘text immanent’ approach that saw a text like the Gospel of Matthew as creating its own world, as it were. The world of the text was for Graham the problematic world in which the communities of the Gospel experienced real rejection by a Jewish parent body, the religiously tense world in which they exhibited typical sectarian reflexes, the accessible world in which those who heard ‘gospel’ were conditioned by the dominant intellectual, literary, social and political culture. And, fourth and last, Graham’s alertness to the world of the text (in that sense) is apparent in his concentration on the history of ideas, a development that led from pre-Matthean sources to Matthew and on to the Matthew-influenced and often controversy-driven patristic writers, and then back again. That Graham should have set his research course towards those patristic writers, and especially Justin Martyr, can thus be seen as a natural next stage for him, and one that had already yielded striking results – thus ‘bringing out of his treasure what is new and what is old’. In conclusion, what may we say about Graham as a person? Well, as a person he was quite unreservedly a family man, loving and beloved, supporting and supported. Through those six-plus years of battling the cancer, years that were an agonizing ordeal for those near and dear to him, his recurrent and typically unselfish thought was that it was much worse for them than it was for him. On this occasion when we try to do justice to a fine human being, we cannot but record our respect and admiration for Esther, Roger, Michael and Nicola. With them and for them he was in the deepest possible sense a family man. And, we may ask, what is it that explains the sense we all share with them of grievous loss as well as deep gratitude for ‘a good man . . . a son of encouragement’ – what was it that brought about his generous commitment to colleagues and to students, to his college and the two English universities where his working life was spent, and to the Society for New Testament Study? I believe we cannot but interpret his life by means of another phrase used to describe Barnabas – not only ‘a good man’ and ‘a son of encouragement’ but also ‘a man full of faith’. Graham’s faith commitment was unobtrusive and unostentatious. It showed itself in small and uncontrived ways. If I may contribute from many years of treasured friendship a small personal memory as one of the many recipients of his and Esther’s generous hospitality, I remember the way he gave thanks before a meal ‘through Jesus Christ, whom we seek to serve’. That very genuine spirit of service underlies all that makes us today a grateful gathered community, assembled to give thanks for Graham and to identify with Esther, Roger, Michael and Nicola in their enduring sense of loss.

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Graham’s move, while a student in his beloved New Zealand, from the Salvation Army to the Presbyterian Church – a move that involved abandonment of his euphonium, to the deeply regrettable musical impoverishment of us all! – that move was a positive one towards a more structured and sacramental mode of worship. His in-depth participation in the life of the worshipping Christian community was a constant throughout his life. He was a wholeheartedly committed member of St John’s United Reformed Church in Orpington, and was often to be heard preaching there. And in Cambridge, at Emmanuel United Reformed Church, it was the same, not least as the gathering clouds of terminal illness became darker and more threatening. In those last years the care of the leaders of that church, where he and Esther worshipped, was expressed in many ways, not least in regular visits to their home for a short service of prayer, readings (sometimes poetry, always scripture), and the laying on of hands. The healing might have been, though it was not, physical release from the relentlessly advancing cancer, but it assuredly was, as the minister at Emmanuel Church put it, a retuning of Graham’s life around the disease so that his life was harmonious. He went on to recall that ‘Graham’s great qualities were very evident on those occasions – his extraordinary faith, his appreciation of the smallest thing people did for him, his concern for Esther, his gratitude for the church and for fellowship, and his very positive outlook.’ That the lives of us all should have been touched by Graham tempers our loss with gratitude. And, to draw from that Gospel to which he dedicated such careful attention, we may not doubt that the risen Lord of the Gospel of Matthew will say to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’

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———, ‘Terrorism and Reconciliation’, Theology 108 (2005), pp. 331–37. Stendahl, K., The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament (ASNU 20; Lund: Gleerup, 1954; rev. edn, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968). Strack, H. L. and P. Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament 1 (München: C. H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1922). Strecker, Georg, Der Weg der Gerechtigkeit: Untersuchung zur Theologie des Matthäus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962). ———, ‘The Concept of History in Matthew’, in Graham Stanton (ed.), The Interpretation of Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995), pp. 81–100. Streeter, B. H., The Four Gospels: A Study of Origins (London: Macmillan, 1924). Stuhlmacher, P., Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments 1: Grundlegung von Jesus zu Paulus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2nd edn, 1997). Suggs, M. J., Wisdom, Christology and Law in Matthew’s Gospel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970). Takács, Sarolta A., Isis and Sarapis in the Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 1995). Talbert, Charles H., What is a Gospel? The Genre of the Canonical Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977). ———, Matthew (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010). Thiede, Carsten P., ‘Papyrus Magdalen Greek 17 (Gregory-Aland P64) A Reappraisal’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 105 (1995), pp. 13–20; repr. TynBul 46 (1995), pp. 29–42. Thiede, Carsten P. and Matthew D’Ancona, Eyewitness to Jesus: Amazing New Manuscript Evidence about the Origin of the Gospels (New York: Doubleday, 1996; repr. The Jesus Papyrus, London: Orion, 1997). Trilling, W., Das wahre Israel: Studien zur Theologie des MatthäusEvangeliums (SANT 10; München: Kösel Verlag, 3rd edn, 1964). Tuckett, C. M. (ed.), The Messianic Secret (London: SPCK, 1983). ———, The Revival of the Griesbach Hypothesis (SNTSMS 44; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1983). ———, ‘Matthew: The Social and Historical Context – Jewish Christian and/or Gentile?’, in D. P. Senior (ed.), The Gospel of Matthew: At the Crossroads of Early Christianity (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), pp. 99–129. Turner, David L., Matthew (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008). Turner, E. G., The Typology of the Early Codex (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1977). Turner, N., A Grammar of New Testament Greek (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1976).

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Twelftree, Graham H., ‘Jesus and the Synagogue’, in Tom Holmén and Stanley E. Porter (eds), Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (Leiden: Brill, 2011), pp. 3105–34. Udoh, F. (ed.), Redefining First-Century Jewish and Christian Identities: Essays in Honor of Ed Parish Sanders (Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity 16; Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008). Vledder, E.-J, and A. G. van Aarde, ‘The Social Location of the Matthean Community’, HvTSt 51 (1995), pp. 388–408. Von Campenhausen, H., The Formation of the Christian Bible (ET; London: Black, 1971). Von Dobbeler, A., ‘Die Restitution Israels und die Bekehrung der Heiden. Das Verhältnis von Mt 10,5b.6 und Mt 28,18-20 unter dem Aspekt der Komplementarität: Erwägungen zum Standort des Matthäusevangeliums’, ZNW 91 (2000), pp. 18–44. Von Dobschütz, E., ‘Matthew as Rabbi and Catechist’, in Graham N. Stanton (ed.), Interpretation of Matthew (London: SPCK, 1983), pp. 19–29. Votaw, C. W., The Gospels and Contemporary Biographies in the Graeco-Roman World (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1970). Vouga, F., Une théologie du Nouveau Testament (Le Monde de la Biblen 43; Paris: Labor et Fides, 2001). Wainwright, Elaine M., ‘Feminist Criticism and the Gospel of Matthew’, in M. A. Powell (ed.), Method for Matthew (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 83–117. Weaver, D. J., ‘“Thus You Will Know Them by Their Fruits”: The Roman Characters of the Gospel of Matthew’, in J. Riches and D. C. Sim (eds), The Gospel of Matthew in Its Roman Imperial Context (London: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 107–27. Wenham, J., Redating Matthew, Mark & Luke: A Fresh Assault on the Synoptic Problem (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1991). Wilkins, Michael J., The Concept of Disciple in Matthew’s Gospel: As Reflected in the Use of the Term Maqhth/v (Leiden: Brill, 1988). ———, Matthew (NIVAC; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2004). Williamson, H. G. M., A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 1–27 (ICC; 3 vols; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2006–). Willitts, Joel, Matthew’s Messianic Shepherd-King: In Search of the Lost Sheep of the House of Israel (BNZW 147; Berlin; New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2007). ———, ‘The Friendship of Matthew and Paul: A Response to a Recent Trend in the Interpretation of Matthew’s Gospel’, HvTSt 65.1 (2009), pp. 150–57. ———, ‘Paul and Matthew: A Descriptive Approach from a Post-New Perspective Interpretive Framework’, in Michael F. Bird and Joel Willitts (eds), Paul and the Gospels: Christologies, Conflicts

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­

Index of Ancient Sources Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Genesis 3 12 12.2 12.2-3 12.3 15.6 18.18 22.18 46.3

70 148 129, 139 121, 148, 110 121, 121 129

Exodus 1–2 1.7-10 4.22 12.37-38 19.3 24.8 24.12-13 32 32.10 33.13 34.1-2, 4 34.29 34.29-35

53 129 119 n. 16 129 71 72 71 129 129, 129 n. 36 129 71 71 53

131 147 n. 46, 150 129 n. 36

Leviticus 20.23-26 127 20.25 [LXX] 108 23.9-14 65 26 128 26.33 128 26.38 128 Numbers 14.12 129 n. 36 Deuteronomy 1.1 108 4.7-8 129 nn. 35–36

4.27 128 n. 29 4.34 129 4.38 127 n. 28 6 53 6.16 70 7.1 127 7.6-7 129 n. 34 8 53 8.3 70 9.4-5 128 9.9 71 10.3 71 11.23 127 n. 28 12.29-30 127 n. 28 17.14 127 n. 28 18.9, 14 127 n. 28 18.13 106 18.15, 18 53 19.1 127 n. 28 21.1-9 120 26.5 129 28.32 128 n. 29 28.36 128 n. 29 28.64 128 28.65 128 n. 29 30.1 128 n. 29 30.3 128 30.4 122 32.11 55 n. 72 Joshua 4 23.3 23.4 23.9 23.13 24.4 24.18

177 127 127 127 127 129 127

Judges 2.20 13.5

129 103 n. 5

Ruth 1.16-17 145 2.12 55 1 Samuel 8.5 129 n. 34 8.20 129 n. 34 2 Samuel 7.12-14 51 n. 49 7.23 129 1 Chronicles 14.17 129 16.26 129 17.21 129 18.11 129

n. n. n. n.

34 34 35 34

2 Chronicles 28.3 127 n. 28 33.2 127 n. 28 33.9 127 n. 28 Nehemiah 5.8 128 n. 29 5.8 129 n. 34 Psalms 2.7 65 8.3 162 8.7 65 11.4 54 n. 68 15.27 65 16.8-11 65 16.10 65 17.8 55 n. 72 23.3 [LXX 22.3] 109 33.12 [LXX 32.12] 129 36.7 55 n. 72 48.3 145 n. 40 51.4 [LXX 50.6] 107 57.1 55 n. 72 61.4 55 n. 72 63.7 55 n. 72

208

Index of Ancient Sources

72.17 121 76.1-2 54 78.2 52 80.1 54 91.4 55 n. 72 98 150 n. 58 107.1-3 122 n. 23 107.5-6 [LXX 106.5-6] 105 147.19-20 [LXX 147.8-9] 129

11.1 51 n. 49, 103 n. 5 11.10 129 n. 33 11.12 128 n. 30 14.2 129 n. 34 18.7 128 n. 32 25.6 105 25.6-7 128 n. 32 29.7 129 n. 34 31.5 55 n. 72 40.3 109 41.17-18 105 42 130 42.1 [LXX] 130 42.1-4 52 42.4 [LXX] 130 42.6 [LXX] 130 43.4-7 122 43.20 105 44.3 105 48.22 128 n. 30 49.22 128 n. 32 49.1-26 122 n. 23 49.6 128 n. 32 49.9-10 105 49.10 105 51.1-2 140 n. 21 51.4-5 128 n. 32 52.5 129 n. 34 52.7-10 119 52.10 128 n. 30 53.4 52 53.12 65, 72 54.12 108 55.1-3 105 55.3 65 54.13 169 56.7 128 n. 32 60.11-12 128, 129 n. 34 61.6 129 n. 34 62.2 129 n. 34 62.11 52 65.17–66.24 150 n. 58 66.20 128 n. 30

Proverbs 1.20-30 2.20 8.20 12.28 16.7 16.31 21.16 22.21

36 109 109 109 109 109 109 109

Isaiah 1–5 1.2-4 1.4 1.10 1.11-15 1.16-17 1.21-23 1.23 2.2-3 2.5-6 2.8 3 3.8 3.12 3.13-15 5 5.1-7 5.5-6 5.7 5.8-12 5.13 5.18-24 5.25-30 6.9-13 7.14 8.9 9.1-2 9.2-7 10.6

126 126 129 n. 35 125 126 126 126 125 128 126 126 124, 124–27 126 125 117, 125 117, 124–27 125 126 117, 125, 126 126 127 126 127 127 52, 54, 54 n. 65, 103 n. 5 129 n. 34 52 119 129 n. 35

Jeremiah 5.9 129 n. 35 5.29 129 n. 35 7.28 129 n. 35 9.26 [LXX 9.25] 129 n. 36 10.2-3 129 n. 34 10.25 129 n. 34 14.22 129 n. 34 18–19 52 n. 55

31.15 [LXX 38.25] 103 n. 5 31.31 72 31.36 [LXX 38.37] 129 n. 35 32 52 n. 55 46.28 [LXX 26.28] 128 n. 29 Lamentations 1.3 128 n. 29 1.10 129 n. 34 2.9 128 n. 29 Ezekiel 5.7-8 5.15 6.8 6.9 11.16 11.17 12.15-16 16.14 20.9 20.14 20.23 20.33 22.4 22.15 22.16 23.30 25.8 28.25 34 34.10 34.13 34.23-24 34.28-29 36.5-7 36.13 36.14 36.15 36.19-23 36.24 36.30 36.36 37 37.21 37.22 37.28 38.12 38.16

129 n. 34 129 n. 34 128 n. 29 128 n. 29 128 n. 29 128 n. 30 128 n. 29 129 n. 34 129 n. 34 129 n. 34 128 n. 29 129 n. 34 129 n. 34 128 n. 29 129 n. 34 129 n. 34 129 n. 34 128 n. 30 140 n. 20 141 128 n. 29, 128 n. 30 51 n. 49 129 n. 34 129 n. 34 129 n. 35 129 n. 35 129 n. 34 128 n. 29 128 n. 30 129 n. 34 129 n. 34 65 128 n. 30 129 n. 35 129 n. 34 128 n. 30, 129 n. 35 129 n. 34

Index of Ancient Sources 38.22 39.9 39.21 39.23 39.27 43.6-9

129 n. 34 129 n. 34 129 n. 34 129 n. 34 128 n. 30 54 n. 68

Daniel 2.44 12.2 12.2-3 12.3

65 108 109 108

Hosea 6.6 8.8 9.17 11.1

47, 85, 86, 89, 113, 161, 162 128 n. 29 128 n. 29 50, 52, 53, 103 n. 5

Joel 2.17 2.19 2.28-32 3.2 [LXX

129 129 65 4.2] 129

Amos 9.9 9.12

129 n. 34 128 n. 32

n. 34 n. 34 128 n. 29, n. 34

Obadiah 1.15-16 129 n. 34 Micah 4.2 4.11 5.2 7.16

128 129 129 103 128

n. n. n. n. n.

32, 34 34 5 31

Habakkuk 1.4 110 Zephaniah 2.1 129 n. 35 2.9 129 n. 35 2.11 128 n. 32

­209

2.4 72 2.5-6 52 n. 54 2.6 140 n. 22 2.15 50, 52, 52 n. 54, 53, 119 2.16-18 53, 119 2.17 52 n. 54 2.17-18 52 n. 54 2.19-21 119 2.20-21 142 2.23 52 3.1–4.11 119 3.1-12 3.3 52 n. 54, 109 3.7-10 42 3.7 48, 122 3.7-12 80 3.8 122 3.8-10 124 3.9 30, 122, 132 3.11-12 122 Malachi 3.13-17 119 3.9 129 n. 35 3.14 79 3.12 129 n. 34 3.14-15 46 3.15 49 n. 41, 104, 112 4.1-10 53 New Testament 4.1-11 70, 80 4.2 70 Matthew 4.3 50 1–2 44, 69 4.5 145 n. 40 1.1 15, 51, 119, 132, 4.6 50 148, 171 4.9-10 56 1.1–2.26 119 4.14 52 n. 54 1.2-6 72 4.14-16 52 1.2-25 15 4.15 130, 130 n. 37 1.3 140 n. 22, 145 4.17-19 53 1.5 140 n. 22, 145 4.18-22 40 1.6 51, 140 n. 22 4.23 28, 61 1.6-11 72 4.23–5.2 48 n. 35 1.11 112 5–7 48 1.11-12 119 5.1 70 1.16 50 5.3-12 43, 106 n. 10 1.17 51, 72, 119 5.3–7.27 53 n. 60 1.18-25 72, 119 5.6 49 n. 41, 104, 1.20 51 107, 112 1.21 119 5.9-20 46 1.22 52 n. 54 5.10 49 n. 41, 105, 1.23 54 107, 112 1.22-23 52 5.11-12 46 n. 28 2.1-12 140 n. 22 5.13 43, 43 n. 12 2.2 52 n. 53 5.14 43 n. 12 2.3 52 n. 52 5.15 43 Zechariah 1.15 129 n. 34 2.8 [LXX 2.12] 129 n. 34 2.10-11 54 n. 68 2.11 [LXX 2.15] 128 n. 32 7.14 128 n. 29 8.1-8 122 n. 23 8.13 129 n. 34 8.22-23 129 n. 34 9.9 52 9.11 72 11.13 52 12.3 129 n. 34 12.9 129 n. 34 14.2-3 129 n. 34 14.16 129 n. 34 14.18 129 n. 33, 129 n. 34 14.19 129 n. 33, 129 n. 34

Index of Ancient Sources

210 5.16 5.17 5.17-19 5.17-20 5.17-48 5.18 5.19 5.20 5.21-48 5.23-24 5.25-26 5.30 5.32 5.33-37 5.35 5.38-48 5.39-42 5.45 5.46 5.47 5.48 6.1 6.1-6 6.2 6.3-4 6.5-7 6.7 6.7-8 6.9 6.9-13 6.11 6.16-18 6.17-18 6.20-21 6.24 6.25 6.26 6.32 6.33 6.52 7.1-5 7.6 7.11 7.7-11 7.12

43 n. 12, 49 n. 38 46, 71, 112, 144 n. 36 141 n. 26, 146 102 n. 3, 153 71 43 147 49 n. 41, 106, 112 107 142 n. 26 43 41 43, 46 44, 155 n. 14 145 n. 40 43 43 49 n. 38, 106 143 141 n. 25, 143 49 n. 38, 107 49 n. 38, 49 n. 41, 107 44 25 n. 10 141 n. 26 141 n. 26 123 n. 24, 141 n. 25, 143 48 n. 35 49 n. 38 43, 43 n. 12 112 44 141 n. 26 43 42 42 49 n. 38 123 n. 24, 130 n. 37, 141 n. 25 49 n. 41, 113, 107 46 42 44 49 n. 38 42 43, 43 n. 12

7.13-14 7.15-20 7.15-27 7.16 7.18-20 7.21 7.21-23 7.23 7.24-27 7.28 7.28-29 8.1-4 8.2 8.4 8.5-13 8.6 8.7 8.8 8.10 8.11-12 8.12 8.13 8.16-17 8.17 8.19-22 8.22 8.23-27 8.25 8.28-34 9.2 9.5 9.6 9.11 9.10-13 9.13 9.13-15 9.14 9.14-17 9.15 9.18 9.18-22 9.18-26 9.23-34 9.27 9.27-28 9.27-31 9.32 9.34 9.35

43 43 n. 12, 124, 153 153 43 44 n. 14 43, 49 n. 38 123, 153, 153 43 43 53 n. 60 48 n. 35 74 56 n. 76, 56 n. 77 141 n. 26 43, 74, 80, 140 n. 22, 141 n. 26, 146 56 n. 76 52, 122 n. 20 56 n. 76 122 122 49 n. 39 122 71 52 n. 54 42 30 41, 74 56 n. 76 45 n. 20, 74, 143 73 73 73 48 113 46, 47 n. 31, 162 40 48 40 45 n. 26 56 n. 77 74 45 n. 20 74 51 n. 51 52 n. 52 41 48 n. 35 48, 52 n. 52 28, 61

9.36 140 n. 22, 147 n. 45, 173 n. 26 10.1 167 10.1-4 166, 178 10.1-5 176, 177 10.2 166 10.2-4 119 10.5 130 n. 37, 166 10.5-6 44 n. 14, 46, 47 n. 31, 121, 123, 130, 132, 142, 143, 147 n. 45 10.5-42 21, 53 n. 60 10.7-16 43, 48 10.8 43 n. 12 10.14-15 141 n. 25 10.17 28 10.18 130 n. 37 10.23 44 n. 14, 51, 69 10.24-25 43, 43 n. 12, 56 n. 76 10.25 52 n. 52 10.26-33 43 10.32 49 n. 38 10.33 49 n. 38 10.34-35 43 10.34-36 43 10.37 30 10.37-38 43 10.38 46 n. 28 10.39 43 10.40 43 10.40-42 148 n. 50 10.41 108 10.42 41, 43 n. 12 11.1 48 n. 35, 53 n. 60, 167 11.2-11 42 11.2-19 35 11.2–13.58 35 11.10 52 n. 54 11.12-13 43 11.19 55 11.20 48 n. 35 11.20-24 141 n. 25 11.21-27 42 11.25-30 35 11.27 50, 55 11.28-30 44, 55 12.1-8 112, 161 12.1-14 41 n. 6

Index of Ancient Sources 12.1–14.28 142 n. 26 12.2 48 12.3 51 n. 51 12.3-5 142 n. 26 12.5-6 44 n. 14 12.5-7 79 12.7 46, 47 n. 31, 161 12.9 28 12.9-14 161 12.11-12 44 n. 14 12.14 45 n. 26, 48, 120 12.17 52 n. 54 12.17-21 52 12.18 130 n. 37, 144 12.21 130, 130 n. 37, 144 12.22-23 48 n. 35 12.23 51, 52 n. 52 12.24 48, 52 n. 52 12.27 52 n. 52 12.33-37 124 12.34-37 44 n. 14 12.37 107 12.38 48 12.39-45 42 12.41-42 141 n. 25 12.42 146 12.48-50 30 12.50 49 n. 38 13.1 48 n. 35 13.1-53 48 13.3-52 53 n. 60 13.14-15 52 n. 54 13.17 108 13.18-23 124 13.24-30 44 13.33 42 13.34 48 13.35 48, 52, 52 n. 54 13.36-52 44 13.41-42 51 13.42 49 n. 39, 122 13.43 108 13.50 49 n. 39, 122 13.52 121, 183 13.53 53 n. 60 13.54 28 13.58 46 14.3-12 45 n. 26 14.13-20 178 14.16 178 14.22-23 35, 41 n. 6 14.28 56 n. 76

14.28-31 14.30 14.33 15.1 15.1-20 15.4 15.12 15.13 15.17 15.21 15.21-28 15.22 15.24 15.25 15.29-31 15.32-39 16.1 16.1-4 16.2 16.6 16.11 16.12 16.13-20 16.16 16.17 16.17-19 16.18 16.20 16.21 16.21-28 16.23 16.28 17.1-8 17.4 17.5 17.13 17.14-21 17.22-23 17.24-27 18.1 18.1-5 18.1-35 18.4-5 18.6-9 18.10 18.10-14 18.14

44 n. 14, 46 56 n. 76 46, 50, 57 48 141 n. 26 162 48 49 n. 38 46 43 n. 12 41, 123, 140 n. 22, 146 51 46, 47 n. 31, 51, 121, 123, 147 n. 45 56 n. 77 48 n. 35 41, 178 43, 48 41 48 48 48 48 41 n. 6, 45 n. 24 50 49 n. 38 44 n. 14, 46, 79, 177 28 73 45 n. 25, 51 n. 48 41 69 51, 69 71 56 n. 76 53, 56 n. 76 46 41, 45 n. 20 45 n. 25 32, 44, 142 n. 26 178 41 53 n. 60 178 178 43 n. 12, 49 n. 38 43 43 n. 12, 49 n. 38

­211 18.15 43 18.17 28, 123 n. 24, 143 18.18 177 18.18-22 35 18.19 49 n. 38 18.21-22 43 18.23-35 32 18.26 56 n. 77 18.35 49 n. 38 19.1 48 n. 35, 53 n. 60 19.3 46 19.17 141 n. 25 19.28 43, 51, 119, 141 n. 25, 178 20.1-16 44 20.17 167 20.17-19 40 20.18 45 n. 25 20.19 130, 130 n. 37, 144, 144 n. 33 20.20 56 n. 77 20.22-23 45 n. 26 20.25 130, 130 n. 37 20.25-25 141 n. 25 20.25-26 143 20.28-32 44 20.30-31 51 n. 51 20.32 112 21.4 52 n. 54 21.5 52 n. 53 21.9 51, 52 n. 52 21.12-17 123 21.13 141 n. 25 21.14-16 79 21.14-17 44 n. 14 21.15 51, 52 n. 52 21.16 52 n. 54 21.18-22 124 21.23-27 41, 123 21.28–22.14 123 21.31 123 21.31-32 123 21.32 49 n. 41, 109, 112 21.33-46 120, 131 21.37-42 45 n. 26 21.41 47 n. 31, 124, 131, 141 n. 25 21.42 52 n. 54 21.43 115-18, 124, 127, 130 n. 37, 131,

212

Index of Ancient Sources

132, 140 n. 22, 143, 151 21.43-45 46 21.45 52 21.45-46 119, 140 n. 22 21.46 45 n. 26, 120 22.1-14 32, 43 22.7 80 22.7-10 124 22.13 49 n. 39, 122 22.15 48 22.34-40 162 22.40 46 22.41 48 22.42 73 22.43-45 52 n. 54, 56 n. 76 23.1-39 44 23.2 48, 71, 84 23.5-10 85 23.9 49 n. 38 23.13 48 23.15 48 23.19-21 142 n. 26 23.23 48 23.25 48 23.25-26 142 n. 26 23.26 48 23.27 48, 109 23.28 43 n. 12, 109 23.29 43, 48 23.29-36 120, 132 23.32 120 23.32-34 43 n. 12 23.34 48, 55 23.33 43 23.34-36 35, 43, 46 n. 28 23.34-39 35 23.37-38 55 23.37-39 35, 46 n. 28 24.2–25.46 53 n. 60 24.3-36 41 24.7 130 n. 37, 131 24.9 130, 130 n. 37, 130 n. 39, 144 24.9-14 45 n. 26 24.10-12 47 n. 31 24.14 15, 45 n. 22, 130, 130 n. 37, 61 24.15-22 84 24.15-28 86 24.20 142 n. 26 24.24-25 44 n. 14

24.25 43 24.26 47 n. 31 24.27 43, 51 24.29 86 24.29-31 69, 86 24.30 51 24.37 51 24. 37-41 43 24.39 51 24.45-51 42 24.51 49 n. 39, 122 25.1-13 44 25.14-30 43 25.30 49 n. 39, 122 25.31-41 162 n. 41 25.31-46 51, 130, 147, 150 25.32 130, 130 n. 37 25.34 52 n. 53, 148 25.40 52 n. 53, 130 25.41 148 25.46 109 26.1 48 n. 35, 53 n. 60 26.2 142 n. 26 26.3-5 120 26.5 120 26.12 45 n. 26 26.13 15, 45 n. 22, 61 26.14-16 120 26.17-35 142 n. 26 26.21-23 45 n. 26 26.28 72 26.31 45 n. 26 26.37-39 45 n. 26 26.52-54 47 n. 31, 79 26.56 52, 52 n. 54 26.56-66 120 27.1-2 120 27.3-10 44, 120 27.9 52, 52 n. 54 27.11 52 n. 53 27.15-25 132 27.17 44 n. 14, 50, 120, 73 27.19 120 27.20 50, 120 27.22 50, 120 27.23 120 27.24 120 27.27-32 123 n. 24 27.29 52 n. 53 27.37 52 n. 53 27.42 52 n. 53

27.43 50 27.52-53 44 27.52–28.20 69 27.53 145 n. 40 27.54 49, 144 27.62 48 28.1-8 41 28.9 56 28.9-20 44 28.15 28 28.16-20 55 n. 70, 177 28.17 56 28.18 50, 147, 171 28.18-20 150 28.19 79, 121, 130 n. 37, 131, 131 n. 40 28.19-20 142, 144, 145, 145, 147, 175 28.20 54, 146, 175 31.1-50 21 Mark 1.1 1.2-3 1.16-20 2.10 2.13-17 2.16 2.17 2.18 2.18-22 2.20 2.23-28 2.23–3.6 2.24 2.25 3.1-6 3.4 3.6 3.7 3.11 3.13-19 3.21 3.22 4.10-12 4.34 4.35-41 4.38 5.1-20 5.6 5.20

49 109 40 51 n. 48 47 48 104 48 40 45 n. 26 47, 161 41 n. 6 48 51 n. 50, 51 n. 50 161 161 45 n. 26, 48 48 49 177 45 n. 19 48 48 48 41 45 n. 19 45 n. 19 56 n. 77 48

Index of Ancient Sources 5.21-43 5.31 6.5 6.7 6.17-29 6.20 6.45-52 6.51-52 6.52 6.52-53 7.1 7.10 7.18-19 7.24-30 7.27 8.1-10 8.11 8.11-13 8.15 8.17 8.27-30 8.29-31 8.31 8.31–9.1 9.1 9.2-8 9.10 9.11-13 9.14-29 9.28-36 9.30-31 9.33-37 9.41 9.43 10.2-12 10.13-16 10.32 10.32-34 10.33 10.35 10.46-52 10.47-48 11.9-10 11.27 11.27-33 11.39 11.40 11.42 11.44 11.47

45 n. 19 11.52 48 45 n. 19 12.1-12 47 45 n. 19, 47 12.6-12 45 n. 26 174 n. 29, 12.8 141 n. 25 174 n. 29 12.13 48 45 n. 26 12.28 48 104 12.28-31 47 41 n. 6, 47 12.35 48 57 12.35-37 51 n. 50 47 13 86, 89 17 13.2 83 48 13.3-32 41 162 13.6 73 47 13.9-13 45 n. 26 41 13.13 130 n. 39 123 13.30 83 41 14.8 45 n. 26 48 14.17 174 n. 29 41 14.18-20 45 n. 26 48 14.22-24 45 n. 26 45 n. 19 14.24 72 41 n. 6, 45 n. 24, 14.27 45 n. 26 47 14.33-36 45 n. 26 51 14.65 73 45 n. 25 15.19 56 41 15.39 49 83 16.1-8 41 71 45 n. 19 Luke 47 1 50 n. 46 41, 45 n. 19 1.75 49 n. 41 55 2 49 n. 42 45 n. 25 3 50 n. 46 41 3.7-9 42, 80 41 3.16 80 41 3.17 42 47 4 50 n. 46 40 4.1-13 80 45 n. 19, 4.7-8 56 174 n. 29 5.30 48 40 5.33 48 45 n. 25 6.2 48 45 n. 19 6.12-16 178 41 6.20-23 43 51 n. 50 6.20-26 106 n. 10 51 6.20-49 48 n. 36 141 n. 25 6.22-23 46 n. 28 41 6.27-28 43 48 6.29-30 43 48 6.31 43 48 6.32-36 43 48 6.37-42 42 48 6.40 43

­213 6.44 43 6.46 43 6.47-49 43 7.1-10 43, 80 7.18-19 42 7.22-28 42 7.31-35 42 7.35 55 8.16 43 9.2-5 43 9.26 55 n. 70 9.28-36 71 9.57-60 42 10.3-12 43 10.6-11.46 95 10.12-15 42 10.16 43 10.21 55 10.21-22 42, 55 n. 70 11.2-4 43 11.9-13 42 11.15 48 11.16 43 11.24-26 42 11.29 48 11.29-32 42 11.39 43 11.42 43 11.47 43 11.49 55, 161 n. 38 11.49-51 43, 46 n. 28 11.50–13.24 95 12.1 48 12.2-9 43 12.8 46 n. 29 12.22-31 42 12.33-34 43 12.42-46 42 12.51-53 43 12.58-59 43 13.20-21 42 13.23-24 43 13.27 43 13.28-29 122 n. 21–22 13.34-35 46 n. 28, 46 n. 29 14.15-24 43, 105 14.26-27 43 14.27 46 n. 28 14.34-35 43 15.3-7 43 16.13 42 16.16 43

Index of Ancient Sources

214 16.17 16.18 17.3 17.4 17.24 17.26-36 17.33 19.3 19.11-27 21 21.20-24 21.45 22.20 22.30 24.52

43, 46 43, 46 43 43 43 43 43 48 43 89 84, 86 48 72 43 56

John 1.1–11.45 97 n. 23 11 49 n. 42 11.48-57 97 n. 23 12.3–13.10 97 n. 23 14.8–15.10 97 n. 23 16.8 49 n. 41 16.10 49 n. 41 Acts 1.6 1.7 2 2.13-21 2.46 3 3.1-10 3.22-23 4 5.20-26 5.42 10–11 10.34-43 13 13.17-22 13.32-37 14 14.15-23 15.5 15.19-21 15.28-29 17 17.9-17 17.24-30 21.20-26 22.17 24.18

87, 140 n. 22 87 62 65 31 62 31 54 62 31 31 62 64 62 65 65 62 95 150 n. 60 150 150 62 95 65 150 31 31

25.8

31

Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha

Romans 1.3 1.3-4 3.4 4.25 5.12-21 8.34 9-11 9.24 13.9

63 63 107 63 70 63 26 n. 17 140 n. 23 47

Barnabas 1.4 109 5.4 109

1 Corinthians 11.25 72 15 61, 62, 64, 68 15.1 62 n. 7 15.1-28 61, 63, 68, 67 15.3 64, 73 15.3-8 62 15.21-22 65 15.21-23 71 15.24 65 15.27 65 2 Corinthians 6.17 108 Galatians 2.11-14 37 5.14 47 Philippians 2.6-11 63 1 Thessalonians 1.9-10 63 Hebrews 13.12 141 n. 25 2 Peter 2.21

Baruch 2.13 2.29 4.6 4.36-37 5.5-6

128 128 128 122 122

1 Enoch 82. 4 92.1 94.1 96.7 99.10

109 109 109 105 109

n. n. n. n. n.

29 29 29 23 23

1 Esdras 1.49 129 n. 34 8.69 129 n. 34 4 Ezra 7.97

108

Jubilees 1.20 23.26

109 109

1 Maccabees 1.11 129 n. 34 3.59 129 n. 35 2 Maccabees 15.9 103 4 Maccabees 18.10 103

109

Revelation 1.4-5 55 n. 70

Psalms of Solomon 168–73, 79 7.9 170 11.2-3 122 n. 23 13.11 109 17 168–70 Sirach/Ecclesiasticus 1.5 55 n. 72 5.4-7 140 n. 19

­215

Index of Ancient Sources 6.30 24.5-6 36.18-19 39.1-11 44.21-23 51.23-27 51.25-27

169 n. 10 35 54 n. 68 35 121 172 55

Testament of Abraham 1.1 110 11.10 110 20.14 110 Testament of Asher 5.2 110 Testament of Gad 7.5 109 Testament of Judah 21.09 105 Testament of Levi 16.2 105 Testament of Reuben 5.5 109 Tobit 1.3

107 107 109 109 107 109 110 107

4Q164 frag. 1

1QpHab 1.12-13 111 11.5 105

108

4Q510 frag. 1

109

4Q511 frag. 63 108 4Q512 frag. 34 104 4Q521 frag. 14 108

108

4Q177 frag. 7, 9 108 4Q253 frag. 1

108

4Q271 frag. 5

108

4Q299 frag. 8

104

4Q375 frag. 1

108

4Q393 frag. 1

10 7

4Q394–399 110 n. 17 4Q398 frag. 14–17

104 107 106 106 n. 10

4Q504

4QBeat 106 n. 10

109

Dead Sea Scrolls/Qumran Texts 1QHa 9.28 9.36 10.31-33 10.32

1QS 1.5 1.13 2.15 4.2-3 8.2 8.12-16 9.14 10.25

110 n. 17

4Q525

105, 106 n. 10

7Q5

17

11QT 46.12 51.15

54 n. 68 105

CD (Damascus Document) [General] 14, 24, 111, 112 1.1 110, 112 1.11 110 1.15-16 109 1.18-21 105 1.21 105 6.10-11 110 7.5 107 8.1-19 109 8.12 109 11.13-14 163 n. 39 11.21 108 19.1–20.12 109 19.24 109 20.11 108

4Q399 110 n. 17 4Q413 frag. 1

108

Mishnah, Talmud and Related Literature

4Q420 frag. 1

107

QL

81

4Q427

109

1QM 1.5 1.8 9.5-6 13.10

81 109 110 109 110

4Q434 frag. 1

108

m. ’Aboth 8 1.2 85 3.2 54 3.3 54 3.5 169 n. 10 3.6 54

4Q436 frag. 1

105

m. Berakhot 2.2 169 n. 10

216

Index of Ancient Sources

Deuteronomy Rabbah 1.6 108 2.25 148 n. 53

b. Ta’anit 17b 103 20a 103

Exodus Rabbah 30.9 148 n. 53 Genesis Rabbah 16.6 148 n. 53 Mekilta (Mek.) Exodus 18.1 145 n. 38 Midrash (Midr.) Ruth 1.16-17 145 n. 38 Numbers Rabbah 14.12 148 n. 53 Pirque Aboth 8 1.2 85 b. Shabbath 116a-b 103 n. 7 128b 162 n. 39 b. Sotah 10a

146 n. 3

Other Ancient Authors and Works

Josephus Jewish Antiquities (Ant.) 13.260 109 Jewish War (BJ) 6.300 56 n. 73 7.218 90

Gospel of Thomas 8, 18

Tacitus Agricola 16

Muratorian Fragment 18, 94

Histories 5.13 56 n. 73

Eusebius Historia Ecclesiastica 2.15.1 91 3.39.16 90 5.8.2 90, 91 6.14.6 91

Xenophon Agesilaus 16

Irenaeus Against Heresies III.1.1 90, 91 III.11.8 18, 94

­

Index of Subjects Abraham 49, 70, 72, 119, 121–24, 128–29, 131–32, 139–40, 148, 150, 171 Acts, Book of 7, 9, 31, 54, 64, 65, 88, 94, 95 Adam 63, 65, 70, 148 Antiochean provenance 37 anti-semitism 34 see also Judaism, anti antitheses 71, 103–104, 107, 157, 158, 159, 160, 163 apocalyptic 51, 83, 86, 105, 163 n. 41, 173 apostle(s) 41, 62, 64, 66, 114, 119, 121, 124, 130, 166, 174, 177 Aramaic 41, 90

Codex Commandments Corban criticism form narrative redaction culture

89 n. 50, 90, 115 n. 2, 120, 135, 139 n. 15, 178 n. 45, 185 17–19, 94–101 47, 146 n. 41, 147, 148 n. 53, 162 162 7, 8, 13, 15 44 14, 23, 44, 183 40, 42, 73, 139, 142–45, 150, 184

Damascus Document 14, 24, 111 date of Matthew 11, 76–92, 95–96 David, son of 25, 49–51, 52 n. 52, 55, 57, 70, 72–73, 119, 139, 145, 151, 167, 170–71 beatitude(s) 36, 105–107, 159 n. 27 Dead Sea Scrolls 102, 108, 110, biography 67 111 n. 20, 113 Graeco-Roman 7–8, 12, 15–16, 19 see also Index of Ancient Sources modern 7–8 Diaspora 137, 151 n. 61 birkat ha-minim 85–88 disciples ‘make disciples’ 121, 130, 131 n. 40, Caesar 32, 60, 74, 75 144 Caesarea Philippi 45 twelve 6, 28, 32, 33, 45, Cambridge University ix, xiii–xiv, 2–3, 46 n. 28, 50, 54 n. 66, 5–6, 20, 61, 94, 166, 55, 69, 72, 73, 87, 181–83 112, 141 n. 25, 145, Capernaum 33, 122–23, 141 n. 24 147, 150, 155, 161, characters 25, 33 164, 166–68, 171, Christian Jewish 26–29, 36–37, 70, 85, 174–79 88, 91, 138, 153–54, discipleship 152, 163–65, 174–75 159, 163 discourse 6, 20, 24, 83, 86, 89, Christology 46, 160, 163, 121, 130, 136, 148, Matthean 10, 23–24, 39, 51, 155, 159 n. 27, 161 56–57, 71, 74, n. 38, 166, 174, 178 154–55, 171, 176 Wisdom 35–36 early Christianity ix, 24, 29 church 6, 16, 17, 19, 28, 34, early church 7, 8, 10, 11, 17, 18, 37, 41, 46, 49, 60, 62, 20, 21, 58, 78, 90, 91, 63, 67, 80, 85, 88, 99

218

Index of Subjects

ecclesiology education eschatology ethnicity ethnos evangelist extra muros

23 1–3, 18 32, 87, 88, 106 n. 10, 153, 176 n. 37, 177 n. 41 26, 30, 127, 136, 138, 145, 150 115–18, 121, 127, 129–31 8, 10, 13, 23, 25, 28–29, 31, 35, 36, 51, 59, 72, 80, 83, 87, 103–104, 106, 111–13, 115, 117, 120, 122–25, 130–31, 134, 167, 172 30, 88, 112 n. 26, 134–36, 151

faith fourfold codex fourfold Gospel

8, 19, 33, 57, 63, 91, 107, 122, 146, 160, 166, 180–81, 184–85 17–19, 93–97, 100 12, 17–19, 93–96

Galatians Galilee genre Gentile Christianity mission Gentile(s) non-Jew(s) God

37, 166, 180 37, 52, 64, 121, 142, 149, 151 5, 8–16, 22, 24, 45–46, 61, 67–68, 74–75, 153 14, 16, 24, 26–28, 52, 55 n. 72, 59, 84, 115 n. 2, 121–24, 130, 131, 133–35, 139, 141, 143–51, 168, 170 29, 39, 36–37, 136, 138, 153

God-fear(s) 37, 137, 146 Graeco-Roman 6, 8, 12–13, 15, 18, 135–36, 138, 145, 183 Greek 8, 41, 68, 71, 74, 105, 118, 137 n. 10 Griesbach hypothesis 39 Herod the Great historical Jesus hypocrisy imperial anti- rule incarnation interpretation feminist postcolonial intra muros Irenaeus see also Index Isaiah Israel

Jerusalem Jewish 135, 138, 140 n. 22, Christianity 141 n. 24, 142, 143–46, 148, 150 8, 11, 32, 35, 36, sects 54, 55, 56 n. 79, 60, 62–64, 66, 105–10, 112, 117, 119, 121–27, John the Baptist 131, 138, 140, 143, 144 n. 36, 145, 146, Judaism 148, 150, 151, 155, anti- 156 n. 16, 157, 158, formative 162, 167–70, 172–73, Matthean 175–76 rabbinic

53, 72, 139 11–13, 18, 21, 35, 139 n. 18, 142 n. 26 109, 152, 154–55, 160, 163–64

33, 61, 75 32, 33, 75 35, 56 n. 74, 63, 64 34, 38 38, 142 27, 30, 88, 116, 134–36 18, 19, 90, 91, 93, 94, 95 n. 11, 100 of Ancient Sources 53–54, 71, 73, 117–18, 124–28, 130, 169 26–27, 30, 47, 51–54, 59, 67–75, 116–32, 137–38, 140, 142–43, 145–46, 150, 167, 169, 170, 171, 173–79 14, 37, 45, 47, 52–56, 64, 80, 82–84, 86–90, 126, 128, 241 n. 25, 142, 145, 146, 149, 168, 170 26–27, 37, 52 n. 52, 70, 85, 88, 91, 138, 153–54, 163 24, 27, 37, 111, 136, 142, 143, 153, 163, 168, 184 47, 80, 109, 119, 121, 122 24, 28 n. 31, 89 28, 29, 38 112, 134, 151 29, 80, 84, 151

Index of Subjects Second Temple 31, 38, 87, 179 judgement 26, 107, 108, 125 Justin Martyr 19, 94, 184

­219

69, 70, 89, 119, 121, 123–24, 130, 136, 143 n. 31, 144 n. 36, 145, 147, 150, 151, kerygma, Christian 64 153, 166, 171, kingdom 174–77, 180 Twelve-tribe kingdom 178–79 Mission Discourse 166, 174 King’s College London ix, 5, 6, 9, 11, 13, Moses 36, 53–55, 57, 70, 71, 17, 20, 21, 93 80, 84, 103, 113, 114, knowledge 1–3, 9, 39, 41, 87, 129, 154, 159 n. 30, 100, 104, 105, 160 n. 30, 162 107 n. 12, 118, 127, Muratorian Fragment 18, 94, 95 n. 11 149 n. 57, 150 nations 84, 98, 114, 121–24, Lady Margaret’s Professor of Divinity 127–32, 138–39, 142, ix, 6, 93, 102 144, 147, 148 n. 50, Law/Torah 17, 23, 31, 36, 38, 150, 167, 169 n. 10, 46–47, 53, 54, 71, 170–71, 175 84–85, 89, 102–10, Noahide Covenant 148 112–14, 128, 136–38, 141–47, 149, 150–51, oral tradition 40–43, 57, 79, 153–55, 157, 158–59, 149 n. 56 160–64 Oxyrhynchus 100 love 122, 125, 162, 165 n. 48, 181, 183, Papias 83, 90, 91 184 papyri 17, 19, 98, 99 Luke, Gospel of 7, 9, 40, 42, 56, papyrus fragments, see Index of Ancient 79-83, 89, 97–99, 104, Sources 176–77 Parable of the Tenants 118, 119, 141 n. 25 Magdalen College, Oxford 17, 76 parable(s) 6, 21, 32, 36, 48, 52, Mark, Gospel of 9, 40, 41, 45, 46, 49, 117, 123–24 62, 64, 68, 69, 83, passion narrative 45, 46, 51 n. 48, 104, 176, 177 118 n. 14, 119, 120 Matthean community(-ies) 14, 16, 23, 24, Passover 72, 120, 142 n. 26 28, 111, 112 Paul 7, 16, 31, 36–38, Matthean posteriority 81, 82 60–62, 64–67, 69, 70, Matthean priority 39, 77, 78, 79, 81 73, 80, 89 n. 23, 150, Messiah (Christ) 36, 47, 49, 50, 55, 57, 151 n. 61, 157, 180 61, 63–64, 66–68, Pauline 72–74, 104, 113–14, anti- 36, 37, 153 119, 123–24, 140, pre- 61 n. 7, 65–67, 73, 75 144–47, 149–51, Peter 37, 45, 47, 50, 51, 64, 160 n. 30, 168, 73, 72, 83, 90, 91, 177, 175, 179, 176 178 n. 45 messianism 66, 167–68, 170–72, Pharisee/Pharisaic 27, 48, 80, 84, 85, 89, 175, 179 91, 103, 106, 109, method 112, 113, 117, 121, reader response 23 141, 154–56, 159–62 social-scientific 23–25, 38 post-70 54, 82–84, 88, 89 mission 6, 20, 29, 30, 36–37, postgraduates 20, 181 41, 46–48, 56–57, 60, proselyte(s) 36, 138, 145, 146, 150

220 Qumran see also Index

Index of Subjects 17, 77, 104, 105–107, 109, 111 n. 22, 112–13, 177 n. 41 of Ancient Sources

scripture(s) 3, 30, 34, 52, 62, 65–67, 70–71, 75, 89, 103, 106, 112–14, 146, 150, 161–63, 185 Sermon on the Mount 6, 11, 20, 34, religion 31, 102, 116, 134, 35, 48, 53, 67, 70, 71, 136 n. 5, 136–37 79, 85, 103, 104, resurrection 12, 18, 19, 21, 45, 56, 152–56, 154, 160–63 57, 62–66, 69, 82, Society of Biblical Literature ix, 9, 15 108, 114, 143 n. 31, Son of God 11, 32, 36, 49, 50, 55, 145, 147, 150, 177 57, 73, 119, 124, 172 Revelation, Book of 32 Son of Man 36, 50, 51, 55, 73, 86, righteous(ness) 49, 85, 102, 103, 114, 130, 148, 171, 178 126–27, 140, 148–49, soteriology 66, 71, 153 154, 157, 159, 161, sources 23, 39, 40, 44, 70, 77, 163, 165, 168–70, 173 78–82, 127, 135 n. 6, Roman Empire, Rome 29, 32, 33, 62, 166, 184 75, 90, 91, 94, 137 synagogue(s) 135–38, 142 n. 26, n. 10, 138, 142 n. 27, 155 145, 146, 150, 151 Synoptic Gospels 39, 78, 82 Sabbath 31, 90, 137, 142 n. 26, problem 39, 81, 82 161, 162 n. 39, 164 n. 45 temple 30–33, 38, 51, 54–55, Sadducee(s) 90, 121 83–88, 87, 89–90, Samaritan(s) 121, 130, 140 n. 22 123, 141 n. 25, 142, sapiential 35–36, 168, 170, 172 151, 162, 177 n. 41, Christology 35–36 179 saviour 67, 68, 74 Thomas, Gospel of 8, 18 scholar, Matthean 21, 38, 67, 85, 88, two-source hypothesis 39, 78, 81 116 scholarship, wisdom 1–4, 35–36, 56–57, biblical 6 167–70, 172–73, 175, Matthean ix, 14, 22–24, 113, 179, 182–83 134 scribes 27, 80, 84, 103, 106, 169, 112, 113, 139 n. 15, 154–57, 159, 160–62

­

Index of Modern Authors Abegg, M. G. Aland, K. M. Allen, W. C. Allison, Dale C., Jr

110 n. 17, 187 95 n. 14, 96 n. 19, 99 n. 27, 100 n. 30, 187 170 n. 9, 187 10, 17, 24, 35, 39 n. 1, 46 n. 21, 49 n. 43, 53 n. 56, 53 n. 58, 54 n. 66, 54 n. 67, 55 n. 72, 55 n. 73, 69 n. 19, 70, 71 n. 26, 85, 86, 109 n. 14, 117 n. 8, 122 n. 22, 147 n. 47, 148 n. 52, 149 n. 56, 158 n. 24, 160 n. 26, 164 n. 45, 167, 169 n. 10, 172 n. 21, 172 n. 24, 175 n. 37, 176 n. 37, 178, 187

Bacon, B. W. Barr, A. Barth, G. Batluck, Mark D. Bauckham, Richard J. Baumgarten, J. A. Beaton, R. Becker, A. H. Becker, H. J. Bernstein, M. Bertram, Georg Betz, H. D.

53 n. 61, 187 48 n. 34, 187 26 n. 18, 43 n. 15, 163 n. 40, 165 n. 48, 187 25 n. 9, 188 31, 66 n. 15, 67 n. 18, 187–88 111, 188 70 n. 24, 188 88 n. 46, 188 84 , 188 111 n. 18, 195 169 n. 10, 188 10, 11, 49 n. 36, 67, 68, 104 n. 8, 153, 156, 160 n. 29, 161 n. 31, 33, 34, 163, 188, 189, 202

Bird, Michael F. Blomberg, C. L. Boccaccini, G. Bockmuehl, Markus Boring, M. Eugene Bornkamm, G. Boyarin, D. Boys, M. Brooke, G. J. Brooks, S. H. Brown, Jeannine K. Brown, R. E. Brown, Schuyler Bryan, Steven M. Buchanan, George W. Büchsel, F. Bultmann, R. Burkitt, F. C. Burridge, R. Byrskog, Samuel

87 n. 89, 87 n. 94, 205 77 n. 5, 188 29 n. 39, 188 20 nn. 48–49, 43 n. 12, 60 n. 4, 188, 194 175 n. 37, 188 26, 44 n. 15, 162 n. 40, 187, 188 29 n. 39, 88 n. 46, 188 29 n. 37, 188 106 n. 10, 111 n. 20, 188, 195 45 n. 13, 188 175, 188 44 n. 13, 53 n. 56, 188 166 n. 1, 167 n. 3, 189 125 n. 25, 189 170 n. 10, 189 178 n. 46 77 n. 4, 12, 16, 149 n. 56, 157 n. 21, 189 40, 40 n. 5, 189 ix, xiii, 5, 7 n. 5, 8 n. 10, 13 n. 24, 16 n. 33, 20 n. 43, 21 n. 51, 61, 67, 189 137 n. 10, 205

Campbell, Ted Carlston, C. E. Carter, Warren

62 n. 8, 189 153 n. 8, 160 nn. 32–33, 189 25 n. 13, 32, 32 nn. 51–56, 33, 75, 116 n. 4, 138, 143 n. 29, 144 n. 33, 145 n. 39, 150, 189

222 Charette, Blaine, Charlesworth, J. H. Charlesworth, Scott Collins, A. Y. Collins, J. J. Comfort, P. W. Cousland, J. R. C. Cuvillier, Elain Davies, W. D. Deines, R. Deutsch, Celia Dodd, C. H. Dozeman, T. Draper, J. A. Duling, D. C. Dunn, J. D. G. Edwards, S. A. Elliott, J. K. Elliott, Mark W. Epp, E. J. Ewherido, A. O. Fabry, H.-J. Farmer, W. Feldman, Louis H. Fine, Steven Fitzmyer, J. A.

Index of Modern Authors 148 n. 51, 190 31 n. 48, 66 n. 15, 106 n. 10, 110 n. 17, 188, 190 97 n. 20, 190 45 n. 22, 190 66 n. 15, 68 n. 20, 190 96–97 n. 19, 190 28, 190 29 n. 35, 190

Foster, Paul France, R. T. Freyne, Seán

29 n. 34, 37 n. 94, 115 n. 3, 117 n. 3, 192 30, 71 n. 27, 77 n. 5, 140 n. 19, 148 n. 50, 171, 177 n. 42, 192 173–74, 175, 177 n. 43, 192

Gale, A. M. ix, 37 n. 91, 192 Garland, D. E. 154–55 nn. 11–12, 156 n. 18, 164 10, 11, 17, 24, 26, n. 47, 192 37 n. 95, 39 n. 1, Gärtner, B. 113, 192 44 n. 21, 49 n. 43, Gaston, Lloyd 119 n. 16, 192 53 n. 61, 55 Gathercole, Simon 54 n. 65, 56 n. 74, nn. 66–67, 56 192 nn. 72–73, 84, 85, Gench, F. T. 35 n. 76, 192 86, 107, 109 n. 14, Gerhardsson, B. 53 n. 59, 192 117 n. 8, 147 n. 47, Gibbs, J. A. 78 n. 5, 192 148 n. 52, 149 Gnilka, J. 41 n. 7, 45 n. 21, n. 56, 158 n. 24, 50 n. 47, 52 n. 53, 159 n. 26, 164 53 n. 62, 192 n. 45, 167, 169 Goppelt, L. 65 n. 14, 192 n. 10, 172 n. 21, Goulder, M. D. 26 n. 18, 79 172 n. 24, 175 nn. 11–12, 193 n. 37, 178, 190 Gray, Sherman W. 147 nn. 47–49, 102 n. 3, 104 148 n. 50, 149, 192 nn. 7–8, 190 Green, J. B. 152 n. 2, 192 35, 55 n. 71, 168 Guelich, Robert A. 10, 61 n. 5, n. 6, 172, 173, 190 158 n. 24, 167 n. 4, 65 n. 14, 190 193 121 n. 19, 191 Gundry, Robert H. 76, 77 n. 5, 79 35 n. 75, 191 n. 11, 86 n. 43, 25, 26, 30, 191 87 n. 44, 88 n. 49, xiii, 5, 10, 11 n. 17, 89 n. 50, 91 n. 55, 34 n. 65, 39, 55 113 n. 28, 117 n. 8, n. 72, 59, 61 n. 7, 149 n. 56, 193 110 n. 17, 191, 197, 203 Haenchen, E. 155 n. 14, 156 n. 15, 193 98 n. 26, 191 Hamerton-Kelly, R. G. 103 n. 7, 193 96 nn. 16–17, 191 Hagner, Donald A. xiii, 10, 33 n. 64, 34, 191 20 nn. 48–49, 28, 96 n. 17, 191 29 n. 35, 42 n. 11, 29 n. 35, 191 43 n. 12, 52 n. 54, 53 n. 62, 60 n. 4, 106 n. 10, 192 70 n. 25, 71 n. 27, 78, 79 n. 11, 192 76, 104 n. 8, 135 137 n. 12, 192 n. 5, 151, 164 138 n. 12, 192 n. 43, 188, 193, 66 n. 15, 192 194

Index of Modern Authors Hare, D. R. A, Harrington, Daniel J. Hawkins, J. C. Hays, R. B. Head, Peter M. Heckel, T. K. Hellholm, D. Hengel, Martin Heyob, Sharon K. Holtzmann, H. J. Hooker, Moorna D. Horbury, William Horton, C. Hoskyns, E. Howard, G. Huggins, Ronald V. Hummel, R. Hurtado, Larry W.

29 n. 35, 118 n. 14, 131 n. 40, 193 116 n. 4, 117 n. 8, 131 n. 40, 141 n. 25, 194 42 n. 10, 45 n. 20, 49 n. 43, 194 65 n. 14, 194 xiii, 77 n. 2, 93, 96 n. 19, 97 n. 20, 100 n. 31, 194 94 n. 10, 194 87 n. 44, 193 10, 15, 40 n. 3, 61 n. 5, 75, 76, 78–84, 88 n. 42, 89, 90 n. 53, 94 n. 10, 96 n. 17, 193, 194 137 n. 10, 194 39 n. 1, 40, 79 n. 12, 194 6, 71, 71 n. 28, 143 n. 31, 194 60 n. 4, 85 n. 40, 178 n. 48, 194 95 n. 12, 194 61, 195 103, 195 78, 79 n. 12, 81, 82, 195 48 n. 33, 195 66 n. 15, 99 n. 28, 195

Jeremias, J. Johnson, M. D. Jones, A. Juel, D. Junack, K.

50 n. 46, 83 n. 30, 195, 199 35 n. 75, 195 178 n. 45, 195 65 n. 14, 195 99 n. 27, 195

Kähler, M. Kampen, John Käsemann, E. Kasser, R. Keck, Leander E. Keener, C. G.

45 n. 23, 195 111, 112, 172 n. 21, 172 n. 23, 195 159 n. 30, 160 n. 31, 195 97 n. 23, 195 160 n. 32, 175 n. 37, 196 68 n. 19, 196

­223

Kelhoffer, J. A. 94 n. 10, 196 Kenyon, F. G. 95 n. 12, 196 Kilpatrick, G. D. 29 n. 35, 43 n. 13, 196 Kingsbury, J. D. 17, 50 n. 44, 55 n. 76, 73, 196 Klausner, Joseph 169 n. 9, 196 Kloppenborg, John S. 40 n. 3, 41 n. 8, 46 n. 28, 141 n. 25, 196, 200 Knowles, M. P. 52 n. 55, 163, 196 Koester, H. 15, 26 n. 16, 30 n. 43, 60 n. 3, 196, 196 Köhler, W.-D. 58 n. 79, 196 Konradt, M. 30 n. 40, 196 Köster, Welte B. 99 n. 27, 196 Kraus, T. J. 95 n. 15, 196 Kümmel, Werner Goerg 43 n. 13, 45 n. 21, 53 n. 56, 53 n. 58, 53 n. 61, 53 n. 79 196 Kupp, David D. 54 n. 69, 117 n. 8, 197 Lakmann, Marie-Luise Lampe, Peter Lawrence, L. J. Lemcio, Eugene E. Levine, Amy-Jill Luomanen, P. Luz, Ulrich

98 n. 26, 197 34 n. 71, 41 n. 7, 197 24–25, 141 n. 25, 197 176 n. 35, 197 116 n. 4, 117 n. 8, 134 n. 5, 197 29, 197 10, 17, 26, 29 n. 35, 30, 33–34, 41 n. 9, 44 n. 13, 45 n. 21, 49 n. 43, 56 n. 44, 52 n. 54, 54 n. 67, 55 n. 73, 82, 122 n. 20, 143 n. 32, 156 n. 18, 166 n. 1, 167, 174, 175, 197–98

McIver, R. K. Mack, Burton McKnight, Scot

26 n. 15, 198 169, 170 n. 13, 198 xiii, 59, 66 n. 17, 72 n. 29, 73 n. 31, 152 n. 2, 175 n. 37, 177 n. 41, 178 n. 46, 198

224 Marcus, J. Martin, V. Martinez, Ernest R. Marxsen, W. Mason, Steve Massaux, E. Meier, John P. Mitchell, M. M. Montefiore, H. W. Morgan, R. Moses, A. D. A. Moss, C. M. Moule, C. F. D. Neyrey, J. H. Nolan, B. M. Nolland, John Novakovic, Lidija Oakes, P. O’Leary, A. M. Olmstead, Wesley G. Osborne, Grant Overman, Andrew J. Parker, D. C. Pattie, T. S. Perelmuter, H. Perrin, Nicholas Popkes, W. Porter, S. E. Powell, M. A.

Index of Modern Authors 85 n. 40, 198 97 n. 23, 198 178, 198 45 n. 22, 198 136, 137 n. 9, 198 58 n. 79, 198 136, 137 n. 9, 58 n. 79, 104, 131 n. 40, 158 n. 24, 176 n. 37, 198 85 n. 40, 198 90 n. 54, 198 158 n. 24, 159 n. 27, 159 n. 28, 160 n. 33, 164 n. 43, 198 53 n. 63, 198 52 n. 55, 198 5, 6, 19, 39, 77 n. 5, 164, 180, 198

Przybylski, B. Puech, É.

88 n. 48, 193, 201, 204 110–12, 157 n. 20, 199 106 n. 10, 199

Räisänen, H. 50 n. 47, 199 Reed, A. Y. 88 n. 46, 199 Reeves, J. C. 111 n. 22, 199 Reicke, B. 77 n. 5, 199 Rengstorf, K. H. 83 n. 30, 199 Repschinski, Boris 27 n. 20, 28, 116 nn. 3–4, 117 nn. 7–9, 118 n. 13 Riches, John 32 n. 57, 33 nn. 58–59, 75 n. 32, 150 n. 59, 199–201, 204 Robinson, J. A. T. 77, 79, 90 n. 54, 200 Robinson, J. M. 40 n. 3, 98 n. 26, 24, 198 200 69 n. 22, 198 Runesson, Anders xiii, 27, 133, 31 n. 46, 77 n. 5, 134 n. 3, 135 n. 6, 104 n. 8, 117 n. 8, 136 n. 7, 137 140, 142 n. 26, nn. 10–12, 170 n. 12, 190, 193 139 n. 16, 171, 199 140 n. 22, 142 n. 27, 143 n. 30, 33, 199 145 n. 38, 146 46 n. 30, 199 n. 44, 200, 202 xiii, 115, 118 n. 15, 120 n. 18, 121 Saldarini, A. J. 27 nn. 20–21, n. 19, 122 n. 22, 112 n. 26, 116–18, 129 n. 36, 141 124, 125, 127, 131, n. 25, 199 135 n. 5, 200 177 n. 42, 199 Sanders, E. P. 29, 111 n. 22, 200 24, 26, 27 n. 20, Satterthwaite, P. E. 66 n. 15, 201 112 n. 26, Schaberg, J. 55 n. 70, 69 n. 21, 116 nn. 3–4, 201 117 n. 8, 135 n. 5, Scheid, John 137 n. 10, 201 199 Schnackenburg, Rudolph 10, 139 n. 15, 140 n. 19, 141 77, 199 n. 25, 142 n. 28, 98 n. 26, 199 201 29 n. 37, 199 Schnelle, U. 55 n. 70, 201 169 n. 9, 199 Segal, A. F. 29 n. 37, 104 n. 8, 104 n. 8, 199 201 136 n. 7, 163 n. 42, Segovia, Fernando F. 38 n. 97, 201 196, 204 Senior, Donald 24, 29–33, 164 29 n. 35, n. 43, 201, 204 38 nn. 96–97,

­225

Index of Modern Authors Sim, David C. 27 n. 20, 32 n. 57, 33, 36, 37, 75 n. 32, 116 nn. 3–4, 117 n. 8, 134, 135 n. 5, 138 n. 14, 143 n. 29, 144 n. 35, 150 n. 59, 199–201, 204 Skeat, T. C. 93–98, 190, 191, 194, 202 Snodgrass, Klyne R. 117 n. 8, 202 Stanton, Graham N. see Index of Subjects Stendahl, K. 29 n. 35, 102, 113, 203 Strack, H. L. 170 n. 10 Strecker, Georg 157 n. 20, 166 n. 1, 167 Streeter, B. H. 39 n. 1, 40, 42 n. 11, 203 Stuhlmacher, P. 10 n. 14, 61 n. 7, 193, 203 Suggs, M. J. 35 n. 75, 55 n. 72, 203 Takács, Sarolta A. Talbert, Charles H. Thiede, Carsten P. Trilling, W. Tuckett, C. M. Turner, David L.

137 n. 10, 203 12, 61 n. 5, 116 n. 4, 117 n. 8, 203 17, 76, 77, 96 n. 19, 194, 203 59, 69 n. 23, 203 xiii, 39 n. 2, 50 n. 47, 152, 158 n. 24, 164 n. 43, 164 n. 45, 198, 204 78 n. 5, 116 n. 4, 117 n. 8, 177 n. 42, 204

Turner, E. G. Turner, N. Twelftree, Graham H.

98 nn. 25–26, 199, 204 44 n. 18, 204 136 n. 7, 204

Udoh, F.

29 n. 38, 204

van Aarde, A. G. 27 n. 23, 204 Vledder, E.-J. 27 n. 23, 204 Von Campenhausen, H. 94 n. 10, 95 n. 11, 204 Von Dobbeler, A. 27, 204 Von Dobschütz, E. 85 n. 36, 204 Votaw, C. W. 12, 61 n. 5, 204 Vouga, F. 66 n. 16, 204 Wainwright, Elaine M. Weaver, D. J. Wenham, J. Wilkins, Michael J. Williamson, H. G. M. Willitts, Joel Wilson, Stephen G. Winandy, J. Witherington, Ben Wrede, W.

38 n. 96, 204 ix, 33, 204 66 n. 15, 77, 201, 204 78 n. 5, 104 n. 8, 167 n. 4, 174 n. 30, 176, 193, 204 70 n. 24, 204 ix, xiii, 36–38, 51 n. 52, 69 n. 23, 139 n. 18, 166, 171 n. 40, 205 149, 205 147 n. 49, 205 35, 36, 172, 205 50 n. 47

Young, F. M.

85 n. 40, 198

Zetterholm, Magnus

66 n. 15, 137 n. 10, 205