New Studies in Textual Interplay 9780567678973, 9780567678997, 9780567678980

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STUDIES IN SCRIPTURE IN EARLY JUDAISM AND CHRISTIANITY Edited by Craig A. Evans Volume 20 LIBRARY OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES

632 formerly the Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement series Editor Chris Keith Editorial Board Dale C. Allison, John M. G. Barclay, Lynn H. Cohick, R. Alan Culpepper, Craig A. Evans, Robert Fowler, Simon J. Gathercole, Juan Hernández Jr., John S. Kloppenborg, Michael Labahn, Matthew V. Novenson, Love L. Sechrest, Robert Wall, Catrin H. Williams, Brittany Wilson

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New Studies in Textual Interplay Edited by Craig A. Evans, B. J. Oropeza, and Paul T. Sloan

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T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2021 This edition published in 2022 Copyright © Craig A. Evans, B. J. Oropeza, Paul T. Sloan, and Contributors, 2021 Craig A. Evans, B. J. Oropeza, Paul T. Sloan, and Contributors have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Evans, Craig A., editor. | Oropeza, B. J., 1961– editor. | Sloan, Paul (Religious educator), editor. Title: New studies in textual interplay / edited by Craig A. Evans, B. J. Oropeza, Paul Sloan. Description: London ; New York : T&T Clark, 2020. | Series: The library of New Testament studies, 2513–8790 ; 632 | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “This volume features a body of work selected by Craig A. Evans, B. J. Oropeza, and Paul T. Sloan, designed to examine just what is meant by ‘intertextuality,’ including metalepsis and the controversial and exciting approach known as ‘mimesis.’ Beginning with an introduction from Oropeza which orients readers in a complex and evolving field, the contributors first establish the growing research surrounding the discipline, before examining important texts and themes in the New Testament Gospels and epistles”-- Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2020027790 (print) | LCCN 2020027791 (ebook) | ISBN 9780567678973 (hardback) | ISBN 9780567698223 (paperback) | ISBN 9780567678980 (pdf) Subjects: LCSH: Bible. New Testament–Criticism, Textual. | Intertextuality in the Bible. Classification: LCC BS2325 .N47 2020 (print) | LCC BS2325 (ebook) | DDC 225.6/6–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020027790 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020027791 ISBN: HB: 978-0-5676-7897-3 PB: 978-0-5676-9822-3 ePDF: 978-0-5676-7898-0 Series: Library of New Testament Studies, ISSN 2513-8790, volume 632 Typeset by Newgen KnowledgeWorks Pvt. Ltd., Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

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Contents Preface List of Abbreviations List of Contributors

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Part One:  Theories of Intertextuality

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1 New Studies in Textual Interplay: An Introduction  B. J. Oropeza

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2 Ancient Midrash in the Age of Intertextuality  B. J. Oropeza

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3 Recontextualization and the Multidimensional Approach to Scripture: Interpreting the Text of Matt 22:31–46  Erik Waaler

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4 Mimesis and Criticism  Karl Olav Sandnes

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5 Response to Karl Olav Sandnes  Dennis R. MacDonald

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Part Two:  Studies in Intertextuality

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6 Israel’s Last Prophet: Matt 23:29–36 and the Intertextual Basis of Matthew’s Rejected Prophet Christology  David L. Turner

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7 The Good News of Isaiah and Rome in Mark 1:1  Adam Winn

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8 For Everyone Shall Be Salted with Fire  Paul T. Sloan

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9 Psalm 22 in Mark’s Gospel: Moving Forward  Holly J. Carey

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10 Luke’s Christology in Light of Old Testament Lament Echoes Channing L. Crisler

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11 The Marriage and Wedding Imagery of Jesus and Adam: The Intertextual Connection of John 19:23–37 and Gen 2:18–25  Sunny Chen

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12 Multivalent Biblical Images in the Fourth Gospel and the Patristic Verbum Abbreviatum  William M. Wright IV

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Contents

13 The Covenant Curses, the Restoration, and the Inheritance of the Son: Jesus as Servant and Messiah in Gal 1:4 and Beyond Esau D. McCaulley

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14 Lawlessness, Idolatry, and Apostasy in the Book of Deuteronomy and in 1 John: An Old Message in a New Setting  Max Rogland

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15 Final Reflection  Steve Moyise

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Bibliography Index of Authors Index of Primary Sources

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Preface The editors are pleased to offer a new volume in the Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity (SSEJC) series, which was founded almost thirty years ago by Craig A. Evans and James A. Sanders. More than twenty volumes have been published to date. Many of them have focused on the function of Israel’s sacred Scripture in early Christian writings, whether in those writings eventually recognized as canonical or in those not so recognized. Most of these volumes have appeared in the ‘blue series,’ that is, the Library of New Testament Studies (LNTS). Some volumes have focused on the artifacts of Scripture (such as LSTS 70); others have focused on texts loosely grouped together under the heading of “pseudepigrapha.” These volumes have appeared in the ‘red series,’ or Library of Second Temple Studies (LSTS). The editors of New Studies in Textual Interplay are grateful to the contributors, who seek to bring clarity and fresh insight to this important field of inquiry. This volume probes just what is meant by “intertextuality,” including the controversial and exciting approach known as “mimesis.” Editor B. J. Oropeza’s introduction will orient readers to the volume as a whole and his chapter on ancient midrash maps out the lay of the land in what is a complicated and evolving field. This essay, along with the essays that make up the Part One of the volume, will bring readers up to date with respect to the growing boundaries of the discipline. The remaining essays are gathered in Part Two. These essays treat important texts and themes in the four New Testament Gospels and two of the epistles. As do the essays in the first section, the essays in the second session also critically evaluate the new proposals relating to intertextuality and the function of ancient Scripture in the writings that came to make up the New Testament. Craig A. Evans B. J. Oropeza Paul T. Sloan

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Abbreviations AB ABD ABRL ABY ACW AGJU AJEC AnBib ANF ANRW ANTC ArBib ASNU ASP BBC BBR BDAG BDB BDF BECNT BETL BEvT BHT BI Bib BibInt BibInt BJS BMI BNTC BR BSac BTB BZNW

Anchor Bible (Commentary) Anchor Bible Dictionary Anchor Bible Reference Library Anchor Bible Yale Ancient Christian Writers Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity Analecta Biblica Ante-Nicene Fathers Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt Abingdon New Testament Commentaries The Aramaic Bible Acta Seminarii Neotestamentici Upsaliensis American Studies in Papyrology Blackwell Bible Commentaries Bulletin for Biblical Research Frederick W.  Danker, Walter Bauer, William A.  Arndt, and F.  Wilbur Gingrich, Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature Francis Brown, S.  R. Driver, Charles A.  Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament Friedrich Blass, Albert Debrunner, and Robert W. Funk, A Greek Gramma of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Beiträge zur evangelischen Theologie Beiträge zur historischen Theologie Biblical Illustrator Biblica Biblical Interpretation Biblical Interpretation Series Brown Judaica Studies The Bible and Its Modern Interpreters Black’s New Testament Commentaries Biblical Research Bibliotheca Sacra Biblical Theology Bulletin Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft

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Abbreviations CAL CBQ CBR CCSG ConBNT CSEL DTT EKKNT EncM ETL FAT FC HCS HKNT HThKNT HTR HTS HUCA ICC Int JBL JETS JGRChJ JHS JJT JQR JSJSup JSNT JSNTSup JSOT JSOTSup JSPL JSS JTS Jud KAV KEK LCL LNTS NAC NCB NCBC NCC Neot

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Comprehensive Aramaic Lexicon Catholic Biblical Quarterly Currents in Biblical Research Corpus Christianorum: Series Graeca Coniectanea Biblica: New Testament Series Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum Dansk teologisk tidsskrift Evangelisch-Katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Encyclopedia of Midrash: Biblical Interpretation in Formative Judaism Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses Forschungen zum Alten Testament Fathers of the Church Hellenistic Culture and Society Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Harvard Theological Review Harvard Theological Studies Hebrew Union College Annual International Critical Commentary Interpretation Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism Journal of Hellenic Studies Josephinum Journal of Theology Jewish Quarterly Review Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods, Supplements Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament, Supplements Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplements Journal for the Study of Paul and His Letters Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Judaica Kommentar zu den Apostolischen Vätern Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament Loeb Classical Library Library of New Testament Studies North American Commentary New Century Bible New Cambridge Bible Commentary New Covenant Commentary Neotestamentica

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x NIB NICNT NICOT NIGTC NovT NovTSup NT NTL NTOA NTS NV OEBI OT OTL PG PL PNTC RAC RB RBS RBL RevQ RRA SBL SBLDS SBLMS SBLS SBT SCJ SEÅ SJLA SJT SNTSMS SP StBibLit StPB STDJ SUNT TDNT ThKZNT TSAJ TU VT VTSup WBC

Abbreviations New Interpreter’s Bible New International Commentary on the New Testament New International Commentary on the Old Testament New International Greek Testament Commentary Novum Testamentum Novum Testamentum, Supplements New Testament New Testament Library Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus New Testament Studies Nova et Vetera The Oxford Encyclopedia of Biblical Interpretation Old Testament Old Testament Literature Patrologia Graeca Patrologia Latina Pillar New Testament Commentaries Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum Revue biblique Resources for Biblical Study Review of Biblical Literature Revue de Qumrân Rhetoric of Religious Antiquity Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Studies in Biblical Theology Stone-Campbell Journal Svensk exegetisk årsbok Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Scottish Journal of Theology Society of New Testament Studies, Monograph Series Sacra Pagina Studies in Biblical Literature Studia Post-Biblica Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments Theological Dictionary of the New Testament Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum Texte und Untersuchungen Vetus Testamentum Vetus Testamentum, Supplements Word Biblical Commentary

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Abbreviations WMANT WTJ WUNT ZAW ZEC ZNW

Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Westminster Theological Journal Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zondervan Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft

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Contributors Holly J. Carey, Point University Sunny Chen, University of Divinity Channing L. Crisler, Anderson University Craig A. Evans, Houston Baptist University Dennis R. MacDonald, Claremont School of Theology Esau D. McCaulley, Northeastern Seminary Steve Moyise, University of Chichester B. J. Oropeza, Azusa Pacific University Max Rogland, Erskine Theological Seminary Karl Olav Sandnes, Norwegian School of Theology Paul T. Sloan, Houston Baptist University David L. Turner, Grand Rapids Theological Seminary Erik Waaler, NLA University College Adam Winn, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor William M. Wright IV, Duquesne University

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Part One

Theories of Intertextuality

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New Studies in Textual Interplay: An Introduction B. J. Oropeza

This study addresses ongoing conversations regarding the interplay of NT texts with other texts. Naturally, such interplay has been going on for ages, but for biblical scholars it was given new impetus through Richard Hays’s monumental work Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul.1 Many readers were introduced to terms such as metalepsis and intertextuality through Hays’s book. Although intertextuality has taken on a number of nuances over the years, for our purposes, it can be understood as the presence of a text (or texts) in another text.2 This understanding of intertextuality opens up the text’s playing field to invite both ancient authorial intentionality as well as what is evoked by the reader, ancient or otherwise. It is open for play to both structural and post-structural interpreters, as well as for those who see themselves somewhere in between these poles. More and more, biblical intertextualists are recognizing through the quotations, allusions, and echoes they bring to light that their uncovered subtexts have also been influenced by a constellation of other texts. They discover that text relations continue to expand, sometimes even escaping out of their own orbits.3 Such recognition ought to pay homage to Julia Kristeva and the Tel Quel team in France who, in the late 1960s, first coined the term to advance the idea that every text contacts and collides with other texts, and such interactions transform these texts.4 We seem to be quite justified, then, in adding “new studies” to the title of this collection of interplays. Part  One, Theories of Intertextuality, of this present volume focuses on intertextual theories. The studies in it are a product of the “Intertextuality in the 1 Richard Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). 2 See further, my chapter on intertextuality and midrash in Chapter 2. 3 Worth pondering are the words of Steve Moyise, “Intertextuality and Historical Approaches to the Use of Scripture in the New Testament,” in Reading the Bible Intertextually (ed. Richard B. Hays, Stefan Alkier, and Leroy A. Huizenga; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 23–32 (32): “New Testament authors may have had a single purpose (though this is difficult to substantiate) for citing a scripture quotation, but the effects of doing so are no longer within their control. Every quotation is a bridge to another text, but what travels across is not limited to the author’s intentions.” 4 See, e.g., Julia Kristeva, The Kristeva Reader (ed. Toril Moi; New York: Columbia University Press, 1986). For a concise history of intertextual interpretation related to biblical studies, see B. J. Oropeza, “Intertextuality,” in OEBI (2 vols.; ed. Steven L. McKenzie; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 1: 453–63.

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New Studies in Textual Interplay

New Testament” section of the Society of Biblical Literature conferences. When I started the section as a consultation back in 2008, I wrote the description of the program unit in a way compatible with my own intertextual interests related to the sociorhetorical analytic of Vernon K.  Robbins and the Rhetoric of Religious Antiquity group.5 The description reads as follows: “The purpose of this unit is to provide a forum for presentation and discussion on intertexual interpretations of NT passages. This unit focuses on ways in which the language of texts is recited, echoed, reconfigured, or recontextualized by other texts from the LXX, GrecoRoman philosophers, orators, decrees, Second Temple sources, Hebrew Scriptures, or another ancient source.”6 My objective was to provide NT scholars with the freedom to pursue a wider constellation of texts than what is traditionally identified as the OT.7 A disturbing trend I  noticed when first chairing the Intertextuality in the New Testament sessions was that few of the presenters mentioned how they were going about interpreting the texts they claimed the NT authors were echoing or referencing (almost always from the OT). Some papers simply seemed to be doing a historicalcritical study of a NT passage. For me, this resembled too much the mere study of “New Testament Use of the Old Testament,” whereas intertextuality invites a wider constellation of sources and various approaches that is not limited merely to traditional historical-critical inquiry. I started to emphasize with my steering committee how more papers and sessions needed to focus on methodology. Just as I had hoped, the result of these new sessions started to resemble more of what I had envisioned, and I planned a study in which the most lucid and salient of these methods would be collected into a published anthology. I invited Steve Moyise, one of my early committee members, to

On sociorhetorical interpretation (SRI), see Vernon K. Robbins, The Tapestry of Early Christian Discourse: Rhetoric, Society and Ideology (London: Routledge, 1996); Vernon K. Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts:  A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation (Harrisburg, PA:  Trinity Press International, 1996). Its multilayered approach provides quite a comprehensive way of interpreting Scripture: see, e.g., B. J. Oropeza, Exploring Second Corinthians: Death and Life, Hardship and Rivalry (RRA 3; Atlanta: SBL, 2016). I am pleased to notice that Erik Waaler’s chapter in this volume claims that his approach is comparable with SRI. One of SRI’s layers, known as intertexture, can be defined as “a text’s representation of, reference to, and use of phenomena in the world outside the text being interpreted. This world includes other texts (oral-scribal intertexture), other cultures (cultural intertexture), social roles, institutions, codes, and relationships (social intertexture), and historical events or places (historical intertexture)”: Vernon K. Robbins, Robert H. von Thaden Jr., and Bart B. Bruehler, eds., Foundations for Sociorhetorical Exploration:  A Rhetoric of Religious Antiquity Reader (RRA 4; Atlanta:  SBL, 2016), xviii. See similarly, David B. Gowler, “Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation: Textures of a Text and its Reception,” JSNT 33 (2010): 191–200 (195). 6 I follow here the current program unit description (2018). If Max J.  Lee and Alice Yafeh Deigh, current chairs, have altered it in any way, I am unable to detect it; the description is just the way I remember it (I chaired the section from 2008 to 2014, and then in conformity with SBL’s six-year chairing rule, I handed the section over to Erik Waaler and Max Lee). 7 Scholars and contributors in this volume use the word “Old Testament,” and of course, what they mean by the term is the canonical books of the Hebrew Bible, or more prominently, the Septuagint (LXX). “Jewish Scripture” is another term that attempts to straddle the fence between the two. For the NT writers, this collection of sacred texts was their Scriptures and a prominent playground from which they derived their ideas and discourses. Even so, as certain contributors will make clear, there were also other playgrounds, such as Greco-Roman and Second Temple texts beyond the Septuagint. 5

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An Introduction

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coedit the work, and that is how Exploring Intertextuality: Diverse Strategies for the New Testament Interpretation of Texts was birthed.8 At the San Antonio SBL meeting (November 20, 2016), a session from the Intertextuality in the New Testament was dedicated to Exploring Intertextuality. In it, four of the seventeen chapters in the book were the focus. After the session’s introduction by chairs, Max Lee and Erik Waaler, and my introduction to the book, Nicholas Perrin gave his review of Jeannine Brown’s chapter on metalepsis, and Brown responded. Craig Keener then reviewed Lori Baron’s and my chapter on midrash, to which we responded. After that, in a very lively exchange, Karl Olav Sandnes reviewed Dennis MacDonald’s mimesis, and MacDonald responded. Stanley Porter gave the final review of the afternoon on Erik Waaler’s multidimensional intertextuality, and Waaler provided the rejoinder. Part One of this current volume attempts to distill that “standing-room only” feel of the session. The essays center on the three m’s of midrash, mimesis, and multidimensional interpretations of text use. The fourth m, metalepsis, will be explored further in Part Two, Studies in Intertextuality. Chapter 2, which focuses on intertextuality and midrash, presents two significant contributions to the advancement of NT studies regarding text relations. First, I set out to establish how intertextuality has moved away from its original matrix of the poststructural ideology of Kristeva, and this is to be expected. This point, I argue, is an important one in dialogue with critics of biblical scholars who adopt the term. Second, I respond to Richard Hays’s concerns with the NT use of midrash and give ample reason why it is now time for NT scholars to return to midrashic pursuits. I also address an issue Craig Keener raised at the SBL session in review of my midrash chapter with Lori Baron regarding the origin of Hillel’s seven middot. In this study I apply gezerah shavah to Scripture use in 1 Cor 15, and the closing section provides principles for detecting midrash in the NT. My interest in midrash is not an indication of my rejection of sociorhetorical intertexture, metalepsis, or any other intertextual strategy that I may use; on the contrary, I consider these approaches to be complementary for interpreting Scripture. In Chapter 3, after responding to Stanley Porter’s critique at the SBL session, Erik Waaler explains a more thorough and refined approach to his multidimensional use of intertextuality, which he identifies as recontextualization. With this approach he examines Matt 22:31–46. After addressing textual criticism issues, he discusses text factors indicating recontextualization, intent and awareness, cultural perception, language in diachronic and synchronic perspectives, influence of literary context, form, perception of the act of recontextualization, implicative influence from historic development, cultural metalepsis, arguments based on the here and now, and continuity within change. Each of these factors contains sub-features as well. This taxonomic study concludes that recontextualization “contributes to change of meaning, changes that are bound to happen when a text is applied to a new situation and a new cultural context.”9 B. J. Oropeza, and Steve Moyise, eds., Exploring Intertextuality:  Diverse Strategies for the New Testament Interpretation of Texts (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books [an imprint of Wipf & Stock], 2016). 9 P. 53. 8

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New Studies in Textual Interplay

In Chapter 4, Karl Olav Sandnes presents a critique of mimesis in Homeric use as given by Dennis MacDonald. This is a revised version of the paper he gave at the same SBL session mentioned earlier. Among other things, Sandnes evaluates the accessibility of Homer to NT audiences, authorial intent (in particular to Mark’s Gospel), advertised hypotextuality such as the Septuagint citation at the beginning of Mark’s Gospel, potential Markan mimesis related to Eurycleia (the woman who identifies the returned Odysseus in the Odyssey), historical consequences related to literary observations, and some remarks regarding the cyclops Polyphemus as mimicked in Mark 5. In Chapter 5, Dennis R. MacDonald provides a revision of the reply he gave at the same SBL session in response to Sandnes’s critique. The reply is virtually a point by point response to the issues Sandnes raises, with a spirited section defending Markan mimesis related to Odysseus and Polyphemus. There are, of course, many other approaches biblical scholars work with to detect text presences, a number of which are discussed in Exploring Intertextuality, such as dialogism (e.g., Steve Moyise), rhetoric of quotation (Christopher Stanley), poststructuralism (e.g., Gary Phillips), semiotic intertextuality (Stefan Alkier), and of course, sociorhetorical intertexture (which I invited Roy Jeal to do). Perhaps the most influential approach for NT intertextuality thus far has been Richard Hays’s metalepsis, along with his criteria of availability, volume, recurrence, thematic coherence, historical plausibility, history of interpretation, and satisfaction.10 Hays’s influence is formidable for several scholars in Part Two of this monograph, though other methods are also adopted. David L.  Turner’s contribution (Chapter  6) examines part of the woe discourse in Matt 23:29–36 and works with what Hays considers as allusions and echoes. Turner includes the taxonomy of Charles Bazerman to explore “implicit conceptual intertextuality” and arrives at a perspective in which Jesus, among other things, thinks like a prophet in Deuteronomistic fashion, speaks like a prophet with woe oracles and ironic imperatives, and is treated like a prophet who has been rejected. Adam Winn opts for an approach that can embrace both Roman imperial and Jewish readings of the incipit of Mark 1:1, a text that may carry much weight for understanding the rest of Mark’s Gospel (Chapter 7). He posits this dual approach to the text through “double coding,” a concept introduced through architectural theory and applied to ancient texts by Susan A.  Stephens. Paul T.  Sloan adopts the intratextual, intertextual, and extratextual data strategy of Stefan Alkier to support, among other things, his case that Mark 9:49 alludes to Zech 13:9. Zechariah’s “fire” informs that the Markan text should be read in terms of the tribulations of the Lord’s disciples (Chapter 8). Holly J. Carey (Chapter 9) advances a contextual reading of the Markan version of Jesus’s cry on cross, which references Ps 22 (Mark 15:34). She maintains that the passage is a contextual citation in which Mark’s implied readers understood the cry as an incipit of the psalm, which vindicates the righteous sufferer and applies to Jesus’s resurrection. She supports her view intratextually and extratextually, and, among other things, addresses synagogue and rabbinic use of the psalm. Channing L. Crisler works with metalepsis and Hays’s seven “tests” for determining echoes to study the interplay between OT E.g., Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 29–32. 10

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An Introduction

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lament texts and Lukan episodes (Chapter 10). This interplay, he concludes, supports a high Christological reading in which Jesus is identified “as both YHWH who answers lament and the righteous one par excellence who laments to YHWH.”11 Sunny Chen employs verbal and thematic agreement and “contextual coherence” as important criteria influenced by Hays and expanded on by Michael Thompson to compare the storied texts of John 19 with Gen 2 (Chapter 11). Jesus, inter alia, is implicated as the new Adam that binds in matrimonial union the broken relationship between God and humanity. William M. Wright’s contribution (Chapter 12) presents an intertexual technique that associates Christ with multivalent biblical imagery, such as “bread,” “lamb,” and “light,” which evoke multiple biblical references “without being exhausted or reduced to any single one of them.”12 Wright’s study centers on the Gospel of John’s use of this technique through a patristic exegetical lens known as verbum abbreviatum. Through an engagement with Hays and his work on Galatians, among other scholars, Esau D.  McCaulley (Chapter  13) highlights Paul’s use in Galatians (especially 1:4) of the Isaianic servant text (Isa 52:13–53:12). He argues for the servant’s reception of an inheritance as shared with others, inclusive of believers in Christ. Finally, Max Rogland contests the notion of certain scholars that OT allusions are absent in 1 John (Chapter  14). Emphasizing Hays’s criteria of “recurrence” and “satisfaction,” and Luke Timothy Johnson’s “cluster of allusions,” he supports that Deuteronomy provides the backdrop to Johannine ideas of idols, lawlessness, and “sin unto death.” The procedures and arguments in each of the contributions are novel and stimulating. Some examples seem to stretch metalepsis to new limits, which prompt us to ask: How much of the referenced text and its context can one reasonably include in the interpretation of the NT text that apparently echoes it? When does the interplay alter from being plausible to implausible? Steve Moyise’s evaluation of all the previous chapters in the conclusion to this volume (Chapter  15) assists here by bringing out some strengths and weaknesses of the contributions. It is evident from this collection that intertextuality has become an umbrella term for a variety of text-relational approaches.13 Our hope is that these contributions might influence the field of NT intertextual studies for years to come.

P. 140. 12 P. 163. 13 An observation also made of the collection in Oropeza and Moyise, Exploring Intertextuality, xvii. See also, Steve Moyise, “Intertextuality and Biblical Studies: A Review,” Verbum et Ecclesia 23 (2002): 418–31 (429–30). 11

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Ancient Midrash in the Age of Intertextuality B. J. Oropeza

In the late 1960s Julia Kristeva coined the term “intertextuality” when discussing that “any text is constructed as a mosaic of quotations; any text is the absorption and transformation of another.”1 Since then, intertextuality has taken on numerous nuances and has been interpreted variously as “a text between other texts,”2 or “the relation of one text to other texts,”3 or “the embedding of fragments of an earlier text with a late one,”4 or “the shaping of a text’s meaning by another text,”5 or “all of the potential relationships between texts,”6 or just another fad and intrusion into biblical studies,7 just to give some examples. If there is a bare minimum of consensus that intertextual scholars might agree with, it is that intertextuality involves the referencing or presence of texts in other texts, and that, in a given text, there may coexist more than one other text (in agreement with Kristeva).8 These texts are multivalent in meaning, at the very least because new generations and communities may read, hear, and understand them differently. One of the tasks of biblical exegetes, then, is to disentangle the texts so that they might interact and collide afresh with one another and hopefully breathe out revived, transformative meaning to readers and exegetes alike. 1 Julia Kristeva, The Kristeva Reader (ed. Toril Moi; New York: Columbia University Press, 1986), 37. 2 Heinrich F. Plett, ed., “Intertextualities,” in Intertextuality, Research in Text Theory (Berlin:  de Gruyter, 1991), 3–29 (5) (original emphasis). 3 Steven Mailloux, Interpretive Conventions:  The Reader in the Study of American Fiction (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1982), 151, which is called banal by Hans-Peter Mai, “Bypassing Intertextuality: Hermeneutics, Textual Practice, Hypertext,” in Intertextuality (ed. Heinrich F. Plett; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1991), 30–59 (31). 4 Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven:  Yale University Press, 1989), 14. 5 Wikipedia, “Intertextuality,” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intertextuality (accessed on March 21, 2017). 6 Dale C. Allison, The Intertextual Jesus: Scripture in Q (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity, 2000), ix. 7 Stanley E. Porter, “The Use of the Old Testament in the New Testament:  A Brief Comment on Method and Terminology,” in Early Christian Interpretation of the Scriptures of Israel: Investigation and Proposals (ed. Craig A. Evans and J. A. Sanders; JSNTSup 148; Sheffield: JSOT, 1997), 79–96; cf. G. K. Beale, Handbook on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament: Exegesis and Interpretation (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012), 40. 8 Mai, “Bypassing Intertextuality,” 30–59 (47, 51–52), assists me here with this minimizing feature, though he is more critical and less optimistic about what it can accomplish if it remains in literary discourses.

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Even so, in whichever way we may want to define and understand it, and despite it being a relatively recent term in literature, what intertextuality essentially does is not necessarily new since text writers for thousands of years have compared their texts with other texts. As Raymond Tallis affirms, “Scholarly references, quotations, echoes, reworkings of traditional themes, deliberate employment of established styles and retelling classic or archetypal ‘literary’ stories, the deliberate contrivance of ironic effects by the juxtaposition of disparate and incompatible styles—these intertextual features have been the very stuff of literature since ancient times.”9 In this study, I  will examine a contemporary and an ancient form of text engagement—biblical intertextuality and midrash. Both are concerned with interpreting Scripture, and they are frequently misunderstood. Since I work with both, I will attempt to clarify my own understanding of these terms and then interpret some texts relevant to midrash from 1 Cor 15.

Intertextuality I understand intertextuality as the study of text presences in other texts. Stated differently, intertextuality is “the study of how a given text is connected with other texts (broadly understood) outside of itself and how those texts affect the interpretation of the given text.”10 In its simplest form (assuming NT interpretation) the given text is a passage in the NT designated imaginatively as text B, which is the text doing the alluding or referencing. The A text that is potentially present in text B can be designated text A, the text to which B alludes or references.11 Text A does not need to be a canonical text since “text” in intertextual parlance can address nonbiblical writings and various signifiers in a respective culture inclusive of inscriptions, oral communication, art, songs, bodily gestures, and so on.12 Symbols and signs may be communicated verbally, visually, and acoustically.13 Biblical texts are thus kept in conversation not only with other biblical

9 Raymond Tallis, Not Saussure: A Critique of Post-Saussurean Literary Theory (London: Macmillan, 1988), 31; cf. Mai, “Bypassing Intertextuality,” 30–59, 31. 10 B. J. Oropeza and Steve Moyise, “Introduction: Diverse Strategies for New Testament Intertextuality,” in Exploring Intertextuality:  Diverse Strategies for New Testament Interpretation of Texts (ed. B. J. Oropeza and Steve Moyise; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2016), xiii–xix (xiii). 11 In more complex readings, a plurality of texts can be designated text A1, A2, and so on, which may be needed if the quoted text itself echoes another text, or there is an echo of an echo. Paul’s new creation is a prime example (Gal 6:15; 2 Cor 5:17). It more immediately alludes to DeuteroIsaiah (Isa 43:18–19; 65:17), and yet Isaiah presupposes the old creation and contextually alludes to imagery in Genesis and Exodus. Other intertextual readings may require, for example, A, B, C categories, such as when Paul’s way of interpreting a scripture parallels or contrasts Second Temple Jewish ways of interpreting that same text, inviting a three-way conversation comparable with Francis Watson, Paul and the Hermeneutic of Faith (2nd ed.; (London:  Bloomsbury, 2016), 2–5. 12 “In structuralist and poststructuralist theory the ‘text’ comes to stand for whatever meaning is generated by the intextextual relations between one text and another and the activation of those relations by a reader”: Graham Allen, Intertextuality (2nd ed.; London: Routledge, 2011), 227. 13 See a succinct paradigm in Plett, “Intertextualities,” 20.

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texts but with the world outside the biblical canon. Incidentally, this understanding of intertextuality is one reason why I like using sociorhetorical interpretation.14 It is clear that intertextuality, though frequently used by scholars, can also be confusing. Intertextuality, according to Graham Allen, “is not a transparent term and so, despite its confident utilization by many theorists and critics, [it] cannot be evoked in an uncomplicated manner.”15 Similarly, Heinrich Plett observes that intertextuality is “a fashionable term, but almost everybody who uses it understands it somewhat differently. A  host of publications has not succeeded in changing this situation. On the contrary: their increasing number has only added to the confusion.”16 He distills essentially two different groups of literary intertextualists, and a third one that criticizes it. There are progressives who continue to propagate the interpretation of originators of the concept such as Julia Kristeva, Mikhail Bakhtin, Roland Barthes, and Jacques Derrida. There are traditionalists who are normally conventional scholars of literature rather than semioticians and linguists; they use the term to modify and improve their own instruments. Among these is a subgroup, the members of which simply use the term because it is in vogue; they do not critically examine the term. A  third group stands in opposition to the intertextualists and accuses the term “of being incomprehensible on the one hand and old wine in new bottles on the other.”17 In biblical studies, the scenario is similar with those who adopt the popular term without apparently thinking much about its use and origin,18 critics who dislike the term’s intrusion,19 and those who examine it and adopt it. Regarding the latter, Geoffrey Miller writes: Within biblical studies, two basic methodological approaches can be discerned. The first is indebted to postmodern thought (whence the term ‘intertextuality’ originated) and relies on a purely synchronic analysis of texts. The focus is solely on the reader and the connections that she draws between two or more texts. A text has meaning only when it is read in conjunction with other texts, and it is irrelevant whether these texts were intentionally alluded to by the original author, or even available to the author. The second approach also places great importance on the role of the reader, but incorporates a diachronic perspective as well. Here the focus is on identifying the specific connections that the author wants readers to perceive, as well as determining which text predates the others and, consequently, has influenced the others. Both approaches are widely represented in biblical scholarship, yet their compatibility has often been disputed.20 This form of sociorhetorical interpretation (SRI) originated with Vernon K. Robbins and the Rhetoric of Religious Antiquity group. See Chapter 1. Since my present study explores intertextuality more broadly, along with midrash, I will refrain from using SRI on 1 Cor 15 below. 15 Allen, Intertextuality, 2. 16 Plett, “Intertextualities,” 3. 17 Ibid., 5. 18 E.g., see the example I mention in this monograph’s introduction. 19 E.g., see footnote 7, 22, and 31. 20 Geoffrey David Miller, “Intertextuality in Old Testament Research,” CBR 9 (2011): 239–309 (284). Also addressing the divide, but in a more polarizing way, is Patricia Kathleen Tull, “Intertextuality and the Hebrew Scriptures,” Currents in Research: Biblical Studies 8 (2000): 59–90. 14

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Kristeva and the Tel Quel group’s post-structural ideology sought to undermine traditional interpretations of poetry and literature, and some biblical interpreters who work with intertextuality more or less maintain such an approach.21 A number of other biblical exegetes have picked up the term directly or indirectly from Richard Hays, whose influential study from 1989, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, does not embrace the originators’ ideology. But for those who insist that intertextuality be used purely in light of its origin, biblical exegetes who adopt the term are said to be inconsistent if working with more traditional methodologies, since this was the type of approach the founding intertextualists sought to undermine.22 Sometimes these criticisms, however, do not give proper attention to the fact that biblical interpreters were not the first to depart from intertextuality’s original matrix. Michael Riffaterre, Laurant Jenny, Gérard Genette, and other literary thinkers, being dissatisfied with intertextuality’s earlier uses, suggested and developed structural taxonomies years before biblical interpreters started using the term.23 Just several years after coining the term, Kristeva already noticed its use in traditional source studies and called this usage banal, distancing herself from intertextuality by using the replacement term, transposition.24 It strikes me as ironic that some critics insist that biblical scholars who use the term intertextual must be loyal to its original form when its originator has replaced it! I suspect their criticism to be a good example of the genetic fallacy. It would be more accurate for them to identify Kristeva’s text relational approach as “transposition,” and leave intertextuality alone. Intertextuality has been set free from its first moorings to interact and collide with other texts and be transformed by them so that its “pure” form from the late 1960s no longer fully reflects what it has become today.25 The term has “taken on a life of its own” and should be interpreted in light of See, e.g., George Aichele and Gary A. Phillips, eds., Intertextuality and the Bible. Semeia 69/70 (1995); Gary A. Phillips, “Poststructural Intertextuality,” in, Exploring Intertextuality: Diverse Strategies for the New Testament Interpretation of Texts (ed. B. J. Oropeza and Steve Moyise; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2016), 106–27; Timothy K. Beal, “Ideology and Intertextuality: Surplus of Meaning and Controlling the Means of Production,” in Reading between Texts: Intertextuality and the Hebrew Bible (ed. Danna Nolan Fewell; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992), 27–39. 22 See, e.g,, Thomas R. Hatina, “Intertextuality and Historical Criticism in New Testament Studies: Is There a Relationship?” BibInt 7 (1999):  28–43 (32–33); Russell L. Meek, “Intertextuality, InnerBiblical Exegesis, and Inner-Biblical Allusion: The Ethics of a Methodology,” Bib 95 (2014): 280–91 (291). The latter claims that such an approach is “misleading and unethical.” This criticism, I think, will only serve to polarize biblical scholars. 23 Michael Riffaterre, Semiotics of Poetry (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 1978); Laurent Jenny, “The Strategy of Form,” in French Literary Theory Today:  A Reader (ed. Tzvetan Todorov; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 34–63; Gerard Genette, Palimpsestes: La littérature au second degré (Paris:  Seuil, 1982). Similarly, taxonomic models of intertextuality had been developed among secular German scholars: see, examples in Mai, “Bypassing Intertextuality,” 32, 45. 24 Julia Kristeva, La révolution du langage poétique: l’avant-garde à la fin du XIX siècle, Lautréamont et Mallarmé (Paris:  Éditions du Seuil, 1974), 59–60. This does not mean, however, that Kristeva never discussed intertextuality again: see, e.g., Margaret Waller, “An Interview with Julia Kristeva,” in Intertextuality and Contemporary American Fiction (ed. Patrick O’Donnel and Robert Con Davis; Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1989), 280–93. 25 Susan S. Friedman, “Weavings: Intertextuality and the (Re)Birth of the Author,” in Influence and Intertextuality in Literary History (ed. Jay Clayton and Eric Rothstein; Madison:  University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 146–80, notices that Kristeva’s supporters who deplore abuses to the purer form of intertextuality do what intertextuality was originally set against—they engage “in a desire to maintain a fixed meaning, a signified, for intertextuality … Kristeva authorized the term, which 21

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the current rather than original practice.26 Further consultation with contemporary literary scholars appears to confirm this change; they recognize the term’s complexity, diverse use, and trajectory over the years.27 Another point not given proper attention by critics is that a growing number of biblical scholars hold to a type of via media, seeing value in both Kristeva/Bakhtin on the one end and traditional biblical approaches on the other.28 These scholars have developed erudite methods and recognize intertextuality’s origin and complexity but do not believe it must forever remain the sole property post-structuralism. It is also recognized that without any proper boundaries, Kristeva’s endless mosaic of texts makes the study of intertextuality impractical, and so structure and limitations must be added to it.29 If scholars work with texts that perpetually move and collide with other texts, in order to have intelligent and fruitful conversations, they must choose where and how they will make their “cut”; some do this via their ideological and hermeneutical norms established within their respective academic networks and affiliations, while others may base their choice on criteria for determining when quotes and allusions are present in a given text.30 Hence, ever since intertextuality collided with biblical interpretation, things have never been quite the same, and structural, post-structural, and mediating positions have all been adopted, which reflects the inclusive yet diverse ways in which nonbiblical scholars used intertextuality before them. Even so, given that some exegetes claim that the term’s use causes confusion, it is sometimes suggested that intertextuality should be abandoned for different

should be used with the meaning she intended. I highlight these words … to emphasize the irony of the discourse of anonymous intertextuality being promoted within the discourse of influence” (154). 26 The quoted words I  adopt from Steve Moyise, “Intertextuality and Biblical Studies:  A Review,” Verbum et Ecclesia 23 (2002): 418–31 (429), who reviews several intertextual methods relevant to biblical interpretation. See also my history of interpretation in B. J. Oropeza, “Intertextuality,” in OEBI (2 vols.; ed. Steven L. McKenzie; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 1: 453–63. 27 See, e.g., Allen, Intertextuality; Plett, “Intertextualities.” 28 See, e.g., Stefan Alkier, “Intertextuality Based on Categorical Semiotics,” in Exploring Intertextuality: Diverse Strategies for the New Testament Interpretation of Texts (ed. B. J. Oropeza and Steve Moyise; Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2016), 128–47; Leroy A. Huizenga, “The Old Testament in the New, Intertextuality and Allegory,” JSNT 38 (2015): 17–35; Steve Moyise, Evoking Scripture: Seeing the Old Testament in the New (London: T&T Clark, 2008); Daniel Boyarin, Intertextuality and the Reading of Midrash (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 1990); and many who adopt intertexture from the sociorhetorical analytic of the Rhetoric and Religious Antiquity seminars, directed by Vernon Robbins. Recently adopting Alkier is, e.g., Justin Langford, Defending Hope: Semiotics and Intertextuality in 1 Peter (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2013); Paul T. Sloan, Mark 13 and the Return of the Shepherd: The Narrative Logic of Zechariah in Mark (LNTS 604; London: T&T Clark, 2019). Also, authors like Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul; and Robert L. Brawley, Text to Text Pours Forth Speech: Voices of Scripture in Luke-Acts (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1995), would seem to belong somewhere in the middle category since, as Tull’s, “Intertextuality,” affirms, their viewpoints are more sophisticated than typical historical-critical studies and would probably escape Kristeva’s banal criticism of traditional source theories (80–81). If so, the number of moderate intertextual biblical scholars may be quite large, since many have adopted Hays’s metalepsis. 29 See the criticisms in Jonathan Culler, The Pursuit of Signs:  Semiotics, Literature, Deconstruction (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001), 105, 109. 30 For the former idea, see Timothy K. Beal, “Intertextuality,” in Handbook of Postmodern Biblical Interpretation (ed. A. K. M. Adam; St. Louis: Chalice, 2000), 128–30 (129); for the latter, Michael B. Thompson, Clothed with Christ: The Example and Teaching of Jesus in Romans 12.1–15.13 (JSNTSup 59; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 31–36.

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terminology. The obvious choice that is inclusive of both the NT and OT would be some variant of “inner-biblical.”31 Miller suggests that biblical scholars who wish to remain in the reader-oriented, synchronic, and post-structuralist interpretative camp should use intertextuality, and those who desire author-oriented, diachronic, and traditional biblical criticism use “inner-biblical exegesis” or “inner-biblical allusion.”32 But there are problems related to this terminology (beyond the apparent inability to decide between “exegesis” or “allusion” as the proper accompanying tag, that is). For one thing, this proposal marginalizes the many scholars who hold to a middling position mentioned earlier. Another problem has to do with proper innerbiblical categorization. For those who study the Hebrew Scriptures, many seem to disagree with Michael Fishbane’s famous categorization of “scribal, legal, aggadic, and mantological exegesis.”33 Also, among certain NT scholars, there are at least three competing perspectives on the authorial intent of the OT author when a NT author interprets the earlier author’s work.34 Still, another problem is this:  Could innerbiblicists demonstrate an agreed-upon procedure for detecting when an allusion is actually present in a text and when it is not? It seems to me that scholars who want to identify themselves exclusively as inner-biblicists are no better off in coming to agreement over issues than intertextualists. Confusion would doubtless remain even if the former term replaced the latter. There is another more decisive reason why I prefer not to use “inner-biblical” as the proper catchall for text relations in biblical studies. Inner-biblical exegesis (or allusion) by definition precludes noncanonical texts. The term orients interpreters to focus on Bible referencing Bible, which leaves out references and allusions to nonbiblical authors such as Jewish apocalypticists (e.g., 1 En and the Assumption of Moses in Jude), Hellenistic poets and philosophers (Acts 17:28; Titus 1:12), not to mention popular inscriptions (Acts 17:23), images on coins (Rev 17–18), and so on. Likewise, comparisons in the Hebrew Scriptures with early Second Temple, Ancient Near Eastern, Egyptian, Persian, Hellenistic, and Qumran literature face similar sidelining. “Inner-biblical” is improper terminology for such text relations. Moreover, the term distances our discipline from nonbiblical disciplines that do use intertextuality to interpret their poetry, literature, music, film, art, photography, and so on.35 The use of intertextuality has the advantage of encouraging cross-disciplinary studies and invites a wide readership. Another option would be to replace intertextuality with a brand new term. Discussions of this sort are nothing new. Hans-Peter Mai listed proposed alternatives such as “intercontextuality,” “inter-semiocity,” “intratextual rewriting,” “autotexte,” and See, e.g., G. Brooke Lester, “Inner-Biblical Interpretation,” OEBI (2 vols.; ed. Steven L. McKenzie; Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2013), 444–53; Beale, Handbook, 40; Meek, “Inner-Biblical Exegesis,” 291. 32 Miller, “Intertextuality in Old Testament Research,” 283–309 (305). 33 See Lester, “Inner-Biblical Interpretation,” vol. 1, 446, 451. 34 See, e.g., Walter C. Kaiser, Darrel L. Bock, and Peter Enns, Three Views on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament ( Counterpoints; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008). 35 See further examples in Thaïs Morgan, “Is There an Interext in This Text? Literary and Interdisciplinary Approaches to Intertextuality,” American Journal of Semiotics 3, no. 4 (1985): 1–40 (8); Tull, “Intertextuality,” 60–61; Plett, “Intertextualities,” 26. 31

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others over twenty-five years ago, none of which marshaled enough support to replace intertextuality.36 Biblical scholars are not presently rallying behind any novel term, perhaps because many of them do not regard the current term to be broken so as to need replacement. Recently, David Yoon proposed “inter-textuality” noting that the dash would distinguish it from the post-structural ideology.37 What is problematic here is that if scholars and students were to use this term at conferences or in conversations, the distinction would be indiscernible, and if they would need to qualify it for such venues, why not simply qualify the original term instead? I propose that the key to alleviating confusion is for scholars who use the term to be diligent about explaining what they mean by it and how they plan to use it in their study. It would also be helpful if scholars were more diligent about explaining what they mean by allusions, or at least echoes. A quotation (or citation) is normally understood as a set of words that have close or fairly close agreement with another text. The quote may be a “marked” text with a citation formula (e.g., “It is written”) or unmarked.38 Christopher Stanley adds that quoted words reproduce “with a reasonable degree of faithfulness the general word order and at least some of the actual language of an identifiable passage from an outside text.”39 Allusions, however, are more difficult to discern. They are not as faithful a reproduction as quotes. The alluding text nonetheless has one or more agreements with another text, whether verbal, conceptual, perceptual, structural, syntactical, thematic, or having common topoi. Parallels may involve such things as a person, place, action, or event. Ever since the publication of Hays’s Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul in 1989, allusions are often distinguished from echoes in NT studies. Echoes have been variously understood as subtle allusions, having conscious or unconscious intentions, or as a word or words drawn in from the context or thematic content of a text, or something else. Personally, I prefer the pre1989 use of echo. Biblical scholars back then used echoes and allusions more or less interchangeably.40 Conversations that have developed since 1989 about the term do not seem to have made much progress when it comes to agreeing about how echoes are to be defined and distinguished from allusions.41 The prudent scholar, then, if using 36 Mai, “Bypassing Intertextuality,” 30–31. 37 David I. Yoon, “The Ideological Inception of Intertextuality and Its Dissonance in Current Biblical Studies,” CBR 12 (2012): 58–76 (74). 38 See Oropeza and Moyise, “Diverse Strategies,” xvii. For useful markers related to quotes and their categorizations, see, e.g., Dietrich-Alex Koch, Die Schrift als Zeuge des Evangeliums: Untersuchungen zur Verwendung und zum Verständnis der Schrift bei Paulus (BHT 69; Tübingen:  Mohr Siebeck, 1986):  11–24; Christopher D. Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture:  Citation Technique in the Pauline Epistles and Contemporary Literature (SNTSMS 74; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 31–37; Beale, Handbook on the New Testament, 29–30. 39 Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture, 36. 40 Though not as frequently as now, scholars certainly used “echo” to refer to other texts prior to 1989. In one source alone I counted at least eighty-two times that “echo” appears, and most instances have an alluding sense in relation to another scripture or source: James D. G. Dunn, Romans 1–8 (WBC 38A; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1988), 10, 22, 53, 60, 61, 72, 73, 78, and so on. Notice also Rogland’s quote of C. H. Dodd from 1946 below. My previous writings often reflect this interchangeable use of echo and allusion, but sometimes I failed to define intertextuality. 41 Compare and contrast, e.g., Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, 25–33; Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Waco, TX:  Baylor University Press, 2016), 10–13; Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher, “Intertextuality: Between Literary Theory and Text Analysis,” in The Intertextuality of the Epistles: Explorations of Theory and Practice (ed. Thomas L. Brodie, Dennis R. MacDonald, and

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the term “echo,” should explain how he or she is using it, and not take for granted that everyone already knows what is meant. All the same, intertextuality’s complexity and diversity may actually be one of its benefits, as David Allen affirms, whatever the strengths and weaknesses of the term, “intertextuality” has moved the OT/NT debate beyond historical-critical matter, and even if it is a potentially slippery phrase, one might suggest that its own “slipperiness” offers a veritable lens onto the accompanying slipperiness that accompanies OT/NT discourse. That is, the plurality of explanation celebrated by intertextual approaches parallels the very plurality of approaches to scriptural interpretation that OT/NT exhibits.42

Some take-home observations about where biblical intertextuality presently stands are these: First, the meaning of intertextuality is not fixed; it has changed over the last half century since its origin, and it continues to develop as texts collide with texts. Second, Kristeva distanced herself from the term because of the more structuralist way it was developing in the secular fields. It has not been (and does not need to be) understood and practiced in conformity with the originator. Such an approach is not required, whether in the literary world on account of scholars like Genette, Riffaterre, and Jenny who have altered its use, or in the biblical world, on account of scholars who have altered its use for biblical interpretation. Third, a pivotal influence for its use in NT studies has been Richard Hays, whose approach does not follow the post-structural model of its founder. Fourth and finally, our abandoning the term may create more problems than it solves. Whether we like it or not, whether we agree with it or not, intertextuality has not remained in orbit with its original matrix, and to insist that it must only be used in its first form is like a jazz critic insisting that the music of John Coltrane from the 1960s must conform to the earlier generation of “real” jazz, such as that of Louie Armstrong or Jelly Roll Morton in the 1920s. The criticism ignores pivotal moments that forever changed jazz between the two eras—such as when Charlie “Bird” Parker entered the mix midway between Armstrong and Coltrane. Intertextuality has also changed, and many of its present performers choose not to play the original 1960s

Stanley Porter; New Testament Monographs 16; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2006), 13–23 (18–20); Stanley E. Porter, “Further Comments on the Use of the Old Testament in the New Testament,” in The Intertextuality of the Epistles. Explorations of Theory and Practice (ed. Thomas L. Brodie, Dennis R. MacDonald, and Stanley Porter; New Testament Monographs 16; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2006), 107–09; Stanley E. Porter, “Allusions and Echoes,” in As It Is Written: Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture (ed. Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Stanley; SBLS 50; Atlanta: Scholars, 2008), 29–40; Jeffery M. Leonard, “Identifying Inner-Biblical Allusions: Psalm 78 as a Test Case,” JBL 127 (2008): 241–65; Cynthia Edenburg, “Intertextuality, Literary Competence and the Question of Readership:  Some Preliminary Observations,” JSOT 32 (2010): 131–48 (144); Miller, “Intertextuality in Old Testament Research,” 301; Beale, Handbook, 31–40; David A. Shaw, “Converted Imaginations? The Reception of Richard Hays’s Intertextual Method,” CBR 11 (2013): 234–45; Alec J. Lucas, “Assessing Stanley E. Porter’s Objections to Richard B. Hays’s Notion of Metalepsis,” CBQ 76 (2014): 93–111 (some of these sources are addressed or referenced in the chapters that follow). 42 David M. Allen, “Introduction: The Study of the Use of the Old Testament in the New,” JSNT 38 (2016): 3–16 (11–12).

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set but newer versions developed from it. For better or worse, then, this is the age of intertextuality.

Midrash By midrash (derived from the notion of searching, inquiring) I am referring primarily to rabbinic techniques of interpreting and exegeting Scripture. My interest currently rests more on midrash as a process than as the product of written texts compiled into anthologies such as Mekhilta de Rabbi Ishmael on Exodus, Sifra on Leviticus, and Genesis Rabbah.43 Benjamin Sommer maintains that midrash is characterized by belief that scriptural language is divinely inspired; no word is there by chance and, unlike normal human words, such language may be filled with multiple meaning. The challenge for its interpreters is to unlock additional meanings from Scripture, often through the use of a difficult word or phrase.44 If Scripture finds its source in God, it should be considered a unity in which every part can relate to any other part.45 Hence, midrash is typically verse- rather than context-driven.46 In this manner it is more like a hypertext, “a database with myriad internal connections spanning the whole canon” and encouraging cross-canonical connections that produce meaning.47 One finds rabbinic statements about the divine multivoice in Scripture, the meanings of which are “like a hammer that breaks the rock into pieces” (Jer 23:29) so that one verse may yield numerous arguments (b. Sanh. 34a).48 In this way also, Daniel Boyarin places midrash in conversation with intertextuality as understood from the writings of Julia Kristeva and Mikhail Bakhtin, suggesting three ideas relevant for midrash.49 First, texts are made up of a mosaic of citations, whether conscious or unconscious. Second, texts function Further explanation and nuancing of the process and product is given by e.g., Carol Bakhos, “Midrash,” OEBI (2 vols.; ed. Steven L. McKenzie; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 10–18; Gary G. Porton, Understanding Rabbinic Midrash (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav, 1985); Günter Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash (2nd ed.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 233–40; Michael Fishbane, ed., The Midrashic Imagination: Jewish Exegesis, Thought, and History (New York: State University of New  York Press, 1993); Jacob Neusner, What is Midrash? (Guides to Biblical Scholarship; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987). 44 Benjamin D. Sommer, “Concepts of Scriptural Language in Midrash,” in Jewish Concepts of Scripture:  A Comparative Introduction (New  York:  New  York University Press, 2012), 64–79 (66–68). The Decalogue may be seen as a paradigmatic text for midrash; here the written text “mediates between the original verbal revelation of God at Sinai and the ongoing discourse of the sages in history”: Michael Fishbane, The Exegetical Imagination: On Jewish Through and Theology (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998), 10. 45 See, e.g., James L. Kugel, The Idea of Biblical Poetry: Parallelism and Its History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981), 103–04; Carol Bakhos, “Midrash, Midrashim,” in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism (ed. John J. Collins and Daniel C. Harlow; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 944–49 (945). 46 Cf. Bakhos, “Midrash,” 2.11–12; Bakhos, “Midrash, Midrashim,” 945. 47 Cf. Sommer, “Concepts,” 68. 48 Günter Stemberger, “From Inner-Biblical Interpretations to Rabbinic Exegesis,” in The New Cambridge History of the Bible (vol. 1; ed. James Carleton Paget and Joachim Schaper; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 190–217 (215). 49 Boyarin, Intertextuality, 12. 43

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dialogically, “contesting their own assertions as an essential part of the structure of their discourse.”50 Third, there are cultural codes that allow and constrain text productions within that culture. The Torah is “gapped and dialogical, and into the gaps the reader slips, interpreting and completing the text in accordance with the codes of his or her culture.”51 Boyarin continues that midrash may be understood as a “radical intertextual reading of the canon, in which potentially every part refers to and is interpretable by every other part. The Torah, owning to its own intertextuality, is a severely gapped text, and the gaps are there to be filled by strong readers.”52 This approach, in which the cultural codes of rabbis allow them to make meaning, compelled them to fill in these gaps of the discourse with words and narratives that continue and breach tradition.53 The rabbinic readers advanced a keen sense of detecting intertextual relations between scriptural texts, and they combined and recombined verses to create new texts by exposing previously unrealized word connections so that this “recreation was experienced as revelation itself, and the biblical past became alive in the midrashic present.”54 Boyarin highlights the creative and revelational process evident in midrash through the ages but now made explicit by intertextual theory, especially dialogism. One does not need to adopt Boyarin’s approach wholesale, however, to discover midrash in the NT. I am perfectly content in viewing midrash in the traditional way as an ancient Jewish product and process of interpreting biblical texts. The added perk for me is simply that in this intertextual age, a stress can be placed on my own discovery of the ancient author’s endeavor to fill in the gaps of earlier divine discourse, recognize new voices in it, and interpret the text in a creative way compatible with the cultural codes of the community hearing it. If most of the NT authors were Jews, we could surmise that some of them may have used ancient Jewish modes of interpreting Scripture. They proclaimed and wrote their messages as Jews, sometimes for Jews. Hence, it would seem to be vitally important for NT scholars to examine ancient Jewish approaches to Scripture.55 In recent decades, however, not too many in English-speaking academia have paid attention to this call. I  suspect there are at least two primary reasons for this: (1) midrash is assumed to be anachronistic for NT interpretation; and (2) many recent NT text-relational studies have been influenced and preoccupied by the intertextual method of Richard Hays, whose criticisms of modern midrashic interpretation are assumed correct. It is time to reexamine these points. 50 Ibid. This is further understood in the sense that “every text is ultimately dialogical in that it cannot but record the traces of its contentions and doubling of earlier discourses” (14). 51 Ibid., 14. Compare Lesleigh Cushing Stahlberg, Sustaining Fictions:  Intertextuality, Midrash, Translation, and the Literary Afterlife of the Bible (New York: T&T Clark, 2008), 12 (cf. 137): “Midrash is the ancient mode of bridging the gap between the world of the text and the community that received the text.” 52 Boyarin, Intertextuality, 16. 53 Ibid., 16, 24. 54 Ibid., 128. 55 See Geza Vermes, “Bible and Midrash: Early Old Testament Exegesis,” in The Cambridge History of the Bible (vol. 1; ed. Peter R. Ackroyd and Christopher F. Evans; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), 229, cf. 199–231.

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Philip Alexander, among others, has been influential in stressing that rabbinic sources were written hundreds of years later than the NT.56 He raises doubts that early Judaism could remain the same throughout early Christian centuries after experiencing cataclysmic events such as the temple’s destruction (70 CE) and Bar Kokhba’s defeat (135 CE). These events adversely affected the development of Jewish and rabbinic tradition. In addition, simply because some of the thirteen middot of Rabbi Ishmael and seven middot of Hillel find parallels in the NT is no evidence that NT authors worked with midrash: “From their very nature the rules [middot] in question may be ‘natural’ to human discourse or argument, or typical in general of early rhetoric. Daube and Lieberman have found plausible parallels to the middot in Greek sources. These sources could have been drawn upon independently by both Hillel and Paul.”57 There are certain issues, however, that undermine this perspective, and make more plausible Anthony Saldarini’s cautious but venturous words: “the Christian tradition of interpreting the Hebrew scriptures grew out of the Jewish tradition and retains so many similarities to it that the struggle to develop a reliable method and to clarify the relationship must proceed.”58 Among numerous things that could be mentioned in the NT, debates that seem related to early rabbinic schools in Matt 19:1–19, and Paul’s tutelage under Rabbi Gamaliel in Acts 22:3 (traditionally Hillel’s ancestor), suggest awareness of traditions that are later included in rabbinic literature.59 To dismiss these and other connections on the basis of age difference is premature, given the explosion of NT and Jewish studies related to oral memory in recent years. These studies frequently stress an oral-textual continuum which makes plausible the idea that rabbinic writings can reflect much earlier memories and oral traditions.60 Certain scholars, moreover, have uncovered evidence of midrashic features in Second Temple literature. George Brooke argues that exegetical techniques found in various lists of rabbinic middot “were used widely, if not universally, in Jewish exegesis of the late Second Temple period, and that their use was more, rather than less, precise.”61 Such technique is not arbitrary, for any “interpreter of scripture who Philip S. Alexander, “Rabbinic Judaism and the New Testament,” ZNW 74 (1983): 237–46. 57 Ibid., 246 (original emphasis); cf. David Daube, “Rabbinic Methods of Interpretation and Hellenistic Rhetoric,” HUCA 22 (1949):  239–265; Saul Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1962), 47–82. 58 Anthony J. Saldarini, “Judaism and the New Testament,” in The New Testament and It Modern Interpreters (ed., Eldon Jay Epp and George W. MacRae; BMI 3; Atlanta: Scholars, 1989), 27–54 (42). 59 See, e.g., Joachim Jeremias, “Paulus als Hillelit,” in Neotestamentica et Semitica: Studies in Honour of Matthew Black (ed., E. E. Ellis and Max Wilcox; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969), 88–94; H. J. Schoeps, Paul: The Theology of the Apostle in the Light of Jewish Religious History (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1961), 39. On the Matthean Hillel/Shimmai debate, see, e.g., Serge Ruzer, “Exegetical Patterns Common to the Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament, and Their Implications,” in Text, Thought, and Practice in Qumran and Early Christianity (ed. Ruth A. Clements and Daniel R. Schwartz; STDJ 84; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 231–51 (241–43). 60 See, e.g., Susan Niditch, Oral World and Written Word:  Ancient Israelite Literature (Louisville, KY:  Westminster John Knox Press, 1996); David McLain Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); Susan Docherty, “New Testament Scriptural Interpretation in Its Early Jewish Context:  Reflections on the Status Quaestionis and Future Directions,” NovT 57 (2015):  1–19 (14–15); Edenburg, “Intertextuality, Literary Competence,” 131–48. 61 George J. Brooke, Exegesis at Qumran:  4QFlorilegium in its Jewish Context (JSOTSup 29; Sheffield: JSOT, 1985), 2 cf. 16–17. 56

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wished his interpretation to be accepted is likely to have used particular interpretative techniques because they were reckoned to be valid ways of producing a meaningful interpretation.”62 The primary texts he examines are 4QFlorilegium and the Damascus Document (CD 7.13b–8.1a); several times in these texts he shows the use of the middah, gezerah shavah—one of Hillel’s seven norms, this one referring to inference drawn by comparison.63 For example, the use of 2 Sam 7:11–12 is linked with Amos 9:11 via the notion “I will raise up” (‫ )והקימותי‬to connect the promise related to the seed of David in the former passage with raising up David’s fallen booth in the latter; this in turn reflects the Qumran community’s eschatological expectation of their messianic king (4QFlor [4Q174 ] Frags.1, i, 21, 2:10–13).64 Brooke likewise shows similar midrashic exegetical evidence from the Targums and even Philo.65 Others show midrashic interpretations in Josephus, Pseudo-Philo (Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum), and the Mishnah.66 These sources provide evidence that ancient exegetical methods found in midrash occurred both in tannaitic and pretannaitic times, not just in Alexandria but also in Palestine. Such techniques would seem to be available for Jewish writers of the NT. It will not suffice, then, to write off a priori the features of midrash as too late for NT use. Richard Hays relied in part on Philip Alexander when addressing his own point of departure from midrash interpretations in his influential Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul. Although he affirms that some good results may arise from midrashic studies examining the formal structure of Paul’s arguments,67 he also claims that with this approach the “exegetical yield rarely seems to justify the investment of large

Ibid., 4. 63 The earliest middot (rules or norms) attributed to Hillel are found in Tosefta Sanhedrin 7:11, Abot de Rabbi Natan A 37, and Sifra 3a. The lists are inconsistent (see, examples in Gary G. Porton, “Hermeneutics, A Critical Approach,” EncM 1.250–68; development is evident through expansion of principles, suggestive of ongoing conversations between interpreters, texts, and principles. Originally there were six or seven principles attributed to Hillel that expanded to thirteen by Rabbi Ishmael (2nd c. CE) and thirty-two by Rabbi Eliezer ben Yose ha-Gelili. See Rivka KernUlmer, “Hermeneutics, Techniques of Rabbinic Exegesis,” EncM 1.268–92 (271). The common denominator in the oldest lists are the first two norms: qal wahomer (‫ )קל וחומר‬and gezerah shavah (‫)גזירה שוה‬. See convenient examples of the seven in Jan Willem Doeve, Jewish Hermeneutics in the Synoptic Gospels and Acts (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1954), 61–71; Kern-Ulmer, “Hermeneutics,” 1.268–92; W. Sibley Towner, “Hermeneutical Systems of Hillel and the Tannaim: A Fresh Look,” HUCA 53 (1982): 101–35 (112–25); Stemberger, Introduction, 15–30; S. Zeitlin, “Hillel and the Hermeneutic Rules,” JQR 54 (1963/64): 161–73. On other uses of gezerah shavah and the technique of heqqesh, which compares subjects, not just words and phrases (and which may have been used interchangeably or as a variant of gezerah shavah), see Towner, “Hermeneutical Systems,”116; David Instone-Brewer, “Hermeneutics, Theology of,” EncM, 1.292–316 (294). 64 Brooke, Exegesis, 138–39, 166. 65 See, e.g., Targums (Brooke, 25–36), and Philo (Brooke, 17–25). 66 See, respectively, Louis H. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible (Berkeley:  University of California Press, 1998); Howard Jacobson, A Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum (2 vols.; AGJU 31; Leiden: Brill, 1996); further, Stemberger, “Inner-Biblical,” 1.193–94; Alexander Samely, Rabbinic Interpretation of Scripture in the Mishnah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 174–225; Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 249 (e.g., m. Nazir 9:5; m. Sota 6:3). Prior to Brooke on Qumran, see Manfred R. Lehmann, “Midrashic Parallels to Selected Qumranic Texts,” RevQ 3 (1962): 545–51. 67 Hays, Echoes, 12, referencing William R. Stegner, “Romans 9,6–29—A Midrash.” JSNT 22 (1984): 37– 52, and E. Earle Ellis, Prophecy and Hermeneutic in Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1993), 217–19. 62

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sums of hope.”68 I would suggest that less disappointment might be experienced for scholars who correctly recognize that midrash is not a catchall for any NT or Pauline text relationship. Hays continues to rightly assert that we should by wary of blaming midrash as a way of justifying Paul’s allegedly “bad” exegesis, and that Paul is more informed hermeneutically by convictions in Christ than a list of interpretative rules, and that the middot of Ishmael and Hillel are not technically “rules” but “operations that can be performed on the text in the act of interpretation.”69 More questionable is Hays’s criticism that midrashic interpretation is anachronistic; here he relies on Alexander’s criticism.70 The other questionable point Hays adopts in agreement with Alexander has to do specifically with middot. The first two are of primary importance—qal waḥomer (“inference from lesser to greater”) and gezerah shavah—and Hays claims that these are rhetorical devices with nothing peculiarly rabbinic about them.71 On this point both Hays and Alexander refer to David Daube who maintained that rabbinic interpretation finds its influence from Greco-Roman rhetoric. Among other similarities, both the rabbis and rhetoricians ground their law on authority and tradition, they fill in gaps of the law with reasoning, and the lawgiver’s task lays down principles from which rules may be inferred, sometimes by analogy.72 Daube does not present one particular source, however, that evinces all or most of the seven to thirteen middot. Saul Liebermann compares two of the thirteen middot with Greek sources and suggests that the similarities may be accidental rather than genetic; it is possible that the rabbis may have translated and assimilated Hellenistic terminology while the techniques remained their own.73 When Craig Keener reviewed my recent study on midrash at the SBL conference (see Chapter  1 in this book), he raised a similar point that middot may have been borrowed from the Greeks; rabbinic interpretative methods seem practiced over a wide range of cultural and geographical space. But he then concluded, “Nevertheless, the dominance of this approach in Paul’s letters more readily reflects Jewish milieu … Paul’s linkage of LXX quotations by common key terms reflects a Jewish practice familiar to us particularly from Judean and Mesopotamian Jewish sources in Hebrew and Aramaic.”74 In my response, I concurred with his review.75 Hays, Echoes, 12. 69 Ibid., 12; cf. 13. 70 Ibid., 11, 197 nn. 35, 40. 71 Ibid., 13, 197 n. 43. 72 Daube “Rabbinic Methods,” 246–51. The majority of his examples are from Cicero (e.g., Pro Caec. 21.59; Part. Or. 36.123, 126), though Daube suggests the influence originates from Aristotle and contemporaries. On possible Alexandrian influence (though not focusing on previous middot), see David Daube, “Alexandrian Methods of Interpretation and the Rabbis,” in Essays in Greco-Roman and Related Talmudic Literature (ed. H. A. Fischel; New York: Ktav, 1977), 165–82. 73 See Lieberman, Hellenism, 55–68 and evaluations by Towner, “Hermeneutical Systems,” 107–9; Porton, “Hermenutics,” 1.266. Liebermann, esp. 59, has gezerah shavah similar to the terminology of Greek “syncrisis with the equal” (κατα το ισον σιυγκρισις), but the example from Hermogenes (Prog. 8)  is quite different in content than rabbinic analogies. Synkrisis typically compares characters, places, or things, to evaluate what is compared (e.g., Was Odysseus or Ajax the braver man?); this does not draw an interpretative inference based on similar wording, as gezerah shavah typically does. 74 Craig S.  Keener, “SBL Intertextuality” (paper presented at the SBL conference, San Antonio, November 2016), 1–7 (2). 75 Some examples I gave of Greek styled qal waḥomer (lesser to greater/ a fortiori) are when Aristotle in the Art of Rhetoric 2.23.4–5 discusses twenty-eight topics of demonstrative and refutative 68

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To be sure, Hillel is probably not the originator of the seven middot; perhaps he transmitted some of them from his own teachers and employed them,76 but it is not clear that he or his teachers directly borrowed the devise from Hellenistic rhetoricians. Fishbane suggests that certain Hebrew Scriptures may be forbears of rabbinic exegesis. He names gezerah shavah and heqqesh as two analogical forms that may help explain exegetical dependence of Num 9:6–11 in 2 Chr 30:2–3. Since both mention impurity, inability, and distance related to a delay in the paschal sacrifice, the latter may have generalized the issue of defilement “from a private to a public matter and so extended from physical to cultic contact by analogy.”77 Likewise, Sommer presents OT authors who interpret earlier OT authors in a manner resembling midrashic techniques and concludes that midrash “is not just a postbiblical invention used by the Rabbis to revise the Bible as they saw fit. It is a biblical means of relating to the Bible, which the Rabbis inherited from the biblical authors themselves.”78 In any case, it seems that the simple and concise form of Hillel’s middot would be more memorable and preferable for a Jew like Paul than the complex and less orderly analogical instructions of rhetoricians like Cicero (from which are the best examples provided by Daube), who incidentally wrote in Latin, not Greek. It is even possible that some Greco-Roman rhetorical techniques were learned by Paul as a youth in Tarsus, and some were learned or confirmed in a different form during his Pharisaic studies in Jerusalem.79 All the same, this discussion has raised concerns that destabilize some well-worn criticisms against NT authors using midrash. If techniques found in midrash reflect earlier oral memories of those devices attributed to rabbis living in the Second Temple era, and such devices are also found in Second Temple sources, and if we see similar devices in Paul who claims to have been a Pharisee learned in Jewish higher education (Gal 1:13–15; Phil 3:4–8; cf. Acts 22:3), then there is good reason to suggest that such devices in Paul are indeed early examples or precursors of what we find in later midrash, even if not named as middot or gezerah shavah by Paul. Although a number of scholars have recognized midrashic principles in Paul,80 an important qualification must be made that our apostle does not appear to follow these principles rigorously every time he interprets Scripture. Equally, if the rabbis emphasized legal (halakhic) forms over nonlegal (aggadic), this does not indicate that the latter could not be emphasized by enthymemes and brings up the argument from more and less, and also, if the more exists the less exists. Hermogenes’s Progymnasmata (Synkrisis 8), likewise discusses lesser to greater, and greater to lesser. Conversely, it is quite evident from Longinus Sub. 9.9 that certain Greeks had read Jewish Scriptures also. More studies of such parallels are in order since the nature of potential influence is still indecisive. 76 Porton, “Hermeneutics,” 1.255, provides an example of this related to gezerah shavah. See also, KernUlmer, “Hermeneutics,” 1.272. 77 Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation; 157 cf. 156–59. 78 Benjamin D. Sommer, “Inner-Biblical Interpretation,” in The Jewish Study Bible (ed. Adele Berlin and Marc Zvi Brettler; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 1829–35 (1832). 79 His training in the latter city, incidentally, does not necessarily rule out learning Hellenistic rhetorical skills there. On rhetoric in ancient Palestinian schools, see, e.g., Martin Hengel, The Pre-Christian Paul (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1991), 57–62. 80 See, e.g., E. Earle Ellis, Paul’s Use of the Old Testament (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2003, reprint), 38–76; Jeremias, “Paulus als Hillelit,” 88–94; Dan Cohn-Sherbok, “Paul and Rabbinic Exegesis,” SJT 35 (1982): 117–32.

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Paul.81 Once Paul had become an apostle for Christ, he probably felt no reason why he had to remain loyal to Pharisaic methodology at all times. Spirit-filled wisdom and gifts were his new modus operandi for interpreting the Scriptures and teaching them to others (1 Cor 2:9–13; 12:8, 28–29). If God’s Spirit prompted his interpretation, he would doubtless follow that lead over midrashic principles. We might expect to see, then, both continuity and discontinuity with regard to interpretative and rhetorical skills he learned prior to becoming an apostle. Among other rabbinic parallels, some more unique than others, what we find in Paul are resemblances of middot, especially qal waḥomer (e.g. Rom 5:4–9, 10, 17, 18, 21; 11:12, 15, 24; 1 Cor 9:9–10),82 and gezerah shavah (e.g., 1 Cor 3:19–20; 10:7–8; 2 Cor 3:1–6; Rom 4:3–8).83 We will focus on the latter.

Intertextuality and Gezerah Shavah in 1 Cor 10:1–11; 15:24–27; and 15:54–55 In my previous study co-authored with Lori Baron, we showed how gezerah shavah, along with contextual reading (davar ha-lamed meinyano: the seventh middah of Hillel), are used in 1 Cor 10:1–11.84 In sum, Paul begins with “our fathers,” an allusion to Num 20:5 in 1 Cor 10:1. He then compares the rock that provides water to the wilderness travelers near Horeb in Exod 17 at their journey’s beginning with the rock providing water at Kadesh in Num 20, about forty years later. We argue that by using gezerah shavah as a hermeneutic device, Paul interprets the Lord (κύριος: LXX) who is present on this rock near Horeb as the same rock that is in Kadesh. From this comparison an inference is drawn that the Lord and rock must have followed the wilderness generation throughout its journeys as suggested in 1 Cor 10:4. Moreover,

The distinction between the two categories, at any rate, is sometimes overdrawn since halakhic midrashim often contain aggadic aspects and vice/verse: cf. Gary G. Porton, “Midrash,” ABD (vol. 4; ed. David Noel Freedman; New York: Doubleday, 1992), 818–22 (820). 82 See, e.g., George Wesley Buchanan, “The Use of Rabbinic Literature in New Testament Research,” BTB 7 (1977): 110–22 (115, 122 n. 50). 83 E.g., Christoph Plag, “Paulus und die Gezera shawa,” Jud 50 (1994): 135–40; Carol K. Stockhausen, Moses’ Veil and the Glory of the New Covenant: The Exegetical Substructure of II Cor. 3,1–4,6 (AnBib 116; Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1989), 56–59; Gary D. Collier, “ ‘That We Might Not Crave Evil’: The Structure and Argument of 1 Cor 10:1–13,” JSNT 55 (1994): 55–75; and further the list of scholars in Friedrich Avemarie, “Interpreting Scripture through Scripture:  Exegesis Based on Lexematic Associations in the Dead Scrolls and the Pauline Epistles,” in Echoes from the Caves:  Qumran and the New Testament (ed. Florentino García Martínez; STDJ 85; Leiden:  Brill, 2009), 83–102 (94–96). Avemarie prefers using “lexematic association” over rabbinic terms like gezerah shavah, inter alia, since the latter is neither named as such by Qumran’s authors nor Paul. He argues (unconvincingly in my opinion) that Rom 4:3–8 does not resemble gezerah shavah. This is primarily because he is unable to accept that Paul would consider Abraham “lacking in good works or having sinned.” On the issue, see B. J. Oropeza, Jews, Gentiles, and the Opponents of Paul: The Pauline Letters (vol. 2; Apostasy in the New Testament Communities, Eugene:  Cascade, 2012), 158–60. 84 Lori Baron and B. J. Oropeza, “Midrash,” in Exploring Intertextuality: Diverse Strategies for the New Testament Interpretation of Texts (ed. B. J. Oropeza and Steve Moyise; Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2016), 63–80. 81

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Paul draws the inference that the Lord present on the rock at Horeb was also present on the rock at Kadesh, and that Christ is the κύριος being referenced.85 Paul continues to adopt catchwords from the context of the immediate wilderness passage he alludes to including further stories from Num 14 (1 Cor 10:5), Num 11 (10:6), Exod 32 (10:7), Num 25 (10:8), Num 21 (10:9), and Num 16 (10:10). The payoff of this midrashic interpretation should be self-evident. Not only does it help explain why Paul claims that Christ was the rock (which also implicates Christ’s preexistence and association with the Sacred Name) but also the exegetical rationale behind the rock following the people in the wilderness as well as Paul’s unique selection of the scriptural catena that follows. Paul fills in gaps that transform the meaning of the original texts—his audience will now identify Christ as the Lord who nurtured Israel throughout its wilderness travels—and his interpretation hopefully will transform his auditors who now view themselves in solidarity with the wilderness people (“our fathers”) so that what happened to their ancestors might happen to them also, if they do not take the inspired warnings seriously. Gezerah shavah is also detected elsewhere in this letter. I have decided to select 1 Cor 15 for a brief case study. The clearest examples of the presence of outside texts in this chapter, and most scholars I think would agree, are in verses 3–4, 22, 27, 32–33, 45, 54–55. In 15:3–4, we have examples of scriptural formulae without providing any actual quote, the content of which is doubtless known through the apostolic kerygma that informed Paul. Being raised on the third day “according to the scriptures,” for example, assumes texts such as Lev 23:1–16, Jonah 1:17 (2:1 LXX), and significant for our purposes, Hos 6:2 (cf. Tg. Ps.- Jonathan ad loc.).86 An example of gezarah shavah here is not evident. Allusions to Adam in 1 Cor 15:21–22 and 45–49 assume the audience is familiar with the creation story from Gen 1–5. There are contextual assumptions here that seem compatible with davar ha-lamed meinyano, more so than gezarah shavah, so I refrain from examining these verses apart from mentioning that another middah from Hillel’s list may be present. The same cannot be said of 15:24–27, the imagery of which originates from Ps 8:4–7 and 110[109]:1, and the linking of a catchword between these psalms provides an example of gezerah shavah. In Ps 8 God places all things under the son of man’s “feet,” and this word is then linked with the “feet” of the enthroned Lord in Ps 110[109]:1 to help draw inferences that the latter person is the son of man also (i.e., Christ) and all his “enemies” will be subject to him, including for Paul, death itself. The “son of man” (υἱός ἀνθρώπου) is not a term our apostle uses in his letters, and since the two psalms are connected together to make Christological assertions elsewhere in NT discourse (Acts 7:55–56; Eph 1:20–22; 1 Pet 3:21–22; Heb 2:5–8), this midrash-styled connection probably did not originate with Paul but those who proclaimed the gospel before him. At any rate, it may have been natural for him to segue from Adam to Psalm That is, the “rock was Christ” refers to the Lord being present with the rock, so much so that one is associated with the other (cf. the Lord’s association with the burning bush in Exod 3:1–6). 86 For sake of space, such texts will only be stated here rather than argued. For further explication on the content of 15:3–4, see B. J. Oropeza, 1 Corinthians (NCC; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2017), 197–200. A number of scholars would agree that such passages probably rest behind Paul’s words, though Lev 23 is less recognized. 85

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8 since the latter addresses the creation of humankind and, incidentally, this Adam/ Psalm 8 connection appears in later midrash discussion.87 In 1 Cor 15:32–33, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die” appears to be from Isa 22:13, whereas “bad companions corrupt good habits” is best known from Menander, the Greek dramatist (Thais frag. 187[218]). This passage provides us with one more example of why “inner-biblical” terminology is insufficient for addressing the various text presences in the NT. Menander’s work is neither biblical nor Jewish, but its study is important for interpreting this passage. The intertextualist who recognizes texts outside the Bible could rise to the occasion. The text, unfortunately, is not particularly relevant for our narrow focus in this study on midrash. Paul’s originating stamp related to gezarah shavah is apparent in 1 Cor 15:54–55, especially when we notice how effortlessly sin is associated with death and the Law in verse 56; the latter term arrives like a bolt from the blue that one might expect to see in Galatians or Romans rather than 1 Corinthians. The outcome of the resurrection and transformation of humans reaches a rhetorical crescendo in these verses with the defeat of death referenced from Isa 25:8: “Death is swallowed up into victory” (κατεπόθη ὁ θάνατος εἰς νῖκος). The LXX has death as the prevailing subject that does the swallowing (κατέπιεν ὁ θάνατος ἰσχύσας). Paul’s quote seems to follow the Hebrew text better with God as the contextual subject who swallows up death forever/ in victory (‫)בלע המות לנצח‬. The LXX does not translate the MT ‫ לנצח‬as εἰς νῖκος. It appears that Paul, or the Greek text he used,88 rendered ‫ לנצח‬not in the temporal sense of “forever” but in a conquering sense of in “victory” compatible with the Aramaic ‫נצח‬, hence, νῖκος in Greek.89 In 1 Chr 29:11 a number of standard translations render ‫ נצח‬as “victory” (e.g., NRSV, ESV, NASB, NKJV, etc.), which the LXX translates as νίκη, the early form of νῖκος.90 It is also clear that the LXX sometimes translated ‫ לנצח‬as εἰς νῖκος or as εἰς νεῖκος (2 Sam 2:26; Amos 1:11; 8:7; Jer 3:5; Lam 5:20; Job 36:7; Zeph 3:5).91 87 See, e.g., Genesis Rabbah, Parashah VIII:6.1 (on Gen 1:26–28). Ps 8:5–10 is identified as “the intersecting verse” here: cf. Jacob Neusner, Genesis Rabbah: The Judaic Commentary to the Book of Genesis (vol. 1, BJS 104; Atlanta: Scholars, 1985), 79–80. 88 Theodotion and Aquila versions include εἰς νῖκος; Symmachus uses εἰς τέλος: see convenient variants in Rodolphe Morrisette, “Un midrash sur la mot (1 Cor., XV, 54c à 57),” RB 79 (1972): 161–88 (169). Paul’s κατεπόθη ὁ θάνατος εἰς νῖκος agrees with Theodotion. This does not necessarily mean that one borrowed from the other; there are enough Greek variants to suggest with Christopher Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture, 211, that if Paul is using a “pre-existing Greek text” it is “one that may have exercised at least a measure of influence over the subsequent translations of Aquila, Symmachus, and (possibly) Theodotion.” For other alterations and variations of relevant texts, see Koch, Schrift als Zeuge, 168–70. 89 Contrast ‫ נצח‬in BDB and CAL, ad. loc. (though the Aramaic noun form is ‫)נצחן‬. See also, William Gesenius and S. P. Tregelles, Gesenius’ Hebrew and Chaldee Lexicon to the Old Testament Scriptures (Bellingham, WA: Logos Bible Software version, 2003), 562. Martinus C. de Boer, The Defeat of Death: Apocalyptic Eschatology in 1 Corinthians 15 and Romans 5 (JSNTSup 22; Sheffield: JSOT, 1988), 127, interestingly fuses the two senses by suggesting the victory is a permanent one. 90 The νίκη variant appears ten times in the LXX (e.g., 1 Chr 29:11; Prov 22:9; 1 Macc 3:19; 2 Macc 10:28). For νῖκος, all of which have victory as the meaning (so, Peter Walters, The Text of the Septuagint: Its Corruptions and Their Emendation [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973], 35), see 2 Sam 2:26; 1 Ezra 3:9; 2 Macc 10:38; 4 Macc 17:12 (the last one relates νῖκος to immortality). The verb νικάω appears 27 times: cf. John Lust, Erik Eynikel, and Katrin Hauspie, A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint (Rev. ed.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2003), ad loc. 91 Hugo Grotius, Annotationes in Novum Testamentum, Denuo Emendatius Editae, vol. VI (Groningen: W. Zuideam, 1828), 449–50, lists the first five along with Prov 21:28 (the last reference

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Isaiah is contextually set in anticipation of divine judgement on heavenly and earthly forces, compatible with Paul’s anticipation of Christ’s return and defeat of death (cf. Isa 24:20–21). The role of Sheol swallowing up the dead is reversed in this Isaianic scene which takes place when the nations (for Paul, Gentiles) and God’s people are delivered from death’s clutches, there is trust in the Lord, and the dead are raised from their tombs (Isa 25:6–9; 26:1–4, 19–27:1), events that Paul would doubtless interpret in light of Christ and the resurrection of the final age. If we add to this that Paul already discussed the defeat of death in the contextual imagery of a powerful Lord bringing down his enemies and placing them under his feet (1 Cor 15:24–28), it becomes fairly clear why Paul would interpret ‫ לנצח‬as a victorious conquest, which reaches a second zenith in 15:55–57. Hosea 13:14b is Paul’s second referent: “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your goad?”92 Neither LXX nor MT follows the quote closely. The former uses “penalty” (δίκη) instead of νῖκος,93 whereas the Hebrew uses “plagues” (‫ )דברי‬before asking the personification of Sheol, “where is your destruction?” (‫)אהי קטבך ׁשאול‬. The context of Hos 13 is unhelpful for interpreting this verse as a taunt as Paul does; God is the one who brings death rather than delivers from it by allowing Assyria to invade God’s people.94 To be sure, Paul may have imposed νῖκος onto the Hosean verse to enhance his rhetorical point.95 But this explanation by itself might be making Paul’s use of Scripture more arbitrary than it needs to be.96 Moreover, it does not explain why he chose this particular text to combine with Isaiah. More can be said, then, about the relationship between his quotes in 1 Cor 15:54–55. I suggest that Paul is employing gezerah shavah.97 He links Isa 25:8 with Hos 13:14 through the catchword, is not found in more standard LXX texts). My own research discovered the latter two. LSJ, 1165, interprets νεῖκος as a strife or quarrel but also adds νῖκος as a second meaning here recognizing an itacism. BDAG, 667, adds that the variants of 1 Cor 15:54–55 that have νεῖκος (e.g., p46 B) should not be understood as “strife” but the itacistic νῖκος. 92 John Paul Heil, The Rhetorical Role of Scripture in 1 Corinthians (SBLMS 15; Atlanta: SBL, 2005), 250, rightly notices that, unlike Hosea, Paul moves σου in front of the vocative θάνατε to make the taunt more vivid. 93 There are some minuscules that use νίκη here as well as the Armenian text (see further in Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture, 212), and such a variant may open up the possibility that Paul’s Greek text included it—strengthening the case for gezerah shavah—but I will refrain from assuming this based on such tentative evidence. 94 For a positive reading, one must travel out a little further than the immediate vicinity, as does Craig S. Keener, 1–2 Corinthians (NCBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 134, by looking at the promise of restoration in Hos 14:4–7. 95 E.g., Richard Hays, First Corinthians, Interpretation (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 276, thinks that Paul changed δίκη to νῖκος to link up Hosea with Isaiah. Moyise, in his own chapter below, raises another possibility. Unfortunately, the final version of my chapter was unavailable for him to evaluate. 96 It also might assume that he thought no one among the Corinthians would know or check his source, or at least be bothered by his imposition. Then again, it is always possible that Paul did not check his source, and if so, there might be no deliberate imposition here but a lapse of memory. In his quote of Hos 13:14 he may have accidentally recalled νίκη (= νῖκος) instead of δίκη. 97 Since I suggest the history of interpretation as a principle for detecting midrash (see later), for my final draft, I  collected other sources that also affirm gezarah shavah here, though without much elaboration: Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture, 214; Keener, 1–2 Corinthians, 134. Raymond F. Collins, First Corinthians (SP 7; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1999), 577–78, who likewise affirms it here, claims that midrashic technique is also clear in 1 Cor 1:18–2:16; 10:1–13; and 15:20–28. I agree with Collins and Stanley (215) that the vigor of 15:54–55 in this rhetorical context suggests

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“death,” which appears in both texts. This is no ordinary reference to death. Among the hundreds of times death appears in the Jewish Scriptures, Paul chose an instance that employs the vocative θάνατε, which in the LXX only appears in Hos 13:14 and Sir 41:1–2, both of which personify and directly address death.98 Perhaps Paul recognized this rare feature about the text, and its appeal was further enhanced by his knowing about Hosea’s resurrection implications (see, 1 Cor 15:4 mentioned earlier). This text’s graphic and vocative address to death, along with the prophet’s discourse that implicates resurrection, made Hos 13:14 a prime candidate to connect with Isa 25:8. Hence, by using gezerah shavah, our apostle links the two verses and transfers concepts from the Isaianic text into the Hosean text. In good midrashic fashion, Paul then draws an inference that the eschatological “victory” over death in Isaiah pertains also to the content of Hos 13:14. Through this reconfiguration, death is swallowed up and its personification can now be taunted as defeated with its pain and enslavement abolished. Hosea’s words join the chorus of futuristic deliverance and anticipation of victory and resurrection intimated from the Isaianic text. As well, through the message of 1 Cor 15, Paul could now maintain that Christ’s salvific death and resurrection provide the answer against sin that brought on the punishment of death and judgment in the Hosean context.99 Of the several texts selected from 1 Cor 15, two seem to use gezerah shavah, and verses related to Adam may be relevant to at least one of the other middot. It is important to stress again that although some NT texts appear to use midrash, one should not expect to find midrash under every textual rock. How does one determine when it is present? Although there are no infallible ways to detect middot and other midrashic devises in the NT, a set of clues is in order. I  call these clues rather than rules since, in my view, biblical hermeneutics cannot be reduced to a pure science; improvisation and artistry are typically involved. With this caveat in place, here are certain clues that might suggest the presence of midrash. Hopefully someone later on will add or take away from this list, or at least bring it into sharper relief. The first clue, which is similar to Hays’s criterion, is availability. A case should be made that the midrashic pattern, devise, or interpretation can be dated back to the time of the NT author, at least orally. This clue may be buttressed by finding parallels in Jewish Scripture, or Second Temple literature, and/or elsewhere in the NT. The second clue is religious or ethnic affiliation. Since midrash arises from Jewish literature, is there evidence to support that the author has a Jewish background? In Paul’s case, of course, this answer is affirmative since he claims to be Jewish and was a former Pharisee. It should also be kept in mind that a NT author may have received the interpretation

that the midrashic linking of the prophetic texts here could hardly have originated with anyone other than Paul; that is, it probably is not adopted from an earlier apostolic or pre-Pauline source. 98 A Thesaurus Linguae Graecae search reveals that in ancient Jewish literature relevant to the NT, apart from these LXX texts, the vocative θάνατε appears in Abraham’s conversation with death (T.Abr. 16–20; e.g.,18:1–2[A]‌). It also appears in Vit. Proph. 27.1 (Dorothei recensio), but this is dependent on Hosea and Paul, mentioning both in the context. 99 A similar thought without the midrash connection is given by Roy E. Ciampa and Brian S. Rosner, “1 Corinthians,” in Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (ed. G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007), 695–752 (748).

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from an apparently earlier Christian Jewish source, as in 1 Cor 15:24–27 mentioned earlier. The third clue involves the quality of shared distinctiveness. Is the NT author’s content, pattern, or interpretation peculiar enough to resemble the midrashic parallel supposed? What particularly characterizes it as midrash? Fourth, quantity is very helpful. Is there evidence of the NT author using the particular midrashic form (or one similar to it) elsewhere, whether in the same writing or another? Fifth, confirmation through the history of interpretation is useful. It is always reassuring to find other interpreters who have independently supported the same interpretation. Of course, a unique discovery is also possible, and so this principle best remains a supplementary clue that should not preclude rare interpretations that have good support otherwise. The larger combination of clues compiled to make one’s case will serve to buttress the likelihood of midrashic presence in the text examined. In conclusion, midrash does not need to be relegated to the past eras of biblical scholarship ever since intertextuality arrived. I thoroughly reject the false dichotomy that one must choose to do either midrash or intertextuality. Both can be embraced and pursued.100 Based on my definition of intertextuality, midrash is enabled to fit under its umbrella. At the same time, I regard midrash to be distinct from my use of sociorhetorical intertexture; such combination I regard to be complementary rather than oppositional. Although Richard Hays’s influential work helped usher in the age of intertextuality for biblical scholarship, his criticisms of midrash and its interpreters— from which he made his point of departure—has unfortunately led to a sort of dark age for midrashic studies in the NT. This chapter has shown that some criticisms of midrash were premature and are now being overturned. This present era of scholarship has ushered in a renewed interest in oral tradition and Second Temple literature, both of which confirm the antiquity and importance of middot such as gezerah shavah for Jewish interpretation in the first century, contemporaneous with the writing of NT texts. There seems to be no compelling reason to dismiss the pursuit of midrash in the NT, now that we understand better that its authors most likely had midrashic devises available to them. Of course, the “proof is in the pudding”: NT examples of midrash should once again be brought to light as this dark age comes to end and new insights are made. This present study attempts such pursuit.

And I  am not alone in my thinking. Boyarin, as we have noticed, integrates the two, and Erik Waaler’s multidimensional approach includes gezerah shavah as one of its many features (see the next chapter that follows). 100

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Recontextualization and the Multidimensional Approach to Scripture: Interpreting the Text of Matt 22:31–46 Erik Waaler

Use of the OT text in the NT is best described as recontextualization. Modern theology has deconstructed text interpretation, and a similar process is necessary for recontextualization. This process is multifaceted and more complex than we normally think. The problem is that we often use quotations and allusions as if we are transposing not only the text but also the meaning of the text. This study will discuss a wide array of processes that happen when the author of Matthew (hereafter called Matthew) reuses at least four texts from the OT in Matt 22:31–46. Transposition and intertextuality, the current terms used for recontextualization, are borrowed from post-structuralism. Inspired by Mikhail Bakhtin, Julia Kristeva made this kind of terminology popular in postmodern literary theory. Richard Hays introduced this terminology to NT studies, but to a certain degree this terminology has been used for a new form of source-influence studies.1 The terminology is important because it helps with the deconstruction of recontextualization. Second, this terminology changes the perspective from a focus on repetition to the impact recontextualization has on meaning. The thesis of this chapter is that recontextualization changes the transposed texts in various manners, and that the degree of changed meaning is somewhat detached from the degree of verbatimity, that is, the texts’ character of being essentially verbatim with its predecessor. Even when part of a text is in absolute verbal agreement with its pre-text, recontextualization causes change to happen on many levels. I think we tend to overlook this due to the use of vocabulary such as citation, quotation, allusion and echo, terminology that is inaccurate and multivalent without a unanimous agreement upon meaning. Not only are these words hard to define, but the connotations they bring to the table tend to blur the problems at hand, as they have a narrow focus on verbatimity, reference, and to a lesser degree, intent. We use these words because our modern scholarly culture has very rigid norms for quotations, norms that are regulated See Thomas R. Hatina, “Intertextuality and Historical Criticism in New Testament Studies: Is There a Relationship,” BibInt 7 (1999): 28–43. 1

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almost as though “by law.” The modern scholarly quotations are just that —modern. Our perception of the term quotation is not remotely similar to anything that we may observe in Second Temple Judaism. Krister Stendahl’s book, The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament, is a typical example of the traditional approach to recontextualization with a predominant emphasis on the Vorlage. A major focus in this book is on the identification of which text Matthew was reading.2 Thus, Stendahl might ask:  Did Matthew recontextualize LXXA or the MT? A  focus on quotations only, so often adopted in studies of recontextualizations in the NT, is often a matter of scholarly convenience avoiding the uncertainty of looser recontextualizations that are harder to validate. Richard Hays widened the perspective by including echoes within the interpretative horizon.3 However, Hays too overemphasizes the validation of recontextualization. Many of his factors answers the question:  Did recontextualization take place? The emphasis on validation is probably intended to avoid accusations of parallelomania (i.e., invention of unfounded parallels),4 accusations that in our opinion often develop into parallelonoia (i.e., the aversion toward uncertain parallels). Our focus is not on verbatimity or validation only, but rather on the issue of interpretation and meaning. How does the recontextualization reinterpret the OT text, and to what extent do we see continuity and change of meaning? We ask the question:  What is the meaning of the old text in its new context? This puts the focus on the deeper structure of meaning: What is happening? How does it happen? What does it mean? We focus on:  the acting subject’s psychological perception and awareness of himself and his text;5 on anthropological concepts such as worldview, ethnicity, and culture;6 on sociological impact on meaning;7 and on linguistic theory of meaning applied to lexemes, terminology, and phrases.8 This approach is somewhat similar to the sociorhetorical approach to Scripture, which in our case is applied to the recontextualization of texts.9 Matthew 22:31–46 has four so-called quotations from the OT that are verbatim recontextualizations. The text uses various forms of reference formulae. Apparently, these four recontextualizations are high on the scale of intent. Verbatimity, modes of reference, and intent are the three main categories contained in quotations, allusions, and echoes, three terms that Per Linell has included in the technical term recontextualization.10 The use of a single term forces us toward a thick description of 2 Krister Stendahl, The School of St. Matthew and Its Use of the Old Testament (ASNU 20; Lund: Gleerup, 1967, 2nd ed.). 3 Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). 4 Samuel Sandmel, “Parallelomania,” JBL 81 (1962): 1–13. 5 E. D. Hirsch, Validity in Interpretation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967). 6 Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World:  Insights from Cultural Anthropology (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001). 7 Per Linell, Approaching Dialogue:  Talk, Interaction and Contexts in Dialogical Perspective (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1998), 59–63. 8 James Barr, The Semantics of Biblical Language (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, originally 1961). 9 Vernon K. Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts:  A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretations (Harrisburg, PA: A&C Black, 1996); Vernon K. Robbins, New Boundaries in Old Territory: Form and Social Rhetoric in Mark (vol. 3; Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1973). 10 Linell, Dialogue, 154–55.

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reused texts.11 We will first address text criticism before discussing textual factors, intent and awareness, cultural perception, language, literary context, and several other points related to our thesis.

Finality of the Text (Matt 22:44–45)—Text Criticism In the age of printing, the text is final and all copies of a book are identical, at least in one edition. This was not the case with first century handwritten copies of the OT, as is well documented from the Qumran texts, where different versions of a text and even rewritten Scripture is plentiful. Naturally, the Vorlage of NT recontextualizations are not directly available to us. A translation might influence our reading of the original, especially if it is read in advance of the original. In the case of the Tetragrammaton, it appears that the reading of the Hebrew text influenced the translation. When the Hebrew text has YHWH, the Jews at the time read Lord or God or the Name, avoiding pronunciation of the name of God. This avoidance probably developed from an interpretation of one of the Ten Commandments: “You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not acquit anyone who misuses his name” (Deut 5:11). In Second Temple Judaism, it seems common to set a fence around the Law. In order to keep this commandment, the Jews avoided any use of the name of God outside the temple. This custom is known from the Second Temple period, and it may be suggested as early as the time when the Elohim Psalms came into existence. The existence of the Elohim Psalms might indicate that a shift happened at some point in history, and that the original psalmists used the name of the Lord (YHWH) more freely. This is part of the somewhat free approach to the text in text interpretation that is felt in the NT and in Second Temple Judaism, but not to the same degree in the scribal reproduction of the Hebrew text of the Pentateuch. Thus, there is a difference between the written text and the text as it was read aloud, not to mention its interpretation.

Textual Factors Indicating Recontextualization We know that recontextualization has taken place from two factors:  reference formulae and more or less verbatim repetition of text. These are the external signs of recontextualization.

Clifford Geertz, “Thick Description:  Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture,” in Readings in the Philosophy of Social Science (ed. Michael Martin and Lee C. McIntyre; Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1994), 213–31 (215–17); Joseph G. Ponterotto, “Brief Note on the Origins, Evolution, and Meaning of the Qualitative Research Concept Thick Description,” The Qualitative Report 11 (2006): 538–49 (539). 11

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Reference Formulae (Matt 22:31, 41–42, 43) There is a double reference formula in Matt 22:31. First, there is indirect reference to Exod 3:6: “That which was spoken to you by God …” (Matt 22:31).12 This is followed by explicit reference to Psalms: “How is it then that David by the Spirit calls him Lord?” (v. 43). The former is a semi-standard formula of reference. The second is a rhetorical question used to make reference. Elsewhere in Matthew, we find standard formulae such as “it is written …” (e.g., Matt 4:4–10). Second, two of the reference formulae are followed by the verb “to say” (λέγοντος v. 31, λέγων v. 43). This part of the “reference formula” invites a somewhat more verbatim repetition compared to the phrase “it is written,” but neither formula demands exact verbatim repetition, hence the name reference formulae.13 However, often the reference formula is absent from verbatim (as well as from less verbatim) recontextualizations such as the claimed reuse of Ps 2:2 in Matt 22:41–42.14 This means that reference formulae are important elements in recontextualization, but not necessary. When they are used, they help establish the intent of the author and awareness on behalf of the audience.

Verbatimity (Matt 22:37, 44) There is relatively a high degree of verbatimity in the four main recontextualizations in our text, but it varies depending on which text version we compare with our text (MT, LXX, Qumran, etc.). For each version there are text-critical issues. It is probable that Matthew had access to the LXX, which we may try to reconstruct by means of text criticism. However, we may also compare Matthew with an early version of the LXX such as the LXXA. We do not have access to Matthew’s Vorlage, thus both approaches are hypothetical, but the latter less so, for then we could compare it with an actual text and not a reconstructed one. Matthew’s version of the Great Commandment is at variance with the MT and the LXX. Matthew has ἐν (cf. ְ‫ )ב‬and the LXX has ἐξ. The main difference, however, is the translation of “of all your might” (‫מאֹ דֶ ָך‬,ְ δυνάμεώς). Matthew reads “with all your mind (διανοίᾳ)” (Matt 22:37).15 Mark 12:30 includes both Matthew’s διανοίᾳ and δυνάμεώς of the LXX, adding a fourth part. The question is whether this is a pure source-critical issue, as Stendahl seems to think: It is noteworthy that all the Synoptics, except the D text in Mark and Luke, include the synonyms καρδία and διάνοια both translations of the Hebrew ‫לבב‬. It is very 12 Here God’s speaking is taken literally: The Lord spoke to the Israelites on the mountain. Elsewhere it might be indirect reference to inspired prophetical speech. Unless otherwise stated, all English quotations are from the NRSV. 13 τοῦ πατρός σου θεὸς (Exod 3:6 LXX) is absent from Matt 22:32; the parallel to the LXX is closer in Matt 22:44. Reference may also come after the recontextualization (Matt 22:38). 14 Joachim Gnilka, Das Matthäusevangelium: Ii. Teil (vol. 2, ed. Alfred Wikenhauser et al.; HThKNT; Freiburg:  Herder, 1988), 259; W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, The Gospel According to Saint Matthew (vol. 3; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark), 239. 15 Robert H. Gundry, Matthew a Commentary on His Literary and Theological Art (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 449, suggest that “mind” translates ‫מַ ּדָ עֲָך‬, thus a different Vorlage whereas Paul Gaechter, Das Matthäus Evangelium (Innsbruck: Tyrolia, 1963), 713, suggests that the two words are so similar that it could be a mistaken reading.

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unlikely that any form of the shema containing such a repetition was known to the evangelists. The text of Matthew must therefore be a revision of the Marcan text.16

Does Mark add the last member, or does Matthew reduce Mark’s four parts to three, as in Deut 6:5?17 All synoptic versions are at variance with the MT, the Samarian Pentateuch, the Qumran texts, and the LXX. It seems probable that the change is due to the Jesus tradition.18 Matthew’s version is more pointed, as mind corresponds closer to heart and soul than the original might. This may speak for an intended interpretation in the direction of a person’s inner being, which to some degree corresponds to loving your neighbour as yourself. Qumran’s Rule of the Community interprets a movement toward the exterior: “knowledge,” “energies” and “riches” (1QS 1:11b–13a). It focuses on “God’s decrees,” “His perfect path,” and “His just council,” core values of the Yahad community (cf. 1QS 1:16–17a).19 In my opinion, the different versions of this text are examples of interpretations rather than purely text-critical issues. If Matthew is prior to Mark, then Mark might have noticed the interpretation and expanded it in respect of both Matthew’s Jesus and the Pentateuch (Mark 12:30; cf. Luke 10:27). Matthew (Matt 19:19) portrays the Shema as interpretation of the Decalogue in particular and as the core of the law in general.20 Thus, the idiosyncratic interpretation of Matthew’s Jesus focuses on the attitude of the heart (cf. Luke 10:25–37). Joseph Fitzmyer, among others, has described how the Tetragrammaton (‫ )יהוה‬is replaced by the term “Lord” in the fourth recontextualization (Matt 22:44, Κύριος). Extant Hebrew texts have: “Yahweh said to my lord.” Matthew’s version corresponds to the extant LXX text. This is a theological change, avoiding pronunciation of the name of God, a core value of Second Temple Judaism. This custom is found in Qumran (1QS 4:27–5:1, 1QapGen 21:2 / Gen 13:4; cf. 1QapGen 22:32 / Gen 15:2) and the Elohistic psalter.21 Even though use of this word belongs within the category of verbatim recontextualization of the LXX, it still belongs with a particular interpretation of the Tetragrammaton; there are some apparent versions of the LXX that do not align with this usage but use the Tetragrammaton in Hebrew letters, paleo-Hebrew letters, or its equivalent in Greek letters: ΗΙΗΙ. There are other parts of the text that are not a perfect verbatim repetition of the LXX: ὑποκάτω (ὑποπόδιον, Ps. 109:1) τῶν ποδῶν σου (Matt 22:44).22 There is no material difference, thus we are left with stylistic change possibly to avoid pleonasm. This indicates how vocabulary is treated within a particular subculture (see below, e.g., vocabulary, worldview, sociologic dynamic). We see that origin of verbal change might come from an earlier text (a pre-text), or it might appear to be idiosyncratic. Stendahl, School of St. Matthew, 75–76. 17 Adding to the difficulty, Mark put yet another version in the mouth of the scribe (Mark 12:33), but here the text tradition is rather fluid. 18 Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.237. 19 Erik Waaler, The Shema and the First Commandment in First Corinthians: An Intertextual Approach to Paul’s Re-Reading of Deuteronomy (WUNT II/253; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 185–86. 20 Ibid., 216–17. 21 Ibid., 426; cf. 423–28. This difference raises a huge discussion about the use of the term “Lord” in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek. 22 Unless otherwise noted, the Greek text is from NA27. 16

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Intent and Awareness (Matt 22:43–44) Intent and awareness are evasive categories that do not focus on the text per se, but on the mind of the author and his audiences. Our discussion of this is based on the Johari window that describes our self-perception as open or closed to ourselves and to our fellow human beings.23 The Johari window is an oversimplification focusing on the gliding scale of awareness, from full and explicit awareness to elements of life we would not admit to or recognize even when they are explained to us. The issue of text awareness can be outlined as follows: The Waaler Window of Text Awareness based on Johari Window Author ⇒ Group ⇓

Open message, Full awareness

Sleeping message, Sensed

Silent message, Normally inaccessible

Open message, full awareness

1) Everybody 5) Author senses is aware of the recontextualization, recontextualization.24 audience is aware of it.

2) Audience is aware of recontextualization, author does not sense it.

Sleeping message, Sensed

8) Author is aware of recontextualization and the audience senses it.

9) Author and audience sense a recontextualization.

6) Audience senses recontextualization, author does not.

Silent message, Normally inaccessible

4) Author is aware of recontextualization, audience does not sense it.

7) Author senses recontextualization, the audience does not.

3) Closed recontextualization not sensed by anybody.

Sometimes the author unveils his degree of awareness. When reference is made, it is relatively easy to identify the intent. Then the story normally implies awareness for everyone (author, authorial audience, implied author and audience, and sometimes even for narrator and narrative, etc.). However, intent and awareness are not only relevant for the fact that the text is used; it is also relevant for the way it is used. One may be aware of some aspects of continuity and changes, and unaware of others. The avoidance of the Tetragrammaton present in Ps 110 might be subconsciously intended due to cultural values that were imposed by the LXX and other sources. It is difficult to know whether the author and his audience were aware of this. As Jews knew the Shema by heart, most would notice a change in its text like καὶ ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ διανοίᾳ σου 23 J. Luft and H. Ingham, “The Johari Window, a Graphic Model of Interpersonal Awareness,” Proceedings of the Western Training Laboratory in Group Development (Los Angeles: UCLA, 1950). 24 Recontextualization is used in the place of quotation, allusion, and echo.

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(Matt 22:37), and even more so, the addition of a fourth member to the Shema which is found in Mark 12:30. Consequently, both intent and awareness would be assigned to the author of the text by a contemporary Jew. Such changes would probably also be recognized by a proselyte, but not by a non-Jewish Greek or Roman, groups that generally were unaware of the existence of the Shema. Another factor that plays into this room of awareness is the Christological twist described by John Aloisi, among others: “The Synoptic Gospels record an incident in the life of Christ which is difficult to understand apart from a directly messianic interpretation of Psalm 110.”25 Application of this text to Jesus appears to be standard in the early church. It is possible that such an interpretation is based on earlier Jewish interpretations of Ps 110, but the application to Jesus is new and it apparently plays into the open room of awareness known to the author as well as the audience.

Cultural Perception of Texts As the author of the NT phenotext, Matthew had a perception of the OT archetext, and of later Jewish texts (mesotexts) that influence his recontextualization of the OT.26 However, the mixed audience of the phenotext have their own and more or less related perceptions of these pretexts. The modern readers also have a different set of perception of these texts, perceptions that influence our reading of the pre-texts.

Worldview (Matt 22:44–45) When a text is moved from its setting in a particular cultural context with a particular worldview to another such context with a somewhat different worldview, changes happen even if the text does not change. This is most evident in the case of Matt 22:41–45. The text includes a recontextualization of Ps 110:1. Stendahl describes the interpretation of the Matthean Jesus as “deduction ad absurdum”27 The problem is whether the original meaning of the OT Hebrew text could possibly have implied a reference to Jesus. Here Stendahl’s modern worldview kicks in, as would the worldview of a modernistic fundamentalist. Both answer a modern question: “Did the New Testament writers violate the intent of the author of Psalm 110 when they identified the undesignated (‘my Lord’) of Psalm 110:1 (and hence the focus of the entire psalm) as the Messiah, that is, Jesus Christ?”28 This is probably “a pre-exilic

25 John Aloisi, “Who Is David’s Lord? Another Look at Psalm 110,” Detroit Baptist Seminary Journal 10 (2005): 103–23 (119). 26 Phenotext is the text under discussion that includes a recontextualization within its running text. The archetext is the OT text that is recontextualized in the phenotext. A mesotext is another text that uses the archetext but was written prior to the phenotext and might be the source of influence on the phenotext. 27 Stendahl, School of St. Matthew, 78. 28 Barry C. Davis, “Is Psalm 110 a Messianic Psalm?” BSac 157 (2000): 160–73 (160).

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royal psalm,”29 describing the king of Israel in a sort of triumphant ideal state of victory over all enemies. The psalm ascribes itself to David, and coming from him, such statements of a victory clearly describe a royal victory of unprecedented glory at the time. When Jesus is linked to David, the genealogy from Matt 1 lingers in the background. The OT genealogies have dual focus:  First, on the ancestors leading down to Israel and Judah, defining who is associated with the in-group. Second, the relationship to other tribes and peoples, who are not part of the chosen people.30 Thus the genealogies organize the whole world. This is an important part of the worldview of the OT. In the NT this element is used toward particularization. The out-group is not characterized genealogically. However, we should ask how Ps 110 was perceived in Second Temple Judaism. Apart from later sources, there is little evidence for its Jewish interpretation. There might be indirect evidence in 11QMelch, a text that somehow links Melchizedek to the Messiah (11QMelch 2:18). Fitzmyer maintains that, “Whether Melchizedek is the same as the ‘herald’ in this text is difficult to say because of the fragmentary state of the document.”31 However, one element in 11QMelch has to come from Ps 110, the only OT text apart from Gen 16:18 that speaks of Melchizedek. “While Genesis 14 made Melchizedek a priest (11QMelch 2:6–8), Psalm 110—and it alone in the Bible—can account for his other role as international judge (esp. 11QMelch 2:13).”32 Despite the fractured nature of the text, we know that it is pesher and thus that it applies the text to the here and now. The Qumran community and the early church shared the expectancy of the coming of a Messiah, a common idea in Second Temple Judaism. Other similar messianic interpretations are shared between Rom 10:15 and 11Q13 2:15–16, both of which apply Isa 52:7 to the Messiah (Rom 10:17; 11Q13 2:18). The main issue in the Christian worldview was the notion that Jesus was the Christ. If the messianic interpretation of Ps 110 was viable in Second Temple Judaism, then application of this text to Jesus was inevitable. The NT portrays Jesus and the apostles as the origin of this perception that subsequently gave name to the emerging Christian movement (Acts 11:24). This self-designation, which the NT says had its origin among the nonbelievers (Acts 11:25), is profound proof that the doctrine that Jesus was the Christ was such a core value, thus we agree with Craig Keener: “… this passage supplies the working Christological sense of ‘Lord’ elsewhere in Matthew’s Gospel.”33 The Christian worldview thus centers on the Christological interpretation of the figure of Jesus, and this worldview influences Matthew’s reading of the OT.

Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.253. 30 Karin R. Andriolo, “A Structural Analysis of Genealogy and Worldview in the Old Testament,” American Anthropologist 75 (1973): 1657–69 (1660). 31 Joseph A. Fitzmyer, “Further Light on Melchizedek from Qumran Cave 11,” JBL (1967): 25–41 (31). 32 Paul Rainbow “Melchizedek as a Messiah at Qumran,” BBR 7 (1997): 179–94 (184). 33 Craig S. Keener, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 532. 29

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The Authority of the Pre-Text from the OT (Matt 22:29, 31, 35, 40) In literary criticism, some texts are considered to be classics, thus they are better known and have greater cultural impact. The works of Homer were such texts in the Greek sphere. Religious texts form a special category of classics, as they are not only well known and influential, but there is religious belief connected to them that give them greater force in an argument. As with most Jews at the time, the authors of the NT had a perception of the texts that came to form the OT as the ultimate authority.34 This is self-evident and may go unnoticed. Our text has plentiful signs of this: (1) God’s speaking from a burning bush is taken at face value (Matt 22:31, Exod 3:4). (2) The authority of the two great commandments is taken for granted. (3) There is no question mark with reference to the authority, clarity, and consistency of David, who speaks by the Spirit.35 (4) The Sadducees go astray because they do not know the Scriptures (Matt 22:29). This implies that Scripture has authority if properly used. (5) The third recontextualization appeals to the Law (v. 35; “and the Prophets” v.  40), as if to an authority. This kind of standard language implies an advanced stage in the process that led to the canonization of certain books that we have come to include in the category of Scripture. Authority, taken for granted, is a major element in re-contextualization. Recontextualized Scripture settles the case as if God himself had spoken, thus it is a good argumentative strategy. The use of such texts are at variance with texts in which authority must be argued or is perceived to be absent. Because this is such a common perception, it mostly goes unnoticed even though it is deeply rooted in all brands of Judaism at the time of Matthew, including emerging Christianity. Based on frequency of usage in different brands of Judaism, it seems that the Law was held in the highest esteem, closely followed by Isaiah and Psalms (so Jesus, Paul, Qumran, Josephus, Philo, etc.).

Degree of Claimed Inspirational and Scholarly Interpretation: Agreeable Modes of Interpretation (Matt 22:32, 37–39, 44) Interpretation might be scholarly or simple; it might be inspired or mundane. In our text, we do find a scholarly interpretation of the double commandment that is based on rules similar to Rabbi Hillel’s middah, gezerah shavah (Matt 22:37–39). In its later rabbinic form, this rule is based on the observation that a particular grammatical form of a word is found only twice in the OT, indicating that the two texts belong together. The rationale behind it is probably that this is not an accident, but caused by some sort of authorial intent—in other words the OT archetext is inspired. In the Second Temple period, repeated occurrence of one particular word-form in two or more contexts in the OT often led to similar combinations of texts for the purpose of interpretation. Such interpretations based on the inspired text is considered scholarly. There is no Douglas J. Moo, The Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives (Sheffield:  Almond Press, 1983), 25. 35 “If David call him Lord, how can he be his son?” (Matt 22:45). It has been questioned whether this quotation argues for a Davidic descent or not. Cf. W. F. Albright and C. S. Mann, Matthew (AB 26; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1971), 274. 34

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need for prophetic inspiration for the conclusion that Jesus makes in this text. Mark notes the positive response from the scribe confronting Jesus: And the scribe said to Him, ‘Right, Teacher, You have truly stated that He is One; and there is no one else besides Him; and to love Him with all the heart and with all the understanding and with all the strength, and to love one’s neighbor as himself, is much more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices. (Mark 12:32–33 NASB)

There is good reason to believe this interpretation would gain Jesus such a respected response from another scholar as well. The double commandment is based on a combination of Deut 6:5 and Lev 19:18, verses that are linked by the Hebrew term ָ‫וְ אָ הַ בְ ּת‬. This term is found four times in the OT (Deut 6:5, 11:1 and Lev 19:18, 34). We know the double commandment from the Alexandrian Jew, Philo, who was a contemporary of Jesus (Philo, Decal. 106–110, cf. T. Iss. 5:2).36 In the NT, the double commandment is presented as a core value of Jesus. As with Philo, Jesus relates it to the Decalogue, mostly to its second part. Not only does Jesus speak of loving the fellow citizen (Lev 19:18), but in the story of the Good Samaritan he includes love toward the foreigner (‫)הַ ּגֵר‬, probably based on Lev 19:34.37 Even though the latter interpretation is innovative, it is based on principles similar to gezerah shavah.38 At the time, this interpretation was a scholarly interpretation. It does not need to draw authority from Jesus as a person, even though some Jews may have objected to such an extension of the command to love one’s fellow men to go beyond the circle of Jews. Not all interpretations we meet in the Gospels, however, are such scholarly interpretations. In Matt 22:44 we find a prophetic interpretation and application of a particular text from Ps 110:1 to Jesus. Such a messianic interpretation of this text is possible in Second Temple Judaism (cf. 1 Macc 14:41), thus it is not totally isolated from a scholarly context. Applying a messianic text to Jesus is not a given outside the Christian movement, thus it has the ring of prophetic speech, but it is not as direct as the recontextualization in Luke 4:18–21. The simplest and most mundane interpretation of text is the one found in Matt 22:32. This interpretation is not based on a particular set of interpretive rules known to us, but on a simple reapplication of a text from Exod 3:6. The application of this text to resurrection is apparently idiosyncratic.

Language in Diachronic and Synchronic Perspectives Language is part of culture. As part of culture, it changes over time. This means that the exact same text does not have the exact same meaning if it is read at a considerably later stage in the culture from which it originated. Changes in language include grammar With reference to several Jewish texts, Gundry, Matthew, 449, claims the origin to be Christian. See further, Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.237; Ulrich Luz, Das Evangelium Nach Matthäus (Mt 18–25) (vol. 3, ed. Norbert Brox et al.; EKKNT; Neukirchen-Vluyn; Zürich: Benziger, 1997), 281. 37 Luz, Matthäus, 283. 38 Peter Fiedler, Das Matthäus-Evangelium (vol. 1; ThKZNT; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 2006), 339. 36

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and the meaning of vocabulary. As the NT is written in Greek, and the OT in Hebrew and Aramaic, there is also an element of translation that challenges the stability of meaning.

Norms of language (Matt 22:32) With reference to the Hebrew text of Ps 110, as it is repeated in LXX of Ps 110:1 and in Matt 22:44, there is a major difference between the Hebrew and the Greek text. In Greek, one may use nominal sentences, but they are less common than in Hebrew. The nominal sentence is translated to Greek by use of the copula: “I am (ἐγώ εἰμι / ‫ )אָ נֹ כִ י‬the God of …” (Exod 3:6).39 The copula is important in Jesus interpretation of the text by use of indicative present active: “He is (ἔστιν) not God of the dead but of the living.” In the LXX version of Ezek 1:1, the term ‫ אָ נֹ כִ י‬is interpreted “I was” (ἐγὼ ἤμην). Thus, the reinterpretation ἐγώ εἰμι is more particular than the original ‫אָ נֹ כִ י‬, as the Greek language forces the translator to choose between forms of the Greek language that have no direct parallel in Hebrew. Some changes are accommodation to changes in language structure, and they may have less interpretative value. This is the case with the change from ἕως ἂν θῶ τοὺς ἐχθρούς σου ὑποκάτω (ὑποπόδιον Ps 109:1) τῶν ποδῶν σου (Mat 22:42). It is probable that this change is original in Matthew and that the Byzantine text aligns this part of Matthew with the LXX in order to even out the difference. The change from the noun ὑποπόδιον to use of prepositions like ὑποκάτω aligns well with the increased use of prepositions in Koine Greek as compared to Classical Greek.40

Meaning of Words and Their Cultural Setting (Matt 22:32, 37) The meanings of words are not totally stable over time, but tend to change slightly over an extended period of time. In order to sort out this issue, one often turns to the TDNT. It is important to note that this issue is the meeting point of the diachronic and synchronic perspective. The meaning of the NT usage is based on its own contemporary cultural context, which most certainly was a development from a former state of that same culture. The term “Lord”—as used in Ps 110:1 (LXX 109:1)—is dependent on the common translation of both the Tetragrammaton and the Hebrew term ‫ אֲדֹ נַי‬by the Greek term κύριος in the LXX. The “second lord” is clearly perceived as a viceroy of God the Father in the psalm; however, the identity of this viceroy is difficult to pinpoint in the original. Matthew uses the term κύριος with reference to God and Jesus. It is arguable that the term “Lord” has taken on new connotations in the language of Matthew, as the Christological use of the term “Lord” in other parts of Matthew appears to influence the reading of the text from the Psalms in this text.

Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.231. 40 Jadranka Gvozdanovic, “Aspects of Indo-European Historical Syntax in a Typological Perspective,” Slovo a slovesnost 77 (2016): 416–34 (420). 39

40

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Another issue is the meaning of the term ‫ָל־מאֹ דֶ ָך‬ ְ ‫( ּובְ כ‬Deut 6:5) that in Matthew is translated καὶ ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ διανοίᾳ σου (Matt 22:37). Notably the Majority Text follows Mark, who has a fourfold formula, ending with καὶ ἐξ ὅλης τῆς διανοίας σου καὶ ἐξ ὅλης τῆς ἰσχύος σου (Mark 12:30). Iσχύς is clearly a translation of ‫מאֹ ד‬,ְ whereas διάνοια seems to be closer the first member of the threefold formula, the term “heart” (‫ לֵבָ ב‬/ καρδία). The word διάνοια is a genuine metaphorical translation of ‫לֵבָ ב‬. The metaphoric interpretation is genuinely Jewish in character, and is in line with usage in the MT, but it is used also in other Greek texts. In Biblical Hebrew the term “heart” leans toward the seat of emotions (see BDB ad loc.), but includes “the inner thinking man” described by the terms “mind” (see e.g., Deut 8:2) and “knowledge” (see, e.g., Deut 8:5).

Sociological Dynamics Adding Meaning (Matt 22:31–32) closer studies of the social context in which language is used show that many elements of linguistic structure are involved in systematic variation which reflects both temporal change and extralinguistic social processes.41

Matthew describes several groups that take part in and impact on the conversation in the text: The Pharisees (v. 14, 34, 41), the disciples of the Pharisees (v. 16), a pharisaic lawyer (v. 35), the Herodians (v.16), the Sadducees (v. 23, 34), the crowd (v. 33, 23:1), the disciples of Christ (23:1), and Jesus. To begin with, the OT texts are used in a context of sociological conflict between separate groups that treated each other with contempt—the Sadducees, the Pharisees, the Herodians and the disciples of Christ— groups that come from distinct and different levels of society. Jesus and his disciples were of Galilean origin, whereas some of the others probably had a Judean identity. The other groups are elite groups of different types, compared to Jesus and his followers. However, mobility over such group identities was possible to some extent. Additionally, it is evident that “ people are normally members of several speech communities at the same time and will appropriately modify their speech forms and behaviour …”42 This makes the sociological makeup of the text complicated. Some speak from power, some speak from theological authority, and Jesus functions as the villain whom nobody is able to silence. The text reflects an attempt to place the Christians within the sociological makeup of different Jewish groups. The clearest example of this is Jesus’s criticism of the Pharisees that follows our text: “therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach.” (Matt 23:3 NRSV) By this reinterpretation of the Pharisees, Jesus places himself close to, but distinct from the Pharisees. The interpretation of texts in our passage underlines this sociological self-identification process marking theological distance from the Sadducees as well. As we shall see, Jesus uses 41 William Labov, Sociolinguistic Patterns (Philadelphia:  University of Pennsylvania Press, 2nd ed. 1991), 111. 42 Hughson T. Ong, The Multilingual Jesus and the Sociolinguistic World of the New Testament (Linguistic Biblical Studies 12; Leiden: Brill, 2016), 261.

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recontextualizations to do this. However, this sociological context is irrelevant for the OT texts that is under discussion, as these conflicting political and religious positions did not exist at the time the texts came into being.43 However, it does influence Second Temple period readings of the OT. The Sadducee’s question about resurrection and the answer given by Jesus does not make much sense apart from the sociological and theological difference between Sadducees and Pharisees.44 The question is based on the Jewish custom of levirate marriage, firmly based in the OT (Deut 25:5). Thus, a woman could survive seven spouses, all brothers, and still be barren.45 The question seems odd if this core value is unknown. Behind the question lies the issue of resurrection, which the Pharisees believed in, but not so the Sadducees. This issue is raised in the text, first by the author (Matt 22:23) and then by Jesus: “ as for the resurrection of the dead …” (Matt 22:31). Jesus uses a particular text to counter the argument of the Sadducees: “I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” This sentence is found in one particular and significant OT text, the incident of the burning bush (Exod 3:6; cf. 3:15, 16, 4:5), a text that contains the self-revelation of God as he reveals his name to Moses (YHWH, Exod 3:14). Jesus’s interpretation of the text implies resurrection as a fact. In this context, and with the Pharisees as onlookers, Jesus’s reference to Exod 3:6 certainly puts him in line with the Pharisees and in opposition to the Sadducees. Even though this is a theological issue, it is deeply rooted in a conflict between different sociological groups, and functions to align the Christians with the Pharisaic movement. The most scholarly interpretation of the OT is given precisely to the highly educated lawyer, a leader from the prestigious group of the Pharisees, when Jesus refers to the double commandment. With his combination of texts by the use of gezerah shavah, Jesus takes on prestigious language showing his equality with the lawyer. With his interpretation, however, Jesus places emphasis on the relationship to the neighbor, a relationship that he elaborates on in other texts and extends to the foreigner and the poor, sometimes in opposition to the Pharisees. Thus, it appears that the answers given by Jesus were given in a manner that was appropriate for the group that he was answering. In all cases, the effect of the recontextualizations is amazement and silence. By his answers Jesus appears as the superior, the most able, and the one who challenges persons in power in such a manner that they dare not challenge him in dispute any more. Thus, Jesus appears to the author and his audience as the victor, the eminent speaker, the learned rabbi, the Messiah: “no one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions” (Matt 22:46 NRSV). It must be admitted that this conclusion is dependent on the dating of the texts, but the division between Pharisees and Sadducees is somewhat removed from the text of Ps 110 and the Pentateuch, even if the latter should have been written in the early postexilic period. From a NT perspective, however, it is evident that writers like the author of Matthew took the historic information of the OT at face value in the perceived sense it had in Second Temple Judaism. 44 See Albright and Mann, Matthew, 274. 45 D. A. Hagner, Matthew 14–28 (WBC 33B; Dallas, TX: Word Books, 1995), 640, points to a similar story about seven husbands in Tob 3:7–9; however, her marriage with them was not consummated, since they all died on the wedding night. 43

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Interpretive Addition of Meaning (Matt 22:32) The sociological dynamic just described influences the reading of the text from Exodus. Exodus 3:6, as it is found in the MT or the LXX, does not focus on life after death, an element that is explicitly raised by Jesus: “He is God not of the dead, but of the living” (Matt 22:32). An apparently similar interpretation, but in a different sociological context, is found in 4 Maccabees: “They knew also that those who die for the sake of God live to God, as do Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and all the patriarchs” (4 Macc 16:25, cf. 7:19).46 Jesus’s interpretation is traditional, as the original text does not speak about life after death. Thus, “it is not immediately clear how Jesus’ citation of Exod. 3:6  … concerns resurrection at all.”47 Bradley Trick suggests a rather complicated interpretation based on the annulment of covenants at the time of death (cf. marriage); which leads him to suggest that the patriarchs have gone through “ a kind of preliminary death, a death sufficient to experience resurrection, yet not so complete as to annul the covenant.”48 However, other covenants were not annulled by death, as the ancient vassal treaties clearly show. The protection of the offspring—in the case of the high king’s death—is a main issue in these covenants. In ancient Israel, land could be sold, but the seller and his offspring still had a claim to the land. In our text, the focus is not on the covenant, but on resurrection. For the Jesus of Matthew, there must be some logic which implies that God would not be the God of the dead. God would not interact with the dead, but only with the living. If the premise is that God is God only of the living, then calling him God of the Fathers implies that they are alive, and thus that there is a resurrection. In my opinion, the premise is not lifted from Exod 3:6 or its close context. If God is the God of the living only (which is Jesus’s proposition), then Exod 3:6 implies that the patriarchs are living and thus have tasted resurrection. It must be added that the text from Exodus links up with the promised land, “a land flowing with milk and honey” (Exod 3:17 NRSV). Thus, the covenantal relationship between God and Abraham is within the horizon.

Influence of Literary Context A recontextualization is in dialog with the literary context from which it is extracted, as well as from the literary text in which it is included. Hagner, Matthew 14–28, 642. This text is possibly to be dated to the first century (CE 19–54). H. Anderson, “4 Maccabees (First Century A.D.): A New Translation and Introduction,” in The Old Testament Pseudipigrapha (vol. 2, ed. James H. Charlesworth; New York: Doubleday, 1985), 531–43 (533–34). 47 Bradley R. Trick, “Death, Covenants, and the Proof of Resurrection in Mark 12:18–27,” NovT 49 (2007): 232–56 (234). 48 Ibid., 255. 46

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Metalepsis (Matt 22:32–40) Metalepsis concerns the resonance of the quotation in its original context. It is implied that not only the part of text that is moved from the archetext to the phenotext is important, but that the remaining original context functions as harmonic or disharmonic tones in a chord. In Matt 22:32–40 the double commandment is called the Greatest Commandment; but in addition, reference is made to “the law and the prophets,” thus the text explicitly signals a relationship between these two texts and the rest of the OT. Such a relationship with the context is often implicit rather than explicit. When the double commandment is interpreted as a Decalogue interpretation, then the term “love” is interpreted in the direction of particular actions rather than feelings, and the context of Deut 6:5 is clearly invoked (i.e., from Deut 5:7 onward). This interpretation is not isolated from Jesus; it is found in the contemporary writings of Philo Judaeus (Decal. 106–110), as shown earlier. Thus, this text evoked metalepsis not only in the early Christian movement, but it evoked such metalepsis also for an early-first-century Alexandrian Jew. As the first few commandments are distinct because of their monotheistic overtones as perceived in Second Temple Judaism, monotheism kicks into our text as well. Loving God means loving him only and rejecting the idols.

Isolation of Text from Context—Chosen Part to Repeat (Matt 22:37) The way in which the Jesus of Matthew chooses Deut 6:5 for recontextualization, avoiding the following paragraph, is significant for the message Jesus proclaims. It is the meaning of the text that is important, not the phylacteries in which Shema is found. With contempt, Jesus says: “They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long” (Matt 23:5). The point Jesus is making is, in this sense, the opposite of the point made in Shema. The Scribes could have responded to Jesus: “It is written in the Scripture: “Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead” (Deut 6:8). By avoiding this part of the text, which has more practical issues tied to it, Jesus focuses on the idea behind the custom of phylacteries, namely, the teaching found in the Shema. That is, to practice love toward God wholeheartedly. This opens to the parallel of neighborly love. The same is the case with Ps 110:1, which is isolated from the warlike connotation explicitat the end of the psalm. The text from Exod 3 is isolated from the context of the exodus and the eisodus, even though the exodus functions as a typology for Jesus in the childhood story of Matt 2 (Exod 3:16–17). However, and despite the isolation, Jesus typologically and theologically maintains that God is the savior of the believers, the messiah as a lord alongside God. For the double commandment, the interior interpretation works better with the text of Deuteronomy than an exterior interpretation.

44

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Embedding of Text in a New Context (Matt 22:32, 37, 39) When embedding is possible, it is implied that extraction of a text from another context has been performed (i.e., decontextualization) and that recontextualization is occurring. When Jesus raises the issue of resurrection (v. 31) before quoting Exod 3:6, he performs a new reading of the text. The issue is external to the text that is recontextualized, thus the literary context gives a new and changed meaning to the OT text. The love commandments come forward as part of plain texts in the OT, but in Matthew, it is set after a question: “Which is the greatest commandment?” In addition, the double commandment is set before Jesus’s statement that the whole Law and the Prophets depend on these two commandments. When Jesus applies the psalm to himself (Matt 22:42–45), it is implied that Jesus is the Christ; that stands out clearly from the context. This fundamental Christian idea also makes an impact on the OT with the notion that Jesus is the Christ. Even though the Prophets did speak of a coming messiah, a messiah that was expected in Second Temple Judaism, it must be maintained that no Jew knew Jesus and the Jesus-story before Jesus was born. Jesus puts particular emphasis on the psalm, and it changes the dynamic between one part of the OT and the whole text. Each time embedding happens, the new context impacts multiple new meanings on the embedded text.

Mixed Quotations (Matt 22:36, 38) When two or more texts from the OT are used in one context in the NT, the new context links these two texts together in a complex manner. We have no pure chain quotations in the text; the closest we come to this is the combination of the two love commandments. The two parts are divided by two sub-clauses. Putting two clauses together from different contexts is an act of interpretation that doubles many of the other factors of recontextualization, bringing yet another text and its context into the discussion. Deuteronomy 6:5 and Lev 19:18, 34 are set in contexts that have been considered to be a Decalogue interpretation.49 We may thus conclude that the two contexts are related in a more profound manner than only through the term “love” by use of gezerah shavah (see above). One may of course say that the Decalogue has little relevance for the author of Matthew, at least in our text. However, it is significant that the question is for the Greatest Commandment (ἐντολὴ μεγάλη, v. 36) and that the reply of Jesus is that this is the “first and greatest” (πρώτη καὶ μεγάλη ἐντολή, v. 38). As the Shema (especially Deut 6:4–5) is often considered an interpretation of the first commandment, the Ten Commandments are not so far removed from our text as we may think.50 In Matthew both texts come forward as apodictic, even though this is less so in their original context, especially in Leviticus. E.g., Deuteronomy 5 has the Decalogue in it, and regarding Lev. 19, see Luke T. Johnson, “The Use of Leviticus 19 in the Letter of James,” JBL (1982): 391–401. 50 See Hagner, Matthew 14–28, 647. 49

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Form From form criticism, we learned that form has implications for meaning. This is true on several levels.

Change of Gattung (Matt 22:32, 37, 39, 44) The text of Matthew is typical of the conflict dialogues in the Gospels, often consisting of intricate questions from Jesus’s opponents and convincing responses by Jesus. Chosen texts from Scripture are used as proof-texts to convince the onlookers, if not also the opponents of Jesus. The OT text that is used in this context, however, is taken from a Psalm of David, and from the books of Exodus, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy; the first is possibly from a liturgical context and the latter texts from contexts belonging to a Decalogue interpretation, thus nomistic in nature. The latter Gattung invites a perception of rules and regulations to be followed. The former Gattung invites a perception of who is the most eloquent speaker, and who is able to apply the OT in such a manner as to win the crowd’s favour and silence the opponents. This is one of the ultimate goals of the text.

Cohesion in the text (Matt 22:37, 44) Even though the challenge to monotheism posed by Christology is not explicitly present in the text, it lurks behind the scene. Whenever part of the Shema is used, the phrase “the Lord is one” lurks in the background. In messianic interpretation, Ps 110 is clearly taken to speak of the relationship between the Lord (meaning God the father) and the second L/lord (meaning the Messiah of God) as the Messiah, who is placed on the heavenly throne. The issue of Christology and role of Jesus is often a focus in conflict dialogues, thus it represents a cohesive element in the text. The interpretation of the Scriptures is another cohesive factor in the text. This is explicit from the beginning where the Pharisees and the Herodians ask if paying taxes to the emperor is permitted (ἔξεστιν, Matt 22:17). The follow-up question concerns the interpretation of the law of levirate marriage (v. 24). Jesus counters with a rhetorical question about resurrection based on an interpretation of Ps 110:1 (vv. 31–32). Then follows the question of the Greatest Commandment in the Law, an interpretation of Deut 6:5 and Lev 19:18 (vv. 36–40), and the story ends with and application of Ps 110:1 (vv. 42–45). The focus on formal teaching is underlined by the triple questions from the Herodians, the Sadducees, and the Pharisees, all addressing Jesus with the honorable title: διδάσκαλε (Matt 22:16, 24, 36).

Patterns in the Phenotext It has been suggested that the larger structure of Matthew is divided into five sections based on the structure of the Pentateuch.51 Such structural patterning is more vivid Richard C. Beaton, “How Matthew Writes,” in The Written Gospel (ed. Markus Bockmuehl and Donald A. Hagner; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 116–34 (122, referencing Bacon). 51

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in so-called rewritten Scripture. If proven true, this views the writing of the text from a different perspective, as it is modelled on “Scripture” and thus has a function that mirrors that of Scripture. Harrold Ellens has suggested that the story of John’s Gospel is based on the Ezekiel story and the ordination ritual described in Lev 8–9.52 Such structural patterns might influence interpretation of the OT.

Focalization (Matt 22:44–45) The reuse of text is also subject to Gérard Genette’s three perspectives of focalization: zero focalization providing the narrator with unrestricted access to information, internal focalization restricting the narrator’s access to information provided by one or several focal characters, and external focalization restricting the narrator’s access to the external information available to an uninvolved bystander.53

The use of Ps 110 seems to come close to zero focalization, since the author of Matthew knows about issues concerning the Messiah that apparently were unknown to David as the author as well as to David’s audience. However, as this is narrated in a manner that allows Jesus to interpret the psalm, it should really be categorized as internal focalization. This shows that when it comes to recontextualization, the issue of focalization becomes complex, especially if the text goes through several levels. Thus, the speech act of Jesus has zero focalization, whereas the writing act of Matthew has internal focalization. The use of the double commandment has internal focalization in the case of Matthew; however, the speech act of Jesus has an almost external focalization, since there is no focus on the OT characters or a narrator of the OT text at all.

Narrative or Argumentative Patterns in the Book (Matt 22:15–45 and beyond) The narrative plot in our text is rather complicated. To begin with the opponents of Jesus take the initiative, first the Pharisees (vv. 15–22), then the Sadducees (vv. 23–33), and then again the Pharisees (vv. 34–40). Toward the end of the narrative, however, Jesus takes the initiative (vv. 41–45). The main character in the text is Jesus:  “His relationship to the other literary figures determines their place in the configuration.”54 The narrative setting seems to be in the temple; entry to and exit from the temple is described in the context (Matt 21:23, 24:1). The discussions and termination of further discussions of the OT in this setting lends emphasis to this episode in the Gospel. The context presents the chief antagonists clearly:

J. Harrold Ellens, “Exegesis of Second Temple Texts in a Fourth Gospel Son of Man Logion,” in Biblical Interpretation in Judaism and Christianity (ed. Isaac Kalimi and Peter J. Haas; Library of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies; New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 131–49. 53 Silke Horstkotte and Nancy Pedri, “Focalization in Graphic Narrative,” Narrative 19 (2011): 330–57 (332–33). 54 P. G.  R. Villers, “Configuration and Plot in Mt 19–22:  Aspects of the Narrative Character of the Gospel of Matthew,” Neot 16 (1982): 56–73 (59). 52

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When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they realized that he was speaking about them. They wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowds, because they regarded him as a prophet. (Matt 21:45–46 NRSV)

Here we see the omniscient narrator, who knows the inner thoughts of the antagonists as well as those of the crowd (Matt 22:22, 33, 35, 46). The latter group might be perceived as passing by or as part of the setting,55 and generally having a positive attitude toward Jesus. With their positive attitude, they make a heavy impact on Jesus’s opponents who fear them. Jesus’s inner thoughts are also made available by the narrator:  “But Jesus, aware of their malice, said …” (Matt 22:18 NRSV). In a sense, the omniscience of the narrator adds weight to Jesus’s interpretations of Scripture; the narrator at the conclusion presents the opponents giving up their strategy of asking Jesus questions. According to the narrator, they were literally outwitted by the main character (Matt 22:46). By this move, Matthew’s Gospel lets the narrator affirm the interpretation of Scripture that is made by the main figure in the text. This is supported by the diminishing of Jesus’s opponents evident from their remaining nameless, anonymous members of a distant group.56 “If the narrator is reliable, as is the case with biblical literature, we accept the narrator’s assessment at face value.”57 All through the Gospel, the general argumentative pattern is that Jesus’s recontextualizations are treated with respect, as if coming from a figure of authority. Thus, consent to his interpretations are expected from the reader; so also in our text. This general pattern is slowly created throughout the Gospel. Such narrative and argumentative patterns influence the reading of Matthew’s recontextualizations.

Perception of the Act of Recontextualization The act of recontextualization may be seen from the perspective of the author and from the perspective of the audience.

Motive for Use of Intertextuality The question remains why Matthew includes these instances of intertextuality in his story about Jesus. According to Eugene Boring: “The chief function of this passage is to present Jesus as victor in the hostile series of dispute …”58 The forceful use of Scripture ends the dispute in this chapter. However, this external motive is probably not the only one. Use of Scripture in this passage also adds to the fundamental picture of Jesus as 55 James L. Resseguie, Narrative Criticism of the New Testament (Grand Rapids:  Baker Academic, 2005), 125. 56 Ibid., 130. 57 Ibid., 132. 58 Eugene Boring, “The Gospel of Matthew,” in The New Interpreters Bible:  General Articles & Introduction, Commentary, & Reflections for Each Book of the Bible Including the Apocryphal / Deuterocanonical Books in Twelve Volumes (vol. 8, ed. Leander E. Keck et al.; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 427.

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the Christ and his relationship to God and the Jewish community. Implicitly, the text discusses the relationship of Christ to God on one side and his human relationship to King David on the other side.

Perceived Response from Community (Matt 22:15, 22, 29, 33–34, 45–46) In this text, there are several explicit descriptions of the reaction of the community: “And when the crowd heard it, they were astounded at his teaching” (Matt 22:33). “But when the Pharisees heard that He had put the Sadducees to silence” (Matt 22:34). “No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions” (Matt 22:46). Earlier in the text, we find a similar reaction: “And hearing this, they marveled, and leaving Him, they went away” (Matt 22:22). These texts describe the shattering effect of Jesus’s answers; he is presented as an able teacher who can silence his opponents by his use of Scripture and astute replies. We find those who are silenced (Matt 22:34), those who do not dare to ask, those who “… plotted to entrap him in what he said” (Matt 22:15). The Pharisees were angry due to his parable that they interpreted to their own disadvantage (Matt 21:45). The rhetorical effect of this imbalance between Jesus and one part of the narrative audience is that the Christians reading the Gospel of Matthew must have sensed that their interpretation of the OT, represented by Jesus, is advantageous when compared to the Pharisees or Sadducees. This is explicitly stated in the case of the Sadducees: “You are wrong, because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God” (Matt 22:29). In the case of the Pharisees the judgment is not toward their theoretical interpretation of the Scripture, which at times seems to agree with those of Jesus (cf. Mark 12:28–34). Rather, Jesus condemns the Pharisees for not practicing what they teach (Matt 23). Jesus’s interpretation of Scripture, as it is retold by Matthew, is set to reconfirm the group identity of the Christians, those who follow the superior teaching of Christ, a group that is superior in theory and practice.

The Implicative Influence from Historic Development The actual one-way movement of history and the preserved knowledge of the past work together to shape and change the meaning of past texts. This is relevant to the evaluation of the impact the text has on the readers, ancient or modern. We cannot free ourselves from the past as we know it. We cannot avoid our own memory of history.

Changed Actual Context from Pretext to Phenotext, Physical, and Historical Context (Matt 22:44–45) The NT is set in Second Temple Judaism, in the post-Maccabean period, after national freedom had been lost again, this time to the Romans. This laid the ground for a messianic hope that was vividly present in several of the Jewish sects, in Qumran as well as in later rabbinic sources, and of course in early Christianity. At the time of Jesus’s birth, the current ruler was not a Jew by birth, but an Idumean. In the Maccabean period, Idumea had been ruled by the Jews, and the people there had been forced to accept Judaism.

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At the time of the NT, it is possible that Ps 110 was indicative of a messianic hope. The psalm had been used to describe the priestly Maccabean ruler: “The Jews and their priests have resolved that Simon should be their leader and high priest forever, until a trustworthy prophet should arise” (NRSV, ἡγούμενον καὶ ἀρχιερέα εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα 1 Macc 14:41). The eternal ruler and priest might well be under influence of Ps 110:4b (cf. v. 1).59AQ:  “The enemy of the people, the nations” (Ps 110:5–6), is a general concept even though this term must have been written in a particular historical context with a particular set of enemies in view. When the old enemies are gone and new and different ones appear, then the reading of Ps 110 easily changes with the new political context. A messianic text read in the political realm of the Romans cannot avoid the backdrop of the current political conflict, especially for a psalm with such a general message about the enemy peoples and their kings.

Application of the Text to the Here and Now (Matt 22:37–38, 44–45) Such an application may be divided in two different categories. First, we have the prophetic application of an OT text on the actual situation in question. Second, we have the application of certain norms and regulations on the present community. The best example of a prophetic application on the here and now in our text is Jesus’s application of Ps 110:1 for the Messiah, which in the Gospel is implicit of Jesus himself. However, our text does not say so explicitly. The question of the Greatest Commandment in the Law leads to an application of an OT text to the here and now, but then within the realm of practical ethics. Jesus seems to use this kind of love language to lay greater emphasis on the intention behind an ethical act, that is, on the “heart,” “soul,” and “mind”—on the inner being.

Cultural Metalepsis Metalepsis may be textual or cultural. If an old text is perceived in a particular manner and associated in a particular way at a later stage in cultural development, that cultural context may influence the reading even when such an association is not stated explicitly.

Patterns of Association Attached to the Text by the Actual Audience (Matt 22:37–38) As one part of a text might summon the whole text or a larger part of it forming metalepsis, a fraction of a text might summon a set of ideas that are common to the Contra Gnilka, Das Matthäusevangelium, 265–66, who holds the messianic interpretation of Ps 110 to be a Christian innovation. 59

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author’s contemporary culture.60 It seems probable that any reading of the Shema would imply several concepts in Second Temple Judaism, such as the Decalogue and monotheism (Philo, Post. 1.12, Prob. 1.42–43, 83; Josephus, Ant. 18.117; Sib. Or. 4:24, 30; T. Benj. 3:1, LetArist 228–229). In Philo, the double commandment is seen as Decalogue interpretation (Philo, Dec. 1.106–110, cf. Sib. Or. 8:481–482). In this setting, any speech that focuses on “loving God wholeheartedly” would imply monotheism as its context, occasionally with reference to some of the first four or five commandments. By implication, it would also include the second part of the Decalogue as reflecting love toward the neighbour. In the early Christian movement, the issue of monotheism and Christology is related and sometimes treated together, sometimes with the invocation of language from the Shema (cf. 1 Cor 8:1–6).61 In this aspect, our text, with its inclusion of Shema language and Christology, enters into a pattern that is culturally conditioned but also developing new forms and perspectives. Fourth Maccabees, a Jewish text probably from the first century, interprets the reference to God as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, as a reference to eternal life:  “And they saw this, too, that they who die for God, live to God (ὅτι διὰ τὸν θεὸν ἀποθανόντες ζῶσιν τῷ θεῷ); as Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and all the patriarchs” (4 Macc 16:25 LXX[A]‌). Thus, it is possible that the idea of resurrection was applied to the patriarchs by Jews contemporary with Jesus. Since we know that resurrection was an idea cherished by the Pharisees, the presence of such an idea seems probable.

Arguments based on the Here and Now We must not forget that our text was written after the resurrection. Thus, the story is told from a party that see themselves as victorious, at least in principle. At the same time, the story is told by a party that politically is still the underdog. One of the ways this may be done is through irony, which is a dark form of humor and an effective way of communication.

Humor, Irony, and so on … (Matt 22:31–32, 44–45) Deep knowledge of the actual culture is needed in order to understand irony and humour.62 Irony is important because it enhances group identity: As we shall see, there are three areas in particular in which irony contributes to the survival of the group. First, because it forces the reader to decision, and because the direction of that decision is clearly indicated, irony can serve legitimating functions, by which the group’s institutions and practices are secured against Warren Carter, “Evoking Isaiah: Matthean Soteriology and the Intertextual Reading of Isaiah 7–9 and Matthew 1:23 and 4:15–16,” JBL 119 (2000): 503–20 (506). 61 Waaler, Shema. 62 Peter J. Leithart, Deep Exegesis: The Mystery of Reading Scripture (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 113. 60

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threats and challenges. Second, because it divides its listeners or reader into “insiders” and “outsiders,” irony aids in group-boundary definition. Third, because it can “overcode” language with new dimensions of significance, irony helps to keep the group’s “language-world” open-ended and pliable.63

Two of Matthew’s recontextualizations are clearly polemical in form and conclusion. Both may be constructed as statements drawn from Scripture and interpreted by a negative statement (v. 32) or a rhetorical question (v. 45) in the immediate context of the recontextualization. The reaction implies that the rhetorical effect was a silenced opposition (ἐφίμωσεν Matt 22:34; cf. 22:46). This speaks of a profound and shattering rhetorical effect. I  think part of this rhetorical impact was due to the irony of the apparent question that might be reformulated:  “Is God the god of the dead?” Irony influences interpretation, in this case by pushing a new perspective on the text, a perspective Jesus’s audience apparently did not see coming. An Abraham who is alive in the afterlife is a common element in the teaching of Jesus (Matt 8:11; cf. Luke 13:28, 20:37; John 8:56; 4 Macc 7:19; 16:25; T. Lev. 18:19; T. Benj. 10:6). This places Jesus on the side of the Pharisees and in confrontation with the Sadducees on the issue of resurrection. Similarly, the Pharisees gave Jesus a simple answer to a straightforward question and were cornered by a rhetorical question that has some kind of ironic power, implying an elevated status for the Messiah, more so than David himself. By the rhetorical question that precedes the text-reading, Jesus forces the audience to read Ps 110 in a messianic manner.64 The polemic perspective is situated in the then current situation, the conflict between Jesus and the Pharisees and the priests. This perspective is not lifted from the OT texts; thus, it is foreign to these texts. The perspective is deeply rooted in the worldview of Jesus and his followers, and the conflict is accepted and acted upon also by the opposing parties. Hence, the irony helps to create the border between the in-group and the out-group, thus adding meaning to the text.

The Modern Angle—Post-Knowledge and Lost Knowledge The modern angle on the text sometimes imports readings that are dependent neither on the culture of the OT nor the culture of the NT. This third angle is the modern perspective that imports readings into the combined text that are modern rather than text interpretation. The modern perception of a quotation, with strict rules, is such a concept that does not fit with text interpretation in Second Temple Judaism. NT recontextualizations are set in a different culture with different rules for the engagement with pre-texts. However, for the modern interpreter it is impossible to free oneself from comparing the old with the new. This may lead to devaluation of the skills of the NT authors and judgmental attitudes towards their way of recontextualization, Jerry Camery-Hoggatt, Irony in Mark’s Gospel: Text and Subtext (SNTSMS 72; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 4–5. 64 Luz, Matthäus, 287. 63

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but it is not only in the area of form that we see this issue. We cannot read the term “grace” without being influenced by Luther. The modern concept of love is difficult to describe. It is possibly a positive and graceful feeling rather than Law observance and covenant abidance that are so central to the meaning of “love” in the NT setting, not to speak of the treaty language of the Iron Age that is paralleled in the OT. For the NT authors, prophetic statements coming true is expected; for the modern mind, the reality of any kind of prophecy is often downplayed or denied.65 We read the NT with knowledge of the totality of its interpretation of the OT, whereas the writers of the NT wrote from a different perspective. Post-knowledge and lost-knowledge, everything that has happened after the text was written that we have access to, and everything that was known to them that we have no access to, tends to distort the message for us. Awareness of this might help us to understand better, with a different kind of respect that mirrors the respect the old authors would have had in their own context. The best reader is probably the sympathetic reader who is able to accept the presumptions that the text makes. The culturally and religiously “unmusical” interpreter has a greater chance of missing the point in the text. Nevertheless, any reader is influenced by postknowledge and lost-knowledge, only to different degrees. We the exegetes need to be critical of our own attitude towards the text.

Continuity within Change (Matt 22:44–45) We maintain that change and continuity work on various scales. Thus, a fair amount of change and a fair amount of continuity might be found at the same time. Actually, the amount of change and continuity might both be high at the same time. Ps 110:1 uses the term “Lord” twice, first with reference to God in line with the use of the Tetragrammaton in the Hebrew text, something that is not always the case in the NT.66 In its original setting, it is probable that the second use of the term “lord” was referring to David or the following kings of Judah. However, the messianic reading of this psalm invites a particularity that applies the term “lord” to the current contender to the title Christ, in this case Jesus. This is implicit in the text, but probably self-evident for the early church. Even if this is a possible reading of the OT text, it is not the only possible reading, and thus it is more limited than the text itself. Similarly, in verse 32, there is continuity in the reference to God as the God of the three patriarchs. This is a standard way of reference to God, the one who came to be known as Yahweh. Thus, as a point of reference for who this God is, there is no change of meaning. It is the application of this text to the afterlife that is the innovation compared to the OT text, as read in the Iron Age. In this manner, continuity and change works together in our text. It is notable that most of the different perspectives that we have discussed might end up both in the category of continuity and change, and that some categories will testify to continuity and change at the same time, namely, within different parts of the same text. Richard B. Hays, Reading Backwards: Figural Christology and the Fourfold Gospel Witness (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2014), 2–3. 66 David B. Capes, Old Testament Yahweh Texts in Paul’s Christology (WUNT II/47; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992). 65

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Conclusion The interpretative features we have shown are but some perspectives on the way Matthew’s Jesus uses Scripture in dialogue with the Jews. We study well-known texts in which rhetorical effect is partly lost to us due to our familiarity with the way they appear. To some extent, we are blindfolded by the profound knowledge we have of a Christological reading of the OT, readings that Jesus performs in Matthew. We must not forget, however, the power the emerging Christological worldview made on the early Christians. Other factors such as our perception of what a quotation is to be like, is well known and sparsely commented on, leading to fundamental misunderstandings and misrepresentations of such recontextualizations. One of the main focuses that needs to be dealt with in intertextuality is the issue of the reading of the archetext within the cultural context of the phenotext, including the traditional way of reusing the OT texts that is present in Second Temple Judaism. The multidimensional strategy described contributes to change of meaning, changes that are bound to happen when a text is applied to a new situation and a new cultural context. This does not mean that analogy is not happening nor that continuity is not present. What we have seen is that some factors highlight in the same direction, adding emphasis, and in this case on Christology. Such interaction between various verses from the OT—and various modes of interpretation—makes the issue of recontextualization and reinterpretation more complex. In our opinion, a reused text is never perfectly stable but is always carrying added meaning. If added meaning was not the intent, there would be no need to create a new text including the old one. At the same time, there is no point in the invocation of Scripture for authority unless some sort of continuity is implied. During Second Temple Judaism there was no Davidic king; thus, for an application on the here and now, the messianic application of texts became a sensible one. The Messiah to come was the new Davidic king. In order to describe this, the authors of the NT used contemporary literary devices. Evidently, they show no awareness of German higher criticism, or any other modern way of perceiving texts; rather, their mode of interpretation is inherited from their contemporary cultural context. This should come as no surprise.

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Mimesis and Criticism Karl Olav Sandnes

New Testament scholarship has long been acquainted with the fact that NT texts depend on, interpret, and rewrite anterior texts. It has been a fundamental and commonly accepted assumption that the anterior texts in question come primarily from the Hebrew Bible. However, the NT came into being in a culture in which other anterior texts were equally influential. Our taking this fact seriously brings NT texts into dialogue with a wider world in which Homeric texts in particular were primary texts.1 In his study, Homer in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Justinus (1968), Günter Glockmann says that “das Neue Testament weder eine Äusserung über Homer noch eine bewusste oder unbewusste Benutzungen der Homerischen Dichtung enthält.”2 Given the more literary, rhetorical, and narrative approaches to NT research, the judgment of present-day scholars should be more cautious. Within the process of a reorientation, one scholar, Dennis R. MacDonald, stands out. In several works over recent decades, he has argued that NT narrative texts, especially Mark’s Gospel and the book of Acts, are steeped in the Homeric literary world.3 For MacDonald, this implies a turn in these texts from history and tradition to aesthetics and fiction.4 Quite naturally, this shift of emphasis toward narrative, literary style, and relationships to anterior texts beyond the Bible leads to issues of intertextuality: 

1 For Homer’s pivotal role in the ancient world, see Karl Olav Sandnes, “A Respectable Gospel: The Passion ‘According to Homer’ in Eudocia’s Homerocentones,” SEÅ 81 (2016): 25–48, especially 25–27 for references to relevant literature. For the presence of Homer’s writings in a Jewish setting, see Catherine Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (TSAJ 81; Tübingen:  Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 70–71, 77–78, 392–393, and several articles in the volume Homer and the Bible in the Eyes of Ancient Interpreters (ed. M. R. Niehoff; Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture 16; Leiden: Brill, 2012). 2 Günter Glockmann, Homer in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Justinus (TU 105; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1968), 57. 3 Dennis R. MacDonald, Does the New Testament Imitate Homer? Four Cases from the Acts of the Apostles (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003). MacDonald has recently compiled much of his work in this area in The Gospels and Homer: Imitations of Greek Epic in Mark and Luke-Acts (vol. 1, The New Testament and Greek Literature; Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015); and Luke and Vergil: Imitations of Classical Greek Literature (vol. 2, The New Testament and Greek Literature; Lanham, MD.: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015). 4 Dennis R. MacDonald, The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark (New Haven:  Yale University Press, 2000), 189–90.

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New Studies in Textual Interplay No targets for imitation were more popular than the Iliad and the Odyssey, even for writing of prose. Whereas a form critic compares a narrative in the New Testament to other tales of the same genre as a collectivity, a “mimesis critic” will compare it with earlier texts, one or more of which have served the author as a model.5

Hence, MacDonald labels his approach “mimesis criticism.” I  admire his works in general and his consistent reading of the NT in light of the Homeric legacy; nevertheless, I have expressed hesitation and have critiqued the way he proceeds and to some of his alleged parallels.6 The aims of this study are to summarize how interacting with MacDonald has influenced me and to outline some of my main concerns, with a particular view to his contribution to the Exploring Intertextuality: Diverse Strategies for New Testament Interpretation of Texts (2016).7

Mimesis Criticism Is More Than Homeric Imitation MacDonald coined the term mimesis criticism with a particular view to Homeric literature. In his article, mimesis becomes identical with Homeric analogies. However, the method can also be applied to other texts, among which the Septuagint is an excellent example. MacDonald is of course aware of this fact, but he insists on a primary role for the classical epics, and it is here that we part ways. As an article introducing students to an approach that studies the phenomenon of mimetic relationships between texts, I find that MacDonald’s contribution unduly narrows the perspective. It suffices here to mention that Thomas L. Brodie, in his approach to how the Elijah-Elisha tradition works in the Gospels, calls upon imitation or mimesis of 1 Kgs 17 to understand how the Gospels came into being.8 Mimesis is simply too important to be limited to Homer, MacDonald, Four Cases, 2. 6 See in particular Karl Olav Sandnes, “Imitatio Homeri? An Appraisal of Dennis R.  MacDonald’s ‘Mimesis Criticism,’ ” JBL 124 (2005): 715–32; Karl Olav Sandnes, The Gospel “According to Homer and Virgil”: Cento and Canon (NovTSup 138; Leiden: Brill, 2011). 7 Dennis R. MacDonald, “Mimesis,” in Exploring Intertextuality: Diverse Strategies for New Testament Interpretation of Texts (ed. B. J. Oropeza and Steve Moyise; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2016), 93–105. This is a revised and expanded version of my response presented at the November 2016 SBL meeting in San Antonio, TX, which itself was a response to MacDonald’s “Mimesis” chapter in Exploring Intertextuality. All references to MacDonald’s article in this chapter are to “Mimesis.” 8 See, e.g., Thomas L.  Brodie “Luke’s Use of the Elijah-Elisha Narrative,” in The Elijah-Elisha Narrative in the Composition of Luke (ed. J. S. Kloppenborg and Joseph Verheyden; LNTS 493; London:  Bloomsbury, 2014), 6–29. Brodie summarizes his views on Luke’s composition:  He imitated the LXX account of Elijah. He used basic techniques of adaptation, and he sought above all, to emulate the older text. In other words, he sought to produce a better account and to show that the Jesus of whom he spoke continued the work of Elijah and in some sense fulfilled it . … In fact, it is the literary explanation, and the literary explanation alone, which is primarily capable of doing justice to the number, uniqueness, complexity and subtlety of the similarities, and to the coherence or interpretability of the differences. (28) This echoes the way that MacDonald carries out his Homeric reading of NT narratives, even in the terminology applied. For a wider perspective on mimesis and emulation of anterior text in antiquity, see also, F.  Gerald Downing, “Imitation and Emulation, Josephus and Luke: Plot and Physiolinguistics,” in The Elijah-Elisha Narrative in the Composition of Luke (ed. J. S. Kloppenborg and Joseph Verheyden; LNTS 493; London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 113–29. 5

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and the present volume is replete with examples. For the mimesis approach to win its place among recognized methods in gospel scholarship, this wider perspective merits some remarks beyond what appears in the volume Exploring Intertextuality. As it now stands, mimesis criticism is a tool for a very specialized, and, in my view occasionally exaggerated, approach to the Gospels. As a method, it both deserves more and has the potential for more than that.

The Accessibility of Homer In Does the New Testament Imitate Homer? Four Cases from the Acts of the Apostles (2003), MacDonald summarizes the criteria that he employs.9 The first involves the cultural significance of Homer’s writings and its consequent accessibility: “the more widespread the circulation and popularity of the model, the stronger the case that the author used it.”10 I fully agree with MacDonald on the importance of the Homeric epics in the ancient world. Homer was ubiquitous; his texts were present throughout the different levels of education. It was the means whereby children—mostly boys of the social elite—were introduced to reading and writing. The homes of the well-situated and public squares were ornamented with scenes taken from these writings. This implies that mimesis is not only a textual phenomenon, but may also depend on pictorial and episodic familiarity (as discussed later). Furthermore, literary style and storytelling found a prime model in Homer’s writings, which were essential for the development of textual interpretation and hermeneutics and means of preserving “Greek-ness” and thus a cultural identity. They were also modes of entertainment, as they were core elements of literary contests and performances; “Homer was a cultural inevitability,” as MacDonald has rightly put it.11 However, there is a need to clarify what this entails, particularly against the backdrop of how advanced some of the alleged parallels suggested by MacDonald are in reality. In what way were the Homeric epics present and perpetuated? Since some of the parallels become very detailed, he appears to assume that Homer generally was available and remembered as text, even in phrasing and vocabulary. We need to contemplate where Homer was present as stories remembered, as stories making up Homeric plots, or as texts within their proper context. The first implies wider and looser analogies, while the second paves the way for detailed, genuinely literate dependencies. This has a bearing upon MacDonald’s claims. Knowledge of ancient education certainly substantiates the primary role of Homer. In fact, insight into the nature and practices of encyclical education in the ancient world12 demonstrates the relevance of MacDonald’s project, 9 MacDonald, Imitate Homer?, 1–15; see also, his “Mimesis,” 97–98. 10 MacDonald, Imitate Homer?, 2. 11 MacDonald, Homeric Epics, 8; see also, Ronald F. Hock, “Homer in the Greco-Roman Education,” in Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity (ed. D. R. MacDonald; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001), 56–77; Karl Olav Sandnes, The Gospel “According to Homer and Virgil”: Cento and Canon (NovTSup 138; Leiden: Brill, 2011), 6–11; Erkki Koskenniemi, “Philo and Classical Education,” in Reading Philo: A Handbook to Philo of Alexandria (ed. T. Seland; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 102–28. 12 Raffaella Cribiore, Writing, Teachers and Students in Graeco-Roman Egypt (ASP 36; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996); and Gymnastics of the Mind:  Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt

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at least in principle, but not necessarily of Homer’s entire text or plot, a distinction that merits emphasis. Teresa Morgan distinguishes between the ideal portrait of Homer’s accessibility, which can be gleaned from the literary sources, and educational practices as attested in fragments of teachers’ handbooks and pupils’ exercises. These school texts suggest “a repertoire of references and tags,”13 rather than guaranteeing the knowledge in which to contextualize it. Morgan substantiates the fragmentary, episodic, and superficial nature of Homeric knowledge among average students. Against this backdrop, how MacDonald practices mimesis criticism raises the question of readership and interpretive competence. Furthermore, the way he perceives the presence of Homer generally implies a type of reader that is, in his own words, among “the hermeneutical haves.”14 An important aspect of his project, which he does not spell out, is deeply involved in reconstructing a reader along with an author.

Intertextuality—Authorial Intent or Reader Phenomenon? I understand intertextuality primarily as a reader phenomenon, whereas MacDonald consistently argues that it is deliberate and author-intended. Mark thus “borrowed” from or “adopted” the epics. This approach to mimesis implies authorial intent, but I would rather speak of the text as potentially mimetic, especially for readers whose familiarity with Homer goes beyond the fragmentary and episodic knowledge that Morgan points out. If we approach Mark’s text as somehow polyvalent, both in language and its symbolic world, it has a potential to communicate according to the skill and competence of its ancient readers. In that regard, I find many of MacDonald’s suggestions both appealing and instructive. However, he claims more than that, and I  question his emphasis on the author’s intention, particularly since the author of Mark’s Gospel draws the reader’s attention at the very beginning to another story: the story unfolded in the Hebrew Bible. The Jesus story takes it beginning in that anterior text: “As it is written in the prophet Isaiah …” (Mark 1:2–3). To be sure, this does not rule out that Homeric passages, motives, and stories are also evoked, but the possibility for understanding any such allusions lies primarily, albeit not exclusively, with the reader. Bruce Louden has addressed how both the OT and NT, like other Near Eastern texts, relate to the Homeric oeuvre.15 He points out that many “regard biblical and (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001); Teresa Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1998); Karl Olav Sandnes, The Challenge of Homer: School, Pagan Poets and Early Christianity (LNTS 400; New York: T&T Clark 2009), 16–67. 13 Morgan, Literate Education, 110; see also, 118–19, 252–53, and 261; cf. Cribiore, Gymnastics, 194– 97, and further references in Sandnes, “Imitatio Homeri?,” 728. 14 MacDonald, Imitate Homer?, 150. 15 Bruce Louden, Homer’s Odyssey and the Near East (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); and, “Agamemnon and the Hebrew Bible,” SEÅ 81 (2016): 1–24; cf. also Meik Gerhards, Homer und die Bibel: Studien zur Interpretation der Ilias und ausgewählter alttestamentlicher Texte (WMANT 144; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Theologie, 2015).

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Homeric narratives as opposites, seeing the former as ‘true’ or ‘real’, but the latter as ‘false’, ‘unreal’ or ‘fictional’. Intentionally or unintentionally, faith has erected a wall between the study of the two narrative traditions.”16 With regard to the NT, Louden says: “Parallels between Greek myth and the NT should not be unexpected given the very broad spread and deep influence of Hellenistic culture, and that the authors of the Gospels know the Old Testament only in the Greek Septuagint.”17 Louden’s approach is, however, generic rather than historical. He argues that the overall depiction of Christ shows similarities with narrative patterns of the classical epics.18 The implications of his work are that connections are not necessarily direct and purposeful, as MacDonald claims.19 According to Louden, Homer’s epics make up a compendium of plots, type-scenes, and traditional types of characters. Meanwhile, MacDonald is certainly historical in his comparison, but he is more specific and detailed, claiming that the alleged comparisons are consciously, purposefully, and intentionally made by the author. In short, MacDonald is indeed a maximalist. In his contribution, he sums up his extensive list of possible imitations of Homer in Mark’s Gospel, ultimately including nearly its entire text, by saying that the number of possible imitations is “breath-taking.”20 In his article, “The Epic Hero,” Gregory Nagy addresses different ways of comparing epic heroes, distinguishing between three main modes: typological, genealogical, and historical.21 The typological is the most general mode and thus may be somewhat elusive. Here, structures that are not necessarily related to each other are compared, as the typological mode is synchronic in nature. The genealogical approach parallels cognate structures; they are related to each other through a common source; it is this both synchronic and diachronic. The historical approach parallels structures that are related to each other by way of historically attested or at least reconstructed intercultural contact; borrowing is essential here.22 The outstanding example of historical comparanda about the epic hero is the Roman epic, Virgil’s Aeneid:  “The actual form of this epic is not so much cognate with Greek epic as derived—or, better, appropriated—from it.”23 Measured against the distinctions made by Gregory Nagy, ultimately, Louden turns out to be genealogical in his approach, as the role he assigns to the author suggests, while MacDonald is more historical in his comparisons. This impression of MacDonald is further substantiated by the fact that he introduces his article by referring to Virgil’s “brilliant recasting of the Homeric epics—as well as of previous Homeric imitations.”24 16 Louden, Homer’s Odyssey, 5. 17 Louden, Homer’s Odyssey, 259. 18 For a presentation of Christ and the Odyssey, see Louden, Homer’s Odyssey, 258–82. 19 Unfortunately, there is hardly any interaction with MacDonald’s work in Louden’s book, although he is aware of some of MacDonald’s scholarship. 20 MacDonald, “Mimesis,” 97. 21 Gregory Nagy, “The Epic Hero,” in A Companion to Ancient Epic (ed. J. M. Foley; Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), 71–89. 22 Nagy, “Epic Hero,” 71–75. 23 Nagy, “Epic Hero,” 75; see also, Michael C. J. Putnam, “Virgil’s Aeneid,” in A Companion to Ancient Epic (ed. J. M. Foley; Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), 452–75. 24 MacDonald, “Mimesis,” 93.

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Advertised Hypotextuality and Interpretability One issue of contention between MacDonald and me is the advertisement of the issue of intertextuality. When MacDonald is pressed on the matter, he refers to the many lists of alleged parallels, which is also his style of presentation in his article. The advertisement is the sum of parallels, whereas I hold that author-intended advertisement demands more than sheer numbers, especially since some of the imitations that MacDonald identifies are subtle but nonetheless to be interpreted as conscious evocations and transvaluations of Homer. The more significance and transvaluation one attributes to intertextual links, the more difficult it is to avoid the conclusion that Mark’s Gospel does indeed involve itself with Homeric terminology. The intertextuality that MacDonald sees is not a matter of style but of Mark’s message. One fundamental advertisement is presented in the editorial citation of the Septuagint (Mark 1:2–3). This opening reference directs the reading and prepares the reader for the major hypertextuality that runs through the story to be told, and it is in accordance with the fact that quotations and allusions from the Hebrew Bible abound in this Gospel.25 While Homer and Virgil root their stories in the glorious past of the Trojans and Aeneas, the Hebrew Bible takes on this role for Mark, whose Gospel links up with the story told there. The author takes no similar steps with his allegedly intended Homeric emulation; no specific verbal links between the Gospel and those epics exist. In pointing this out, I make myself the target of what MacDonald labels “philological fundamentalism.”26 Stephen Hinds notes that allusions in classical literature run the gamut on a continuum from advertised emulation to nearly undetectable echoes.27 Hinds suggests that the reader of ancient literature avoids imposing “a rigidly polar choice … between the clearly defined allusion on the one hand, and the mere accidental confluence on the other. The paradoxical goal, then, is a more exact account of the allusive inexactitude.”28 I consider Hinds’s point to be most salutary. However, MacDonald’s claim that the Homeric analogies work within what he calls a Kulturkampf29 takes us beyond the practices of how ancient epics were cited in ancient literature. The hermeneutical emulation involved in this term—the conviction that an intended message is conveyed through the comparisons carried out—affects the very nature of intertextuality. See the references in Sandnes, “Imitatio Homeri?,” 731; see the recent Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2016), 15–103. 26 Dennis R. MacDonald, “My Turn: A Critique of Critics of ‘Mimesis Criticism’,” 11–12 (cited April 22, 2017). Online: http://iac.cgu.edu/drm/My_Turn.pdf. 27 Stephen Hinds, Allusion and Intertext:  Dynamics of Appropriation in Roman Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 17–51. 28 Hinds, Allusion, 25. 29 E.g., MacDonald, Imitate Homer?, 15: The method proposed in this book holds enormous significance for the study of early Christian narrative well beyond the four examples in Acts. In the first place, it suggests that one best reads these texts against the backdrop not of history and antecedent Christian tradition but of classical Greek literature and mythology. It requires us to refocus attention on these texts as products of a Kulturkampf far more extensive and focused than we have seen before. It suggests that the cultural context of early Christian narratives was as profoundly Hellenistic as it was Jewish. Finally, it suggests that exegesis of NT narratives should include an appreciation of cultural struggle, transformative artistry, and theological playfulness. 25

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A  cultural struggle vis-à-vis the foundational cultural texts in question is likely to leave some marks on the text, marks which one can expect to extend beyond subtle allusions, no matter how numerous they may be. Adding the Kulturkampf perspective to the mimesis which is at play implies that some kind of message evolves from the comparisons that are made. In The Gospel ‘According to Homer and Vergil’:  Cento and Canon, I ask how a message can come out of a concealed parallel.30 This is not to deny that mimesis may be subtle, allusive, and at times even undetectable, but for it to work within a transvaluation amounting to Kulturkampf and rise to the level that MacDonald claims, one would expect that this was brought to the attention through some meta-remarks analogous to Mark 1:2–3, or at least by some instances of verbal correspondence. “Transvaluation” is intimately associated with Kulturkampf, bringing about how a heightened understanding of the hypotext is achieved through contrasts, bendings, astonishments, and curiosity. Other terms that may be used to describe this hermeneutical synkrisis are “transformation,” “transposition,” “Verfremdung,” or “Kontrastimitation.”31 MacDonald and I agree that advertisement is required for a text to participate in a hermeneutical struggle over one of the most important texts of the culture in question; our disagreement is over how this is supposed to happen. In my view, advocates of mimesis criticism have not taken full account of what it takes to add a Kulturkampf perspective to the rhetorical practice of emulation.32 It is worth mentioning here the Homerocentones associated with the Empress Eudocia (early fifth century CE).33 The Homeric Centos paraphrase biblical stories with Homeric wording, stitching together lines from different places in the epics and making out of them a Homeric Gospel that draws on a harmony of the canonical gospels. The author(s) of the Homeric Centos accommodated gospel stories into Homeric lines and plots, and thus delved deep into the details in order to find relevant Homeric lines.34 However, there is a plot and a story throughout that is taken not from Homer but from the Bible; the homecoming of Odysseus and his fight with the suitors becomes an allegory for Christ’s coming and fighting the power of sin and evil. This plot runs through Eudocia’s entire poem and guides any reading of it. MacDonald’s Kulturkampf perspective makes perfect sense with these Centos, although some distinctions are urged: “From the perspective of the centonists the idea of Kulturkampf is somewhat misleading. They are certainly not involved in an eristic enterprise against the epics. Christian centonists did not approach the epics as texts in which dangers

Sandnes, Gospel “According to Homer,” 42. 31 Sandnes, Gospel “According to Homer,” 36–50, 53–63, and 118–21. Klaus Thraede, “Epos,” in RAC (vol. 5, ed. Theodor Klauser; Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1950), 983–1024, labels it “Kontrastimitation” (1039); thus also Martin Bažil, Centones Christiani: Métamorphoses d’une forme intertextuelle dans la poésie latin chrétienne de l’Antiquité tardive (Paris: Institut d’ Études Augustiennes, 2009), 165–70; M. D. Usher, Homeric Stitchings: The Homeric Centos of the Empress Eudocia (Lanham, Md: Rowman & Littlefield, 1998), 12–13 calls it “Verfremdung,” which aims to “deprive an event or character of any self-evident, familiar, or obvious quality, and to produce instead astonishment or curiosity about it in order to bring about heightened understanding.” 32 Sandnes, Gospel “According to Homer,” 42, 238–40. 33 R. Schembra, ed., Homerocentones (CCSG 62; Turnhout: Brepols/Leuven University Press, 2007). 34 See Sandnes, Gospel “According to Homer,” 107–40, and Sandnes, “Respectable Gospel,” 28–30, with references to relevant literature. 30

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were lurking.”35 A fundamental and mutual acceptance of the two bodies of literature involved marks the point of departure; both are assigned dignity and authority, albeit in quite different ways. I distinguish in my book between res, sensus, or veritas (the stories taken from the Gospels), and verba or eloquentia (elements taken from the epics). The cultural struggle takes place within this duality. It is worth noting that Eudocia’s Homerocentones has a prologue that advises its readers of what they are about to participate in:  her sacred song is a completion of Patricius’s incomplete presentation of the songs of Homer.36 The reader is thus alerted to how this poem came into being and thus also directed to what is going on here. To be sure, this later Homeric gospel-poem is not a guide to reading Mark’s Gospel,37 but it does demonstrate how advertisement takes place in a poem that is involved in a Kulturkampf of some kind. It is indeed fascinating to use the Homeric Centos of Eudocia as a backdrop for the issue of Homeric mimesis in Mark’s Gospel, but when we do so we must realize that “concealed intertextuality and claiming that Centos are analogies to the Gospels are contradictory viewpoints.”38 By no means are the Homeric Centos an example of concealed intertextuality.

The Woman Who Anointed Jesus and Eurycleia In spite of my hesitations about MacDonald’s project, his arguments have caused further consideration on my part, drawing my attention to the role that Mark may assign to the figure of Eurycleia, Odysseus’s wet-nurse.39 MacDonald argues that Odysseus’s homecoming, his meeting with Eurycleia, and the hospitality he receives from her (the so-called niptra; Od. 19.360–507) has informed not only Mark but also the other canonical gospels in the scene often labelled “the woman anointing Jesus.” The NT has preserved four versions of this episode: Mark 14:3–9; Matt 26:6–13; Luke 7:36–50, and John 12:1–8. The similarities are so numerous that most scholars see them as developments of the same story. This is not to deny that the differences are at points significant enough to raise the question of whether independent sources are at play here, especially in Luke’s version.40 The variances involved in this tradition are in themselves an invitation to consider the literary creativity at play. 35 Sandnes, Gospel “According to Homer,” 235. 36 See Karl Olav Sandnes, “Eudocia’s Homeric Cento and the Woman Anointing Jesus: An Example of Female Authority,” forthcoming in Patterns of Women’s Ministry and Authority within Ancient Christianity and Judaism (ed. I. Ramelli and J. Taylor), to be published by Oxford University Press. 37 In his review of my The Gospel ‘According to Homer and Virgil’ in the RBL (posted September 2011), MacDonald says with regard to his previous references to the Centos that “… one must be careful, as I apparently have not been, about using the centos as analogies to the use of Greek poetry in the New Testament.” 38 Sandnes, Gospel “According to Homer,” 239. 39 MacDonald, The Homeric Epics, 111–19, and “Renowned Far and Wide: The Woman Who Anointed Odysseus and Jesus,” in A Feminist Companion to Mark (ed. Amy-Jill Levine; Sheffield:  Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 128–35; see also, Louden, Homer’s Odyssey, 269–71. 40 Ulrich Luz, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus (Mt 26–28) (EKKNT 1.4; Neukirchen-Vluyn; Zürich:  Benziger:  Patmos, 2002), 62–63; Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of John:  A Commentary (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2003), 859–61. To Eudocia, these texts merge to form one story, not unlike Tatian’s Diatessarôn; hence, to her, there is no doubt that one story can be extracted.

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This is likely an instance in which a compilation of observations amounts to the kind of advertisement I have called for; the sum makes up for the lack of any verbal links. In both instances, a woman offers Odysseus or Jesus hospitality and anoints the hero shortly before the stories culminate in a crisis41 that draws the hero into a struggle. Second, the act of hospitality offered in each scene is also a moment of recognition. When Eurycleia observes the stranger’s scar, she recognizes him as Odysseus: “Surely you are Odysseus, dear child” (Od. 19.475).42 The woman anticipates the fate of Jesus, and thus recognizes— without the aid of any sign like the scar—that he faces suffering and death (Mark 14:8). A  key issue is, of course, that Jesus announces that what she has done to him will be proclaimed in her remembrance alongside the worldwide proclamation of the gospel (Mark 14:9). As MacDonald points out, the name Eurycleia means “wide fame” or “farflung glory,” a fact that attracts attention here, particularly when taken together with the other relevant observations: “It is a flag to view her as one who would receive her due fame, like Eurycleia.”43 Finally, this Homeric scene (niptra) was iconic in the ancient world, so it requires little to no literary familiarity with Homer’s text to recognize the figure at work. It was also a favorite pictorial scene. It thus appears warranted to assume that Mark 14:9 evokes her name and that this Homeric scene likewise has a repercussion on how this scene from Jesus’s life is being told. Austin Busch has pointed out how Mark here turns an individualized Homeric character “into an instance of exemplary behaviour.”44 The woman represents the “archetypical Christian recognition that the anointed one (Christos) is really the one who is crucified.” This is subtle mimesis, but there is sufficient ground for assuming that Mark’s text was potent with this intertextual interpretation, at least for those familiar with this incident—be it from textual or pictorial presentations—and the role it came to play in the ancient world.

Drawing Historical Consequences from Literary Observations? MacDonald’s Homeric readings are often accompanied by the claim that the analogies undermine the historical bedrock of the gospel traditions and the idea of antecedent oral traditions. In his article MacDonald writes: “What one reads in Mark 5:1–20 is neither historical memory nor antecedent oral tradition, as form critics would have one believe. Rather, it is a poster-child for early Christian Homeric mimesis.”45 Mark

MacDonald calls this a homecoming in both instances, a label that I find tenuous with regard to Jesus; see Sandnes, “Imitatio Homeri?,” 719–22. 42 For this incident as a recognition scene, see Kasper Bro Larsen, Recognizing the Stranger: Recognition Scenes in the Gospel of John (BibInt 93; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 1–6, 25–72. Aristotle’s Poetics 11 and 16 define “discovery” or “recognition” (ἀναγνωρίσις) with the help of this Homeric story. Odysseus was recognized (ἀνεγνωρίσθη) by his scar. 43 MacDonald, “Renowned,” 135. 44 Austin Busch, “New Testament Narrative and Greco-Roman Literature,” in The Oxford Handbook of Biblical Narrative (ed. D. N. Fewell; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 61–72; at 70. 45 MacDonald, “Mimesis,” 104. 41

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is to MacDonald “a master of mimetic mythology.”46 MacDonald is surely right in stating that mimesis criticism of necessity affects whether and how a text can be seen as historical. Imitations imply by their very nature that specificities are being overshadowed by the models imitated. If historical bedrock is involved, this is stretched to adapt to the patterns being imitated. Modelling the texts is a means of making sense of what is told, and simply goes with this literary approach. One important caveat must be noted. It is fundamental to mimesis criticism that this approach follows from how storytelling in the ancient world generally developed. If ancient storytelling tended to find its style and expression in the epic legacy of the culture, how then can literary style as such pave the way for conclusions regarding history? To be sure, mimesis by implication means that historical contingency becomes a problem, since the issue of style prevails, but to deduce from this that the stories are not merely shaped but even created to match Homer introduces an issue for which the method itself simply does not account. MacDonald appears unbothered about moving easily from claims of literary style to issues of historical memory. The assumption is that the first paves the way for the second; but how can that be if this was in accordance with common practice? If historical memory adopted and adapted the form and style of other stories, partly as a means to preserve a meaningful remembrance, how then can imitation in itself be indicative that there is nothing to remember? Mimesis does not necessarily exclude memory and historical bedrock, but it certainly affects it and makes it much harder to specify. Naturally, this also applies to how imitations of the Septuagint in the Gospels are to be viewed with regard to issues of history in the texts. I state this as a principle that is insufficiently accounted for by, for example, Thomas L. Brodie’s use of intertextuality for making historical judgments.47

Some Remarks on Mark 5 and Homer A large part of MacDonald’s contribution is devoted to a comparison between Mark 5:1– 20 and Homeric models.48 MacDonald lists the similarities he has found, summarizing as follows:  Mark’s motivation was “to portray his hero as more compassionate than Homer’s”;49 the purpose is to show how Jesus is “morally superior to Odysseus.”50 This is substantiated with references to Polyphemus, the Cyclops, and Odysseus in Odyssey 9, a famous encounter in antiquity, and there are indeed a number of similarities. In both instances, a monstrous personage appears after the disembarkation of the hero from a sea voyage. The monster is a herdsman who lives in caves or tombs. While Odysseus blinded Polyphemus, Jesus showed mercy to the man: “… what mercy he MacDonald, “Mimesis,” 97. 47 Intertextual readings, inclusive of literary imitations, are for Brodie an important means of explaining how many NT texts came into being; see his The Birthing of the New Testament:  The Intertextual Development of the New Testament Writings (New Testament Monographs 1; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2004); and Beyond the Quest for the Historical Jesus: Memoir of a Discovery (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2012). 48 MacDonald, “Mimesis,” 98–105; I note only some of the alleged analogies here. 49 MacDonald, “Mimesis,” 105. 50 MacDonald, “Mimesis,” 103. 46

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has shown you” (Mark 5:19). Within the polyvalent potential of the text, a contrast between a story of hatred turned into a story of mercy makes perfect sense. Odyssey 9 also provides Mark with a model for the role of the name in this passage. Polyphemus asks Odysseus for his name, and the hero responds that “Nobody is my name” (Od. 9.366). Jesus asks the evil spirit the same question, receiving the answer, “Legion is my name” (Mark 5:9). Furthermore, Polyphemus shouts with pain when he is blinded by Odysseus, and his cry summons the other Cyclopes to his cave to see what was happening. Similarly, when Jesus turns the demons into swine that soon drown, people from the neighboring towns come to see what happened (Mark 5:14–17). Odysseus tells the Cyclops to let others know by whom he had been blinded. As for Jesus, he makes reference to what God had done for the man in showing him mercy (Mark 5:18–20). However, there are elements for which Odyssey 9 does not give account; in Mark 5:6–8 especially, Mark borrows from the story of Circe (Odyssey 10). This was helpful since Circe had morphed Odysseus’s crew into swine with magic (Od. 10.210–243) in order to eat them. The savage who lives among the caves in Mark 5 falls down before Jesus: “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?” This echoes, according to MacDonald, Circe’s loud screaming when faced with an Odysseus who has drawn his sword:  “Who of men are you? … Surely you are Odysseus of many devices …” (Od. 10.330). Her reaction and dialogue with Odysseus thus parallels that of Jesus with the man. To both Circe and the man (Mark 5), the identity of the interlocutor, Odysseus and Jesus respectively, is revealed. The comparisons presented by MacDonald with regard to Mark 5, in spite of their numbers and his claim to their significance, are less impressive than those pertaining to the woman in Mark 14. The Odysseus–Polyphemus analogy has hardly been established in the text before the reader is introduced to another analogy, Odysseus and Circe. While Jesus parallels Odysseus and the man parallels Polyphemus at the beginning of the story, suddenly Circe models the man with the evil spirit. In verse 9, however, Mark returns to Polyphemus and Odysseus. Jesus’s asking for the man’s name finds a parallel in Polyphemus asking Odysseus the same, so now Jesus too parallels Polyphemus. In itself, this is a demanding exercise. In the Homeric Centos, a similar approach is taken, as the poem jumps from one Homeric scene to another, since what matters is to find lines that may serve the purpose. The Centos, however, proceed from the assumption that Homer is advertised beyond any doubt and that the storyline is given from the gospels. According to MacDonald, no such storyline exists for Mark; he creates his stories anew on the basis of Homer. MacDonald’s reading of Mark 5 certainly places high expectations on the part the readers of this passage. The antagonism between Polyphemus and Odysseus in Odyssey 9 has no parallel in the relationship between Jesus and the man in Mark’s Gospel. The townsfolk have a fear regarding the man. Jesus’s real antagonist is the evil spirit. My main problem with the exegesis of this particular passage is the claim that Jesus parallels Odysseus while the man parallels Polyphemus, which assigns the man a role that he does not play in Mark’s story, in which he is the beneficiary of Jesus’s agon with evil spirits.51 I am confident that MacDonald agrees, but this does affect the comparison drawn here. The relevant story in Mark 5 comes as a continuation of Jesus who calms the sea in the preceding 51

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In the end, the giant lets out a great shout about the threat that Odysseus poses to him, which MacDonald sees as the model of Mark 5:14–17. However, the giant’s shout is about himself, whereas in Mark’s text, it is the herders who announce to the townsfolk what has happened, not to themselves but to the man. MacDonald might well respond that these observations regarding asymmetry in the comparisons made come with the transvaluation at work in this passage. MacDonald refers to a sum of observations that together form an advertised mimesis or imitation: “The story of the Gerasene demoniac in Mark 5:1–20 strongly resembles the episodes of Polyphemus (the Cyclops) and Circe in the ninth and tenth books of the Odyssey.”52 I am taken by the parallels that MacDonald presents, but find myself doubting how he assembles them and whether the pieces of parallels really do fit together to convey to readers what MacDonald thinks Mark is attempting. Taken by themselves, the many analogies MacDonald pieces together represent ingredients in the story, be they sea voyage, caves, savage man, fear, shout, and swine, but I find that the way these aspects work together to form a story less convincing than the Eurycleia example. To be sure, the Homeric Centos of the Gerasene demoniac draw heavily on Odyssey 9, with some lines from Odyssey 10 (Circe), as MacDonald has shown.53 However, this is not generally the case with the imitations that MacDonald identifies. I find it helpful and indeed worthwhile to look into the Homeric Centos in order to see how Byzantine poets retold the gospel stories with Homer’s help. We need to keep in mind, however, that these poets retold the Gospels, while MacDonald assumes that Homeric imitation is the major inspiration and even literary source of the Markan stories. It is, therefore, worth considering carefully what we may draw from the Homeric Centos with regard to how the gospel stories came into being.

Summary This chapter sums up my perspective on the dialogue between MacDonald and me regarding imitations of Homer in NT narratives, especially Mark’s Gospel. It was occasioned by his recent contribution on mimesis criticism to the Exploring Intertextuality volume. The real gain with mimesis criticism is that Mark’s Gospel becomes a cultural text that is rooted in the wider culture, with its ideals of narrative rhetoric and education. This makes Homer’s writings a most relevant exercise here. In the story about the woman who anoints Jesus, this comes to life in the way Eurycleia’s name is evoked in Jesus’s dictum about the woman who anoints him (Mark 14:9). However, the maximalism with which mimesis criticism is practiced becomes a problem for a method that certainly merits a place in NT scholarship. Without spelling it out, MacDonald’s reading of Mark 5 depends heavily on how both author and reader chapter. I  think stock metaphors and stereotypes regarding demons are at work in that chapter. Against that backdrop, the Gerasene demoniac is really a beneficiary, alongside the disciples in the storm, of Jesus’s superior power; see Karl Olav Sandnes, “Markus: En allegorisk biografi?,” DTT 69 (2006): 275–97 (at 285–95). 52 MacDonald, “Mimesis,” 98. 53 MacDonald, “Mimesis,” 104.

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are constructed, since so much depends on their cultural competence. In restricting itself almost entirely to Homeric analogies, I find that mimesis criticism has become too specialized, which need not be the case. MacDonald will agree with me on that, I am sure, but his shift of emphasis is of course due to his conviction that the Septuagint is secondary in importance to Homer for how to come to terms with Mark’s Gospel. A  major issue of disagreement between us was and remains what it is to advertise mimesis, and how that may occur. MacDonald argues that intended but still often concealed imitations are usually flagged by a sum of observations; they still introduce a transvaluation—nothing less than a Kulturkampf—with regard to message. This is where I have my doubts. Finally, imitations, be they from Homer or the Septuagint, affect the texts as witnesses of specific events. By its very nature, imitation disguises the historical and specific aspects of the stories told. Nonetheless, since mimesis was a means of remembering in a way that made sense of the past, demonstrations of imitations are not in themselves necessarily indications of the fictitious nature of the text.

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Response to Karl Olav Sandnes Dennis R. MacDonald

Professor Sandnes has given my work careful attention, and I  greatly appreciate it. Without denying the legitimacy of mimesis criticism, he has objected to my employment of it. He divided his criticisms to my contribution “Mimesis” from Exploring Intertextuality:  Diverse Strategies for the New Testament Interpretation of Texts into two major sections: “General Comments” and “Comments on Mark 5 and Homer.” I will address five comments he makes from the former and three from the latter.

General Comments 1. Mimesis criticism is more than Homeric imitation. I fully agree and am grateful for this observation. I could have used the so-called rewritten Bible as an analogous mimetic phenomenon and applied the same criteria with similar results. I emphasized Homer because this methodology emerged from an analysis of the parallels between the Acts of Andrew and then the Gospel of Mark with the Iliad and the Odyssey. Furthermore, I  am convinced that mimesis criticism can make its most important contribution to scholarship on NT narratives by calling attention to parallels in classical Greek poetry, a topic nearly invisible in contemporary scholarship. Finally, the introduction of imitations of the Jewish Bible would have greatly enriched the published article. Even so, I agree with Sandnes that the promise of the methodology is far greater than what I  offered in the article and regret not having expanded its application. 2. The availability of Homer. Although Sandnes agrees that the Homeric epics were widely available in the Umwelt of the Evangelists, he asks, “In what way were the Homeric epics present and perpetuated?” His answer to this important question is that the Evangelists could have known these stories not only from texts but also from Greek culture generally, from intermediary books, or from incomplete copies or handbooks. Once again I agree. Ancient authors and readers could have known Homeric stories from multiple cultural vectors and media. To know about Achilles one did not need to have read the Iliad.

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On the other hand, many ancient authors clearly did imitate the text of the epics. Determining how they knew Homeric tales one might call on the challenge of mimetic technology. I proposed the seven criteria of mimesis criticism in order to assess if an author somehow evoked a tale more or less as we find it in a proposed antetext, even if the author did not visually consult the text during composition. In many, but not in all cases, Mark likely had access to a text. 3. Intertextuality says less about the intentions of an author than about the perceptions of the reader. According to Sandes, the Gospel episodes I  adduce are polyvalent and allow for multiple comparisons, not just the Homeric ones I promote. I would insist, however, that readers could identify such parallels not simply because the Gospel stories are “polyvalent,” which they certainly are, but because the authors intended the parallels not only to be visible but interpretable. This topic seeps into Sandnes’s fourth objection. 4. The Evangelists do not sufficiently advertise their mimetic connections to Homer to encourage an intertextual interpretation. Sandnes supports this objection by contrasting Mark’s clearly advertised reliance on Jewish Scriptures. I would counter, however, that many names in Mark are strategic pointers to epic, such as Magdalene, Joseph of Arimathea, Barabbas, and Iscariot. The Evangelist even plays the namegame in reverse by imitating the recognition of Odysseus by Eurycleia, “renowned far and wide,” in the tale of the anointing woman of Bethany, whose recognition will be proclaimed wherever the gospel is preached. Significant names are pervasive in LukeActs and the Acts of Andrew. I propose that the authors of the Homerocentones recognized these parallels between Mark and Homer and adopted and adapted lines from the epics that originally inspired Gospel stories to retell them. Sandnes, who has written a wonderful book on the Centos, argues that such agreements are cosmetic and say little about compositional intentions. I would agree that the literary strategies of the Byzantine poets differ from the Evangelists. My point is more basic. One of the criticisms of mimesis criticism is that Homeric radiation in the Gospels has gone undetected for nearly two millennia. The Centos surely demonstrate that this was not the case, as in the example I present in my essay where for more than a dozen lines the poets retold the story of the Gerasene with lines from Odyssey 9 and 10 about Polyphemus and Circe. 5. Even if one can demonstrate Homeric mimesis in Mark, it would not “undermine the historical bedrock of the Gospel traditions.” I agree that mimesis criticism is a literary methodology and not strictly a historical one. A story may simultaneously be mimetic of a literary model and be historical or traditional. Furthermore, I strongly object to the use of my work by advocates of the Jesus Myth to argue that Jesus never existed. Of course, he existed; of course, his early followers transmitted lore about him; of course, the Gospels retain historical traces about him. On the other hand, literary creativity surely presents a far greater challenge to the historicity of the Gospels than Sandnes allows. The young George Washington may have chopped down a cherry tree and bravely and honestly confessed to having done

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so. I have a three-year-old grandson who, if given an ax, would take off for the nearest cherry tree. But the legend of Washington and the cherry tree does not need to be historical to explain its genesis. So too in the case of the Gerasene demoniac. Jesus likely was an exorcist, but the parallels with Odysseus in Od. 9 make it unlikely that he sailed to a desolate area, that he confronted an indomitable and nude caveman who did not give his real name but “Legion”—like Odysseus’s name trick on Polyphemus— that crowds rushed to the site, or that Jesus sailed away and from ship called back to the former demoniac. Some of these elements also appear in Vergil’s retelling of the Polyphemus episode in Book 3 of the Aeneid, which I cite in the article.

Comments on Mark 5 and Homer Sandnes identifies three major problems in my assessment of Mark’s imitations of the stories of Polyphemus and Circe. 1. “No specific verbal echoes are found” between Mark 5 and Od. 9 and 10. This is a valid observation but not a valid criticism. The vast majority of Homeric imitations in antiquity are thematic not lexical. Mark’s reader does not need to recall precise wording from the Odyssey to recognize similarities between Odysseus and Jesus, who sail with others to a remote region where they encounter an indomitable monster who lives in caves. Few characters in ancient writings can turn soldiers into swine as Jesus and Circe do. Requiring “specific verbal echoes” is indeed “philological fundamentalism.” 2. “The comparison” of the demoniac with both Polyphemus and Circe “is more or less out of control.” Mimesis is messy. Scholars continue to argue over Vergil’s eclectic imitation of Homer. In fact, one can find imitations of the Iliad in one line followed in the next with an imitation from the Odyssey. As Sandnes himself notes, the same applies to the Homerocentones. By the way, use of multiple literary models when composing narratives was recommended in rhetorical education, what some classicists have called eclectic mimesis. This happens repeatedly in the Gospels with hybrid narratives inspired by both Homer and the Bible. 3. “My main problem … is the claim that Jesus parallels Odysseus while the man parallels Polyphemus.” My main problem with Sandnes’s reading is this objection, which I cannot accept or understand. First, regarding Jesus and Odysseus, each sails with unreliable comrades to a shore where he discovers a monster with whom he discusses about names. After this encounter, each sails away from aboard ship, calls back to the man, refuses to reconnect, and tells him to announce what he had done to him. Regarding the Gerasene and Polyphemus, each lives in a cave surrounded by multitudes of grazing swine or goats; each is nude and uncontrollable. Each speaks with the hero about sobriquets: Legion or Nobody. Each calls the hero, already on ship, to return. Sandnes is right that the stories also are different, in large measure because Mark shifts to imitating Circe. The Gerasene thus is not the primary problem; the

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legion of demons are. Even so, the parallels are striking and did not escape the poets of the Homeric Centos. Obviously Sandnes and I part ways on these issues, but let me repeat my admiration for his own Homeric scholarship and gratitude for his attention to my article and to Mark 5.

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Studies in Intertextuality

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Israel’s Last Prophet: Matt 23:29–36 and the Intertextual Basis of Matthew’s Rejected Prophet Christology* David L. Turner

Introduction The conceptualization of textual interplay is a complicated matter. Establishing criteria to determine instances of intertextuality and finding terminology to describe the phenomenon is an ongoing quest. The introductory chapters in this volume speak to specialized aspects of this question. The present study’s approach is more basic. Richard Hays uses three simple but serviceable terms to approximate roughly the spectrum of intertextuality—quotations, allusions, and echoes. The three terms plot the degree of explicitness of a text’s dependence on earlier texts, whether overt (quotations), implicit (allusions), or faint (echoes). In his view, quotations are overt due to their introductory formulas and/or verbatim reproduction of a clause from a source text. Allusions imply the source text by embedding several words from it, or by referring to a key character or event. Echoes more faintly (and less clearly) evoke the source text by repeating only a key word or phrase.1 The present study will largely focus on the sort of textual interplay that Hays would call allusions or echoes. Charles Bazerman provides a more detailed yet accessible taxonomy.2 He discusses six levels of intertextuality, ranging from more to less explicit. His idea that texts may implicitly rely on beliefs, issues, and ideas that are likely familiar to the readers is suggestive for this study, as is his point that texts cite recognizable kinds of language, phrasing, and genres in order to evoke the social world of the intertext and link it with * An earlier version of this study was presented at the Intertextuality in the New Testament session on Christology at the 2016 San Antonio SBL meeting. I  am grateful to the conveners of the session for the opportunity to present. For discussion of the larger issues pertaining to Matt 23, see David L. Turner, Israel’s Last Prophet:  Jesus and the Jewish Leaders in Matthew 23 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015). 1 See, most recently, Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2016), 10–13. 2 Charles Bazerman, “Intertextuality: How Texts Rely on Other Texts,” in What Writing Does and How It Does It (ed. Charles Bazerman and Paul Prior; London: Routledge, 2004), 83–96.

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the world of the text.3 Bazerman’s theoretical framework is consistent with what I call implicit conceptual intertextuality in this study. One way of approaching Matt 23 intertextually would be to mine it for explicit quotations and implicit verbal allusions to other texts. The allusion to Ps 118:26 in Matt 23:39 (cf. Matt 21:9), is probably the most obvious textual interplay in the chapter, although it lacks an introductory formula. Other likely allusions and verbal parallels would include those in the table that follows.

Biblical Allusions and Verbal Parallels in Matt 23 Matt 23 Allusion

Biblical Text

Concerning

23:5

Exod 13:9, 16; Deut 6:8; 11:18

Phylacteries (tefillin)

23:5

Num 15:38–39; Deut 22:12

Fringes (tzitzit)

23:12

Prov 29:23; Job 22:29

Self-aggrandizement vs. humility

23:17

Exod 30:29

Holiness of golden Temple vessels

23:19

Exod 29:37

Holiness of the altar

23:21

1 Kgs 8:13; Ps 26:8

God dwells in the Temple

23:22

Isa 66:1

God’s heavenly throne

23:23

Lev 27:30; Deut 14:22–23; Mic 6:8

Tithing

23:24

Lev 11:41–45

Straining out gnats

23:27

Num 19:11–22

Avoiding corpse impurity

23:34

2 Chr 36:15–16 (et al.)

Mistreating God’s messengers

23:35

Gen 4:8

Blood of righteous Abel

23:35

2 Chr 24:20–22; Zech 1:1

Blood of Zechariah

23:37

2 Chr 36:15–16 (et al.)

Mistreating God’s messengers

23:37

Deut 32:11

Hen gathers chicks

23:38

1 Kgs 9:7–8; Isa 64:10; Jer 12:7; 22:5

Desolation of the Temple

3 Bazerman, “Intertextuality,” 87. These ideas are closely related to Bazerman’s later discussion of texts using recognizable terminology and phrasing associated with specific people groups and using language that seems to echo the stock phrases of certain types of communication (88–89).

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Matt 23 Allusion

Biblical Text

Concerning

23:39 (cf. 21:9)

Ps 118:26

Blessed is the coming one.

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As one can see from the table, there are at least four instances of intertextuality in Matt 23:29–36. Two of these are explicit allusions to the biblical figures Abel and Zechariah in 23:35. The other two are implicit allusions in 23:34, 37 to the broad theme of rejected prophets, hinting at such texts as 2 Chr 36:15–16. Scholars often engage explicit verbal allusions like those to Abel and Zechariah here. The direction of this study is somewhat different. One should not “miss the forest for the trees,” as the saying goes. The goal here is to discern themes, motifs, or tropes which link Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus’s extended denunciation of the Jewish leaders to previous biblical prophetic denunciations of Israel’s leaders. The focus is implicit conceptual intertextuality rather than an explicit verbal intertextuality. Theologians and NT scholars have often presented Jesus as a prophet, and have identified various acts of Jesus as prophetic. Comparatively little work has been done to demonstrate that even the Gospels’ portrayal of the violent rejection of Jesus by Jerusalem’s leaders should be viewed as an intertextually based aspect of prophetic Christology. Matthew 23 presents seven pronouncements of woe against the scribes and Pharisees. In Matt 23:29–36 the final pronouncement associates Jesus’s opponents with those who murdered the prophets. This is the apex of a literary trajectory that began with Deuteronomistic themes in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple literature. Israel’s prophets stressed faithfulness to the Torah of Moses as the way to maintain the nation’s covenant relationship to God. Israel’s repeated rejection of these covenant messengers amounted to sin reaching its fullness, a point of no return which made judgment inevitable (2 Chr 36:15–16; Neh 9:26–31; Dan 9:4–19). Matthean Christology portrays Jesus as the fulfillment of Israel’s Law and Prophets, of Israel’s very history (Matt 1:1–17; 5:17–21). In Matt 23 Jesus speaks prophetically with oracles of woe and a climactic, ironic imperative (23:32). Although his rejection brings Israel’s sin to its full measure, Israel’s story is not over—Jesus’s disciples are sent as his ongoing prophetic voice. They, too, will experience rejection as they call Israel and the nations to obey Jesus’s Torah (Matt 5:10–12; 10:18, 22, 24–25, 40; 23:34; 24:9; 28:19–20). In this manner Christology augurs ecclesiology. Israel’s ultimate prophet continues to offer restoration to Israel through his followers, just as God promised a future and a hope to Israel through Moses and the biblical prophets. Matthean rejected-prophet Christology is based on a conceptual intertextuality that is implicit yet obligatory for the reader. To understand Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus, the reader must note how Matthew delves deeply into the history of Israel, presenting Israel’s rejection of its ultimate prophet as neither unprecedented nor final. To demonstrate this we will look at Matthew’s portrayal of how Jesus thought, how Jesus talked, and how Jesus was treated.

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Jesus Thinks Like a Prophet: Deuteronomism as an Intertextually Based Worldview The Deuteronomistic theological perspective simply means that Israel prospered or suffered in relation to its obedience or its disobedience to the Law. As went Israel’s covenantal loyalty, so went its national prosperity (e.g., Deut 28; 30:15–20; Josh 1:1–9, 16–18; cf. Jdt 5:17–19; Tob 1:3–6; 3:3–5; 13:5–6, 9; 14:4–7; 11Q19–20[Temple] 59:2– 20). In modern scholarship, the “Deuteronomistic” approach to the biblical narrative of Israel’s history may be traced to Martin Noth’s Deuteronomistic History, which focused on Deuteronomy to 2 Kings as a single work which stressed Israel’s disobedience as the reason for the destruction of the Davidic monarchy and the exile to Babylon.4 Despite Israel’s recalcitrance, God patiently sent them messenger after messenger who pleaded with them to repent. But Israel did not listen and in some cases went so far as to wreak violence upon God’s messengers. In Noth’s understanding of “Deuteronomism” there was no hope for Israel in this situation, but others such as H.  W. Wolf saw in the biblical texts the possibility of deliverance if Israel repented.5 Odil Steck’s 1967 study of the violent fate (gewaltsame Geschick) of the prophets is likely the most influential discussion of Israel’s rejection of its prophets.6 According to Steck, the Deuteronomistic narrative of the history of Israel takes on a characteristic structure (deuteronomistische Geschichtsbild) which can be summarized as follows: 1 . Israel’s history is portrayed as one of habitual disobedience. 2. God patiently sent Israel prophet after prophet to urge them to repent. 3. Israel rejected these prophets, often killing them. 4 Martin Noth, Deuteronomistic History (Sheffield: JSOT, 1980). 5 Hans Walter Wolff, “Das Kerygma des deuteronomischen Geschichtswerk,” ZAW 73 (1961): 171–86; “The Kerygma of the Deuteronomistic Historical Work,” in The Vitality of Old Testament Traditions (Atlanta: John Knox, 1975), 83–100. Wolff ’s view rather than Noth’s will be supported in this study. 6 Odil Hannes Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten:  Untersuchungen zur Überlieferung des deuteronomischen Geschichtsbildes im Alten Testament, Spätjudentum und Urchristentum (WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn:  Neukirchener Verlag, 1967). Steck’s thesis was critiqued by Paul Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle (Munster: Aschendorff, 1972), 162–71. Michael Knowles’s work is helpful albeit limited. See Jeremiah in Matthew’s Gospel:  The Rejected-Prophet Motif in Matthean Redaction (JSNTSup 68; Sheffield:  JSOT, 1993), 97–161. NT scholars have attempted to demonstrate the linkage of Deuteronomistic motifs in general and of the rejection of the prophets in particular with the story of Jesus in the synoptic Gospels. John Kloppenborg notes the influence of Deuteronomism on the theology of Q in The Formation of Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 101–03. David Moessner attempts to demonstrate that Luke’s travel narrative is constructed to present Jesus as a rejected prophet who is similar to Moses in Lord of the Banquet: The Literary and Theological Significance of the Lukan Travel Narrative (Minneapolis, Augsburg Fortress, 1989). The 2002 SBL Q section featured three papers which applied Steck’s thought to the theology of Q:  William Schniedewind, “Deuteronomy and its Legacy in Second Temple Judaism.” Paper presented at 2002 Annual Conference of Society of Biblical Literature, Q Section; Arland Jacobson, “Q and the Deuteronomistic Tradition.” Paper read at the 2002 Annual Conference of the Society of Biblical Literature, Q Section; and Joseph Verheyden, “The Killing of the Prophets in Q and the Deuteronomistic Tradition.” Paper read at the 2002 Annual Conference of the Society of Biblical Literature, Q Section. Abstracts of these papers will be found in AAR and SBL Abstracts 2002 (Atlanta: SBL, 2002), 298–99.

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4 . Thus God punished Israel through the Assyrians and Babylonians. 5. But God promises restoration to exiled Israel and judgment upon Israel’s enemies if Israel will repent.7 In texts like Matt 19:28; 25:31–46 (cf. Jer 14:21; 17:12; Dan 7:13–14), Matthew presents Jesus as the ultimate Davidic king of a renewed Israel, which will be a blessing to all the nations. But how will this renewal be achieved? The Deuteronomistic pattern suggests that Israel’s fortunes turn on its response to the prophets as the ongoing voice of Moses. There will be a restored Davidic throne only if there is a return to the Law of Moses. Matthew presents Jesus as the ultimate fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets, as a new Moses who authoritatively teaches the Torah.8 Ironically, his rejection by the leaders of Israel led to his paying a ransom for sin which inaugurated the new covenant (Matt 20:28; 26:26–29), making Israel’s restoration possible. As the biblical prophets served as the ongoing voice of the archetypal Prophet Moses, so Matthew presents the Twelve as the ongoing voice of the ultimate Prophet Jesus, the new Moses. After the resurrection, Jesus sent his Jewish followers to continue his mission to Israel as well as the Gentiles. Matthew’s Gospel implies the ultimate restoration of Israel would begin if Israel would once again truly bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord.9 Matthew’s vision of Christian mission entails following the example of the rejected Prophet Jesus in the hope of the coming of the Son of Man to his glorious throne. Moses-typology and David-typology meet in Jesus the Messiah, who brings Israel back to the Law of God.

Jesus Speaks Like a Prophet: Oracles of Woe and Ironic Imperatives as Intertextual Prophetic Speech In Matt 23 Jesus is portrayed as Israel’s ultimate prophet who announces the impending doom of Jerusalem and its leaders. This looming judgment is due to a historical pattern or typology of Israel rejecting its own prophets. The pattern is coming to full measure Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick, 184–86; cf. 62–64, 122–24. Steck believed that the earliest tradition of this structure was found in Neh 9:26–30. Priestly editors perpetuated the tradition into the Second Temple period, with such success that almost all of the Jewish writings from the late Second Temple period contain the motif (189). Cf. Michael Knowles, Jeremiah in Matthew’s Gospel, 101–2; and Arland Jacobson, “The Literary Unity of Q,” JBL 101 (1982): 383–88. Jacobson argues that the Christian community which produced the synoptic sayings source Q viewed itself in continuity with the rejected prophets of the Hebrew Bible. But recently Schniedewind’s yet unpublished 2002 SBL Q Section paper (“Deuteronomy and its Legacy in Second Temple Judaism”) questions Steck’s reasoning and denies that the theology of Q is Deuteronomistic. 8 Dale Allison, The New Moses:  A Matthean Typology (Minneapolis:  Fortress, 1993); Terence Donaldson, Jesus on the Mountain:  A Study in Matthean Typology (JSNTSup 8; Sheffield:  JSOT, 1985). Deut 18:15–19 is crucial for this understanding. See Turner, Israel’s Last Prophet, 18–21. 9 Matthew 23:37–39 is obviously a highly debated text. In my view it provides a glimmer of hope for the future of Israel. See Turner, Matthew (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008), 561–62; Israel’s Last Prophet, 327–30; Dale Allison, “Matt 23:39 = Luke 13:35b as a Conditional Prophecy,” JSNT 18 (1983):  75–84. It is intriguing to consider Matt 19:28 in light of Acts 1:6; 3:19–21 and vice versa. 7

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in the leaders’ opposition to Jesus. Jesus calls on Jerusalem to repent, but when this does not occur, he tells its leaders to get on with their plan to do away with him. This profoundly ironic moment presents Jesus as filled with indignation and sadness.

Prophetic Oracles of Woe It is well known that the prophets frequently cried woe (‫ ֥הֹוי‬or ‫ )אֹוי‬against Israel’s sins.10 These oracles spoke with a blend of anger, grief, and alarm about the excruciating consequences which would come upon Israel due to her sin. After the pronouncement of woe, such oracles contain a description of the persons upon whom the woe will come. This description amounts to the reason why the woe is merited. Thus a woe oracle states the conclusion before the premises on which it is based. Woe oracles may have developed from covenant curses (Deut 27:15) or even from funeral lamentations (Jer 22:18).11 The LXX and the NT usually used the word οὐαί in woe oracles.12 The prophet’s attitude in oracles of woe is not simply one of anger. Clearly the prophet’s anger at Israel’s sin is tempered at times by grief and alarm at the horrible price Israel will pay for that sin. The prophet speaks for God against sin and this explains the anger. But that anger is directed toward the prophet’s own people, and this explains the grief. The palpable pathos of woe oracles is due to the prophet’s dual solidarities. Isaiah, for example, pronounced woe upon himself, not only because he himself was a person of unclean lips but also because he lived among a people of unclean lips (Isa 6:5). The prophets spoke for God, but in announcing oracles of judgment the prophets knew that they were announcing the doom of their own people. Woe oracles are also found in Second Temple Jewish literature. The Qumran literature has notable woe oracles, including some against Jerusalem and its leaders.13 First Enoch contains four series of woes (94:6–95:7; 96:4–8; 98:9–99:2; 100:7–9). Second Enoch 52 contains a series of alternating blessings and curses (cf. Luke 6:20–26). Later on, the Talmud will also contain exclamations of woe.14 Two important conclusions flow from this brief sketch of prophetic woe oracles. First, Jesus’s pronouncements of woe upon the Jewish leaders were not innovative. His severe language must have sounded familiar to the Jewish leaders, given their acquaintance with the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple sectarian literature. Second, Jesus’s pronouncements of woe were not merely an exercise in spite against his enemies. Rather, as is made clear in Matt 23:37, his lament comes from at least as much grief as anger.

E.g., see the onomatopoeic interjection in Isa 5:8, 11, 18, 20, 21, 22; 10:1; Amos 5:18; 6:1, 4; Hab 2:9, 12, 15, 19; Zech 11:17, as noted also by 11 Ronald E. Clements, “Woe,” ABD (vol. 6; ed. David Noel Freedman; New York: Doubleday, 1992), 945–46. 12 E.g., Isa 1:4; 3:9, 11; 5:8, 11, 18, 20, 21, 22; Matt 23:13, 15, 16, 23, 25, 27, 29 and parallels in Luke; Luke 6:24–26; Rev 18:10, 16, 19. 13 Note especially 4Q169 f3–4ii:1 (on Nah 3:1); 4Q179 f1i:4, ii:1 (apocryphal lamentations for Jerusalem). See also, 1QpHab 10:5, 11:2, 12:14; 4Q162 2:2; 4Q185 f1–2i:9; 4Q511 f63iii:5. 1QS 2:5–9 and 4Q286 ii.2–12 use different terms, arur (accursed) and z’um (damned). 14 E. g., b. Ber. 3a, 24b, 33a, 61a; Shabb. 10a; Pesah. 65a, 87b; Yoma 72b, 86a; Sanh. 7b. 10

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Ironic Imperatives in Prophetic Oracles The stark words of Matt 23:32 are based on the tacit admission of the religious leaders that they are descendants (τῶν πατέρων ὑμῶν)15 of those who murdered the prophets. Accordingly, Jesus tells them to fill up the measure of their ancestors’ sin: καὶ ὑμεῖς πληρώσατε τὸ μέτρον τῶν πατέρων ὑμῶν. These words come at the end of the seventh woe against Israel’s leaders in Matt 23. It is likely that the preceding six woes culminate in this fashion because rejecting its prophets was the basic sin which led to Israel’s other sins. Two preliminary questions which influence the exegesis of Matt 23:32 require brief treatment. First, there is some question regarding the segmentation of the two verses. The punctuation apparati in both UBS5 and NA28 point out the possibility that the words καὶ ὑμεῖς, which begin 23:32 in nearly all versions, could possibly be taken as the end of 23:31.16 In this alternative reading, καὶ ὑμεῖς is emphatic:  “you testify against yourselves that you are the descendants of those who murdered the prophets, even you.”17 Although this punctuation of the passage yields a plausible meaning, it evidently has not been adopted by many versions, ancient or modern.18 Ulrich Luz support this rendering of the passage “because in Matthew this expression [καὶ ὑμεῖς] never appears at the beginning of the sentence. It always appears after the verb, after an adverb, or after a pronoun of a question.”19 This argument from Matthew’s typical style is not conclusive, but it appears that this question has not yet been clearly resolved. If the traditional segmentation of Matt 23:31–32 is followed, the translation of καί at the beginning of 23:32 involves some difficulty. At first glance καί seems inappropriate as a link between 23:31 and 23:32. The semantic relationship between 23:31 (“you admit that you are descended from prophet-murderers”) and 23:32 (“fill up your ancestors’ sin”) does not seem to be coordinate or paratactic (“and”). However, it is not unusual for καί to be used in semantic situations “where more discriminating usage would call for other particles.”20 It seems most likely that 23:32 expresses the implications or result The meaning of τῶν πατέρων ὑμῶν here combines the actual and metaphorical senses of the word. The scribes and Pharisees are actually descended from those who killed the prophets, but more to the point, they share the character of those murderers. See BDAG s.v. υἱός, 2. c. a. (1024–25); BDB s.v. 121( .8 ,‫)בֵּ ן‬. 16 UBS4, 90; NA27, 67. 17 Roger Omanson, A Textual Guide to the Greek New Testament: An Adaptation of Bruce M. Metzger’s Textual Commentary for the Needs of Translators (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaf, 2007), 42. 18 The apparatus of UBS4 indicates that a Spanish translation, La Biblia: Versión Popular (19832), may be based on the alternative punctuation. A perusal of recent English translations yields none which clearly support this punctuation. NLT (“you are indeed the descendants of those who murdered the prophets. Go ahead and finish what your ancestors started”) is consistent with the alternative punctuation, although the somewhat free nature of this translation makes it difficult to determine. 19 Ulrich Luz, Matthew 21–28: A Commentary (trans. J. E. Crouch; Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 131. Theodor Zahn also supported this punctuation. See T. Zahn, Das Evangelium des Matthäus (4th ed.; Leipzig: Deichert, 1922), 656. 20 BDAG 494, b. Since BDAG acknowledges the possibility of influence from Hebrew usage of W here, the presence of καί is not necessarily due to a lack of “discrimination.” Cf. BDF §442; James Hope Moulton and Wilbert Francis Howard, A Grammar of New Testament Greek, vol. II:  Accidence and Word Formation with an Appendix on Semitisms in the New Testament (London: T&T Clark, 1920), 420–22; J. H. Moulton and Nigel Turner, A Grammar of New Testament Greek, vol. III: Syntax (London:  T&T Clark, 2005), 334–35; M.  Zerwick, Biblical Greek Illustrated from Examples (Rome: Scripta Pontifici Instituti Biblici, 1963), §§ 450–65. 15

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of 23:31: the impending death of Jesus is in keeping with the religious leaders’ ancestral propensity.21 Plausible translations for καί here would be “and so,” or “accordingly,” or “very well, then” (NJB). A second preliminary question concerns the textual authenticity of the imperative πληρώσατε. Two variants are included in the apparatus of NA27, but the UBS4 editors deemed the manuscript support for the imperative reading to be so strong as to preclude discussion of the variants. The aorist imperative πληρώσατε has relatively early and fairly wide support in the manuscript tradition (e.g., ‫[ א‬fourth century], B2, C [fifth century], L [eighth century], X [033, tenth century], G [036, tenth century], H [ninth century], P [041, ninth century]), but two other readings have limited currency. The aorist indicative ἐπληρώσατε is found in D (Codex Beza, fifth century), H (ninth century), and relatively few additional manuscripts, as well as in the patristic source Acacius of Caesarea, who died in 396 CE. The future indicative πληρώσετε is supported by the original hand of the important uncial B (fourth century), but additional support is found only in e (a Latin codex from the fifth century), Lectionary 844 (ninth century), and a Sahidic Coptic manuscript. Internal evidence also favors the aorist imperative reading. This reading best fits a basic principle in textual criticism—prefer the more difficult reading. The aorist indicative and future indicative readings plausibly arose as attempts to soften the harshness of the imperative.22 It is difficult to accept the opposite argument, which entails the imperative developing from one of the indicatives. Although external evidence alone assures the high probability of the aorist imperative reading, the lectio difficilior potior principle makes this even more likely. Additionally, the harsh aorist imperative reading best fits the context of prophetic critique in Matt 23. The exegesis of 23:32 is not radically altered if either variant is read as the text. The aorist indicative reading ἐπληρώσατε could be interpreted in the constative sense23 as a summary: “you have fulfilled the measure of your ancestors.” In this sense the leaders’ treatment of John and Jesus has fulfilled Israel’s historic proclivity of mistreating its prophets.24 However, the act of handing Jesus over to Pilate has not yet occurred and the use of the past tense seems inappropriate. Willoughby Allen is correct that the aorist indicative gives an inferior sense.25 Allen argues that the aorist imperative reading πληρώσατε breaks the connection with 23:31, and favors instead the future indicative reading πληρώσετε as a prediction that the religious leaders would be the successors of their ancestors who murdered the past prophets.26 Evidently this would entail the murder of Jesus. Allen’s understanding 21 BDAG 495, 1. b. z. Similar uses of καί in Matthew include 4:19; 5:15; 7:7; 8:8. 22 David E. Garland, The Intention of Matthew 23 (NovTSup 52; Leiden:  Brill, 2014), 167; Alfred Plummer, An Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to S.  Matthew (London:  R. Scott, 1915), 320–21. 23 BDF § 332; D.  B. Wallace, Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics An Exegetical Syntax of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1997), 557–58. 24 So H. B. Green, The Gospel according to St. Matthew (NCB; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), 193. 25 Willoughby Charles Allen, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew (ICC; New York: Scribner’s, 1907), 251. 26 Allen, Matthew, 251. Allen conjectures the present indicative as an even “better” reading reflecting a hypothetical Aramaic participle. Allen does not acknowledge that the future indicative is frequently used with an imperatival sense (BDF § 362; Turner and Moulton, Syntax, 86; Wallace, Greek

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of the text with the future indicative reading is plausible, but his view that the aorist imperative reading breaks the connection with 23:31 is unfounded. If καί is understood as “accordingly” (as demonstrated above), and if πληρώσατε is understood as an ironic imperative (as will be argued next), 23:32 interprets Jesus’s own impending death at the behest of the religious leaders as the ultimate outcome of a historical trajectory involving their ancestors’ malfeasance toward previous prophets.27 Scholars typically acknowledge the difficulty of describing the common yet complex rhetorical strategy known as irony. Edwin Good’s study of irony in the Old Testament begins with the words “Irony, like love, is more readily recognized than defined.”28 Douglas Muecke commented, “Getting to grips with irony seems to have something in common with gathering the mist—there’s plenty to take hold of if only one could.”29 Typical definitions of irony allude to its conveying of a meaning which is contrary to, or the opposite of, its words. Muecke describes it as a more subtle process, “the art of saying something without really saying it.”30 Carolyn Sharp has drawn attention to the complexity of irony when hermeneutics is construed as involving both the authorial signification of meaning as well as readerresponse construal of meaning.31 Reader-response destabilizes any textual meaning, especially one so subtle and controverted as irony. Kevin Vanhoozer resurrects the author by understanding meaning as communicative action emanating from embodied-enacted authorial intention. Vanhoozer briefly handles irony in a section which discusses ambiguity in author’s intention. Against the grain of postmodern deconstructionists, he argues for the decisive role of the author as ironist over the ingenuity of the reader.32 Vanhoozer posits three steps in the process of determining textual irony: (1) rejecting the literal meaning as incongruent with what the reader already knows from the author; (2)  deciding whether the incongruence results from the author acting knowledgably and intentionally; and (3) reconstructing a meaning which is congruent with the reader’s understanding of the author’s mind. In order for the reader to be successful in this, he/she must share in the author’s language, life world (situation or circumstances), and literary experience (genre).33 Vanhoozer’s approach to irony is helpful in understanding the complexities of Matt 23:32. Taking this text in its literal meaning is incongruent with Matthew’s intentional presentation Grammar, 569–70). An imperatival future here would be the semantic equivalent of the widely supported aorist imperative reading. Plummer also thinks that the future may be authentic. See Plummer, Matthew, 320. 27 Plummer, Matthew, 321, may be correct that the variant readings arose because later copyists were unwilling to believe that Jesus would have spoken as sternly as the imperative reading. 28 Edwin M. Good, Irony in the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1965), 13. 29 Douglas C. Muecke, The Compass of Irony (London: Methuen, 1969), 3. 30 Muecke, Compass, 5. 31 Carolyn J. Sharp, Irony and Meaning in the Hebrew Bible (Bloomington: Indiana University, 2009), 10–28. Sharp critiques Good’s focus on authorial intent, theological truth, and covenant renewal (13–14). 32 Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Is There a Meaning in This Text? (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1998), 256–58. 33 Vanhoozer, Is There a Meaning?, 258. The categories are derived from Wayne C. Booth, A Rhetoric of Irony (Chicago:  University of Chicago Press, 1974), 5, 91, and roughly approximate E. D. Hirsch’s three horizons of textual interpretation: linguistic, authorial, and generic. See Validity in Interpretation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967).

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of Jesus’s compassionate redemptive mission to Israel. Taking it as ironic is congruent with Matthew’s intentional presentation of Jesus’s prophetic angst over the unbelief of the scribes and Pharisees in Jerusalem The category of irony is more appropriate for Matt 23:32 than the categories of sarcasm or satire, which are used solely for attack and ridicule. While ridicule is not absent from Matt 23, Matthew portrays the words of Jesus in line with what J.  Williams has called “the pathos of the middle.”34 This highlights the existential tension of prophets who are typically caught between their prophetic vocation and their own people. Matthew portrays Jesus as a faithful prophet whose harsh, denunciatory language is calculated not merely to ridicule but to lead his audience to repentance. Discussions of biblical imperatives uttered in a context of intentional verbal irony are found in both Hebrew35 and Greek36 reference grammars. Such imperatives are ironic because they command acts that in reality are at variance with, if not in outright contradiction to, what is clearly commanded elsewhere in the Bible. Scholars have identified approximately twenty ironic imperatives in biblical texts.37 These include the following: ●●

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Judges 10:14. When Israel acknowledged its sin, God responded that Israel should go and pray for deliverance to the other gods it had chosen. 1 Kings 2:22. When Bathsheba relays Adonijah’s request for Abishag the Shunamite to be his wife, Solomon is enraged and replies sarcastically that Bathsheba should also ask for the kingdom. 1 Kings 18:27. Elijah mocks the prophets of Baal and sarcastically tells them to cry out more loudly to their unresponsive god, who is evidently distracted by other concerns. 1 Kings 22:15. The Prophet Micaiah tells Ahab and Jehoshaphat to press on with the battle because God will give them victory. Isaiah 8:9–10. Isaiah tells his audience to take action, yet he promises them that they are doomed to fail. Isaiah 29:1, 9. Ariel should continue its activities and be astonished when its judgment arrived. Isaiah 47:12. The Babylonians are counseled to stand with their sorceries as if their astrologers can prevent God’s judgment.

J. G. Williams, “Irony and Lament: Clues to Prophetic Consciousness,” Semeia 8 (1977): 51–74. 35 E. Kautzsch, ed. Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar (2nd English ed. rev. by A. E. Cowley; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1910), §110; B. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990), §34.4b. Waltke and O’Connor speak of this as sarcasm. The biblical texts cited here include not only imperatives, but also jussive and infinitive absolute constructions which are semantically equivalent to imperatives. 36 A. T. Robertson, A Grammar of the Greek New Testament in the Light of Historical Research (Nashville: Broadman, 1934, 3rd ed.), 948, 1198. 37 E.g., Judg 10:14; 1 Kgs 2:22; 18:27; 22:15; Job 38:3; 40:10; Eccl 11:9; Isa 6:9; 8:9–10; 29:9; 47:12; Jer 7:21; 23:28; 44:25–26; Lam 4:21; Ezek 3:27; 20:39; Amos 4:4–5; Nah 3:14–15; cf. John 2:19; 13:27; Rev 22:11; Sib. Or. 3:57–59. 34

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Jeremiah 7:21.38 Those who practice idolatrous sacrificial rituals should continue in their vain behavior by adding to their sacrifices the flesh of their offerings. Jeremiah 23:28. Jeremiah encourages false prophets to relate their dreams as his genuine messengers relate God’s word. Jeremiah 44:25. Jeremiah tells the Jews living in Egypt to continue their idolatrous sacrifices as they have vowed. Ezekiel 3:27. Ezekiel is told to utter a double-edged saying which will confirm the polarized response of his audience: “let the one who hears hear, and let the one who refuses refuse.” Ezekiel 20:39. Ezekiel tells Israel to go and serve their idols, but promises a time when they will listen to God. Nahum 3:14–15. The Ninevites are encouraged to defend themselves although they will be defeated. Lamentations 4:21. This verse exhorts the Edomites to rejoice and be glad at Israel’s troubles but reminds them that they too will have trouble ahead.

Amos 4:4–5 is probably the text most frequently cited in discussions of ironic imperatives. Amos has underlined Israel’s heightened accountability in 3:2, and the sarcastic tone of Amos 4 is made clear by the reference to the women of the northern kingdom as “cows of Bashan” (4:1). With six imperatives in 4:4–5, Amos counsels Israel to continue in its evil ways which it loves. This involves entering Bethel and transgressing, multiplying transgressions in Gilgal, bringing sacrifices and tithes, offering a leavened thank-offering, and proclaiming freewill offerings. God does not approve of such behavior at Bethel (3:14; 5:5; 7:9, 13), but Amos emphasizes that despite repeated judgments Israel refuses to return to God (4:6, 8, 9, 10, 11). The ironic imperatives underline the fact that Israel’s illicit activities only prepare them to meet God in judgment (4:12). The suggestion that Isa 6:9 should be viewed as ironic39 can be debated. The imperative plus infinitive absolute constructions seem to have a concessive force: “even though you hear … see.” The following jussives relate an outcome which happens in spite of the imperative plus infinitive constructions: “do not understand … see.” These constructions in Isa 6:9 do not convey the opposite of what God wishes to happen and are therefore not blatantly ironic or sarcastic. However, the outcome of the imperatives is the opposite of what one might expect. Hearing and seeing the prophetic message results not in repentance and faithfulness to the Torah but in rejection and unfaithfulness. The irony here is more subtle and the mood of the text is not so much sarcastic as it is somber in its reflection on God’s sovereignty. Contextual factors also contribute to the relevance of Isa 6:9 for the understanding of Matt 23:32. Jesus has already cited Isa 6:9–10 to explain his use of parables in speaking to the crowds (13:14–15). Isaiah’s vineyard song (5:1–7) is clearly the basis of Jesus’s parable of the wicked tenants (Matt 21:33–46). As Isaiah’s song laments The Jeremiah references are to the MT. 39 As in Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of Matthew:  A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 554. 38

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the absence of the fruit of justice and righteousness in Israel (5:7), so Jesus’s parable highlights the tenants’ refusal to render the fruit of the kingdom to God. As Isaiah’s song leads directly into a series of seven oracles of woe (5:8, 11, 18, 20, 21, 22; 6:5), so Jesus’s parable of the tenants leads into the seven woes of Matt 23 (23:13, 15, 16, 23, 25, 27, 29). As Isaiah’s woes culminate in his message being heard and seen but not understood or perceived (6:9), so Jesus’s woes culminate in his reminding Israel of its historic rejection of its prophets and telling them to complete this pattern by killing him (Matt 23:29–37). This historic rejection of the prophets has already been highlighted in the parable of the tenants. In fact, the tenants who reject the landowner’s servants and kill his son are the feature of the parable that creatively departs from the base text in Isa 5. The preceding discussion demonstrates that prophetic irony would have been familiar to the Jewish leaders addressed in Matt 23. Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus’s repeated pronouncements of woe leading up to a climactic ironic imperative amounts to an implicit yet intentional linkage of Jesus to the biblical prophets. Matthew’s editorial perspective leads his readers to believe that the Jewish leaders grasped this linkage (cf. Matt 21:45).

Jesus Is Treated Like a Prophet: The Rejected Prophet as an Intertextual Theological Motif The charge that Israel has rejected its own prophets (Matt 23:29–31) is perhaps the most serious accusation found in Matt 23, since it addresses the root cause of the other problems confronted there. If Israel had listened to its prophets, Israel would not have prevented people from entering the kingdom. If Israel had listened to its prophets, casuistry in oaths and the elevation of trivial duties over basic duties would not have become commonplace. If Israel had listened to its prophets, matters of the heart would have remained primary, not the external appearance of righteousness. But Israel had rejected its prophets throughout its history, and that rejection would reach its horrible culmination in the rejection of its Messiah (23:32) and his messengers (23:34). This would bring the guilt of innocent blood shed from the first to the last book of the Hebrew Bible upon Jerusalem (23:35–36). This is not the first time Matthew points out that Israel has rejected its prophets. The genealogy of Jesus stresses the exile to Babylon, which of course was due to rejection of the prophets (1:11–12, 17). The ministry of John the Baptist is presented in terms of prophetic rebuke (3:7–12), and Israel’s rejection of John is explained as the rejection of an Elijah-like figure who is more than a prophet (11:7–18; 17:12; 21:32). When Jesus’s disciples are persecuted, they are to be encouraged because the prophets were similarly persecuted (5:12). Rejection or reception of the ministry of Jesus’s disciples is described as that of a prophet (10:41–42; 25:35–45). Jesus also repeatedly cites prophetic literature, sometimes with an introduction which stresses Jesus’s incredulity at the Jewish leaders’ ignorance of the prophets’ message (9:13; 12:7; 13:14–15; 15:7–9; 21:13, 16, 33, 42). All these factors combine to make it clear to the reader of Mathew

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that Israel has rejected its prophets, and that by rejecting them Israel has failed to obey the Law of Moses (5:17–48). Jesus’s charge that Israel has rejected its prophets clearly echoes many similar charges in the Hebrew Bible itself. The Chronicler’s sad commentary on the end of the southern kingdom stresses Israel’s obstinacy not simply in ignoring but in mocking God’s messengers. It had come to the place where there was “no remedy,” and the exile to Babylon ensued (2 Chr 36:15–16; cf. 24:17–22). Daniel’s great prayer of confession is centered on the admission that “we have not listened to your servants the prophets …” (Dan 9:6, 10; cf. Jer 25:4; 26:5; Neh 9:26, 30). In terms of the “Deuteronomistic” theology of the Hebrew Bible, Israel’s travails are Israel’s own fault—Israel abandoned the Torah and rejected the prophets whom God sent to remind her of her obligations (Deut 28:15 ff.; 1 Kgs 8:46ff.).40 Notable examples of the rejection of the prophets include Ahab and Jezebel’s rejection of Elijah and Micaiah (1 Kgs 18–19, 22), Amaziah’s rejection of Amos (Amos 7:10–17), Pashhur’s persecution of Jeremiah (Jeremiah 20), Jehoiakim’s murder of Uriah son of Shemaiah (Jer 26:20–23), and Zedekiah’s imprisonment of Jeremiah (Jer 37–38). Even Jesus’s “ironic imperative” telling the Jewish leaders to fill up the measure of their ancestors’ guilt by killing him (23:32) has a prophetic ring to it (Isa 8:9–10; Jer 7:21; Amos 4:4–5; Nah 3:14–15).41 His allusion to the murders of Abel and Zechariah effectively sums up the entire history of the murder of God’s prophets in the Hebrew Bible, from Genesis to 2 Chronicles (23:35; cf. Gen 4:8ff.; 2 Chr 24:21).42 Second Temple literature also regularly mentions the rejection of the prophets. The book of Jubilees Jubilees, probably to be dated around 150 B C E, predicts the judgment which will come to Israel when they refuse to listen to the prophets (here called “witnesses”) but instead kill them (1:12–14). The Paraleipomena of Jeremiah, which is probably a Jewish work with Christian interpolations or a Jewish-Christian work, mentions at the outset that the prophet Jeremiah must leave Jerusalem before God can allow the Babylonians to destroy it due to its sins. This is because Jeremiah’s prayers buttress the city against its enemies (Par. Jer. 1:1–8). This same work ends with a note about the desire of the people to kill Jeremiah as they had previously killed Isaiah (Par. Jer. 9:19–31). The Lives of the Prophets, a first century C E Jewish work, recounts how twenty-three prophets died. Most are reported to have died peacefully, but seven are reported to have been martyred (chs. 1–3, 6–7, 15, 23). The Jewish-Christian work The Martyrdom and Ascension of Isaiah was evidently pieced together from separate tractates over a period from the second century BCE to the fourth century C E Its earliest material (1:1–3:12; 5:1–16) describes how Manasseh pursued Isaiah and had him killed. Materials from Qumran also refer to Israel’s rejection of the prophets. 4Q166 f1 ii1–6, commenting on Hos 2:10, states that Israel forgot the God who gave them commandments through his servants the prophets and blindly revered false prophets as gods. CD 7:17–18 and 4Q266 f3 ii18–19 state that Israel despised the words of the 40 11Q19(Temple) 59.2–13 expresses Deuteronomistic theology. 41 The motif of sin coming to its full measure is found in Gen 15:16. Cf. Jub. 14:16; 1 Thess 2:16. 42 Stephen, Paul, and the author of Hebrews also reflect on Israel’s sad history of rejecting its own prophets (Acts 7:52; 1 Thess 2:14–16; Heb 11:32–38).

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prophets. 4Q390 f2 i5 predicts a coming time of evil when Israel will violate the statutes given to them by God’s servants the prophets. The mention of the martyrdom of Zechariah son of Berechiah in Matt 23:35 causes some problems in identification, but clearly Matthew has in mind the murder of Zechariah the son of Jehoiada in 2 Chr 24:21. This murder is recounted in the Midrash Rabbah on Lamentations (Proems 5, 23; cf. 1.16.51; 2.2.4; 2.20.23; 4.13.16) and in other rabbinic works.43 Mathew’s use of this story is not unlike that of the rabbinic materials in that the murder of Zechariah is a particularly egregious sin, one for which the victim implored God’s retribution. For Matthew as well as for the rabbis, that retribution is put into the context of lament over the destruction of Jerusalem. Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus as the ultimate rejected prophet whose death brings the sin of prophetic rejection to a head brings us to the final implicit conceptual intertextuality to be touched upon in this study. Numerous biblical and extrabiblical texts speak of sin coming to a point where it is full. Such “fullness” is a metaphor for a point when God is viewed as saying “enough is enough.” God’s patience with sinners comes to an end and judgment looms. ●●

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Genesis 15:16 (cf. Jub. 14:16–17; 29:11). In Gen 15 God confirms promises previously made to Abram. God tells Abram that his descendants will be oppressed in a foreign land for four hundred years (15:13). However, God will judge the oppressors and in the fourth generation Abram’s descendants will return to the land God has given them. The explanation for the delay in the return of the descendants is that the Amorites’ iniquity is not yet full. The implication is that God has appointed a period of grace for the Amorites, but their judgment is certain when this period concludes. Abram’s descendants will return to the land, and they will be warned not to practice the sort of sins which caused the land’s previous inhabitants to be judged (Lev 18:24–30). However, as the next two texts show, the warning was not heeded. 1 Kings 21:25–26. Ahab acted very abominably as the Amorites had, and just as the Amorites’ iniquity eventually came to fullness and led to their being cast out, so Ahab’s iniquity led to the end of his dynasty in the northern kingdom. 2 Kings 21:10–15. The southern kingdom’s demise is likewise tied to the iniquity of the Amorites. Manasseh king of Judah reversed the reforms of Hezekiah (21:3) and personally practiced blatant idolatry in the very Temple of God (21:6). His sin is characterized as being worse than that of the Amorites. Despite the example of the Amorites, the warnings of the Torah, and the reminders of the prophets, the sins of both Israel and of Judah came to full measure and merited judgment. Daniel 8:23. In Dan 8:15–27 Gabriel explains to Daniel that the visions he has just seen pertain to the divinely appointed time of the end (8:19), when transgressors have finished or run their course (8:23). Daniel 9:24. The decreed purpose of Daniel’s seventy weeks is expressed by six infinitives in 9:24, of which the first two refer to finishing transgression and making an end of sin.

Midrash Tanhuma Yelamdenu on Lev 4:1; Qohelet Rabbah 3:16; 10:4; Tg. Lam 2:20; y. Ta‘an. 69a; b. Git. 57b; b. Sanh. 96b. 43

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2 Maccabees 6:12–17. Here a theodicy distinguishes between God’s punishment of Gentiles when their sins have reached full measure and his corrective discipline of Israel so that their sins do not become worse: For in the case of the other nations the Lord waits patiently to punish them until they have reached the full measure of their sins; but he does not deal in this way with us,15 in order that he may not take vengeance on us afterward when our sins have reached their height.16 Therefore he never withdraws his mercy from us. Although he disciplines us with calamities, he does not forsake his own people (NRSV, italics added). 14

At first glance this text might be understood to say that Israel’s sins never reach full measure. But the point is the distinction between God’s retributive dealings with the other nations and God’s disciplinary dealings with the covenant nation Israel. Both have occasions when their sins come to a head, but God’s manner of dealing with such occasions differs. This distinction between God’s punishment of Gentile nations and his discipline of Israel is consistent with the more optimistic understanding of the eschatological implications of Jesus’s lament over Jerusalem in Matthew 23:37–39. This will be dealt with at the conclusion of this study. ●●

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L.A.B. (Pseudo-Philo) 26:13. This unusual text is found in an expansion (25:3– 28:10) of the brief biblical account of Kenaz, father of Othniel (Judg 3:9–11). In this account God commands Kenaz to take twelve stones upon which are written the names of the twelve tribes of Israel (cf. Exod 28:17–20) and put them in the ark of the covenant along with the tablets of the Law of Moses as a memorial until Jahel (Solomon?) builds a house in God’s name (26:12). Later, Israel’s sins will reach full measure and God’s enemies will have power over his house. Then God will take the contents of the ark and store them until the final judgment of the world (26:13). Two unusual features of this text link it to Matt 23:32. First, Israel’s sins, not those of the Gentiles, reach full measure. Second, Israel’s sins reach full measure before judgment day. 1QS 10:23–24. The Community Rule requires the tongue to bless God and recount God’s righteousness, not human rebellion (10:23–24). Wise, Abegg, and Cook translate the passage as follows, “The righteousness of God shall my tongue recount always. Human rebellion, made full by sin, as vain I shall purge from my lips.” But the translation of García Martínez and Tigchelaar segments the text differently: “And my tongue will continually recount both the just acts of God and the unfaithfulness of men until their iniquity is complete. I shall remove from my lips worthless words …”44 The first translation tends to take “the fullness of sin” as particularly vile sins which the author pledges to remove from his speech. The second translation seems to involve the author’s pledge to recount both divine

Michael O. Wise, Martin G. Abegg, Jr., and Edward M. Cook, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2005), 142; Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J.C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls: Study Edition (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 1.97. 44

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New Studies in Textual Interplay justice and human infidelity until iniquity is complete. This better fits the tenor of other biblical texts on the fullness of sin. 4Q389 f8.2.4–7. This text is part of a group of fragments described as a prophetic apocryphon. The relevant fragment speaks of a blasphemer (Antiochus IV?) who will come after ten jubilees. Israel is described as weeping by the River Chebar in exile. God’s face will be hidden from them until they finish their iniquity, and there will be a sign for them when they have finished their iniquity. This obscure and fragmentary text may be significant of Matt 23:32 in that Israel seems to be described as coming to a point where their sin is full. 11Q19–20 [Temple] 59:3–13. Israel’s covenant-breaking is described as reaching an ultimate point (59:9) before they will wholeheartedly return to the Lord. Israel will become utterly guilty, guilty of all wrong-doing, before they acknowledge their sin and return to God. Only when the nation reaches this ethical nadir will their repentance and restoration occur.

These texts from the Bible and the Second Temple period45 show that the motif of sin eventually coming to a full measure that warranted divine judgment was somewhat common. Jesus’s words in Matt 23:32 are shocking but hardly novel. The implications of the motif seem clear. God patiently postponed judgment at various times in biblical history until there was no alternative (e.g., 2 Chr 36:15–17). But when sin had become patently egregious, when it reached a point of ripeness, so to speak, God was compelled to act. God’s patience wore down as sin got worse. Israel’s wicked treatment of its prophets came to its tipping point when its leaders rejected its ultimate prophet Jesus. From the perspective of Matt 23, judgment would come, but would that judgment be condemning and final or corrective and disciplinary? Does Israel’s ultimate rejected prophet reject Israel?

Conclusion: Jesus and Biblical Fulfillment in Matthew Matthew depicts Jesus as one who thinks like a prophet with a Deuteronomistic worldview in Matt 23. Further, Jesus speaks like a prophet, with oracles of woe and ironic imperatives. Ultimately, Jesus is violently treated like a rejected prophet by the Jerusalem authorities. All this brings sin to its full measure and leads inexorably to the destruction of the Second Temple, just as the rejection of the biblical prophets led to the destruction of Solomon’s Temple. The capstone of these biblical themes is Matthew’s characteristic presentation of biblical fulfillment. Matthew portrays Jesus as speaking of his impending death as the culmination of Israel’s historical pattern of rejecting its own prophets. Hypothetically the Jerusalem leaders could repent, but then, as Jesus put it in Gethsemane, “how then would the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must happen this way?” (πῶς οὖν πληρωθῶσιν αἱ γραφαὶ ὅτι οὕτως δεῖ γενέσθαι; 26:54). Thus Jesus counsels nonresistance to the party that arrests him. He could have

See also, 1 Thess 2:14–16, Barn. 5:11; Gos. Pet. 5:17; b. Sanh. 98a. 45

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called upon his Father to summon multitudes of angels, but he will do the Father’s will in fulfillment of the Scriptures (26:24, 39, 42, 56). Matthew’s distinctive understanding of, and emphasis on, biblical fulfillment centers around his ten fulfillment formula quotations that utilize the verb πληρόω. These are especially prominent in Matt 1–2, texts that have been frequently addressed by scholars. Fulfillment in Matthew has as much to do with historical patterns and ethical norms as it does with prophetic promises. These categories are not discrete but overlapping; individual fulfillments may contain elements of all three aspects. At times the ethical element is preeminent: obedience fulfills the Law (3:15; 5:17). At other times prophecy is prevalent: what is promised is fulfilled when it happens (4:14; 8:17; 12:17; 21:4; 26:54, 56). Yet probably the most common aspect of fulfillment in Matthew is historical: when events are recapitulated, they receive their ultimate significance (1:22; 2:15, 17, 23; 13:14, 35; 23:32; 27:9). By portraying Jesus as recapitulating these biblical events, Matthew demonstrates the providence of God in fulfilling his promises to Israel. With the spectrum of Matthew’s fulfillment language in mind, one gains a much richer understanding of Jesus’s ironic command that the scribes and Pharisees fulfill the measure of their ancestors’ sin (23:32). Matthew 23:29–36 presents Jesus’s opponents, the religious leaders, as the culmination of previous opponents of God’s messengers, the prophets. Just as the prophets anticipate the Messiah, so the prophets’ opponents anticipate the Messiah’s opponents. The numerous biblical instances of rejection of the prophets provide a pattern which leads up to an ultimate fulfillment in the rejection of Jesus. The religious leaders are the descendants of those who murdered the prophets (23:31), and Jesus is the one to whom the abused prophets pointed, the ultimate prophet. Jesus’s arrest and death fulfill the pattern of the violent fate met by a series of rejected prophets. Matthew 23:29–36 speaks prophetically of the same sort of judgment narrated by the Chronicler in the last book of the Hebrew Bible: The LORD God of their Fathers had sent word to them through His messengers daily without fail, for he had pity on His people and his dwelling-place. But they mocked the messengers of God and disdained His words and taunted His prophets until the wrath of God against His people grew beyond remedy. He therefore brought the king of the Chaldeans upon them, who killed their youths by the sword in their sanctuary; he did not spare youth, maiden, elder, or graybeard, but delivered all into his hands. (2 Chr 36:15–17, JPS)

In the Hebrew Bible the dramatic irony of the Chronicler’s forlorn sadness is mitigated by the hope engendered by God’s mercy in raising up Cyrus King of Persia, who decreed that the Jews’ return to their land and their rebuilding of God’s desolate house (2 Chr 36:22–23). Matthean scholars disagree as to whether any such mitigation may be found in 23:37–39, Jesus’s final lament over Jerusalem. Jesus’s prediction of the desolate “house” (23:38) most likely refers to the destruction of the Temple as well as the city of Jerusalem in 70 CE Many scholars read this desolation as a word of judgment indicating God has permanently abandoned

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Israel.46 Two factors militate against this viewpoint, the first being Matthew’s depiction of Jesus as a prophet in the Deuteronomistic pattern of sin, discipline, confession, and restoration. This pattern has played out previously in the history of Israel47— Why should the prospect of restoration be ruled out here? Matthew speaks of Jesus as the fulfillment (not termination) of Israel’s history, Law, and Prophets (Matt 1:1–17; 5:17–20), and of his ultimate reign over Israel through the Twelve (Matt 19:28). Jesus’s disciples’ ongoing mission to Israel until the parousia is also featured (e.g., Matt 10:23; 23:34; 24:9–14; 28:18–20). Matthew does allow for the restoration of Israel.48 A second factor indicating that Israel’s last prophet has not abandoned Israel is the culminating word of Matt 23, the quotation of Ps 118:26 (εὐλογημένος ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἐν ὀνόματι κυρίου; “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord”). Jesus is depicted as saying that his hearers will not see him until they utter these words.49 Psalm 118 is a psalm of thanksgiving that expressed praise and celebrated victory over enemies in the context of Temple worship. Scholars who view Matt 23:37–39 as a stark word of judgment and abandonment50 take the textual interplay here as a reversal of Ps 118’s original sense. In their view, at the parousia Israel will be forced to bless Jesus, and so the psalm’s spontaneity and joyful worship is replaced by a strictly compulsory, begrudging acknowledgment of Jesus that is too late to save. But if the textual interplay preserves the original sense of Ps 118, a very different conclusion results—Matt 23:39 posits a ray of hope that Israel, despite its leaders’ sins which culminate in the rejection of Jesus and bring destruction to Jerusalem, will experience the joy and blessing of Ps 118 if it will someday sincerely reiterate Ps 118:26. A note on textual “intraplay” is also needed here. The crowd had previously uttered Ps 118:26 when it joyfully welcomed Jesus to Jerusalem (Matt 21:9). But the crowd is persuaded by the chief priests and elders to demand Jesus’s crucifixion (27:20–23). How are the two quotations of Ps 118:26 (Matt 21:9; 23:39), which frame Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem and his departure from the temple, related? In the view that Matt 23:37– 39 speaks only of abandonment and judgment, the crowd’s enthusiastic yet superficial and temporary welcome of Jesus is answered by his spiteful parting shot at them, one which sarcastically employs their own words (which are of course the words of Ps 118:26) against them. This understanding would fit the imagery of a raptor seizing its prey more than that of a hen gathering its chicks. But if Jesus’s quotation of Ps 118:26 is sincere and straightforward, retaining the original hopeful sense of the psalm, the crowd’s superficiality is answered by God’s covenantal love. Jesus’s last word is a faintly E.g. Luz, Matthew 21–28, 158–65. Luz provides a helpful overview of the exegetical issues and the history of interpretation. He states, “There is no glimmer of light at the end of the woes discourse” (164), and opines that 23:27–39 “demands a fundamental theological challenge” (165). 47 E.g., 2 Chr 36:15–23; Ezra 9:8–9, Neh 9:16, 19, 26–28, 31; 2 Macc 36:15–17; Tob 13:15–17; 14:3–6. 48 Along this line, see Graham Stanton, A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), 247–55. See also, Mark A. Elliott’s discussion of Second Temple models of Israel’s restoration in The Survivors of Israel:  A Reconsideration of the Theology of Pre-Christian Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 515–637. 49 The words which introduce Ps 118:26 are οὐ μή με ἴδητε ἀπ᾿ ἄρτι ἕως ἂν εἴπητε. Grammatically, this is an emphatic negation (οὐ μή …) hinging on a contingent (ἕως ἂν …) future circumstance. Israel will not see Jesus (again) until (unless) it utters (sincerely) these words. Put positively, Israel will see Jesus if it utters these words. See Dale Allison, “Matt 23:39 = Luke 13:35b,” 75–84. 50 Luz, Matthew 21–28, 164 personally holds the view and lists others who do so. 46

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hopeful word of grace, standing as a foil to the crowd’s inadequate understanding and the leaders’ rejection. In this view there is a fundamental stability of meaning in the intraplay of Matt 21:9 and Matt 23:39 as well as in the interplay of Matt 21:9; 23:39 and Ps 118:26. It seems best to conclude then, that Matthew, along with the Hebrew Bible and Second temple literature, maintains a Deuteronomistic Weltanschauung. God’s covenantal love for Israel will bring blessing if Israel repents. For Matthew, the desolation of 23:38 will no doubt come, but Israel will be restored to God’s favor if it one day blesses the one who comes in the name of the Lord. This is in keeping with the prophetic hope of a redeemed Jerusalem, exemplified in such texts as Isa 52:6–10 (JPS): Assuredly, my people shall learn my name, Assuredly, [they shall learn] on that day that I, the One who promised, am now at hand.     How welcome on the mountain are the footsteps of the herald,       announcing happiness,       heralding good fortune,       announcing victory,       telling  Zion,          ‘Your God is  King.’    Hark!     Your watchmen raise their voices,     as one they shout for joy;        For every eye shall behold the LORD’s return to Zion. Raise a shout together, O ruins of Jerusalem! For the LORD will comfort his people, will redeem Jerusalem.

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The Good News of Isaiah and Rome in Mark 1:1 Adam Winn

Introduction According to Plato, “The beginning is the most important part of any work” (Resp. 2.377a). While Plato follows this claim by immediately addressing the particular work of raising and training children, his words find resonance in the world of GrecoRoman literature as well. This reality is reflected in Aristotle’s claim that the beginning of a literary work paves the way for what would follow (Rhet. 3.14.1). Thus, Mark 1:1, regarded by many as an incipit or title for the entire Gospel, carries great significance for understanding the entire Markan narrative. Presumably, this line communicates the significance of the entire Gospel and offers the reader a lens through which the Gospel ought to be read.1 What then is the significance of this incipit’s content and what lens does it offer the reader? Throughout the last century of NT scholarship, the answer to this question has been caught up in the various tides and movements of the guild itself, particularly those related to pride of place given to either the Jewish or the Greco-Roman world as the primary context for the NT. In this chapter, I will trace the way the pendulum has swung between the primacy of the Greco-Roman context and that of the Jewish context in the field of NT studies, paying particular attention to the way in which such movement has impacted scholarly perception of

There has been significant debate regarding the syntactical parameters of Mark 1:1, that is, does it stand as a distinct syntactical unit, or is it syntactically linked to Mark 1:2–3, or perhaps even 4? Additionally, it has been argued whether Mark 1:1 functions as a title for the entire Gospel of Mark or simply as an introduction to the Markan prologue, Mark 1:1–15. The debate over these issues will not be repeated here, but the interested reader is directed to relevant secondary literature; for example, see Gerhard Arnold, “Mk 1.1 und Eröffnungswendungen in griechischen und lateinischen Schriften,” ZNW 68 (1977): 123–27; Robert Guelich, “ ‘The Beginning of the Gospel’: Mark 1:1–15,” BR 27 (1982): 5–15; M. Eugene Boring, “Mark 1:1–15 and the Beginning of the Gospel,” Semeia 52 (1990): 43–81; Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 130–132; and others. For the sake of this study, I will move forward under the growing consensus that Mark 1:1 is an independent literary unit and functions as a title for the entire gospel, a conclusion held by many recent Markan interpreters; see Boring, “Beginning”; Rikki Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1997), 56; Joel Marcus, Mark 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 27; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 143; Collins, Mark, 130; and others. 1

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possible contexts (and intertexts) for the Markan incipit.2 After considering what have long been perceived as competing contexts for Mark’s incipit, I will explore ways in which such differing contexts might find unity and how such unity might open up new possibilities for understanding not only the purpose of Mark’s incipit, but also the Gospel as a whole. In particular, I will consider how the incipit might be related to Flavian? self-promotion and propaganda and the challenges such realities would have created for the early Christian movement.

Favoring a Greco-Roman Context During the first half of the twentieth century, due to the significant influence of the “history of religions school,” the pendulum swung heavily toward the Greco-Roman world as the primary context for much of the language, ideas, and theological developments found in the NT. The gnostic redeemer myth, the imperial cult, the concept of the Hellenistic divine man, and many other concepts of the GrecoRoman world were understood to be primary, if not seminal, for many NT concepts, concepts such as “Son of God,” “Gospel,” and “Lord.” These conclusions influenced interpretation of Mark’s incipit, particularly scholarly perception of the sociohistorical realities undergirding both the incipit’s construction and meaning. Of particular importance was the perceived development and use of the word εὐαγγέλιον or “gospel” within the NT and early Christianity, as this word is prominent in the Markan incipit. In the TDNT, Gerhard Friedrich concludes that the word was only used in a secular sense in the OT, and as such, one must look to the Greco-Roman world to find a context for understanding the word’s appearance and use in early Christian literature.3 While εὐαγγέλιον has a long history of referring to “good news” regarding military victory in Hellenistic literature, Friedrich concluded that the most meaningful connection to its use in early Christianity is the word’s use in the Roman imperial cult.4 Friedrich notes the word’s use in reference to an emperor’s birth, military victory, political ascension, or simply the many benefactions he was perceived to bestow upon the empire. For example, Plutarch speaks of the “gospel” or “good news” of the peace brought about by Augustus (Pomp. 66.3). Twice, Josephus references the “gospel” of Vespasian’s rise to power (J.W. 4.618; J.W. 4.656–657). Perhaps most striking is the Priene calendar inscription:

I refer to both contexts and intertexts here because it is virtually impossible to demonstrate the direct literary dependence between Mark’s incipit and a single intertext. The best one can demonstrate is general influence from a certain body of literature (as we will see below, the Isaianic servant song or Roman imperial inscriptions). Because one can only demonstrate the general influence from certain bodies of literature on the Markan incipit, it is possible that the influence does not come from any particular text, but from the larger social, historical, and political contexts that produced the literature that shares similarities with Mark’s incipit. 3 Gerhard Friedrich, “Εὐαγγέλιον,” TDNT (vol. 2; ed. Gerhard Kittel and Gerhard Friedrich; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964), 721. 4 Ibid., 724–25. 2

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Since providence, which has ordered all things and is deeply interested in our life, has set in most perfect order by giving us Augustus whom she filled with virtue that he might benefit humankind, sending him as a savior, both for us and for our descendants, that he might end war and arrange all things, and since he, Caesar, by his appearance excelled even our anticipations, surpassing all previous benefactors, and not even leaving to posterity any hope of surpassing what he has done, and since the birthday of the god (θεοῦ) Augustus was the beginning (ἦρξεν) of the good tidings (εὐαγγελίων) for the world that came by reason of him.5

While “good news” is clearly used here in reference to the birth of Augustus, more significant are the strong verbal parallels between this calendar inscription and the Markan incipit, both of which refer to the “beginning of the good news.” The calendar inscription expresses the foundation myth of Roman imperial ideology. Prior to the coming of Augustus the world lay in disarray, lacking peace, unity, and stability. It longed for such realities and cried out to the gods for a savior to bring them. The answer to such longing was the divine gift of Augustus, who brought peace and order to all things. Thus, his birth, ascension, and benefaction were truly “good news” for the world. Like Friedrich, most NT scholars in the first half of the twentieth century contended that Hellenistic Christians seized on such language to describe their own, quite similar foundation myth.6 The Jews had long been waiting for peace and a savior who would bring it, and according to Christians, the God of Israel had sent just such a savior in Jesus. God’s appointment of Jesus as his Messiah and world ruler, like Augustus in the minds of Greeks and Romans, brought about a new era of peace to the entire world. Thus, the reality Jesus brought and the story of Jesus bringing that reality was appropriately described by Christians as Gospel or “good news.” Along with εὐαγγέλιον, the title “Son of God” (υἱοῦ θεοῦ) features prominently in Mark’s incipit. However, before exploring the significance of this title, it must be noted that its presence in the incipit is textually uncertain. The title is missing in the major uncial Sinaiticus (‫)*א‬, as well as in a handful of manuscripts of lesser note. The title appears in the major uncials Vaticanus (B), Alexandrinus (A), Bezae (D), and is added to Sinaiticus by the hand of the first corrector, all of which are strong external evidence for accepting the inclusion. Yet many interpreters favor the omission of For this English translation see Craig A. Evans, “Mark’s Incipit and the Priene Calendar Inscription:  From Jewish Gospel to Greco-Roman Gospel,” JGRChJ (2000):  69 (see the Greek text on page 68). For the entire Greek inscription, see Wilhelm Dittenberger, ed. Orientis Graecae Inscriptiones Selectae (2 vols.; Leipizig: S. Hirzel, 1903–5; repr., Hildesheim: Olms, 1960), 2.48–60. 6 Perhaps most importantly, see Wilhelm Bousset, Kyrios Christos (trans. John E. Steely; New  York:  Abingdon, 1970 [German orig. 1913]), 315; also see Adolf von Harnack, Reden und Aufsätze (vol. 1; Giessen: Töpelmann, 1906), 301–6; Ernst Lohmyeyer, Christuskult und Kaiserkult (Tübingen:  Mohr Siebeck, 1919); Moses Hadas and Morton Smith, Heroes and Gods:  Spiritual Biographies in Antiquity (New York: Harper and Row, 1963); and others. It should be noted that while this was the dominant position, exceptions existed. Ezra Gould seems to see the word as exclusively Christian in its meaning and gives no consideration to the Roman imperial cult for understanding its use in Mark; The Gospel according to St. Mark (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1896), 3. Similar treatment is given by Vincent Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark (London: MacMillan, 1952), 151–52. 5

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the title due to internal evidence, namely, that it is more likely for a scribe to add a nomina sacra than to omit one. However, given that Mark’s incipit would conclude with a list of six genitive words, all of which were abbreviated nomina sacra that lacked spacing between the letters (i.e., ΙΥΧΥΥΥΘΥ), a scribal omission is indeed plausible.7 Interpreters are rather evenly divided as to whether the title should be included, but given the plausibility of the title’s authenticity, I will consider its significance here. As with the word εὐαγγέλιον, for much of the twentieth century NT interpreters concluded that the Greco-Roman milieu was primary for understanding the title “Son of God.” It was widely believed that there was no evidence to suggest that “Son of God” was used as a title of any sort in Second Temple Judaism. While some connections were made between the title and the OT’s identification of Israel’s kings as God’s sons (e.g., Ps 2:7 and 2 Sam 7:14), such connections were widely disregarded for the establishment of a titular use of “Son of God” in early Christianity.8 Instead, NT interpreters looked to the Greco-Roman world to understand the title’s meaning and origin. While a precedent in the Jewish world was lacking, precedents in the Greco-Roman world were abundant. In both Greek mythology and ruler cults, sons of gods were plentiful. For example, Apollo was the son of Zeus and the goddess Leto; Heracles was the son of Zeus and the human Alcmene; Alexander the great promoted himself as the son of Zeus; and Plato was rumored to be the son of Apollo.9 In the Greek world, such divine sonship implied some level of divinity, either full or partial depending on the status of one’s parents. For example, Apollo was fully divine because both of his parents were gods, while Heracles was only a demigod because his mother was human. In the Roman world, sons of gods were also quite prominent, though the concept was at times different from that which existed among the Greeks. Certainly, Rome borrowed Greek mythology and embraced the notions of human beings as the offspring of a divine parent, but the concept of divine sonship also featured prominently in the Roman imperial cult. The Roman practice of apotheosis, the divinization of a person upon death, led to a unique use of the title “son of god” by Roman emperors. The first emperor Augustus frequently used the title, both on coins and in inscriptions. However, the use of the title did not, at least for Romans proper, convey the divinity of Augustus. Rather, the title simply conveyed Augustus’ relationship to the divinized Julius Caesar, that is, Augustus was the adopted

See Robert Guelich, Mark 1–8:26 (WBC 34A; Dallas: Word, 1989), 6; Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (2nd ed.; New  York:  UBS, 2002), 62. For a vigorous defense of the originality of the longer reading, see Tommy Wasserman, “The ‘Son of God’ Was in the Beginning (Mark 1:1),” JTS 62 (2011): 20–50. 8 See Rudolf Bultmann, who recognized that divine sonship was a part of earliest Christian tradition, but that such a messianic understanding does not explain its later use in Hellenistic Christianity; Theology of the New Testament (2 vols.; trans. Kendrick Grobel; New York: Scribner’s, 1951), 1:50. Wilhelm Bousett is less optimistic about a connection between early Jewish Christianity and the title “Son of God,” attributing the origins of its use in the New Testament almost exclusively to the Greco-Roman world; see Kyrios Christos, 94–98. For similar conclusions, see also, Ludwig Bieler, Theios Anēr: Das Bild des “Göttlichen Menschen” in Spätantike und Frühchristentum (vol. 1; Vienna: Höfels, 1935). 9 For discussion see Adela Yarbro Collins, “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among Greeks and Romans,” HTR 93 (2000): 87; and Adam Winn, “Son of God,” in The Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels (ed. Joel B. Green, et al; 2nd ed.; Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2013), 887. 7

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son of the now divinized Julius Caesar. As subsequent emperors were divinized, their successors could make similar use of the title “son of god.” It was against these various Greco-Roman conceptions of divine sonship that NT scholars understood both the development of the concept within Christianity and the use of the title in the NT. It was believed that the primitive Jewish Christian faith merely recognized Jesus as the Messiah and that it never identified Jesus as “Son of God.” Such identification was the result of Hellenistic Christianity seizing on the concept and language of divine sonship that existed in its own culture. Thus, the church’s use of the concept of divine sonship and the title “Son of God” could be understood against the wide array of uses that the Greco-Roman milieu offered, for example, the offspring of a god, one wielding divine power, a world ruler such as Rome’s emperors, or perhaps all of these concepts in some way rolled into one. As the title appeared in the Markan incipit, it was largely understood in light of this broad Greco-Roman context, though the background of the Roman imperial cult was privileged given that the word εὐαγγέλιον was primarily understood in terms of the same cult. Mark’s incipit thus echoed the language of the Roman imperial cult, language expressed in inscriptions like that found at Priene. The incipit was understood to be using the language of the existing world power to declare the beginning of the reign of a different world ruler, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who both was and brought about “gospel” or “good news” for the world. Interestingly, such readings of Mark’s incipit rarely explored the subversive nature of such claims. Little attention was paid to the way in which such claims might challenge the religio-political claims of Rome. Instead, the Roman imperial cult was largely understood as a simply a sociocultural reality that provided the early Christians language and imagery to communicate its own theological truths.

Considering a Jewish Context After the Holocaust and the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the pendulum in NT studies began to swing toward Judaism as the primary context for the NT. Armed with new evidence from the Dead Sea Scrolls, and thus a variety of new lenses for seeing Second Temple Jewish texts, the conclusions of “the history of religions school” regarding the development of Christianity and many of its core concepts came under attack. As a new wave of scholars began to demonstrate that better Jewish precedents existed for such concepts, reliance on the Greco-Roman world for understanding them was significantly undermined. This dramatic shift in NT scholarship impacted analysis of Mark’s incipit, as language such as εὐαγγέλιον (gospel) and “Son of God” began to be understood in light of a Jewish rather than Greco-Roman context. Studies on the word εὐαγγέλιον shifted in emphasis and began to consider the word’s Jewish roots over against the word’s use in the Roman imperial cult. Scholars had long recognized the Isaianic use of the verb εὐαγγελίζω (“I proclaim good news”) as a background for understanding both the Jesus of history and the Jesus of the Gospels. NT passages such as Luke 4:18; Matt 11:5??//Luke 7:22; and Luke 16:16, were all understood in terms of both the one

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who would proclaim good news and the good news that was proclaimed in Isa 40–61. Despite such connections between the proclaimer of/proclaimed “good news” in Isaiah and these gospel texts, scholars were long reluctant to understand the NT’s use of the noun εὐαγγέλιον in terms of Isaiah’s use of the verb εὐαγγελίζω. With the noun, the Greco-Roman context was regularly preferred over a possible Jewish context. But as the Jewish context of the NT began to take pride of place in the field, the reluctance to understand εὐαγγέλιον in light of Isaianic “good news” began to disappear.10 Many began to perceive the disconnect between “good news” and the proclaimer of/ proclaimed good news as artificial, placing restrictions on language that were likely nonexistent for early Christian exegetes. When one is willing to consider the Isaianic use of εὐαγγελίζω as an intentional intertext for Mark 1:1, the incipit takes on a new dimension. Isaiah’s use of εὐαγγελίζω is heavily eschatological and religious in nature. In Isa 41:27, the “one who proclaims good news” (εὐαγγελιζόμενος) proclaims the victory of Yahweh over Israel’s enemies. In Isa 40:9–10 and 52:7, he announces God’s renewed rule over Israel. Such images find resonance with the Markan Jesus, who proclaims the rule of God (Kingdom of God) and proclaims God’s victory over Satan, demonic power, sickness and even death. The Markan Jesus is one who both proclaims good news but also is himself “good news” as he enacts the kingdom of God within the Markan narrative. Thus, one might conclude that Mark’s incipit identifies Jesus as the one who brings Isaianic good news, and at the same time identifies him as the content of that same good news.11 The connection between Isaiah and the Markan incipit is strengthened by the fact that immediately following the Markan incipit is not only an explicit reference to the prophet Isaiah, but a citation that in part comes from Isa 40:3—a verse that is soon followed by Isaiah’s first reference to “the one who brings good news.” Clearly, the Markan evangelist is writing his gospel with an eye toward Isaiah, and in particular, the “servant song” of Isaiah in which the proclaimer of good news features prominently. Relatively recent works have persuasively argued that throughout much of Mark’s narrative, the eschatological vision of Isaiah is a primary intertext and that the Markan Jesus is presented as one who transforms that vision into reality.12 Given the way in which an incipit functions to identify the purpose of a literary work, the presence of Isaianic influence throughout Mark’s Gospel strengthens the case that the “good news” of the incipit envisions that which was proclaimed in Isaiah.

10 See Reginald H. Fuller, The Mission and Achievement of Jesus (SBT 12; London: SCM, 1954), 34–36; Morna D. Hooker, Jesus and the Servant (London: SPCK, 1959), 66–67; Robert Guelich, “The Gospel Genre,” in Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (ed. Peter Stuhlmacher; WUNT 28; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1983), 183–219; Otto Betz, “Jesu Evangelium vom Gottesreich” in Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (ed. Peter Stuhlmacher; WUNT 28; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1983), 55–77. 11 For discussion on whether “Jesus Christ” is functioning as an objective or subjective genitive, see Adam Winn, The Purpose of Mark’s Gospel:  An Early Christian Response to Roman Imperial Propaganda (WUNT II/245; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 93–94; See also, Marcus, Mark, 146– 147; Eugene M. Boring, Mark (NTL; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006, 30. 12 See Joel Marcus, The Way of the Lord: Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Gospel of Mark (Louisville, KY:  Westminster John Knox Press, 1992); Rikki Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1997).

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The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls forced interpreters to reevaluate the origin and meaning of the title “Son of God” as well, a title that was long understood to find its origins in Hellenistic rather than Jewish Christianity (see earlier discussion). But the Dead Sea Scrolls provided clear evidence that the title “Son of God” was indeed at home in the Jewish world. The title “Son of God” and “Son of the most high” appear in 4Q246. Though debated, there is a growing sense that the title likely refers to a messianic figure. If such a conclusion is correct, then 4Q246 offers evidence that “Son of God” was indeed a messianic title and one that could be used by the Jewish church for Jesus. Other texts from the Dead Sea Scrolls confirm that the concept of divine sonship was closely associated with Jewish messianic thought and expectations. 4Q174 links 2 Sam 7:14 with a royal Messiah and 1Q28a refers to God begetting the Messiah. Such evidence allows interpreters to confidently ground the title “Son of God” in the early Jewish Christian movement and to understand NT uses of the title in light of a Jewish rather than Greco-Roman context. Thus, the identification of Jesus as “Son of God” in Mark’s incipit can rightfully be understood as Jewish messianic title rather than a title imbued with meaning from the Greco-Roman milieu (e.g., Roman imperial cult, divine man, etc.). One might point to Mark 1:11, in which the words of the divine voice, “You are my Son, the beloved,” clearly cite the royal coronation hymn Ps 2:7, as evidence that the Markan incipit is drawing on a Jewish context rather than a Greco-Roman one. This shift in the field of NT studies from emphasizing the primacy of the Jewish context rather than the Greco-Roman context has not surprisingly led to a similar shift in the way Markan interpreters interpret Mark’s incipit, that is, favoring a Jewish context over a Greco-Roman one. In the midst of this shift, not only have interpreters drawn on the evidence that I have outlined earlier, but many such interpreters have also produced arguments against the validity of reading Mark’s incipit against a GrecoRoman context. Peter Stuhlmacher is a leading proponent among the detractors of reading Mark’s incipit in light of a Greco-Roman context.13 Stuhlmacher argues that the use of εὐαγγέλιον in the Greco-Roman world is primarily secular/political in nature rather than religious. As such, a religious Jewish context is to be preferred over against a secular Greco-Roman context. Moreover, while Stuhlmacher recognizes strong literary parallels between Mark’s incipit and the Priene Calendar inscription, he argues that the inscription uses the plural form εὐαγγέλια rather than the singular form, εὐαγγέλιον, that is found in Mark’s incipit, a difference that for Stuhlmacher distances the two in terms of a possible intertextual relationship. Today, the majority of Markan interpreters seem to favor the Jewish context for understanding Mark’s incipit.14 Though most Markan commentators will note the similarities between Mark’s incipit and the Priene Calendar inscription, few attribute much significance to such similarities or give them primacy in understanding the incipit. Peter Stuhlmacher, Das paulinische Evangelium (Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1968), 235–44. 14 There are some exceptions to be sure; see Eugene Boring who seems to give more weight to the Greco-Roman context: Mark , 30–32; see also, Ben Witherington III, The Gospel of Mark: A SocioRhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 68–70. 13

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The Emergence of Empire Studies Despite widespread agreement that the Jewish context is primary for understanding the Markan incipit, in the last two decades a noteworthy minority has sought to resurrect the primacy of the Greco-Roman context. With the rise of “empire” studies as a subfield within NT studies, interpreters within this subfield have been vigilant in detecting ways in which NT authors might be directly engaging and responding to realities within the Roman imperial world.15 Given what appear to be striking similarities between the Markan incipit and the language of the Roman Empire, such interpreters claim that the incipit seems to be functioning as a means of subverting and/or combatting Roman imperial power. When it comes to the Markan incipit, empire studies have picked up the Greco-Roman mantel that was once carried by the “history of religions school,” albeit with different presuppositions and interpretive goals in mind. Thus, the debate about the proper context and potential intertexts for reading Mark’s incipit, Jewish or Greco-Roman, continues. Proponents of empire criticism certainly rely on evidence once proffered by the “history of religion school,” particularly the strong the similarities between the language of Mark’s incipit and the Roman imperial world. However, not all empire critics share the same beliefs about the development of Christianity that played a crucial role in the conclusions of the “history of religions school.” For example, empire critics could easily reject the notion that a word like “gospel” or the title “Son of God” found their Christian origins in Hellenistic rather than Palestinian Christianity. The origin of such words in Christianity is largely irrelevant to the empire critic and has no necessary bearing on how one reads Mark’s use of such words. That these words might have found their origin in Palestinian rather than Hellenistic Christianity does not mean that Hellenistic Christians could not later use them in ways imbued with different and new significances than they carried in a Palestinian Christian setting. Graham Stanton captured this position quite well when he says, “I shall insist that, although the imperial cult was not the source of early Christian use of the word group [εὐαγγέλιον], it was the background against which distinctively Christian usage was forged and first heard.”16 Empire critics argue that greater knowledge of the nature of the Roman imperial world undermines certain claims made by proponents of a Jewish background for the Markan incipit. For example, Stuhlmacher’s claim that the Roman imperial use of “gospel” was largely secular and nonpolitical flies in the face of more recent understanding of the Roman imperial world. For Romans (as well as Greeks!) politics

15 For examples, see Richard Horsley, ed., Paul and Empire:  Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society (Harrisburg, PA:  Trinity, 1997); Richard Horsley, Jesus and Empire:  The Kingdom of God and the New World Disorder. (Minneapolis, Fortress, 2003); Richard Horsley, ed., In the Shadow of Empire (Louisville, KY:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008); Warren Carter, The Roman Empire and the New Testament:  An Essential Guide (Nashville:  Abingdon, 2006); Adam Winn, ed., An Introduction to Empire in the New Testament (RBS; Atlanta: SBL, 2016). 16 Graham N. Stanton, Jesus and the Gospels (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2004), 2 (original emphasis).

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and religion were complexly intertwined. Roman military and political victory was viewed as an expression of divine will, as was the reign of any one single ruler.17 Such rulers were the objects of religious worship after their death in the city of Rome itself and during their lifetime throughout most other parts of the empire.18 The emperor himself was the pontifex maximus, the supreme leader of Roman religion. The Roman imperial cult was the primary means by which Rome sought political loyalty from those it had conquered.19 While Rome used armies to win new territory, it largely used religious ideology to maintain control over the conquered. In light of such realities, claiming that “gospel” was a political concept for Romans rather than a religious one, as if these realities could be parsed out in such a way, is significantly misguided. As I have argued elsewhere, the arguments of those who reject a Greco-Roman context for the Markan incipit in favor of a Jewish one appear to be inconsistent at times. Stuhlmacher’s claim that the plural εὐαγγέλια in the Priene inscription and the singular εὐαγγέλιον in Mark’s incipit undermines potential intertextuality seems radically inconsistent with arguments that seek to establish an intertextual relationship between the Markan incipit and Isaiah—a position that Stuhlmacher embraces. It was Isaiah’s use of the verb εὐαγγελίζω and Mark’s use of the noun εὐαγγέλιον that long dissuaded interpreters from recognizing any sort of intertextuality between the Markan incipit and Isaiah. In many ways, it was the rejection of such an artificial and restrictive understanding of language that opened the door for interpreters to see Isaiah as a plausible intertext for Mark and the Markan incipit. Thus, if it is possible for the Markan evangelist to move from verb to noun, that is, εὐαγγελίζω to εὐαγγέλιον, how can proponents of such a move deny that the same evangelist could just as easily move from a plural noun to a singular noun, that is, from εὐαγγελία to εὐαγγέλιον? It seems to me that the argument either works both ways or it does not work at all. Thus, empire critics and those sympathetic to their position see no evidence that undermines reading Mark’s incipit in light of the Roman imperial world. Moreover, the parallels between the language of the incipit and Roman imperial inscriptions seem at least as strong if not stronger than the parallels between the incipit and the Isaianic servant song.

See J. Rufus Fears, “Theology of Victory at Rome:  Approaches and Problems,” ANRW II.17.2 (1981): 736–826. 18 It was long believed among many classicists that this worship was simply a political reality that was loosely wedded to truer and more sincere forms of religious worship. For an exemplary expression of this view, see Arthur D. Nock, “Notes on Ruler Cult, I–V,” JHS 48 (1928):  21–43; “Religious Development from Vespasian to Trajan,” Theology 16 (1928):  152–60. This view has largely been rejected, and now the dominate view is that the imperial cult was a central feature of the Roman religious world. See Simon R.  F. Price, Rituals and Powers:  The Imperial Cult and Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984); Arnaldo Momigliano, “How Roman Emperors Became Gods,” in On Pagans, Jews and Christians (Middletown:  Wesleyan University Press, 1987), 92–99. 19 See Peter Garnsey and Richard Saller, The Roman Empire:  Economy, Society and Culture (London:  Duckworth, 1987), 197; Bruce W. Winter, Divine Honours for the Caesars:  The First Christians’ Responses (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015), 1–14. 17

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A False Dilemma? In light of the above analysis, it seems there are valid grounds for reading Mark’s incipit against either a Jewish or Greco-Roman background, requiring justification to favor one over the other. Mark certainly appears to be a Jewish text that knows Isaiah and is clearly influenced by eschatological vision of Isaianic “good news.” But Mark is also a text written in the Greco-Roman world that was inundated with the Roman imperial cult and the language of that cult. Certainly, readers of Mark’s Gospel would hear the language of the imperial cult in Mark incipit, and thus it seems plausible that they were intended to do so. In light of two options that are so appealing and plausible for generating meaning for Mark’s incipit, what is the interpreter to do? As is often the case, interpreters feel compelled to take a side and favor one context over the other. But one must question whether such an impulse is created by a false dilemma. I propose that one must consider the possibility that the Markan evangelist, through the language of the incipit, has intentionally brought together both the Jewish and Greco-Roman context and that multiple textual interplays are both present and intended. There is a growing sense that early Christians regularly engaged in “double coding,” that is intentionally using a concept, word, or phrase that would evoke two or more meanings for a single reader.20 Words like lord, savior, faith, righteousness/justice, and peace, are common coinage in Jewish prophetic and apocalyptic literature, and thus their use in the NT are rightly understood in light of such usage. But these same words are also common coin in the Roman imperial world, and their use among first-century Greeks and Romans would no doubt evoke such a background. While interpreters might fight about which background might be primary for a NT author, in some cases the best way forward might be “both/and” rather than “either/or.” For example, when Paul describes the situation of the world preceding the Parousia in terms of people saying “peace and security” (1 Thess 5:3), the Hebrew scriptures provide a plausible background against which such words could be understood. Both Jeremiah and Ezekiel describe people who will soon experience God’s judgment as saying “Peace, Peace” (Jer 6:14; Ezek 13:10). With these words, the people describe their own current reality that will soon end because of God’s impending judgment. But “peace and security” also clearly evoke language commonly found in Roman inscriptions and on Roman coinage (pax et securitas), language that communicated a Roman imperial promise to those living within the empire. This language would be well known to Paul’s Thessalonian audience. What is the correct context and/or intertext for Paul in 1 Thess 5:3? Is he drawing on the Jewish prophetic tradition or the promises of the Roman imperial order? This text is a perfect example in which one could argue for “double coding,” that Paul intentionally uses language that finds meaning in two different worlds, Jewish and Greco-Roman. Paul is able to draw on the Jewish prophetic tradition of sudden Double coding is a concept first introduced by Charles Jencks in the world of architectural theory in the 1980s. For this concept in the world of Second Temple Judaism and the NT, see Susan A. Stephens, Seeing Double: Intercultural Poetics in Ptolemaic Alexandria (HCS 37; Berkley: University of California Press, 2003); James M. Scott, “Gods, Greek and Roman,” in The Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels (ed. Joel B. Green, et al; 2nd ed.; Downers Grove: IVP, 2013), 328–35. 20

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judgement in a time when people perceive peace, and at the same time the present the Roman imperial order, one that promises peace and security, as the current object of God’s sudden judgement. Another example might be Paul’s claims regarding the “faithfulness of Christ.”21 Certainly, such language can find meaning in a Jewish context, as both the concept of Messiah and faithfulness are rooted not only in Jewish Scripture, but also Second Temple thought and literature. But “faithfulness” also finds significant meaning in the Roman imperial world. One of the central virtues of the Roman Emperor was fides, “good faith” or “faithfulness.” Such a virtue not only played a part in the divine sanction of the emperor’s reign, but it also characterized the emperor’s attitude toward his people, one of faithfulness (through peace, justice, and security) to those he ruled over. Again, must the interpreter choose between these two contexts? Or might it be reasonable to conclude that Paul is intentionally “double coding” by evoking both the Jewish and Roman imperial significance of this phrase? As demonstrated above, the word “gospel” (εὐαγγέλιον) and the phrase “Son of God” find significant meaning in both the Jewish and Greco-Roman world and are thus ripe fruit for early Christian “double coding.” I, among others, have proposed that this “double coding” is exactly what the Markan evangelist has done in his incipit.22 Thus, in the incipit the evangelist has purposely brought together language that simultaneously evokes both Jewish and Greco-Roman contexts and intertexts. Such an incipit would be a well-crafted weapon in a battle between two conflicting gospel narratives, namely, the Roman narrative of imperial peace and prosperity and the Christian narrative of the present and advancing kingdom of God. In the incipit, Mark promotes the latter narrative over the former, and claims that Jesus rather than the Roman emperor is true Son of God.

Mark’s Incipit and Flavian Propaganda While such an incipit might be a simple generic Christian response to competing Roman imperial claims, I  contend that the incipit might best be understood as a response to a particular historical reality, a reality in which Jewish messianic hope has already been wedded to the claims of Roman imperial power. Such a historical situation would make sense of the “double coding” in Mark’s incipit, and imbue the incipit with greater significance. Around the time that Mark’s Gospel was written (68–72 CE), the “gospel of Rome” was undergoing significant transformation.23 The Julian-Claudian dynasty, which Certainly there is debate over the phrase πίστις χριστοῦ (faith of Christ) and whether it should be understood as an objective or subjective genitive (i.e., “faith in Christ” vs. “faithfulness of Christ”). It is not my intention to engage this debate here, but I simply offer this as a plausible way of reading at least some Pauline uses of this phrase. 22 Evans, “Mark’s Incipit,” 67–81; Simon Samuel, “The Beginning of Mark:  A Colonial/Postcolonial Conundrum,” BibInt 10 (2002): 405–19; Winn, Purpose, 98–99. 23 While Markan interpreters are divided over whether Mark was written before or after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE, the vast majority seem to agree that the Gospel was written around the time of this event. Thus, the general consensus is that Mark was written somewhere between 68–72 CE. 21

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through the reign of Augustus first established the glorious pax romana and created the narrative of a Roman gospel, fell flat on its face in the last years of Nero’s tyrannical rule. Nero brought the empire to the brink of collapse and saw the provinces revolt against him. Finally, his own praetorian guard rebelled against him, and he was forced to commit suicide. His tyranny and death plunged the empire into a civil war that raged throughout the empire and even found its way to the streets of Rome. The peace, security, and justice promised and provided by faithful Augustus and sustained by his successors was lost. In one year, three claimants to the Principate rose and fell. When the dust had cleared, the general Vespasian, who had been putting down the Jewish Revolt in Judea, was left standing and thus secured the Principate. Vespasian was a plebian and, in the eyes of Roman patricians, certainly a new man in Roman politics. Despite his powerful legions, his grip on imperial power was tenuous given his low status. To secure his position, Vespasian engaged in a significant campaign of self-promotion and propaganda, including the promotion of his victory over the Jews, generous benefaction, divine healings, and claiming to be the fulfillment of divine portents and prophecies.24 Of particular importance for the purpose of this chapter is what appears to be a Flavian claim that Vespasian was the true fulfillment of Jewish messianic hope. Three different Roman historians claim that Vespasian was the true fulfillment of prophecies that many Jews believed had pointed to a world ruler rising from among their own people, that is, a Messiah. Josephus is the first Roman historian to make this claim: But what more than all else incited them [the Jews] to war was an ambiguous oracle, likewise found in their sacred scriptures, to the effect that at that time one from their country would become ruler of the world. This they understood to mean that someone from their own race, and many of their wise men went astray in their interpretation of it. The oracle, however, in reality signified the sovereignty of Vespasian, who was proclaimed Emperor on Jewish soil. (Josephus, J.W. 6.312– 313, Thackeray, LCL)

Josephus does not identify a specific scripture, but he clearly references Jewish messianic hopes grounded in Jewish scriptures. He claims that these hopes were misguided and that the scripture these hopes were based on were truly fulfilled in Vespasian. Tacitus offers a similar claim: Few [Jews] interpreted these omens as fearful; the majority firmly believed that their ancient priestly writings contained a prophecy that this was the very time when the East should grow strong and that men starting from Judaea should possess the world. This mysterious prophecy had in reality pointed to Vespasian and Titus, but the common people, as is the way of human ambition, interpreted these great destinies in their own favor and could not be turned even by adversity. (Tacitus, Hist. 5.13.1–2, Moore and Jackson, LCL) For a thorough discussion of Vespasian’s self-promotion and propaganda, see Winn, Purpose, 157–67. 24

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In Suetonius, we find a similar claim, but unlike Josephus and Tacitus, Suetonius does not specifically reference Jewish scriptures. There had spread over all the Orient an old and established belief, that it was fated at that time for men coming from Judaea to rule the world. This prediction, referring to the emperor of Rome, as afterwards appeared from the event, the people of Judaea took to themselves; accordingly they revolted and after killing their governor they routed the consular ruler of Syria as well. (Suetonius, Vesp. 4.5, Rolfe, LCL)

These three testimonies clearly evince a Roman tradition that Vespasian was the true fulfillment of Jewish messianic hopes, hopes grounded in Jewish Scriptures.25 But the question of the tradition’s origins remains. Some have argued that the tradition was a product of Josephus himself, created sometime during the late 70s CE when he was composing Jewish War.26 As such, the subsequent historians would be dependent on Josephus for this tradition. However, Eduard Norden argues that Tacitus is independent of Josephus on this point and that his version of this tradition seems to rely on an independent source.27 Such a conclusion undermines Josephus’s creation of the tradition. Christian Sauliner argues that this section of Josephus’s work fits oddly in its current location and is seemingly an erratic block of text. As such, he claims the text has been borrowed from another source and oddly forced to fit the current narrative.28 If Sauliner is correct, then Josephus was not the creator of this tradition, but he merely borrowed it from an independent tradition. The most plausible conclusion, which is recognized by most classicists, is that the tradition was created by the Flavian family, who had the most to gain from such a claim. The tradition likely developed alongside the vast amount of Flavian propaganda noted earlier and ultimately functioned to legitimize Vespasian’s reign. But this piece of propaganda would also send an ominous warning to any Jews that might consider further rebellion, particularly rebellion grounded in the hopes expressed in their scriptures. With this piece of propaganda, Vespasian melded together the worlds of Jewish messianic hope and Roman imperial power, using the latter to usurp the former. While such propaganda would no doubt have little influence on Jewish Christians, the faith of Gentile Christians would likely be more vulnerable, particularly recent Gentile converts. In light of this propaganda, fledgling Gentile Christians would likely question 25 To be clear, I am not arguing that Josephus (or others) perceived Vespasian to be the Jewish Messiah, rather he was claiming that Jews were mistaken to expect a Messiah at all, as their scriptures truly pointed to Vespasian. The tradition is inherently anti-messianic, as is Josephus’s entire presentation of Judaism. 26 Tessa Rajak, Josephus:  The Historian and His Society (Philadelphia:  Fortress Press, 1984), 193; Steve Mason, “Josephus, Daniel and the Flavian House,” in Josephus and the History of the Greco Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith (ed. Fausto Parente and Joseph Sievers; StPB 41; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 188–90. 27 For discussion see Eduard Norden, “Josephus und Tacitus über Jesus Christus und eine Messianische Prophetie,” in Zur Josephus Forschung (ed. Abraham Schalit; Darmstadt:  Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1973), 27–69. 28 Christiane Saulnier, “Flavius Josèphe et la Propagande Flavienne,” RB 96 (1989): 550.

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whether they had made the right choice in following a crucified man as the savior of the world. Vespasian’s power was indeed impressive, and he had just destroyed the city and temple of the God who was worshiped by Christians. The family and friends of Gentile converts would no doubt draw on this propaganda in order to encourage a return to former pagan worship. Surely a Christian response to Flavian propaganda would be needed in order to address the questions and concerns of confused Gentile Christians. I propose that in the Markan incipit, the evangelist has deftly crafted just such a response. To combat the Flavian fusion of Jewish messianic hope and Roman imperial power, Mark offers its own fusion of the same two realities. By using language that echoes both the Isaianic good news (and proclaimer of good news) and the good news of Rome, the Markan evangelist engages in “double coding” that directly rejects the claims of Flavian propaganda. Through the incipit the evangelist boldly declares that it is Jesus who is the true fulfillment of Jewish Messianic hope, Jesus who both is and proclaims true good news, and that Jesus, not Vespasian, is the true Son of God.29 Additionally, the “double coding” of the incipit directs the reader to look for similar “double coding” throughout the Gospel. Mark’s Gospel will indeed present Jesus as God’s Messiah and the fulfillment of Jewish messianic hope, but at the same time, it will also respond to the challenges of Flavian propaganda and the Roman imperial power it evokes. To favor one context over another for the Markan incipit, might leave the reader blind to the Jesus that Mark truly seeks to present its readers, a Jesus that has tremendous significance for both the first-century Jewish and Roman world.

As I  have argued elsewhere, this same purpose is accomplished in Mark 15:39, where a Roman centurion who would normally declare the Roman emperor son of God makes this declaration about Jesus; see Winn, Purpose, 182–83. 29

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For Everyone Shall Be Salted with Fire Paul T. Sloan

These strange, startling words hang in the air about halfway through Mark’s Gospel (9:49). Their relative obscurity is increased by the sense of their seeming detachment from the surrounding context, as it is not entirely clear how 9:48, 49, and 50, relate to one another. The former warns of the fires of Gehenna, which are presumably reserved for the condemned, while 9:49 simply declares that “all” will be salted with fire, leaving it unclear who “all” are, and 9:50 seemingly addresses the disciples, telling them to have salt among themselves. This verse’s difficulty is demonstrated by the number of distinct interpretations given to it, approximated in 1961 to be a total of fifteen.1 Even when properly understood, in my opinion, as the “purifying effect of tribulations,” as many scholars suggest, satisfactorily situating this statement with the rest of Jesus’s teaching in Mark remains a desideratum. Consequently, my purpose in this short essay is to suggest a framework within which this statement may be understood, and to defend that framework and the interpretation of Mark 9:49 within it, by demonstrating comparable ancient receptions of the same material. In this chapter I  will argue that Mark 9:49 alludes to Zech 13:9, which declares that God’s covenantal people will go through the fire.2 That “fire,” I suggest, entails the purifying tribulations and afflictions consequent to following Jesus as Messiah. However, Mark 9:49 is not an isolated allusion to Zech 13:9; rather, the allusion to Zech 13:9 fits within Mark’s larger framework of utilizing Zech 13:7–9 and 14:1–6 in his depiction of the eschatological tribulations that the disciples and Jerusalem will face before the return of the Son of Man. In Zech 13:7–9, God’s shepherd is struck, the land of Israel undergoes tribulation, and God’s people go through the fire. Zechariah 14 continues by claiming that Jerusalem itself will be surrounded by Gentiles and ransacked before the Lord returns with his angels in the midst of cosmic upheaval. The latter framework from Zechariah, as I  have argued elsewhere,3 is utilized throughout Mark in order Robert Bratcher and Eugene A. Nida, A Translator’s Handbook on the Gospel of Mark (London: United Bible Societies, 1961), 304–5. The debate in modern scholarship mostly lies in the translation of “salted” (ἁλισθήσεται). 2 A number of scholars see an allusion to Lev 2:13 in Mark 9:49, and I agree. Few if any have suggested Zech 13:9 as an illuminating text. 3 This larger framework is defended at length in Paul T.  Sloan, Mark 13 and the Return of the Shepherd: The Narrative Logic of Zechariah in Mark (LNTS 604; London: T&T Clark, 2019). It is presented in truncated form in Sloan, “The Return of the Shepherd:  Zechariah 13:7–14:6 as an 1

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to cast Jesus as the stricken shepherd of Zech 13:7 (Mark 14:27), the disciples as the scattered sheep of Zech 13:7 (Mark 14:27), the tribulations of the disciples as the fire of Zech 13:9 (Mark 9:49; 13:9–13), the Jerusalem-related tribulations of Mark 13 as the afflictions of Zech 14:1–5 (Mark 13:3, 14–19), and the coming of the Son of Man with angels as the theophany of Zech 14:5 (Mark 13:26–27). This framework and Mark’s proposed utilization of it may be more easily depicted in tabular form. In the following table, the columns on the left represent the sequence of events in Zechariah, and the columns on the right represent those events as retrieved by Mark. Zech 13:7–9; 14:1–6

Mark

Strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter (13:7)

Jesus is the stricken shepherd, and the disciples the scattered sheep (Zech 13:7 quoted in 14:27)

The people of God will go through the fire (13:9)

All will be salted with fire (9:49)

Jerusalem will be surrounded by Gentiles (14:1)

Jerusalem attacked by Gentiles (13:14–19)

Houses plundered, women in peril (14:2)

Houses, city-dwellers, and women in danger (13:14–17)

God’s people will flee through the mountains (14:5)

Those in Judea should flee to the mountains (13:14)

Lord returns with holy angels (14:5)

The Son of Man comes with his holy angels (8:38; 13:26–27)

This potential grid is evidently on the basis of Mark’s quotation of Zech 13:7 in Mark 14:27; the allusion (to be defended later) to Zech 13:9 in Mark 9:49; an allusion to Zech 14:4 in Mark 13:3;4 allusions to Zech 14:1–5 in Mark 13:14–17;5 and an allusion to Zech 14:5 in Mark 8:38 and 13:26–27.6 Additional features of Mark 13 indebted to Zechariah include a potential allusion to Zech 14:16 in Mark 13:10;7 an allusion to Zech 2:10–15 (LXX) in Mark 13:27;8 and an allusion to Zech 14:7 in Mark 13:32.9 For

4

5 6

8 7

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Interpretive Framework for Mark 13,” in Ancient Readers and Their Scriptures: Engaging the Hebrew Bible in Early Judaism and Christianity (ed. Garrick V. Allen and John A. Dunne; AJEC 107; Leiden: Brill, 2018), 128–58. Space does not permit further defense of this framework outside the present, short summary. Zech 14:4: ἐπὶ τὸ ὄρος τῶν ἐλαιῶν τὸ κατέναντι Ιερουσαλημ Mark 13:3: εἰς τὸ ὄρος τῶν ἐλαιῶν κατέναντι τοῦ ἱεροῦ See rows 3, 4, and 5 in the table above. Zech 14:5: καὶ ἥξει κύριος ὁ θεός μου καὶ πάντες οἱ ἅγιοι μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ Mark 8:38: ὅταν ἔλθῃ ἐν τῇ δόξῃ τοῦ πατρὸς αὐτοῦ μετὰ τῶν ἀγγέλων τῶν ἁγίων Cp. the texts’ mutual insistence that “all the nations” (πάντα τὰ ἔθνη) should worship Israel’s God. Zech 2:10: διότι ἐκ τῶν τεσσάρων ἀνέμων τοῦ οὐρανοῦ συνάξω ὑμᾶς Mark 13:27: καὶ ἐπισυνάξει τοὺς ἐκλεκτοὺς ἐκ τῶν τεσσάρων ἀνέμων ἀπ᾽ ἄκρου γῆς ἕως ἄκρου οὐρανου Zech 14:7: ἡ ἡμέρα ἐκείνη [of the Lord’s theophany] γνωστὴ τῷ κυρίῳ Mark 13:32: περὶ δὲ τῆς ἡμέρας ἐκείνης ἢ τῆς ὥρας οὐδεὶς οἶδεν, οὐδὲ οἱ ἄγγελοι … οὐδὲ ὁ υἱός, εἰ μὴ ὁ πατήρ.

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present purposes, this grid must be assumed rather than defended in detail. I turn now to an extended word on method.

Method This study proceeds by examining Mark in light of its intratextual, intertextual, and extratextual data.10 Intratextual data, according to Stefan Alkier, refers to the world of data contained within the given text. In a text like Mark, such data includes the “syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic textual relationships in connection with the models of analysis of literary-critical structuralism …”11 Examples of such data range from Mark’s characteristic use of “and immediately” within his narration, to the plot-structural significance of the opening allusions to Malachi and Jesus’s resultant action in the temple. Extratextual data refers to the codified knowledge of the author’s cultural encyclopedia,12 available through signs external to Mark, such as coins, archaeology, and contemporary historians such as Josephus or Strabo. Intertextual data is a subset of extratextual data, referring specifically to literary signs external to Mark. Israel’s scriptures are one such literary sign, and they comprise an indispensable aspect of Mark’s cultural encyclopedia.13 These terms—intratextual, extratextual, and intertextual—are heuristic labels intended to aid discussion; other terms could be and have been used.14 The means by which literary borrowing (covered by the term “intertextual” in this chapter) is determined include the metrics proposed by Richard These terms are Stefan Alkier’s in his articulation of “semiotic exegesis.” See Alkier, “Intertextuality and the Semiotics of Biblical Texts,” in Reading the Bible Intertextually (ed. Richard B. Hays, Stefan Alkier, and Leroy A. Huizenga; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 3–21. He provides an extended discussion on “semiotic exegesis” in “New Testament Studies on the Basis of Categorical Semiotics,” 223–248, in the same volume. 11 Alkier, “Intertextuality,” 9. 12 For an extended explanation of extratextual data, see, ibid., 9. The term “cultural encyclopedia” is exposited by Umberto Eco, A Theory of Semiotics (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976), 110. Eco describes language as a dynamic reality that shapes and is shaped by the evolving culture that uses it. To depict this reality he posits an analogy of a box of marbles in which each marble emits a different wavelength, consequently attracting and repelling other marbles (126). Within this analogy, each marble is a cultural unit. The charges, or wavelength emissions, of these marbles/ cultural units are subject to change because they are conditioned by their historical location. Thus one marble may attract another in one time and place, but be repelled from it in a different time and place, due to historical circumstances. For example, if someone hypothetically said in October 2015, “Let’s make America great again,” a hearer might, or might not, shrug her shoulders and affirm the sentiment. But by October 2016, that same phrase would probably conjure very specific, different connotations to hearers aware of the cultural events of the previous year. David M.  Moffitt supplies a comparable example in the use of the phrase “the events of September the 11th,” arguing that the utterance of that phrase in the year 2000 would conjure connotations very different from those conjured by its utterance in the year 2002 (particularly among adults in the United States). See Moffitt, “Righteous Bloodshed, Matthew’s Passion Narrative, and the Temple’s Destruction: Lamentations as a Matthean Intertext,” JBL 125 (2006): 299–320, here 301–2. 13 Intertextual data, as a subset of extratextual data, and intratextual data, will be the primary data sets of investigation. I include the description of extratextual data as I regard intertextual data as a category of the former. 14 E.g., Vernon K. Robbins, The Tapestry of Early Christian Discourse: Rhetoric, Society and Ideology (London:  Routledge, 1996), 24–36, describes comparable categories that he terms the “inner texture,” “intertexture,” and “social and cultural texture.” 10

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Hays,15 one of which has been modified by Craig A. Evans.16 In particular, this chapter will focus on lexical correspondence between Mark and Zechariah, the consequent interpretation of the Markan text, and the history of interpretation in effort to show that some ancient interpreters saw the same connections between the same texts. Certainly the latter criterion does not prove the case, though I think its relevance is understated. When authorial intent is decentralized (due to our lack of information about the author and his/her social setting), the text itself and the meanings it pressures become the locus of ascertaining authorial intent. Said differently, I do not abandon the concept of authorial intent, but I  can only deduce the latter from the text that pressures me into certain readings via the contextual circumstances of the text’s utterances and the implicit encyclopedia of information that conditions those utterances. Ascribing that meaning to “the author’s intent” remains a convenient and preferable expression in place of “the intent of the author as deduced from a reading of the text that is conditioned by the contextual and circumstantial location of the utterances interpreted within the assumed cultural encyclopedia which produced them.” The point is this: once it is granted that with ancient texts the primary resources for interpretation become the text itself, informed by the various media of historically pertinent extratextual/intertextual data, then extant interpretations by readers closer in time both to the events portrayed in the text and to the composition of the text, who probably had a higher implicit awareness of the cultural encyclopedia of production, become much more recognizably valuable. For such interpretations display the connections forged by readers who had access to some, if not more, of the same data. Accordingly, I  will explore two ancient Christian interpretations of the LXX’s Zechariah, and one of material from the Olivet Discourse, demonstrating that the interpretations of Zechariah were offered in light of the Markan data in question (Mark 9:49 and the Olivet Discourse), and that the utilization of material from the Olivet Discourse was articulated with the Zechariah data in question (Zech 13:9 and 14:5). Though such interpretations do not prove the case, and must always be checked against a rigorous examination of the text itself, they nonetheless add a layer of plausibility by virtue of their comparable conclusions.

Richard Hays’s criteria are:  availability, volume, recurrence, thematic coherence, historical plausibility, history of interpretation, and satisfaction. For his description of these terms see Hays, Echoes of Scriptures in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 29–31. Availability of Israel’s scriptures, and Zechariah in particular, is assumed. A form of “recurrence” is also assumed. Though Mark does not repeatedly allude to Zech 13:9 (if he does at all), he does allude to Zechariah throughout the Gospel. This point is widely accepted. See Sloan, “Mark 13 and the Return of the Shepherd,” 18–30, for a review of scholarship on Mark’s use of Zechariah. Given the modified form of “recurrence,” I take it for granted that Mark could have intended, and the readers could have understood, potential allusions to Zechariah (satisfying the “historical plausibility” criterion). The remaining criteria will not be assumed, but rather will be utilized in the impending discussions, even if the terms are not explicitly used. 16 Craig Evans critiques Hays for his initial bypass of the Second Temple interpretative tradition within which a given author might have received a given scriptural text. In that vein, Evans suggests that modern scholars are not detecting echoes of scriptures, but echoes of interpreted scriptures. See Evans, “Listening for Echoes of Interpreted Scripture,” in Paul and the Scriptures of Israel (ed. Craig A. Evans and James A. Sanders; JSNTSup 83; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 47–51. Hays accepts this modification in theory. 15

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Mark 9:49 and Zech 13:9 The consensus interpretation of Jesus’s declaration that all will be salted with fire is that all Jesus’s disciples will undergo purifying tribulations.17 Weston Fields is an exception to this rule.18 He retroverts the Greek phrase into a Hebrew idiom and translates the latter: “everyone [who is sent to hell] will be completely destroyed.” He takes the “everyone” of 9:49 to be qualified by 9:48’s reference to people cast into Gehenna. However, his argument suffers on three grounds. First, he begins his interpretation by claiming that “the verse cannot say what it seems to say in Greek.”19 Such a conclusion should be a last resort only after all other possible explanations have been examined and found deficient. As I will argue later, the verse is not as impossible as Fields assumes. Second, he does not justify his retroversion of the Greek into Hebrew. Presumably his justification lay in the alleged satisfaction of the resultant interpretation. Third, he does not examine five uses of the word “salt” in various forms in 9:50, which suggest that the use of “salt” is not accidental in 9:49, and therefore not best handled by retroversion to Hebrew. Many scholars rightly detect the influence of Lev 2:13 in Mark 9:49,20 as the former says: “Every sacrificial gift of yours will be seasoned with salt” (καὶ πᾶν δῶρον θυσίας ὑμῶν ἁλὶ ἁλισθήσεται).21 The allusion is recognized by the correspondence between the forms of “every” (πᾶς) and “salted” (ἁλισθήσεται). Given the sacrificial context of Lev 2:13, the purifying effects of “fire,” and Jesus’s exhortations to faithfulness in the preceding discourse, Mark 9:49 likely refers to the necessity of purification within their discipleship. Consequently, the disciples’ lives are depicted as sacrifices offered to God whose seasoning is fire rather than salt, and the fire is probably the purifying tribulations consequent to following Jesus as Messiah. However, Lev 2:13 is not the only text present; Zech 13:9 plausibly supplies the reference to “fire” in Mark 9:49. Three arguments support this conclusion. First, Mark 9:49 occurs within the context of Jesus exhorting his disciples to faithfulness. In this context, Jesus calls his disciples “little ones” (9:42, τῶν μικρῶν). See, e.g., William Lane, The Gospel According to Mark: The English Text with Introduction, Exposition and Notes (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974), 349; Craig A. Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20 (WBC 34B; Nashville:  Thomas Nelson, 2001), 73; R. T. France, The Gospel of Mark:  A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 384; Robert Stein, Mark (BECNT; Grand Rapids:  Baker Academic, 2008), 450; Karl Matthias Schmidt, Wege des Heils:  Erzählstrukturen und Rezeptionskontexte des Markusevangeliums (NTOA / SUNT 74; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010), 92. See also, T. J. Baarda, “Mark ix.49,” NTS 5 (1959):  318–21. He presumably understands the fire in light of impending tribulations, though that is not the focus of his article. He focuses on a potential mistranslation of a presumed Aramaic source text, in which the composer of the Greek logion (Mark 9:49) misread the Aramaic “baptized” and wrote instead “salted,” each of which comes from the root ṭbl. The saying in Mark, according to Baarda, should be, “For everyone will be baptized with fire,” as is comparably stated in Matt 3:11 and Luke 3:16. Irrespective of the potential Aramaic background, Baarda implicitly agrees with the consensus interpretation. 18 Weston Fields, “Everyone Will Be Salted With Fire (Mark 9:49),” Grace Theological Journal 6 (1985): 299–304. 19 Ibid., 301 (original emphasis). 20 See Fields’s summary of interpretation in, “Everyone Will Be Salted,” 299–301. See also, Lane, Mark, 349; Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20, 73; France, Mark, 384; Marcus, Mark 8–16, 692. 21 My translation of LXX. 17

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Similarly, in Zech 13:7–9, after the shepherd is struck, God turns his hands upon his people, whom the prophet terms “the little ones” (‫הצערים‬/τοὺς μικρούς).22 Labeling God’s people “little ones” is unique to Zech 13:7. No other text in Israel’s scriptures applies that description, in Hebrew or Greek, to God’s people. Thus, Jesus’s use of it in Mark 9:42 in reference to his disciples plausibly stems from the same appellation in Zech 13:7. The root ‫ צער‬is used thirteen times in MT, ten of which refer to the location, Zoar,23 two are the adjective “insignificant,”24 and the remaining instance is Zech 13:7. It is the only instance of the use of the plural substantive “little ones” in reference to God’s people.25 Septuagintal texts outside of Zech 13:9 contain over 160 uses of the adjective μικρός in various forms, but only Zech 13:7 refers to the people of God as an entity. Additionally, the Damascus Document (CDB 19:9) quotes Zech 13:7 and identifies its “little ones” with the “afflicted ones” of Zech 11:7, presumably on the basis of common sheep imagery. The community members subsequently apply those appellations (“little ones” and “afflicted ones”) to themselves, probably referring to their experience of the eschatological tribulation. Thus the use of the substantive “little ones” in Mark 9:42 to refer to God’s (suffering) people parallels the similar, unique phrasing in Zech 13:7, and it resembles a near contemporary interpretation of Zech 13:7 attested at Qumran. Second, in Zech 13:9 it is precisely God’s people who go “through the fire” (‫ ;באש‬διὰ πυρός), referring to their purification.26 Likewise, in Mark 9:49 it is Jesus’s disciples, “the little ones,” who will be salted with “fire” (πυρί). The combination of these features present in Mark (“fire” and “little ones”) is unique to Zech 13:7–9, making plausible the case for the latter’s presence in Mark. Third, Mark 9:42–48 warns of the possibility of disciples “falling away” (σκανδαλίσῃ), and in Mark 14:27, “falling away” (σκανδαλισθήσεσθε) is the very thing Jesus predicts on the basis of Zech 13:7. Mark’s Jesus quotes Zech 13:7 to predict his execution and his disciples’ subsequent tribulation (Mark 14:27).27 That quotation 22 The reading “upon the little ones” (ἐπὶ τοὺς μικρούς) in Zech 13:7c is present in LXX B–S (original reading), Syro-haxaplaric (corrected textual reading), and Symmachus. LXX W contains “upon the shepherds” (ἐπὶ τοὺς ποιμένας). The main text of Rahlfs’s edition contains the latter reading, “upon the shepherds,” which may explain why recognizing an allusion to Zech 13:7–9 in Mark 9:49 is atypical, if not entirely novel. The relation of Zech 13:7 to Zech 13:9 will be made clear in the second point. For a review of the range of interpretations of this “falling away,” see B. J. Oropeza, In the Footsteps of Judas and Other Defectors: The Gospels, Acts, and Johannine Letters: Apostasy in the New Testament Communities (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2011), 42. 23 Gen 13:10; 14:2, 8; 19:22, 23, 30 (x2); 34:3; Isa 15:5; Jer 48:34. 24 Job 14:21; Jer 30:19. 25 MT Jer 50:45 uses ‫צעירי‬, “little ones,” but in reference to Babylonians. LXX Jer (27:45) translates its Vorlage τὰ ἀρνία. 26 Targum Zech 13:9 reads: “And I will bring the third into affliction, into a furnace of fire.” The italics represent the targumist’s additions to his/her Vorlage. Translation of Targum by Kevin J. Cathcart and Robert P. Gordon, The Targum of the Minor Prophets: Translated, with a Critical Introduction, Apparatus, and Notes (ArBib 14; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989). The targumist interprets Zech 13:9’s “fire” in terms of “affliction of God’s covenantal people.” 27 See Sloan, “Zechariah 13:7–14:6 as an Interpretive Framework for Mark 13” in Ancient Readers, 128–58, for a detailed defense of this interpretation. Presently, it must suffice to say that Jesus’ execution is intended by his prediction of being “stricken,” as is evident by his immediate assurance that he would be resurrected (Mark 14:28). The current consensus, as represented by, e.g., Douglas Moo, The Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1983), 216–17, is that Jesus’s prediction intends his arrest, and the disciples’ “scattering” refers to their flight from the garden. But, as mentioned, it would be strange for Jesus to predict his arrest, but then assure

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plausibly assumes recognition of the whole context of Zech 13:7, as “fiery tribulations” in Zech 13:9 occur as a direct consequence to the “striking of the shepherd” in Zech 13:7. In that case, by alluding to Zech 13:9 in Mark 9:42–49 and quoting from Zech 13:7 before his execution, Mark’s Jesus would be predicting his death, declaring it to be the onset of the eschatological tribulations and teaching that his disciples would endure the fiery tribulations of Zech 13:9. The content of fiery afflictions in Mark 9:49 are not immediately elaborated, though the tribulations detailed in Mark 13, especially 13:9–13, constitute plausible candidates for such purifying events. Thus Mark 9:49 plausibly alludes to Zech 13:9. The scripturally unique appellation, “little ones,” suggests the presence of Zech 13:7. The threat in Mark 9:42 of “falling away,” which in Mark 14:27 is predicted on the basis of Zech 13:7, aids recognition of the latter text’s presence in Mark 9 as well. Finally, the statement of a future endurance of “fire” in Mark 9:49 is consonant with the proposed use of Zech 13:7–9, in that Zech 13:7–9 presents the endurance of fire by God’s people as the consequence of the striking of the shepherd. These features of Mark suggest the presence of both the logic and lexemes of Zech 13:7– 9. Jesus is God’s shepherd, Israel’s appointed ruler, who will be stricken. His death will inaugurate the eschatological tribulation, which includes the fiery testing of God’s people. This prophetic sequence in Zech 13:7–9 is present in Mark, evident by Mark’s quotation of Zech 13:7 and his employment of its pertinent terms in Mark 9:42–49 and Mark 14:27. Part of the burden of this chapter is to demonstrate that these allusions to Zech 13:7–9 function within the framework of Mark’s employment of Zech 13:7–14:6 in his articulation of the tribulations that befall Jerusalem and the disciples between Jesus’s death and return. I present and defend the Markan evidence for that claim above.28 The rest of this chapter will show that early interpreters of Mark and Zechariah made the same deductions, knowing the same data. The latter evidence makes plausible the present case for Zechariah’s presence in Mark. I begin with the utilization in Did. 16 of material dependent upon the Olivet Discourse.

Did. 16 The author of Did. 16 likely knows some form of written Gospel material, plausibly from Matthew, or is familiar with sources of the Gospel material.29 For the present his disciples that he would be raised from the dead. Consequently, his striking refers to his death, and the disciples’ scattering, if it occurs after his death, would not refer to their flight from the garden (as that precedes his death), but plausibly to their endurance of tribulation. For additional arguments in line with my own, namely that Jesus’s striking refers to his death, see David S. du Toit, Der abwesende Herr:  Strategien im Markusevangelium zur Bewältigung der Abwesenheit des Auferstandenen (WMANT 111; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2006), 136, 139. 28 See the table earlier, and notes 3–9. See also, the works by Sloan in note 3 earlier. 29 Given the range of plausible sources, the common dates proposed for Didache are 50–100 CE. For a brief summary of scholarship on this issue, see Michael Holmes, “Introduction” in The Apostolic Fathers: Greek Texts and English Translations (ed. Michael Holmes; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007; 3rd ed), 334–43. For a defense of the view that the author depends upon some written form of the Gospels (likely Matthew), see Wolf-Dietrich Köhler, Die Rezeption des Mattäusevangeliums in der Zeit vor Irenäus (WUNT II/24; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987), 19–56; Christopher Tuckett, “Synoptic Tradition in the Didache,” in The Didache in Modern Research (AGJU 37; ed. Jonathan

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purposes, it is sufficient to note that Did. 16 is an iteration of material akin to, or dependent upon, Gospel traditions of the Olivet Discourse. Did. 16:1 opens: “Watch over (γρηγορεῖτε) your lives … for you do not know the hour in which our Lord is coming.”30 This opening indicates that subsequent declarations and exhortations are to be heeded in light of the Lord’s impending return. Did. 16:3–4 declares that lawlessness will increase, false prophets will arise, and a world-deceiver will commit many abominations, after which, “all humankind will enter into the fiery test” (εἰς τὴν πύρωσιν τῆς δοκιμαςίας) (16:5). As a result of this test, “many will fall away and perish” (καὶ σκανδαλισθήσονται πολλοὶ καὶ ἀπολοῦνται). This “fiery test” likely alludes to Zech 13:9, which declares that God will take his people into “the fire” and “test” them. First, in each passage, the fire is something into which God’s people enter or pass through. In Did. 16:5, the people enter “into the fire,” and in Zech 13:9, God leads his people “through the fire” (διὰ πυρός). Second, each passage qualifies the fire as that which “tests” God’s people. In Did 16:5, it is the “fire of testing” (τὴν πύρωσιν τῆς δοκιμαςίας); in Zech 13:9, God leads them through the fire and tests them (διάξω τὸ τρίτον διὰ πυρὸς καὶ πυρώσω αὐτούς … καὶ δοκιμῶ αὐτούς). Third, the author of Didache clearly knows and utilizes related material from Zechariah, as Did 16:7 quotes Zech 14:5 in the depiction of Jesus’s Parousia two verses later.31 Importantly, Did. 16 states that as a result of the fire, many will “fall away” (σκανδαλισθήσονται), which is the very thing Jesus warns of in Mark 9:42–49 visà-vis Zech 13:9, and in Mark 14:27 on the basis of Zech 13:7. If Did. 16 is dependent upon Matt 24 or its sources, then this use of “falling away” may stem from Matt 24:10 rather than upon extended reflection of Jesus’s quotation of Zech 13:7. In any case, Didache’s iteration of material from the Olivet Discourse exemplifies the employment of Zech 13–14 proposed to be present in Mark. In each text, the people of God will go through the fire of tribulations—with the potential threat of falling away—before the Lord returns, and each text expresses such expectations with the language of Zech 13–14. That Didache embeds the language of “fiery test,” arguably using the language of Zech 13:9, within its iteration of the Olivet Discourse corroborates my proposal that the “fire” in Mark 9:49 alludes to Zech 13:9 and entails the tribulations predicted in Mark 13. Similarly, Didache’s quotation of Zech 14:5 in its depiction of Jesus’s Parousia corroborates my proposal that Mark 8:38 alludes to Zech 14:5, and that the referent of that “coming” is equal to that of Mark 13:26, each of which likely refers to Jesus’s Draper; Leiden:  Brill, 1996), 92–128. For defense of Didache’s dependence on Gospel sources, see Helmut Köster, Synoptische Überlieferung bei den Apostolischen Vätern (Berlin:  AkademieVerlag, 1957), 159–241; Jean-Paul Audet, La Didachè:  Instructions des apôtres (Paris:  Gabalda, 1958), 166–86; Kurt Niederwimmer, Die Didache (Kommentar zu den Apostolischen Vätern 1.  Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 247–70; Jens Schröter, “Jesus Tradition in Matthew, James, and the Didache: Searching for Characteristic Emphases,” in Matthew, James, and Didache: Three Related Documents in their Jewish and Christian Settings (SBLS 45; eds. Huub van de Sandt and Jürgen Zangenberg; Atlanta: SBL 2008), 239–54. 30 Translation by Holmes, Apostolic Fathers. 31 Others similarly recognize the potential presence of Zech 13:9 in Did 16:5. See, e.g., Aaron Milavec, “The Saving Efficacy in the Burning Process in Didache 16:5,” in The Didache in Context: Essays on its Text, History, and Transmission (ed. Clayton Jefford; NovTSup 77; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 131–55 (146); Marcello del Verme, Didache and Judaism: Jewish Roots of an Ancient Christian-Jewish Work (New York: T&T Clark International, 2004), 232–33.

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Parousia. In light of my proposed emphasis on the decentralization of authorial intent, it is worth noting that irrespective of Mark’s intended meaning, the author of Didache, upon reflecting on comparable Gospel material, evidently made the connections I propose are in fact present in Mark. As argued earlier, that the author of Didache forged such connections suggests their latent presence in Mark’s text. I turn now to a brief comment made by Didymus the Blind.

Didymus the Blind Didymus the Blind (an acquaintance of Jerome) wrote a commentary on LXX Zechariah about 386 CE.32 He relates the prophecy of “fire” in Zech 13:9 to Jesus’s teaching in Mark 9:49. He states that Jesus’s teaching that all would be salted with fire is “what the savior says about this fire” (of Zech 13:9).33 Here the connection is explicit. The “fire” of Mark 9:49 is the predicted fire of Zech 13:9. This case, like that of Didache, demonstrates that an ancient interpreter who knew both traditions (Gospel and Zechariah), connected the passages via their lexical and thematic correspondence, treating the “fire” of Zech 13:9 as the “fire” predicted by Jesus, and interpreting them as the disciples’ impending tribulations. I  turn now to my final example, Cyril of Alexander’s commentary on LXX Zechariah.34

Cyril of Alexandria Cyril’s commentary is an intriguing example. By way of orientation: his interpretation corresponds to my own vis-à-vis the relation of Mark’s “fire” to the tribulations of Mark 13, and their relation to Zech 13:9. Additionally, he relates Jesus’s Parousia and Zech 14:5, and his interpretation of Zech 13:7–14:5 corresponds to the entire framework I propose in the table earlier. That is, he interprets Jesus as the stricken shepherd via his quotation of Zech 13:7, the disciples as the scattered sheep, the tribulations in Zech 13:8 as the general tribulations endured by the Jewish people, Zech 13:9 as the tribulations endured by the disciples, and Zech 14 as the tribulations predicted in the Olivet Discourse, fulfilled by the war of 66–70 CE. He then interprets Zech 14:5 as

See the introduction to Didymus’s commentary by Robert C. Hill, Didymus the Blind: Commentary on Zechariah (FC 111; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2006), 4. 33 Translation by Hill, Didymus the Blind, 315. 34 Cyril’s later writings were characterized by polemics against perceived heretics. Due to the relative scarcity of such polemics in this commentary, scholars largely date composition to 400–428 CE. For this summary of scholarship, see Robert C. Hill, “Introduction,” in St. Cyril of Alexandria: Commentary on the Twelve Prophets, vol. 1 (FC 115; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2007), 3–22 (4). Translations of Cyril’s commentary by Hill, “Commentary on the Prophet Zechariah,” in St. Cyril of Alexandria: Commentary on the Twelve Prophets, vol. 3 (FC 124; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2007), 93–279. Alexander Kerrigan states that the text of Cyril’s commentary “agrees with the Alexandrian group A–Q and kindred minisculae.” See Kerrigan, St. Cyril of Alexandria:  Interpreter of the Old Testament (AnBib:  Investigationes Scientificae in Res Biblicas 2; Rome: Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1952), 250–51. 32

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Jesus’s Parousia, 14:6 as the cosmic phenomena concomitant to Jesus’s arrival, and 14:7 as Jesus’s ignorance regarding the timing of his return. His commentary proceeds by offering a lemma and comment. Regarding Zech 13:7, he states, “when the shepherd was struck, [the disciples] were scattered and took to flight … ‘they all left him and fled,’ in the phrasing of the Gospel.”35 Accordingly, he interprets Jesus as the stricken shepherd and the disciples as the scattered sheep. After quoting Zech 13:8, he states, “They [‘the Jewish populace’] were consumed by war, in fact, and the cities and towns were destroyed along with their inhabitants, burned to the ground …”36 He thus apparently interprets the tribulations of Zech 13:8 in light of the afflictions of the Jewish war of 66–70 CE, plausibly including the decades preceding the war. He then interprets Zech 13:9 with reference not to the Jewish populace in general, nor even Christians in general, but precisely to the “remnant,” by which he means the early Jewish disciples. He says of Zech 13:9: “They were called, in fact, to experience many tribulations and persecutions, and, as it were, fired, tested by trials.”37 He does not overtly relate the “fire” of Zech 13:9 with that of Mark 9:49, but he certainly interprets the fire as the tribulations of Jesus’s early Jewish followers. Cyril then interprets Zech 14:1–5 in relation to Zech 13:7–9, and he discusses the former in light of the events of 66–70 CE. He states that the war of Zech 14 is an aspect of the tribulations/wars of Zech 13:8–9. Regarding the promised wartime afflictions upon “houses” and “women,” in Zech 14:1–2 he says:  “They say, remember, that Romans took the city, and paying no heed to the fighters’ best efforts, they burned the Temple itself and the city’s houses …”38 He subsequently expands his point, recalling the ravages of women and the pillaging of houses during the Jewish–Roman war of 66–70 CE. He then interprets Zech 14:5 as Zechariah’s prediction of Jesus’s return. He says:  “Having made cursory mention of … the capture of Judea and Jerusalem, [Zechariah] now moves on to the very end of the present age and helpfully narrates the coming of Emmanuel from heaven …” with “the pure multitude of his angels.”39 He goes on to interpret the declaration that “there will be no light” in Zech 14:6 with reference to the darkened luminaries at “the coming of the son of man,” and he explains the claim that “that day is known to the Lord” in Zech 14:7 with reference to Jesus’s claim of ignorance regarding the timing of his return.40 Cyril’s interpretation, accordingly, coincides with the expanded proposal of the table earlier, understanding Zech 13:7–14:6 as fulfilled by Jesus’s execution, the disciples’ tribulations, the war of 66–70 CE, and the events arguably predicted in the Olivet Discourse. Cyril evidently sees in Zech 13:7–14:6 a sequence of events that begins with the striking of the shepherd and concludes with the return of Jesus. He interprets the “fire” of Zech 13:9 not as a general warning of tribulation, but as an event within that sequence, having been fulfilled by the tribulations of the early Jewish followers of Jesus. Though he does not identify the “fire” of Zech 13:9 with “what the savior says 36 37 38 39 40 35

Hill, “Commentary,” 254. Ibid., 256. Ibid. (emphasis added). Ibid., 258. Ibid., 261–62. Ibid., 263.

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about this fire,” as does Didymus the Blind, it is clear that for Cyril “the fire” pertains to the experience by early Jewish Christians of “testing tribulations,” and that this is something to which they were “called.”41

Conclusion This brief survey of ancient interpretation supports the case that Mark 9:49 alludes to Zech 13:9, and that it signifies the tribulations of Jesus’s disciples. The case can be made without the assistance of their examples, as I attempted to show earlier, but these three instances demonstrate the plausibility of both that interpretation of Mark and its connection to Zechariah. Mark itself evinces the language of Zechariah in its depiction of the impending tribulations of the disciples who follow the stricken shepherd. The disciples are promised that they will be salted with fire, and Jesus elaborates the content of such “fire” in his discourse from the Mount of Olives. Did. 16, in its iteration of material dependent on the Olivet Discourse, similarly utilizes the language of Zech 13:9 to depict the fiery test that humankind will enter before Jesus’s return à la Zech 14:5. Didymus the Blind equates the “fire” of Mark 9:49 with the “fire” of Zech 13:9, and interprets it as the disciples’ tribulations. Cyril of Alexandria, who knows the Gospel material and is commenting on LXX Zechariah, supports the proposed reading nearly point for point. Accordingly, Mark 9:49, which appeared to be an isolated, possibly mistranslated logion, turns out to be a significant feature of Mark’s teaching, congruent as it is with Mark 13, and dependent as it is on a large-scale correspondence with Zechariah. For all will be salted with fire. The statement remains strange and startling, but should perhaps be considered less obscure.

He does not state the agent of this “calling,” though from the context it would seem to be God (the Father), Jesus, or both. 41

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Psalm 22 in Mark’s Gospel: Moving Forward Holly J. Carey

Introduction Jesus’s cry from the cross in Mark’s Gospel, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (ὁ θεός μου ὁ θεός μου, εἰς τί ἐγκατέλιπές με) has always intrigued me. As such, I wrote my first book on the subject—my published PhD dissertation from the University of Edinburgh.1 In the book, I conduct the only full-length study devoted to exploring a contextual2 reading of Ps 22:2 in the Gospel. Although I encountered many assumptions that the whole psalm was implied even though Jesus cites only the first line of it, there was little scholarly work done to substantiate that claim. Moreover, I discovered that it was even more common for scholars to read the citation atomistically, that is, to take at face value only the words that Jesus said, and therefore to interpret the verse as an indication that God did abandon Jesus while he died. Which approach best takes into account how Mark’s earliest readers would have understood Jesus’s words?3 What evidences are present within and outside of the Gospel that indicate that the Markan Jesus is not despairing his abandonment by God, but is saying something about his identity as one who will suffer and be vindicated by God? These are the questions I set out to answer.

1 Holly J. Carey, Jesus’ Cry from the Cross: Towards a First-Century Understanding of the Intertextual Relationship between Psalm 22 and the Narrative of Mark’s Gospel (LNTS 398; London:  T&T Clark, 2009). 2 Geert Van Oyen and Patty Van Cappellen, “Mark 15,34 and the Sitz im Leben of the Real Reader,” ETL 91 (2015): 569–99, here 578, have expressed concern that my preferred term “contextual” is too confusing here, as it is not clear to them what context I am talking about when I use it. However, I define it clearly at the beginning of my book, and then use it in a consistent manner throughout. As they propose no alternative term, and as others have continued to adopt the term, I will continue to use it as well. See also, Ville Auvinen, “Jesus and the Devout Psalmist of Psalm 22,” in Jesus and the Scriptures: Problems, Passages and Patterns (ed. Tobias Hägerland; LNTS 552; London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), 134. 3 I call these early readers “implied readers,” referring to the person(s) who would be responsible for reading the Gospel to early Christian audiences comprised mostly of people who would not be able to read it for themselves. I assume that these readers would have had more competency in the Scriptures and would be able to pick up on textual cues within Mark that would help them guide their audience in contextual interpretation, if required. See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 23–25.

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It has been a decade since that publication. No one has yet explored this text in the same detail, so it remains the definitive work on the subject, but there have been contributions in Markan studies, on Ps 22, and in rabbinic studies since that time that have helped to sharpen my thoughts on this text. These contributions have been significant enough to move the discussion forward. In this chapter, then, I will give a shortened synopsis of my full-length study, weaving in dialogue with more recent scholarship where relevant. For the final section, I  will engage with three areas in recent scholarship that have contributed most to my understanding of Jesus’s cry from the cross in Mark 15:34.

Jesus’ Cry from the Cross One of the most important aspects of my previous study on Ps 22 in Mark’s Gospel was the eclectic approach I chose. Rather than building an argument that was foundational in nature (with one argument stacking up on another), I took a multilevel approach, weaving together individual strands of evidence to form a web of an argument, so to speak. The advantage to this strategy is that each piece of evidence can be weighed on its own terms, its pros and cons considered, and then accepted or rejected without the whole structure crumbling down. For example, one might be convinced that the multiple allusions to Ps 22 in the rest of Mark’s Gospel have some bearing on his implied readers’ understanding of Jesus’s cry from the cross in Mark 15:34, and yet might not be convinced that there is enough evidence to suggest that these same readers would have seen the cry as a functioning incipit in the narrative.4 The types of evidence considered in this study are twofold: intratextual evidence and extratextual evidence. Intratextual evidence involves elements within Mark’s narrative that impact understanding and interpretation of Mark 15:34. Extratextual evidence involves factors outside of Mark’s narrative that could have impacted the way in which Mark’s earliest readers would have interpreted Jesus’s cry. The goal of this approach was to see if the total weight of the evidence supports a contextual reading of the psalm in Mark’s narrative, and I believe that it does. A brief overview of that evidence will be helpful, particularly for understanding any forward movement on the subject in the last decade.

Resurrection in Mark’s Gospel One piece of intratextual evidence that supports a contextual reading of Ps 22:2 in Mark 15:34 comes from a theme that is present throughout Mark’s narrative. It has long been noted that the parts of Ps 22 that have been cited or alluded to most clearly come from the first half of the psalm which contains the lament of the speaker.5 This 4 Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 139–70 and 106–11, respectively. 5 E.g., see Vernon K. Robbins, “The Reversed Contextualization of Psalm 22 in the Markan Crucifixion: A Socio-Rhetorical Analysis,” in The Four Gospels 1992: Festschrift Frans Neirynck. Vol. II (ed. F. Van Segbroeck; BETL 100B; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1992), 1161–83.

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would seem to bolster a view of Mark’s Gospel as a dark and brooding narrative that has the death of Jesus on the cross as its primary focus. Yet there are many places where Mark underscores the anticipation of Jesus’s future resurrection, and then records that event at the end of his gospel. This emphasis on Jesus’s resurrection—a feature often ignored by scholars in favor of a type of film noir reading of the Gospel6—weaves a positive tone of the hope of Jesus’s vindication in the face of his enemies, a key theme of Ps 22. The transfiguration of Jesus in Mark 9:2–8 is one such account. The resurrection focus of this story is so strong that some scholars have argued that it is an actual resurrection appearance superimposed later onto an earlier narrative.7 Although that is a tenuous claim, what is certain is that the event sets up the later discussion of Jesus’s future resurrection, providing another opportunity for Jesus to prepare his disciples (and Mark’s readers) for what lies ahead. Interestingly, although he also mentions the sufferings he will endure (9:12), it is his declaration that he will rise from the dead that intrigues Peter, James, and John. The reverse order of events is atypical for the Markan Jesus, as he most often starts by talking about his sufferings and death before his resurrection, which follows the order of the actual events.8 Perhaps it is because the disciples are confused about how Jesus will rise from a death they simply cannot fathom, but the narrative impact of the conversation leaves the reader focused on the resurrection as it relates to what they have just read about Jesus’s mountaintop experience. This resurrection motif is further imprinted on the reader with the following story of Jesus’s exorcism of an unclean spirit (9:14–29). After the boy is freed, he lays there as if he is a corpse (καὶ ἐγένετο ὡσεὶ νεκρός), prompting the crowd to declare that he is dead (ὥστε τοὺς πολλοὺς λέγειν ὅτι ἀπέθανεν). Jesus, however, takes him by the hand and lifts him up so that he is able to stand. This story has great affinity with the story of Jairus’s daughter in Mark 5:21–24 and verses 35–43, which has its own threads of resurrection woven through it.9 In fact, the language Mark uses to describe each of the children’s resurrections is very similar (καὶ κρατήσας τῆς χειρὸς τοῦ παιδίου … σοὶ λέγω, ἔγειρε, 5:41; ὁ δὲ Ἰησοῦς κρατήσας τῆς χειρὸς αὐτοῦ ἤγειρεν αὐτόν, 9:27), with one significant difference. At the end of 9:27, Mark adds another term for resurrection, describing the boy’s change in position (from laying down to standing: καὶ ἀνέστη). This is the very same verb Jesus uses when he shares a glimpse of his future with the three predictions—that he will rise from the dead (ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐκ νεκρῶν ἀναστῇ, 9:9). Moreover, this word is repeated in 9:10 when Mark describes the source of the disciples’ confusion (καὶ τὸν λόγον ἐκράτησαν πρὸς ἑαυτοὺς συζητοῦντες τί ἐστιν τὸ ἐκ νεκρῶν ἀναστῆναι). Jesus, then, will experience the benefits of the power Holly J. Carey, “Is It as Bad as All That?’ The Misconception of Mark as a Film Noir,” in Mark, Manuscripts, and Monotheism: Essays in Honor of Larry W. Hurtado (ed. Chris Keith and Dieter T. Roth; LNTS 528; London : Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), 3–21. See also, Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 45–69, for a more exhaustive look at these texts and suggestions for more hints at resurrection in Mark. 7 For example, Francis Watson, “The Social Function of Mark’s Secrecy Theme,” JSNT 24 (1985): 49– 69, here, 55; and Norman Perrin, The Resurrection Narratives:  A New Approach (London:  SCM, 1977), 27–32. 8 Cf. Mark 8:31; 9:31; 10:33–34. See further discussion of these texts later. 9 Emphasized by the intercalation with the hemorrhaging woman’s story in 5:25–34. 6

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of God in his own resurrection, just as these little ones experience it through the touch of the Messiah. The citation of Ps 118:22–23 at the end of the “parable of the tenants” in Mark 12:1– 12 also demonstrates the inherent linking of the concepts of suffering and resurrection/ vindication in the Gospel. Clearly identifying himself as the “beloved son” (εἶχεν υἱὸν ἀγαπητόν, 12:6) who will be killed at the hands of the tenants (i.e., the religious authorities), Jesus adds a further metaphor by referring to himself as the “stone” that will become the most important part of the “building,” despite his rejection by the ones tasked to do God’s work (12:12). If Jesus is the beloved son and the capstone, and the religious authorities to whom this parable and citation are targeted are the tenants and builders, then what will happen to Jesus in his suffering and death will prove to be their undoing and his making in the eyes of God himself. Thus, there is an inherent expectation that his story does not end in death but will continue, as he is proven right by God’s act of raising him from the dead. The clearest texts that demonstrate the importance of Jesus’s vindication through resurrection in Mark are found in the strategically placed passion-resurrection predictions in Mark 8:31, 9:31, and 10:33–34. I have written on these at length, and so will be brief in my summary of those arguments here.10 Distorting the modern reader’s understanding of these three predictions is the label that often goes with them: the passion predictions.11 Although these predictions of the experiences that await Jesus do include his suffering and death, they always include mention of his resurrection. Thus, I prefer the language of “passion-resurrection” when referring to them. This is not just semantics here—these three predictions form the backbone of the middle of the narrative and guide the reader in an anticipation of what is to come—an ancient “flashforward” if you will. Because these have such a profound impact on the reader’s impression of where the narrative is going, focusing only on the passion portion of Jesus’s words here shortchanges the story.12 In other words, Mark has been preparing his readers for Jesus’s suffering and resurrection—two necessary components in the “good news” (εὐαγγελίον) he is telling.

Intertextuality in Mark’s Gospel If the argument that Ps 22:2 in Mark 15:34 is a contextual citation rather than an atomistic one is to be compelling, one would expect Mark to utilize the scriptures in that way prior to Jesus’s cry from the cross. Thus, another thread of intratextual evidence is an analysis of sample passages from the Gospel that contain intertexts that

Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 46–58; Carey, “All That?” 12–14. 11 This is likely to be unintentional, but even unintentional mistakes have consequences. In this case, the consequence is to subconsciously prioritize Jesus’s sufferings over his resurrection. 12 Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 46: “… an interpretation of these passages that ignores the critical prediction of the resurrection can have a profound effect on how one perceives the tenor of the entire gospel narrative and Mark’s resurrection account in particular. An undue emphasis on Jesus’ suffering and death at the cost of muting his resurrection (or relegating the latter to merely an afterthought on the part of the author) fails to give attention to an event for which Mark has been preparing his readers throughout the narrative.” 10

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represent Mark’s intertextual strategies at work. Is Mark elsewhere counting on his implied readers to understand the larger original context of the scriptures in its new place in his gospel? Are there any markers in the Markan passage that indicate this? What are Mark’s typical allusive techniques?13 Mark begins his gospel story by combining several scriptures into one conflated citation and contributing it all to “Isaiah the prophet” (1:2–3).14 As this has something to do with the beginning of the good news about Jesus, Mark implicitly places high priority on his utilization of scriptural texts. First impressions are highly influential, so if it can be shown that Mark is communicating more of the context of Isaiah, Exodus, and Malachi than the actual words he cites, he is setting the tone for the remainder of the Gospel. In other words, he is providing the reader with an interpretive lens through which to view the rest of the scriptures vis-à-vis Jesus. An appeal to the larger original contexts of these scriptural texts—and particularly Isaiah—has been made by some scholars, and good work has been done to show the agreements between the themes in Mark and themes in these passages.15 Although the precise nature of the illumination is a matter of discussion (i.e., the interpretive conclusions to be drawn), these scholars agree that the larger context of Isaiah is in view for Mark, and that this should shape our understanding of the narrative from beginning to end. As much as I would like to be convinced of this, I am just not sure the evidence is there in Mark 1:2–3, mainly because it is the beginning of the Gospel and therefore we do not have much narrative context to go on in our evaluation of its function in the narrative. In addition to its situation in Mark’s narrative, another difficulty presented is the conflation of the citation itself, and Mark’s own attribution of it all to Isaiah. If one applies the larger context of the Isaiah alone, this effectively excludes the influence of the Exodus and Malachi texts. On the other hand, if one applies the original contexts of all three of the scriptural texts, then one must grapple with the fact that each focus on different issues within their own contexts. It is not clear to me: (a) that Mark is thinking contextually here; and that (b) even if he is, which context(s) he is directly applying to his understanding of Jesus. Perhaps it is simply that John the Baptist is another “voice” (1:3) who prepares the way for God to work—this time through his son, Jesus (1:2–8). There are, however, other uses of the scriptures in Mark that suggest that the larger context of the original text is fully in view and helps illuminate its new context in the Gospel narrative. In Mark 5:1–20, in his story of Jesus’s healing of the Gerasene demoniac, Mark weaves allusions to Exod 14–15 throughout, beginning with the setting of the stories (near a “sea” outside of the boundaries of the Promised Land/Israel), the demise of the pigs as a result of their rushing into the sea (like the Egyptian army that 13 Due to space limitations, I will be selective with the texts I discuss in this section. A more thorough assessment can be found in Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 70–93. 14 Mal 3:1; Exod 23:20; Isa 40:3. Some later manuscripts “fixed” the text by removing the reference to Isaiah altogether; e.g., A, W, f13, and Maj. 15 See Rikki E. Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus and Mark (WUNT II/88; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997); Joel Marcus, The Way of the Lord: Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Gospel of Mark (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1992), 17–47; and my discussion of their work in Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 72–75.

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hotly pursues the Hebrews), and the freeing of humans from bondage by the power of God (the Gerasene is in bondage by the demons, but is freed by Jesus, who has already displayed God-like power over the sea: Mark 4:35–41). In the story that follows, Jesus is able to heal Jairus’s daughter, but not before stopping to heal the hemorrhaging woman who has the courage and faith to make that possible. Both of these stories, weaved together deliberately so as to highlight their mutual interpretation, contain allusions to Elijah’s healing of the widow of Zarephath’s son (1 Kgs 17:17–24) and Elisha’s healing of the Shunnamite woman’s son (2 Kgs 4:32–37) in setting (the healing of someone who is “dead”16), the actions of the individuals (their posture and requests, the raising to life of the child in the house), and the outcomes of the stories (the prophet heals). Bolstering the connections to these stories is the prior identification of John and Jesus as Elijah/Elisha figures.17 After causing a disturbance in the temple, Jesus begins to teach the crowd who had gathered to witness it, citing a combination of Isa 56:7 and Jer 7:11 (Mark 11:17). Mark draws attention to the larger context of those scriptural passages by connecting the roles of the abusers of the temple in Jer 7 with the religious authorities in Mark, both of whom refuse to listen to God and obey him, act on their own inclinations, and have misplaced priorities of cultic ritual over genuine obedience.18 These people enable λῃστής—likely used in the sense of nationalistic insurrectionists—and this ties in well with the context of Isa 56, which condemns those who put their nationalistic and exclusive priorities over that of God’s. God desires his house to be a house of prayer for all nations, rather than just one.19 Both the Jeremiah and Isaiah contexts, then, have direct bearing on Jesus’s own criticisms of the abusive practices of the temple in his time.20 Lastly, Mark’s allusion to Ps 41:10 in the narrative of the Passover supper Jesus shares with his disciples in the last days of his life appears contextual in nature (Mark 14:18). Jesus is also betrayed by a friend, who takes advantage of his hospitality while plotting to give him up, and both stories are tied to the context of a meal. The focus of both is the deception that wounds the victim, made more acute because it is someone he trusted as a friend. This deception is drawn out in Mark’s narrative, as the reader first finds out about the plot (14:1–2, 10–11), witnesses Jesus’s realization of it and condemnation of it (14:18–21, 27–28), and then views the actual act of betrayal in the garden (14:43–50). But, as in the psalm, the “joke” is on the enemies who plot against the protagonist—both Jesus and the psalmist will be raised up by God and vindicated (Ps 41:10).

Jesus is using καθεύδει as a metaphor for death in 5:39, emphasizing the temporary nature of the state she is in before he raises her up (5:41). 17 Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 78–79. 18 Cf. Jer 7:10, 13, 24; and Mark 2:24; 3:2–4, 6; 7:1–13; 8:11, 12; 11:18, 27–33. This opposition to God is also emphasized later in Mark 12:1–12. 19 Watts, New Exodus, 329. 20 See Holly J. Carey, “Teachings and Tirades: Jesus’ Temple Act and His Teachings in Mark 11:15–19,” SCJ 10 (2007): 93–105, for my argument that the inceptive imperfect ἐδίδασκεν (“he began to teach”) is a literary indicator of a contextual citation in 11:17. 16

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The Sociocultural Context of Mark’s Gospel Extratextual evidence that can help us understand how Ps 22:2 functions in Mark 15:34 comes from two directions. If, as I argue, the citation would have been regarded as contextual rather than atomistic, one would expect to see other examples of this practice, particularly when it involves the beginnings of texts. Additionally, if one is to understand the function of the psalm in Mark as the key contributor to his identification of Jesus as the ultimate Righteous Sufferer, one would expect that motif to exist in significant ways in the writings and beliefs of Jewish contemporaries. The broader issue of the use of texts (particularly the psalms) in the first century is an important extratextual consideration, as these practices can help us to gauge whether it is fair to expect Mark to signal the larger context of the psalm in Jesus’s cry from the cross. The practices in view range from the liturgical use of the psalms in various Jewish communities, the specific incorporation of Ps 22 in other contemporary texts, and the practice of utilizing incipits in Judaism. The use of psalms in synagogue worship was done by reciting psalms in a chant often accompanied by music.21 The Essenes also chanted hymns during feasts and ceremonies that were likely derived from the psalms and the Hodayot.22 In both cases, this involved the recitation of some portion of a psalm by a leader, and then the community either repeating him or continuing on the recitation (filling in the gaps).23 In addition to bringing together the voices of the people into one collective voice of worship, this would also indicate that the community knew how to finish the psalm from memory (aided by practice), as individuals would not have had a text of their own from which to read.24 Significantly, we catch a glimpse of this practice among Jesus and his disciples in Mark 14:26, when they “sing a hymn” (ὑμνήσαντες) after the Passover meal before going to out of the city.25 It is plausible that, given these other practices of psalmic recitation in their Jewish contemporaries, early Christians would also practice this as well, but with a focus on the psalms that were believed to be integral to the Gospel story. One such psalm was Ps 22. Contemporaries of Mark’s Gospel (those spanning the period roughly 100 BCE–100 CE) often applied this psalm to protagonists in their own stories, as a way of making sense of what happened to them, or to accentuate some character trait that was considered worthy of emulation. In Wis 2–5, Odes of Solomon, Joseph and Aseneth, and the Hodayot of Qumran, although none cite or allude to Ps 22:2, each text utilizes the psalm to portray its protagonist as someone who seeks deliverance from God in the face of persecution. Some use both portions of the psalm—lament and thanksgiving—therefore accentuating the vindication that See b. Meg. 32a; b. Ber. 6a; b. Tacan. 16a. According to James W. McKinnon, “On the Question of Psalmody in the Ancient Synagogue,” Early Music History 6 (1986): 159–91, here 185, these were often Hallel psalms. 22 Philo, Contempl. Life, 80. 23 See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 111–15. 24 Nor would they have the competency to do so! Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995). 25 Early Christian practice was to sing praises to God at the agape meal and these are likely to be the Hallel psalms. Cf. Tertullian, Apol. 39; Hippolytus, The Apostolic Tradition 25. 21

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God gives the sufferer.26 Some adopt the “plot” of the psalm for their own protagonist, understanding their plights to have eschatological meaning in both their suffering and vindication by God.27 Evidence that the first line of a text could have a function similar to that of titles, in implying the remainder of the text or signaling the content of a larger portion of a text, is found both before the first century, during Second Temple Judaism, and even in the later writings of the Mishnah. In my study I call these phenomena “incipits.”28 The Jewish custom of naming a book by its first words is seen in both Genesis (‫אׁשית‬ ִ ‫)ּב ֵר‬ ְ and Exodus (‫)אּלֶה ְשׁמֹות‬. ֵ ְ Ps 68 appears to be a collection of the incipits of around thirty ancient hymns.29 This practice continues into the Second Temple period, when an author at Qumran “fills in” Miriam’s song, thus rendering the first line of the song given in Exod 15:21 as an incipit.30 There are also indications in the Mishnah that the incipits of some psalms were used in worship to indicate that the rest of the psalm should be prayed as well.31 All of these increase the likelihood that Mark would make use of this strategy in his own writing, expecting his implied readers to interpret citations that function as incipits accordingly.32 The motif of the Righteous Sufferer can be found in Jewish texts written before and during the first century. The prime example of this is the story of the persecuted righteous man in Wis 2:12–20 and 4:18c-5:14.33 Of importance for our purposes is the appearance of the combination of the concept of the Righteous Sufferer and the use of Ps 22 in Wis 2–5 and Hodayot (applied to the Teacher of Righteousness).34 This indicates that the motif of the Righteous Sufferer was “in the air” during the first century. Moreover, one of the central scriptures used to flesh out this motif and apply it to certain protagonists is the very text Mark uses in his gospel to describe Jesus’s own experiences. Wis 2–5; Odes Sol., and the Hodayot. Wis 2–5; 1QH XIII, 6–19 (the Teacher of Righteousness). See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 106–11, for full discussion and examples. William F. Albright, “A Catalog of Early Hebrew Lyric Poems,” HUCA 23 (1950): 1–39. John R. Gray, “A Cantata of the Autumn Festival: Psalm LXVIII,” JSS 22 (1977): 2–26, disagrees with Albright’s thesis, but I think Albright’s argument is the more convincing of the two. See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 108. 30 4Q365 6a.ii.1–7. The fact that the author then proceeds to continue where the Exodus narrative leaves off suggests that his intention was to fill in what was implied in the text. Another incipit might be present in 4Q174 1 i, 18–19 (Ps 2:1–2), although this is more tenuous given the genre is testimonium. See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 109. 31 Tamid 7.4 and m. Tacan. 2.3 (Pss 120; 121; 130; 102; and 1 Kgs 8:37 and Jer 14:1). See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 109–10. 32 Contra Van Oyen and Van Cappellen, “Sitz im Leben,” 582, who question whether we can be sure that readers would be “accustomed to the use” of incipits or that Mark would be doing such a thing in the first place. Again, I would underscore the distinction between the competencies of the implied reader of Mark and the audiences who would have heard the Gospel read to them. I argue that the former would have had the ability to recognize incipits, even when the latter would not: Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 23–24. 33 See George W.  E. Nickelsburg, Jr. Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (HTS 26; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972), who sees this storyline of the Righteous Sufferer in Gen. 37; Ahiqar, Esther, Dan 3 and 6, Susanna, Wisdom 2, 4–5; 2 Macc 7; and 3 Macc. 34 Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 116–17, 120–23. 26 27 28 29

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Jesus as Mark’s Righteous Sufferer Since the concept of the Righteous Sufferer was part of the scriptural and contextual world in which Mark was writing his gospel, it is possible that this motif is one of the lenses through which he views Jesus, especially as there had already been precedent for applying these texts to revered figures in their respective communities. Mark uses other themes in his narrative which overlap with the Righteous Sufferer motif and help contribute to his portrayal of Jesus as such a figure, and this intensifies as the Gospel moves into the passion-resurrection narrative (PRN). Along with explicit labels that contribute to the audience’s understanding of Jesus in the Gospel—such as “Christ,” “son of God,” Son of man,” and “teacher”—one implicit role he fulfills is that of a Righteous Sufferer. One of the ways that Mark accomplishes this is to draw connections between Jesus and the Righteous Sufferer motif by way of shared themes. The willingness of Jesus to accept his own martyrdom and to encourage his disciples to follow in his footsteps is an attitude shared by the Righteous Sufferers of the Maccabees.35 Notably, this takes place twice immediately following a passion-resurrection prediction (8:35 and 10:39), which I have already noted include both elements of suffering and vindication—elements which are often found in Righteous Sufferer texts.36 Another overlap between Jesus and Righteous Sufferer figures is the insistence of their innocence/ righteousness. Although Jesus is never explicitly called “righteous” in Mark’s Gospel, the implication can be found throughout the narrative. Perhaps the clearest example of this is found in Jesus’s parable of the tenants (12:1–12), where “the beloved son” (who represents Jesus himself) is murdered just because he is the son, and not for anything he has done wrong (12:7). Another theme that portrays Jesus as the Righteous Sufferer is the way that Mark connects Jesus’s experiences with that of his community. What it means to be a disciple in the Gospel has much to do with one’s willingness to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, which involves suffering with the future hope of vindication (8:34–38; 10:35–45). Similarly, the Teacher of Righteousness functioned as a sort of prototype for the Qumran community, with the language of his specific experiences taken up and used to describe the experiences for the group as a whole.37 Mark incorporates numerous points of contact with the genre of Righteous Sufferer stories.38 All of this is done to prepare the reader for what is coming—the events that will take place in the last days of Jesus’s life, recounted in the PRN.39 Moreover, because a crucial aspect of these stories is the vindication of the protagonist, the genre extends

35 Lothar Ruppert, Jesus als der leidende Gerechte? Der Weg Jesu im Lichte eines alt- und zwischentestamentlichen Motivs (Stuttgart:  KBW Verlag, 1972), 27–28; Joachim Gnilka, Jesu ipsissma mors: Der Tod Jesu im Lichte seiner Martyriumsparänese (Eichstätter Hochschulreden 38; Munich: Minerva, 1983), 9 and 14. 36 Hans F. Bayer, Jesus’ Predictions of Vindication and Resurrection:  The Provenance, Meaning, and Correlation of the Synoptic Predictions (WUNT II/20; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1986), 239, 255–56. 37 This is most clearly seen in the Hodayot. Marcus, Way, 185. See also, Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 102–6. 38 See George W. E. Nickelsburg Jr., “The Genre and Function of the Markan Passion Narrative,” HTR 73 (1980): 153–84. 39 The clearest of these are the passion-resurrection predictions (8:31; 9:31; 10:33–34). For a more robust list, see Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 134.

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beyond the cross to the resurrection account in Mark 16:1–8.40 The vindication of Mark’s Righteous Sufferer comes only after his death, rather than being saved from death. Although the latter is the most common experience of previous Righteous Sufferers, it is not a necessary one.41 In almost every other way, Mark’s use of the motif corresponds closely to the Righteous Sufferer of Ps 22, who is persecuted and mocked by his enemies (22:8–9, 13–14), expresses trust in God (22:4–6, 10–11, 20–22), is condemned by his accusers (22:17–19), protests his situation (22:2), prays to God for intervention (22:2–32), is answered by God (22:22), is rescued and vindicated (22:22, 25, 32), and whose experience provokes reactions that result in the acknowledgment of God’s actions (22:26–28, 30–32).42

Ps 22 in Mark’s PRN With an armful of extratextual and intratextual evidence gathered up to this point in the study—all of which, taken collectively, create a web of support for my argument—I now turn to a detailed examination of the meaning and function of Ps 22 in Mark’s PRN. One of the strongest cases for reading Jesus’s cry from the cross as a contextual citation rather than an atomistic one is that there are clear allusions to Ps 22 in other places in the PRN. Thus, the reader has already been exposed to the psalm numerous times, and would certainly be accustomed to attributing the “world” of the psalm to Jesus’s own story of suffering.43 The strongest allusions to Ps 22 are found in Mark 15:24, 29, 30, 31, and 32, and they help set up the final intelligible words of Jesus in Mark 15:34.44 Other echoes of Ps 22 may be found in Mark 15:27, 35–36, 39, and 16:6–8.45 The high density of allusions to the psalm in Mark 15–16 indicate the strong likelihood that the gospel writer would have expected his readers to have some knowledge of the psalm, and to recognize the allusions that have been woven into the Markan crucifixion and resurrection scenes.46 Nickelsburg, “Genre,” 175, stops short of including the resurrection account, regarding the tearing of the temple view and the centurion’s announcement as the narrative elements that anticipate the vindication and exaltation of Jesus in the form of resurrection. 41 Although Daniel, Joseph, and Susanna are saved from death, for example, the mother of seven sons is not (2 Macc 7). 42 Pace Hartmut Gese, “Psalm 22 und das Neue Testament: Der älteste Bericht vom Tode Jesu und die Entstehung des Herrenmahles,” in Vom Sinai zum Zion (BEvT 64; Munich: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1974), 180–201. 43 Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 141–43. See Luke Timothy Johnson, “The Scriptural World of Hebrews,” Int 57 (2003): 237–50, on the ways in which allusions invite readers into the “world” of the author. Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2016), 85–86, argues that a contextual interpretation of Ps 22:2 in Mark 15:34 is not an “exegetical cop-out,” but is rather “a reading strategy Mark himself has taught us through his repeated allusive references to snatches of Scripture that point beyond themselves to their own original narrative settings and led the reader to reevaluate the surface sense of the Jesus story.” 44 See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 142, for a chart comparing the wording of Mark’s allusions with their corresponding psalmic texts. 45 See ibid., 147–50 for a full discussion of the evidence of these allusions. See Kelli S. O’Brien, The Use of Scripture in the Markan Passion Narrative (LNTS 384; London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2010), for a careful study of how Mark engages with the scriptures in the PRN. Here she fills a lacuna in Markan intertextual studies, although I believe her definition of allusions is too restrictive. 46 See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 143–46, for a discussion of “fainter” allusions to Ps 22 in the rest of the Gospel. 40

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In order to understand how Mark’s earliest readers would have understood the meaning of Jesus’s citation of Ps 22:2 on the cross, I  argue that one must interpret this passage in light of Mark’s overall portrayal of Jesus in the Gospel. Two strategies must then be employed. First, one must be sensitive to the many different themes of the larger narrative which affect the reader long before he or she gets to Mark 15:34. Second, one must not “extract” the saying from its surrounding co-text and attempt to interpret it in isolation from what surrounds it. These two things must be held together when interpreting a text that has been wrongly understood to mean that God has abandoned Jesus. Nowhere in the Gospel is there any indication that God will abandon Jesus. Although Jesus does predict that his closest companions will do so (14:27, 30), and they do (14:50–51), there is no hint that his Father will, too. In key points in the narrative, God himself affirms Jesus and his ministry by publicly declaring him his son (1:11; 9:7). This close relationship is confirmed again when Jesus feels most vulnerable before his arrest (14:36). The events of Jesus’s baptism and transfiguration, his prayers to άββα in the garden (14:36), the tearing of the temple veil immediately after he dies (15:38), the centurion’s declaration that he is “son of God” (ἀληθῶς οὗτος ὁ ἄνθρωπος υἱὸς θεοῦ ἦν; 15:39), and God’s climactic intervention to raise him to life (16:6) are all narrative clues that God is with Jesus every step of the way, even when the path leads to death.47 Similarly, even when it seems like all hope is lost, the psalmist’s circumstances are radically changed by God’s intervention (Ps 22:22b). Although the persecution and distress he experiences compels him to cry out (22:2), his plea has not fallen on deaf ears (22:25). Readers familiar with Ps 22 would certainly not fail to see the connections between the psalmist’s experience and Jesus’s own. Invited into the world of the psalm and the world of Jesus, those worlds collide and converge into one story in Mark 15—the story of Jesus, the Righteous Sufferer. Just as the psalmist was not abandoned to his fate at the hands of his persecutors but was vindicated by God, so too will Jesus be vindicated by God through his resurrection in Mark 16. And, like the psalmist, Jesus’s story becomes a testimony for the kind of God Mark’s audience serves—a God who hears the cries of his people and who intervenes in dramatic ways on behalf of the poor and afflicted (Ps 22:25, 27). Jesus’s cry from the cross, then, functions in Mark’s narrative to identify Jesus as God’s Righteous Sufferer—one who will indeed suffer, but who will be vindicated by being raised “after three days” (μετὰ τρεῖς ἡμέρας; 8:31; 9:31; 10:34).48

47 Christoph Burchard, “Markus 15.34,” ZNW 74 (1983): 1–11, here, 6–7, interprets the darkness of Mark 15:33 as an indication of God’s supernatural power, and therefore presence with Jesus. 48 See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 167–70, for my argument that Mark’s use of Ps 22 is primarily about Jesus’s identity. Rikki E. Watts, “Mark,” in Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (ed. G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson; Grand Rapids:  Baker, 2007), 237, argues that the Elijah “misunderstanding” actually indicates the crowd’s awareness that with Jesus’s cry was an expectation of deliverance, following Craig A. Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20 (WBC 34B; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001), 508–9.

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A Way Forward By bringing together independent strands of evidence—both extratextual and intratextual—my goal was to demonstrate that the citation of Ps 22:2 in Mark 15:34 would have been understood by Mark’s earliest readers to be a contextual citation. Following the narrative clues of the text, it is more likely that these early readers would have incorporated the larger “plot” of the psalm into their understanding of Jesus’s death and resurrection than to have read Jesus’s cry as a declaration of God’s abandonment of him in his time of greatest need.49 Although I consider quite a lot of these evidences, and touch upon a number of issues that have arisen in scholarship, there is always room for more dialogue with new contributions to the conversation. Since it has been a decade since my full-length study was published, it is perhaps useful to “update” the existing state of understanding in the field by engaging with three areas where I believe these more recent conversations have been the most fruitful—whether to add evidence that supports my original argument, or to engage with criticism that encourages a sharpening or clarifying of my position. First, I will discuss the presence of possible allusions to the thanksgiving portion of Ps 22 in Mark 16:1–8. If connections can be shown between the vindication of the psalmist and the vindication of Mark’s own Righteous Sufferer by his resurrection, this will be further support that the larger context of the psalm is in view when Jesus utters Ps 22:2. Second, I will dialogue with scholars whose interpretation of Jesus’s cry centers on their location of tension between the words of the psalmic citation with the indications in Mark’s narrative that God’s presence is with Jesus. Need we see these two in tension with each other, or are there indications within the psalm itself that God does not abandon the speaker? Third, I  will expand the boundaries of my original study a little to consider how rabbinic applications of Ps 22 to the story of Esther and Messiah Ephraim might shed light on our understanding of what Mark is doing with his application of that same psalm to his narrative of Jesus.

Additional Allusions in Mark 16—Thanksgiving Is There! It has been rather common for scholars to see multiple allusions to the lament portion of Ps 22 in Jesus’s death scene, but to see no convincing connections to the thanksgiving portion of the psalm in Mark’s PRN.50 However, in my earlier study I proposed that See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 176–88, where I examine Matthew and Luke’s engagement with Ps 22 as a sort of test case for my argument. 50 E.g., Robbins, “Reversed Contextualization,” 1161–83; O’Brien, Use of Scripture, 152–53. Yet O’Brien does not see this “absence” as an indication that Jesus is without hope. In agreement with Claus Westermann, Praise and Lament in the Psalms (Atlanta:  John Knox, 1981), 259–80; and Patrick Miller, Interpreting the Psalms (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), 101–11, she sees Jesus’s cry as one of “hopeful expectation of deliverance,” in line with that of the psalmist (Ps 22:4) and a tradition of those who have used Ps 22 as a model prayer (Esther and Aseneth). Taking it further, Watts, “Mark,” 236, argues that the “backwards” allusions to Ps 22 actually emphasize deliverance: “ far from Mark’s silence on the deliverance section denying this expectation, the rhetorical gapping combined with the tension created by reversing the progression through the psalm (22:18, 7, 1) in the climactic searing cry can only heighten it, especially when Mark’s original audience already knows the outcome.” 49

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there are fainter allusions to the latter portion of the psalm in Mark 15. The centurion’s correct identification with Jesus as “son of God” (υἱὸς θεοῦ) in 15:39 is a response akin to the response of those who hear the psalmist’s testimony of his experience in being rescued by God from death: all nations of the earth will turn to God and worship him (Ps 22:27–28). Moreover, Mark’s description of Joseph of Arimathea as one who is looking forward to the kingdom of God (προσδεχόμενος ὴν βασιλείαν τοῦ θεοῦ) in 15:43 could call to the minds of Mark’s readers the anticipation of God’s rule in Ps 22:26–32.51 More recently, there have been additional proposals of allusions in the resurrection account of the Gospel. Scholars have suggested that the announcement to the women of Jesus’s resurrection in Mark 16:6 is similar to Ps 22:30, when the psalmist declares that those who have died will bow down before God.52 This is immediately followed by the command to “go and tell” that Jesus has risen from the dead (ὑπάγετε εἴπατε; 16:7), which may also allude to the psalmist’s response to his vindication by God: to “tell” (‫ ;אֲ סַ פְ ָרה‬διηγήσομαι) what God has done for him in the midst of the congregation (Ps 22:23, 26, 31–32)—a testimony that will change the world’s response to God.53 All of these examples—taken together—increase the likelihood that Mark’s readers would have detected the connections between the sufferings of the psalmist and Jesus made explicit in Jesus’s cry from the cross and the clearer allusions to the lament portion of Ps 22, and the anticipated and fulfilled vindication that comes at the end of both protagonists’ stories. This is further reinforced by the extratextual evidence that these Righteous Sufferer psalms were “so tightly connected to the future vindication of the righteous sufferer that by Jesus’s time most interpretations understood the two (righteous suffering and future vindication) together.”54

Tension Between Ps 22:2 and Mark’s Narrative? One of the more recent concerns of Markan scholars has been to “reclaim” the tension in Mark 15:34 between the psalmic citation and Jesus’s experience on the cross. The perceived need to underscore this tension might have different motivations and lead to a variety of approaches, but each iteration of this argument is a reaction in some form to Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 148–49, with Joel Marcus, “The Old Testament and the Death of Jesus: The Role of Scripture in the Gospel Passion Narratives,” in The Death of Jesus in Early Christianity (ed. John T. Carroll and Joel B. Green; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1995), 210, and Stanley E. Porter, Sacred Tradition in the New Testament: Tracing Old Testament Themes in the Gospels and Epistles (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2016), 173. See also, Auvinen, “Devout Psalmist,” 144, who also sees an allusion to Ps 22:2 in John 20:17. Although outside of the purview of this study, it is interesting that a gospel that does not contain the citation of Ps 22:2 still finds it important to allude to the thanksgiving portion of the psalm. This might be another indication that Ps 22 was being applied in its entirety to Jesus by early Christians. 52 Watts, “Mark,” 236: “life is regained.”; Porter, Sacred Tradition, 173. 53 Pace Porter, Sacred Tradition, 173; Watts, “Mark,” 236:  “proclamation encouraged.” Although the narrative leaves it open ended as to whether the women do indeed “go and tell.” Cf. a summary of the interpretations of 16:8 in Carey, “All That?”18–20. 54 Porter, Sacred Tradition, 171. See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 120–23. Cf. also Marcus, Way, 178–80; and Watts, “Mark,” 236, who see an eschatological dimension to the application of Ps 22 in these texts as further strengthening of the relationship between suffering and vindication, a view that Porter follows (171–72). 51

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a contextual reading of Ps 22:2. Although an interpretation of Jesus’s cry which focuses on the whole psalm may have been used by some as a way to dismiss the difficulty of Jesus’s suffering (a type of interpretive reading with rose-colored glasses), I  have argued that this is not a necessary motivator for reading the psalm contextually in the crucifixion scene.55 Rather, I argue that a contextual reading of Ps 22:2 in Mark 15:34 embraces both the distress of Jesus’s experience as well as anticipates the hope that comes with his future vindication. I believe that there is tension in Mark’s narrative, but not in the way that challenges a contextual reading, Rather, I  propose that the tension is communicated most clearly in the psalm itself, is resolved within the psalm, and it is this resolved tension that illuminates our understanding of Jesus’s words in Mark 15:34. In her examination of Ps 22:2 in Mark 15:34, Kelli O’Brien also recognizes in the psalm a “hopeful expectation of deliverance,” and notes that there is a history of Jewish interpretation that underscores this motif.56 Yet, she sees a contextual reading of the citation as a problematic reading because of the lack of clear allusions to the thanksgiving portion of the psalm in Mark’s PRN. Even if one finds her more minimalistic approach to intertexts convincing (in this case, agreeing with her assessment that allusions to the thanksgiving section are lacking in Mark’s PRN), her admission that the first line of the psalm anticipates hope in God’s deliverance pushes against her later interpretation of Jesus’s cry as an indication that Jesus “suffers the loss even of God’s presence.”57 She justifies this by appealing to two levels of meaning in the Gospel. In the first, “literal,” level, O’Brien places Jesus’s citation of the first line of the psalm. Not only does she reject any suggestions for further allusions to the thanksgiving/deliverance portion of Ps 22 in the PRN, but she argues that it would be impossible to include them anyway because of the current state of Jesus’s agony—he is dying on a cross. For O’Brien, this is the meaning of the psalmic citation: Jesus is suffering and cries out to a God who has abandoned him. On the second level, however, she appeals to the Markan community’s knowledge of the final outcome of Jesus’s story—his resurrection. Thus, she argues, because they would know that God did not abandon Jesus but vindicated him through the resurrection, they would have viewed this as a fulfillment of the entire psalm. Therein lies the tension: the community would know “something else to be true than what the literal words say…”58 Similarly, Elizabeth Malbon sees in her atomistic reading of Ps 22:2 in Mark 15:34 an indication of Jesus’s “experience of estrangement from God.”59 In her view this is evidence that Jesus’s request in Gethsemane has gone unanswered (14:36). She, like O’Brien, sees tension between the literal claim on the lips of Jesus that God has abandoned him, and the reality known all too well by Mark’s audience that God 55 Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 1–6. 56 O’Brien, Use of Scripture, 153, which is emphasized in the prayers of Aseneth and Esther. 57 Ibid., 154. 58 Ibid., 153–54 n. 126. 59 Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, Mark’s Jesus:  Characterization as Narrative Christology (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 186. Both Malbon and O’Brien are influenced by Whitney T. Shiner, “The Ambiguous Pronouncement of the Centurion and the Shrouding of Meaning in Mark,” JSNT 78 (2000): 3–22.

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is with him, “present and acting” in his situation.60 Following Malbon, this is what Geert Van Oyen and Patty Van Cappellan call “the category of paradox,” where “Jesus’ cry of abandonment expresses the experience of God’s absence together with God’s continuing presence within the gospel and becomes an example of the most mystical expression of God’s reality.”61 The problem with this proposed “tension” between Jesus’s cry from the cross and the way Mark’s narrative would be received by his audience is that both locate the tension in the wrong place. They read the hope of deliverance and vindication of the psalmist recounted in Ps 22 and Jesus’s experience as recounted in the PRN as claims that are at odds with one another, creating a tension between what Jesus says and what Mark’s audience knows to be true. I, too, believe there is tension, but the tension comes from the psalm itself and is resolved within the psalm: In the midst of persecution, the psalmist feels helpless and cries out to God to deliver him (22:2, 5–6, 12, 20–22).62 Despite all he knows to be true about the God in whom he has always trusted, he finds himself vulnerable and on the verge of death (Ps 22:4–6, 10–12). It is only after he has been rescued from his enemies that the psalmist realizes God has not ignored him but has heard his cry (Ps 22:22), which results in his testimony before the congregation—a testimony of God’s love for the afflicted, and one that attracts the worship that is due him (Ps 22:23–32). Therefore, any tension that Mark has in his narrative by applying the psalm to Jesus is adopted tension that has already been resolved. Because the psalmist’s cry has been answered and he has been vindicated by God, and because Mark’s audience would know this plot and would have seen the connections between the experiences of the psalmist and Jesus’s own experiences (both suffering presently endured at his crucifixion and anticipated vindication in his resurrection), Mark’s audience would “know how this story ends” precisely at the moment they are hearing the gruesome details of Jesus’s crucifixion. By quoting the first line of the psalm and implying the whole, the Markan Jesus and the Markan narrator are not at odds at all, because they both are playing on the tension within the psalm—the distress and lament made all the more poignant with the promise of vindication on the horizon. There is no differed satisfaction, then, on the part of Mark’s audience. Jesus’s cry—as a citation that invokes the story of the entire psalm—would itself resist an understanding of those words as a statement of God’s abandonment.

Psalm 22 in Rabbinic Literature: Who Is the Righteous Sufferer? Although falling outside of the boundaries of my full-length study, recent contributions on the function of Ps 22 in rabbinic literature might help to further place Mark’s use of Ps 22 in its sociohistorical context. We have seen how the language of Ps 22 applied to revered figures in Jewish communities around the time of the first century. Do patterns 60 Malbon, Mark’s Jesus, 188–89. 61 Van Oyen, “Sitz im Leben,” 587. 62 See Carey, Jesus’ Cry, 161–64, for a more detailed discussion of the nature of the abandonment the psalmist experiences in Ps 22 and its implications for understanding the term in Mark 15:34.

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emerge of this practice in Judaism after the gospels are written? What might this tell us about how Jews who rejected Jesus (and therefore Christian interpretation of this psalm) interpreted the text? The most common interpretation of Ps 22 in rabbinic literature is found in connection with the story of Esther, who represents a Righteous Sufferer whose fate is intertwined with that of her people.63 Of these, Midrash Tehillim 22 is the most extensive. This text contains a verse-by-verse commentary, and it is depicted as a prayer by Esther. A Talmudic text, Megillah 15b, describes in great detail the sufferings Esther endures by depicting her enemies as the animals of the psalm: King Ahasuerus is a dog (Ps 22:21) and a lion (22:14, 22); his hosts are bulls (22:13), and the descendants of Haman are strong bulls of Bashan (22:13). When she is raped by the king, she utters Ps 22:2, emphasizing her feelings of forsakenness as she fulfills her responsibilities to the king and to her people. In this text, the psalm aptly describes her personal plight and provides the language she needs to plea for the rescue of the Jews.64 Emphasized in these texts is her dire situation, but there are also glimpses of hope— hope that comes when God uses Esther to save his people from genocide at the end of her story. In the Talmudic Yoma 29a, this hope is to be found even in the superscription to the psalm, where the phrase “hind of the dawn” in Ps 22:1(2) anticipates the glory Esther will experience after her afflictions: “… to tell you that just as the dawn is the end of the whole night, so is the story of Esther the end of all the miracles.”65 In a rabbinic text that may very well be a contemporary of the gospels (or reflect ideas from that time), Mekilta, Shirata 3 also understands the first line of the psalm to be an invocation of God’s mercy. Following rabbinic typological interpretation, when “El” is used for God, it emphasizes God’s compassionate nature and mercy.66 Appropriately, then, Ps 22:2 is Esther’s prayer to save her people from destruction in Persia.67 These texts display a rabbinic tendency not only to see lament as an applicable tone to Esther’s situation, but also to anticipate God’s deliverance in her story. Arguing that Jewish rabbinic messianic applications to Ps 22 were influenced by earlier Christian applications to Jesus (what he calls an “ideological inversion of Jesus”), Rivka Ulmer examines the way the Pesiqta Rabbati offered an alternative Messiah as a polemic against Christians by using the very same text.68 Although Ps 22 was not read as a messianic text prior to the NT, this later rabbinic text utilizes the psalm and appropriates it for a person known as Messiah Ephraim, combining the concepts of the role of the messiah and suffering that were such a novel feature of Christian interpretation.69 Pesiqta Rabbati claims that, because David composed Ps 22 “on behalf of the son of David,” this anticipates the suffering and restoration that Catherine Brown Tkacz, “Esther, Jesus, and Psalm 22,” CBQ 70 (2008): 709–28. 64 Rivka Ulmer, “Psalm 22 in Pesiqta Rabbati:  The Suffering of the Jewish Messiah and Jesus,” in The Jewish Jesus: Revelation, Reflection, Reclamation (ed. Zev Garber; West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 2011), 110. 65 ‫ עַ ל–אַ ֶילֶת הַ שחַ ר‬/ ὑπὲρ τῆς ἀντιλήμψεως τῆς ἑωθινῆς. 66 Ulmer, “Pesiqta Rabbati,” 112. See Midrash Sek. Tov, Shemot 15. 67 Ibid. Consequently, Ps 22 is part of the liturgy of the commemoration of Purim (114). 68 Ibid., 106–28. 69 Ibid., 108. Pesiq. Rab. 34, 35, 36, and 37 are four homilies that present messianic apocalyptic visions applied to Messiah Ephraim. 63

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the messiah will experience in his role as God’s deliverer, and it adds an apocalyptic element of the messiah’s return from heaven to earth to fight in God’s eschatological battle and to participate in the final judgment and the resurrection of God’s righteous people.70 Like the psalm, Pesiqta Rabbati, then, emphasizes the eternal impact of the protagonist’s experience in suffering and vindication. What is significant about these rabbinic readings of Ps 22 is that both applications of the text to Esther and to Messiah Ephraim emphasize the inclination to connect the psalm to figures whose lives “fit” (or will fit) the story of the psalm. In these texts, great care is taken to draw parallels between the experiences of Esther and Messiah Ephraim and the psalmist—experiences that span the whole psalm, underscoring or anticipating both their suffering and vindication. If these are indeed polemical responses to the NT applications of Ps 22 to Jesus, this highlights the fact that the rabbis recognized that Christian readings of Ps 22 were primarily about the identity of Jesus of Nazareth. In order to counter this, the rabbis offered up their own identification of the speaker.

Conclusions Although no additional full-length studies of Ps 22 in Mark’s Gospel have been published since my own, there has been some continued, helpful conversation on the subject that has sharpened and bolstered my original arguments. Particularly helpful has been the further nuanced discussion of allusions to Mark in general and additional proposed allusions from the thanksgiving portion of the psalm in Jesus’s PRN. I have argued that these additional allusions add weight to the claim that the anticipated vindication in the psalm would also have been understood to apply to Jesus’s resurrection by Mark’s readers. Recent work in the narrative Christology of Mark gives priority to the role of the Gospel itself to say something about Jesus’s identity, and this can have profound impact on the way one interprets Jesus’s cry from the cross. I  have argued that the tension that is present here is tension that has already been resolved within the psalm, and therefore that the cry of Mark’s Jesus in 15:34 is anticipating that resolution as well. Lastly, a survey of rabbinic literature that applies Ps 22 to other figures such as Esther and Messiah Ephraim has been helpful in seeing how later readers understood the appropriateness of applying the psalm to people who had (or would) experience suffering and vindication. As a response to Christian interpretations of the psalm it also indicates that later Jewish interpretation of these Christian readings recognized that they were primarily about the identity of Jesus as one like the psalmist—what I have called a “righteous sufferer”—and so have provided a “substitute” to challenge the application of the psalm to Jesus of Nazareth. This extratextual evidence of indicates that the rabbis understood NT writers to be reading Ps 22 in the manner that I have argued—as a psalm that anticipates a figure who will suffer and be vindicated by God, not abandoned by him to the fate of persecution and agony. Jesus’s cry of Ps 22:2 in Mark 15:34 is a signal to Mark’s readers that he is such a person, and that his vindication by God is imminent, even as he dies on a cross. Pesiq. Rab. 36. See Ulmer, “Pesiqta Rabbati,” 116, 120. 70

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Luke’s Christology in Light of Old Testament Lament Echoes Channing L. Crisler

Introduction Prayer reveals a great deal about how petitioners understand themselves and their god(s).1 As Patrick Miller observes, “No single practice more clearly defines a religion than the act of praying.”2 Along these lines, students of early Christology have recognized for some time now the probative value of prayer as it appears in the Gospels.3 Not surprisingly, given its penchant for highlighting the prayers of Jesus and other figures in its narrative, the Gospel of Luke has received a fair amount of attention on this front. A handful of monographs have examined the link between prayer and Lukan Christology.4 However, while these kinds of studies certainly provide many helpful insights, they tend to limit their investigative scope along strictly lexical lines. The only episodes that really receive treatment are those which employ προσευχή, προσεύχομαι, or other terms within the same semantic domain. Consequently, interpreters miss the relevance of a less formal, though no less potent, kind of prayer in Luke, namely, lament. While lament is certainly more complex than the spontaneous cries of distress that readers most often associate with this prayer form, one can observe that such cries are frequently made to Jesus and by Jesus in Luke.5 A few examples include the disciples’ Hammerling’s question is apt, “What can academics learn by examining prayers of the ancients?” See Roy Hammerling (ed.), A History of Prayer: The First to the Fifteenth Prayer (Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition 13; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 1. 2 Patrick D. Miller, They Cried to the Lord:  The Form and Theology of Biblical Prayer (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 1. 3 From the perspective of the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule, one thinks of past giants such as Bousset and Jeremias. See Joachim Jeremias, The Prayers of Jesus (SBT 6; London:  SCM, 1967), 82–107; Wilhelm Bousset, Kyrios Christos: A History of the Belief in Christ from the Beginnings of Christianity to Irenaeus (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2013), 131–32. 4 See Ludger Feldkämper, Der betende Jesus als Heilsmittler nach Lukas (Bonn: Steyler, 1978); David Crump, Jesus the Intercessor: Prayer and Christology in Luke-Acts (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1999). 5 There is a tendency to reduce the study of lament in the NT to terminology, particularly terms related to crying and emotion. Such a limited focus obscures the function of lament in the NT including its role in Luke. See, e.g., Markus Ohler, “To Mourn, Weep, Lament and Groan: On the 1

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cry at sea, “Master we are perishing” (Luke 8:24); the thief ’s request, “Remember me” (23:42); and Jesus’s cry, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit” (23:46). Admittedly, when left to themselves, these cries hardly rise to the level of a specific prayer form, let alone inform early Christology. But the real exegetical cache lies within the larger subtext of OT laments that these cries and their surrounding episodic contexts evoke. It is in the interplay between lament subtexts and their narrative episodes that one finds access and insight into a Lukan prayer form that otherwise goes unnoticed. What I explore in this chapter is the value of these echoes for understanding Jesus’s identity in its Lukan configuration.6 The main argument in what follows is that the echoes of OT lament in Luke create a kind of Christological metalepsis in which Jesus is identified as both YHWH who answers lament and the righteous one par excellence who laments to YHWH. Metalepsis, in its use here, refers to a trope in which unstated points of resonance are generated by the interplay between specific Lukan episodes and the intertextual echoes they contain. As noted in the conclusion of this chapter, these Christological points of resonance have implications for the articulation of first-century views about Jesus, later Christian dogma, and ongoing discussions about divine Christology in the Synoptic Gospels.

Framing the Discussion Before beginning the analysis in full, stating a few salient points are in order that will help situate the study within larger discussions related to early Christology, intertextual method, and the study of biblical lament. First, following Richard Bauckham’s argument for “Christological monotheism,” OT lament provides yet another link between the identity of YHWH in Israel’s scriptures and Jesus’s identity in the NT.7 As is well-known, rather than denying that Jewish Christians could attribute “real divinity” to Jesus, or arguing for a Heterogeneity of the New Testament’s Statements on Lament,” in Evoking Lament:  A Theological Discussion (ed. Eva Harastra and Brian Brock; London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2006), 150–65. On the “hermeneutical relevance” of OT echoes for understanding Lukan Christology, see Richard B. Hays, Reading Backwards: Figural Christology and the Fourfold Gospel Witness (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2014). Additionally, there are some important and recent exceptions to the neglect of lament in the Gospels. See, e.g., Stephen Ahearne-Kroll, The Psalms of Lament in Mark’s Passion:  Jesus’ Davidic Suffering (SNTSMS 142; Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2007); D. Keith Campbell, Of Heroes and Villains:  The Influence of the Psalmic Lament on Synoptic Characterization (Eugene, OR:  Wipf & Stock, 2013); Rebekah Eklund, Jesus Weeps:  The Significance of Jesus’ Lament in the New Testament (LNTS 515; London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015). Additionally, for a review of current research on lament in the NT as a whole, see D. Keith Campbell, “NT Lament in Current Research and Its Implications for American Evangelicals,” JETS 57 (2014): 757–72. 7 See Richard 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), 1–59. For situating Bauckham within the larger discussion on early Jewish Christian views of Jesus’s divinity, see, e.g., Crispin H.  T. Fletcher-Louis, Luke-Acts:  Angels, Christology, and Soteriology (WUNT II/94; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997); Larry W. Hurtado, Lord Jesus Christ: Devotion to Jesus in Earliest Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003). 6

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kind of mutation toward an exalted Jesus, Bauckham argues for what he calls “Christological monotheism.” This simply means that the NT documents present a Jesus who shares in the divine identity of YHWH.8 Specifically, like YHWH, Jesus enjoys divine sovereignty, creative power, and exclusive worship. What this chapter adds to Bauckham’s proposal is that answered lament is one more way that YHWH’s sovereignty, power, and worship are often revealed in the OT. Israel could, and did, cry out to YHWH for deliverance of all kinds. As Claus Westermann rightly notes, “In the Old Testament, from beginning to end, the ‘call of distress,’ ‘the cry out of the depths,’ that is, the lament (klage), is an inevitable part of what happens between God and man.”9 Similarly, in Luke, lament is something that inevitably happens between Jesus and the people as well as between Jesus and YHWH. Therefore, the intertextual analysis in what follows has implications for larger discussions regarding early Christology. Next, with respect to method, two points are noteworthy. First, the chapter stipulates that the echoes under review pass many of the “tests” for detecting intertextual echoes as suggested by Richard Hays.10 Space will not permit a full discussion of the vetting process involved in the selection of the proposed echoes. Suffice it to say, the OT lament echoes proposed throughout routinely pass the tests of availability, volume, thematic occurrence, historical plausibility, history of interpretation, and satisfaction.11 Second, as mentioned already, the intertextual approach taken up in what follows is best described as metaleptic in nature. Once again, metalepsis in this study refers to the literary interplay that occurs between OT lament echoes and Lukan episodes that in turn produce unstated points of Christological resonance.12 These “unstated” points are the primary foci of this entire inquiry.13 The question is simply: “Through the subtext of lament, what does the reader learn about the Lukan Jesus that might otherwise go unnoticed?” 8 Bauckham, Jesus and the God of Israel, 2–3, 18. For alternative views, see, e.g., Maurice Casey, From Jewish Prophet to Gentile (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1991); A. E. Harvey, Jesus and the Constraints of History (London:  Duckworth, 1982); Larry Hurtado, One God, One Lord:  Early Christian Devotion and Ancient Jewish Monotheism (London:  T&T Clark, 1998; 2nd ed.), 2. 9 Claus Westermann, “The Role of the Lament in the Theology of the Old Testament,” Int 21 (1974): 21. 10 Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press), 28–32. 11 Of course, it is worth noting that Hays does not intend interpreters to use his proposed “tests” as a rigid arbitrator of what qualifies as an echo and what does not. After laying out his proposed tests, Hays notes, “Precision in such judgment calls is unattainable, because exegesis is a modest imaginative craft, not an exact science; still, it is possible to specify certain rules of thumb that might help the craftsman decide whether to treat a particular phrase as an echo and whether to credit my proposed reading of it” (ibid., 29). 12 For a recent and helpful description of metalepsis in the NT, see Jeannine K. Brown, “Metalepsis,” in Exploring Intertextuality:  Diverse Strategies for New Testament Interpretation of Texts (ed. B. J. Oropeza and Steve Moyise; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2016), 29–41. 13 As is well-known, the link between the earlier and later texts results in what John Hollander describes as “unstated, suppressed, or transumed” points of resonance between the two texts. Hollander refers to this process as metalepsis (μετάληψις). Hays notes that the term μετάληψις occurs as early as Quintilian’s discussion of various kinds/species of tropes. Nevertheless, the description and function of metalepsis by Hollander and Hays is a far less jaundiced view of the trope than how Quintilian first described it. See John Hollander, The Figure of Echo: A Mode of Allusion in Milton and After (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), 133–49; Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 18–20, 199 n. 73.

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Finally, the definition of lament here is built upon, though not limited to, the conclusions reached by a panoply of OT scholars such as Walter Brueggemann, Hermann Günkel, Patrick Miller, and Claus Westermann.14 Give their contributions, and those of others, the most economical way to define and discuss lament is to speak about a “register of lament.” A “register of lament” is a “configuration of meanings” associated with situations of extreme pain that are most easily detected by the cry of distress they contain. Cries of distress are part of a larger set of participants, idiom, and narrative of lament.15 The three participants are simply the lamenter, enemies, and God.16 These three are routinely locked in the same struggle with one another, and their exchange is identified, at least in part, through the idiom of lament. Once again, the most recognizable feature of this idiom is the lamenter’s cry of distress to God that often takes the form of a question, complaint, and/or request. Contrastively, enemy speech is marked by insult, deceit, judgment, and malice along with the lamenter’s own colorful description of his or her enemies. The divine idiom of lament consists of God answering the cries of distress in a variety of ways. This idiom of lament and its participants are set against the backdrop of a flexible fivepart narrative framework that contains: promise, suffering, cry of distress, deliverance, and praise. In short, the tension between YHWH’s prior promise and the lamenter’s suffering results in the latter’s cry of distress. YHWH answers that cry, often by way of judgment and or salvation. The answer often shifts the lamenter’s cry to praise, though not permanently.17 In sum, this pattern, its idiom, and its set of participants comprise the register of lament found in the OT and, more importantly for the purpose at hand, and by way of intertextual echoes, it comprises the register of lament in Luke.

Laments to Jesus in Luke We begin with three laments made to Jesus in Luke’s Gospel that contain a robust register of lament. The cries examined here are brief, but they echo a larger subtext of OT lament replete with the participants, idiom, and narrative framework outlined For a sampling of their seminal works, see, e.g., Claus Westermann, Praise and Lament in the Psalms (Atlanta: John Knox, 1981); Hermann Gunkel, Introduction to the Psalms: The Genres of the Religious Lyric of Israel (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1988); Patrick D. Miller, ed., The Psalms and the Life of Faith (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); They Cried to the Lord. 15 For helpful discussions on the idiom and pattern of lament in the OT, see, e.g., Richard Boyce, The Cry to God in the Old Testament, SBLDS 103 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1985); Christiane DeVos, Klage als Gotteslob aus der Tiefe (FAT II/11; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005); Claus Westermann, “The Role of Lament in the Theology of the Old Testament,” Int 28 (1974): 20–38. For a discussion of OT lament in the NT, see, e.g., Channing L. Crisler, Reading Romans as Lament: Paul’s Use of Old Testament Lament in His Most Famous Letter (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2016), 16–44; Eklund, Jesus Weeps; Öhler, “To Mourn, Weep, Lament and Groan,” 150–65. 16 Janowski conveniently describes the three participants of lament as Ichklage, Gottklage, and Feindklage. See Bernd Janowski, “Klage,” in Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart (ed. Hans Dieter Betz, et al. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 4:1390. 17 For a helpful discussion about the oscillation between praise and lament in the psalms of lament, see Federico G. Villanueva, The Uncertainty of a Hearing: A Study of the Sudden Change of Mood in the Psalms of Lament (VTSup 121; Leiden: Brill, 2008). 14

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earlier. The subtext of these cries is hermeneutically valuable for understanding the episodes themselves. Yet, more importantly for our purposes, the transumed material that emerges between the cries made to Jesus and the lament subtext has the potential to open new vistas into Lukan Christology.18

The Disciples’ Lament to Jesus at Sea The register of lament in Luke 8:24 is signaled by the disciples’ cry to Jesus, “Master, Master, we are perishing.” The circumstances surrounding this cry are well-known (Luke 8:22–25). While sailing in the Lake of Gennesaret, a fierce gust of wind (λαῖλαψ ἀνέμου) strikes the disciples’ boat, but Jesus sleeps (ἀφύπνωσεν). In response to the cry “we are perishing,” Jesus awakens, calms (ἐπαύσαντο) the wind and waves by rebuking (ἐπιτάσσει) them, and asks the disciples, “Where is your faith?” The disciples, struck by fear and amazement, ask a question of their own: “Who (τίς) then is this that he commands the winds and the water, and they obey him?”19 Beneath the surface of this brief episode stands a subtext of various OT laments in which lamenters cry out for deliverance from the dangers of the sea, complain that God is “sleeping,” and are amazed when he delivers them simply by commanding the forces of nature. While these three broad pieces of lament are scattered across the OT, they are woven together and echoed in Luke 8:22–25. First, when the storm-tossed disciples cry out, “we are perishing,” both their cry and the danger of the sea which prompts it echo of the OT lament. Depictions of deadly danger at sea are both real and figurative occurrences in the OT. For example, the disciples’ cry at sea echoes the lamenter in Ps 68 LXX, “Save me, O God, because the waters (ὕδατα) entered unto my soul. I was stuck in deep mud, and there is no place to stand; I went into the depths of the sea (θαλάσσης), and a storm (καταιγίς) drowned me (Ps 68:2–3 LXX).”20 A look at the wider context of this cry reveals that the lamenter is distressed both by enemies, whose work is likened to death at sea, and by God’s inactivity, or flat rejection, in the face of death. Therefore, in the same psalm the lamenter also cries out “Do not turn your face away from your servant, because I am afflicted, answer me quickly” (Ps 68:18 LXX).21 Similarly, in another text evoked by the disciples’ cry, Jonah’s lament links death at sea to divine rejection as indicated in his prayer: “I cried out in my tribulation to the Lord my God, and he heard me; you heard my voice, my cry from the belly of Hades; you tossed me into the depths of the heart of the sea, and the floods surrounded me; all your billows and your waves came through The three examples discussed here are representative of a larger phenomenon in Luke. The present analysis is by no means exhaustive. The latter is the focus of a monograph that I  am presently producing entitled, The Lord Who Answers and the Lord Who Laments: Lukan Christology in Light of OT Lament Echoes. 19 Cf. parallel episodes in Matt 8:23–27; Mark 4:36–41 in which each writer gives an interrogative “title” to Jesus, namely τίς (Mark 4:41) or ποταπός (Matt 8:27). 20 Ps 68 LXX is echoed multiple times in Luke and Acts. See, e.g., Luke 13:35; 23:26; Acts 1:20. 21 The “hiding” of God’s face (or the “turning” of the divine face in the LXX) evokes yet another text, namely, Deut 30:17–18 in which the penalty for transgressing the covenant is the hiding of God’s face. On the motif of God hiding his face in the MT, see Samuel Balentine, The Hidden God: The Hiding of the Face of God in the Old Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983). 18

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upon me” (Jonah 2:3–4).22 Given this kind of causal connection between death at sea and divine rejection in OT lament, when the disciples cry “we are perishing,” it is perhaps more theologically loaded than might appear at first glance. The disciples are not merely distressed by a spontaneous storm at sea, though that is troubling enough. The intertextual overtones of their cries point to an even greater danger from inimical forces and even as severe as divine rejection.23 For the disciples, the napping Jesus is tantamount to divine rejection at sea (Luke 8:23). He sleeps (ἀφύπνωσεν) while a deadly storm rages on. This scene echoes the anthropomorphic imagery of a “sleeping” God sometimes described in OT lament. For example, the lamenter in Ps 43 LXX, a classic communal lament, cries out, “Awake (ἐξεγέρθητι); why are you sleeping (ὑπνοῖς) O Lord? Rise and do not reject (μὴ ἀπώσῃ) forever” (Ps 43:24 LXX).24 The request that God awaken, and the complaint that God is sleeping, are part of the psalm’s larger concern with divine rejection.25 Yet, in other instances, the psalmist speaks more positively about Israel’s “sleeping” God: “Behold, the one who keeps Israel will not sleep (νυστάξει) nor slumber (ὑπνώσει)” (Ps 120:4 LXX). The assertion is part of a larger hymn of praise extolling the maker of heaven and earth as Israel’s helper, protector, and keeper.26 When these echoes are heard in Luke’s unassuming description of a sleeping Jesus, the disciples’ cry becomes even more Christologically revealing. On the one hand, Jesus’s sleep echoes complaints and fears about divine rejection (Ps 43:24 LXX; Jonah 2:3–4). On the other hand, his awakening evokes the assurance that God does not sleep but helps, protects, and keeps his people (Ps 120:4 LXX). Finally, Jesus’s command that calms the waters and leads to the disciples’ subsequent amazement echoes a portion of lament from Ps 106 LXX.27 This entire psalm is marked by cries of distress that God answers through demonstrations of his supremacy over nature.28 The verses 23–29 contain a clear narrative of lament. The lamenters are identified as “the ones who go down to the sea (θάλασσαν) in boats (πλοίοις)” where they are frightened by God’s works (ἔργα) in the waters.29 Consequently, they cry out 22 There are multiple intertextual connections between Jonah 2:1–10 and Luke 8:22–25. The connections here are more conceptual than precise syntactical and lexical links. These links include: (1) a cry at sea; (2) escape from death; (3) association of storms at sea with divine wrath; and (4) shift to praise/amazement. In short, this echo passes Hays’s tests including: availability; volume; recurrence; thematic coherence; historical plausibility; and history of interpretation: Hays, Echoes of Scripture in Paul, 29–32. 23 On the link between inimical forces and the sea in the OT, see Pamela Lee Thimmes, Studies in the Biblical Sea-Storm Type-Scene:  Convention and Invention (San Francisco:  Mellen Research University Press, 1992). 24 For an extended study on Ps 44 (43 LXX), see, e.g., Monica Melanchthon, Rejection by God: The History and Significance of the Rejection Motif in the Hebrew Bible (New York: Peter Lang, 2001). 25 See also, the explicit complaint about rejection (ἀπώσω) that the speaker directs toward God in Ps 43:10 LXX. 26 See Ps 120:1–2, 5–8 LXX. 27 Anderson categorizes Ps 107 MT as a community song of thanksgiving. However, many types of psalms contain key elements from other types. That is the case in Ps 107:23–29 (106:23–29 LXX) which clearly contains elements of lament. Bernard W. Anderson, Out of the Depths: The Psalms Speak for Us Today (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1983), 241. 28 See ἐκέκραξαν in Ps. 106:6, 13, 19, 28 LXX. 29 Ps 106:27 LXX.

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for deliverance: “And they cried out (ἐκέκραξαν) to the Lord while they were being afflicted (Ps 106:28 LXX).” God answers those afflicted at sea by commanding the storm, “And he commanded (ἐπέταξεν) the storm (καταιγίδι), and it stood for a light breeze, and its waves (κύματα) were silent” (Ps 106:29 LXX). Once God quiets the storm, the sea workers’ cry turns to praise.30 Points of resonance between the psalm and the Lukan episode are obvious yet striking. Just as the sea workers in the psalm had their cry of distress turned to praise when God commanded the storm to be still, the disciples at sea have their cry turned to amazement when Jesus commands the storm to be still. The Lukan Jesus directly answers a lament at sea in a way that only YHWH can and does in OT lament.31

A Blind Beggar’s Lament to Jesus The register of lament in Luke 18:35–43 is signaled by a blind beggar’s twice repeated cry, “Son of David (υἱὲ Δαυίδ) have mercy on me (ἐλέησόν με).” When the crowd tries to silence the beggar, he cries out with the same request only louder (πολλῷ μᾶλλον ἔκραζεν). Jesus summons the man, hears the beggar’s request to see again, and answers his cry saying, “See again; your faith has saved you.” Consequently, the man’s cry, and the crowd’s attempt to muffle it, is turned to praise (Luke 18:43). The subtext beneath the beggar’s cry consists of a matrix of OT laments in which people cry out to God for mercy. The specific request ἐλέησόν με occurs in the same exact form sixteen times in the Psalms of lament.32 The lamenter cries out for mercy due to suffering caused by enemies, guilt, fear of divine wrath, and physical ailments. These sources of suffering are often intertwined with one another and lead to a plea for mercy. For example, in Ps 6:3 LXX, the lamenter cries out, “Have mercy on me (ἐλέησον με), Lord, because I am weak; heal me, Lord, because my bones are disturbed.” The wider context of Ps 6 indicates that the lamenter’s physical ailments are intertwined with a concern that God might rebuke him in his wrath. He also has a hope that those who act lawlessly would be removed and shamed.33 Similarly, in Ps 24 LXX, the lamenter cries out, “Look upon me and have mercy on me (ἐλέησον με), because I am alone and poor.” The lamenter’s plea for mercy is intertwined with worries about enemies and sin, all of which result in his lonely and impoverished condition. Prior to the request for mercy, the lamenter asks that his enemies would not be allowed to deride him, and he also requests that God might heal (ἱλάσῇ) him of his great sin.34 Ps 106:30 LXX. 31 Moreover, Jesus commands the storm directly without asking for God’s assistance in the way that so-called idealized figures often do. Jesus is more than an “idealized” king in the vein of David. The latter must cry out to God for help if he is to rule over the sea (see Ps 88:23–27 LXX). Contra J. R. Daniel Kirk, A Man Attested by God: The Human Jesus of the Synoptic Gospels (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2016), 433–44. 32 See Ps LXX 9:14; 24:16; 25:11; 26:7; 30:10; 40:5, 11; 50:3; 55:2; 56:2; 85:3, 16; 118:29, 58, 132. See also, Jdt 6:19; Sir 36:1; Bar 3:2. For the same expression outside the Psalms, see Ode 14:40; Isa 30:19; Matt 15:22; Mark 10:47, 48; Luke 16:24. 33 The request for mercy in Ps 6:3 is preceded by the plea, “Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger (θυμῷ) nor discipline me in your wrath (ὀργῇ).” The distress caused by enemies is indicated in Ps 6:8–11 LXX. 34 See Ps 24:2–3, 11 LXX. 30

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These kinds of echoes lie beneath the blind beggar’s request for mercy in the Lukan episode; therefore, the episode is teeming with Christological potential. The interplay between the Lukan episode and its lament subtext indicate that the beggar’s blindness is intertwined with other sources of pain such as enemies, guilt, and fear of divine wrath. As the echoes of lament indicate, the beggar asks more of Jesus than the recovery of his sight. He is simultaneously asking for Jesus to vindicate him from his enemies and forgive him of his sins. In this way, the beggar embodies the two lamenting figures from Jesus’s earlier parables in Luke 18:1–14 who seek vindication and forgiveness. Yet, we must notice one significant difference between the pleas for mercy in the Psalms of lament and the beggar’s plea. The vocative in the former is always κυρίε or θεός, but the vocative in this Lukan episode is υἱε Δαυίδ. Quite simply, the beggar asks of the Davidic figure what the lamenter only asks of God. Nevertheless, he believes Jesus can grant his request as Jesus’s commendation of him indicates, “Your faith (πίστις) has saved you.” In this way, Jesus’s identity as the “Son of David” who answers lament is informed by the God of Israel’s Scriptures who answers lament. We are not faced here with a polarizing choice between identifying the Lukan Jesus as an idealized Davidic agent or as divine in nature as some insist.35 Instead, the two identities belong together and in fact inform one another. The Lukan Jesus is indeed the “Son of David,” but, given Jesus’s YHWH-like ability to answer the beggar’s cry directly, the “Son of David” figure is being stretched far beyond the limits of an idealized human agent.

A Criminal’s Lament to Jesus The register of lament in the crucifixion scene is indicated by the criminal’s dying request, “Jesus, remember me (μνήσθητί μου) when you should enter your kingdom.”36 Both the cry to be remembered and the accompanying details in Luke 23:39–43 have a subtext of OT lament. The phrase μνήσθητί μου evokes a common request in OT lament, where lamenters beg God to act on their behalf in moments of distress.37 Psalm 24 LXX has some interesting points of resonance with the criminal’s cry that Jesus “remember” him. The psalmist cries, “Remember (μνήσθητι) your compassions, Lord, and your mercies, because they are from of old. Do not remember (μνήσθητι) my youth and my sin of ignorance; according to your mercy remember me (μνήσθητι μου) on account of your kindness, O Lord” (Ps 24:6–7 LXX). The lamenter’s thrice repeated request that God “remember” him arises from the pain caused by his own sin as well as that from the enemies who afflict him.38 Once again, as is common in the theology of OT lament, the lamenter’s sin, God’s wrath, and enemy activity are intertwined. The psalmist See, e.g., Kirk, A Man Attested by God, 218–37. 36 See κακοῦργοι in Luke 23:32. 37 Collectively, the petitioner’s plea for God to “remember” is a request that he would act in one or more of the following ways: (1) to remember mercy rather than the petitioner’s sin; (2) to remember prior promises of deliverance; (3) to remember how oppressive enemies have treated the petitioner or the community; (4) to remember the petitioner’s righteous deeds; and (5) to remember frailty and brevity of the petitioner’s existence. See, e.g., Judg 16:28; 2 Kgs 20:3; 2 Chr 6:42; Neh 1:8; 5:19; 6:14; 13:14, 22, 29, 31; Ps 73:2, 18, 22; 88:48, 51; 102:14; 105:4; 118:49; 131:1; 136:7; Job 7:7; 10:9; Isa 38:3; Jer 14:21; 18:20; Lam 5:1. 38 See the references to enemies or their actions in Ps 24:2, 15, 19, 22 LXX. 35

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places the request that God “remember” between a plea for deliverance from enemies in 24:2–5 and a plea for forgiveness in 24:11. These requests are followed by the psalmist’s question, “Who is the man who fears the Lord (ὁ φοβούμενος τὸν κύριον)?” (Ps 24:12a). The answer is that the man who fears the Lord is the one that asks for God to “remember” him, or act on his behalf, by forgiving his sins, defeating his enemies, and foregoing his wrath. The abbreviated form of this entire request is simply “remember me.” When the criminal’s request μνήσθητί μου is read alongside Ps 24 LXX, we see more clearly what is being asked of Jesus. Like the psalmist, the criminal requests forgiveness for his sin, because he interprets his crucifixion as God’s just penalty for his actions. This is clear in the rebuke of the blasphemous criminal, “Do you not even fear God (φοβῇ σύ τὸν θεόν), because you are in the same judgment? And we indeed justly, for we are receiving what is deserved for the deeds which we did; but he has done nothing wrong” (Luke 23:41). The lamenting criminal, unlike the blasphemous one, demonstrates his fear of God by asking Jesus to remember him in the same vein that the psalmist asks to be remembered. Additionally, like the psalmist, he requests deliverance from his enemies. This is intimated in his reference to Jesus’s kingdom, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” The criminal fearfully asks to be part of God’s reign rather than oppose it as he has done up until this moment. Therefore, Jesus’s response, “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise” grants the criminal’s plea for forgiveness, deliverance from enemies, and deliverance from wrath.39 Once again, the echo of lament locates the Lukan Jesus in a place normally reserved for YHWH. Jesus grants “remembrance” to one in distress in a way that only Israel’s God can and does in OT lament.40

Laments Made by Jesus We now turn our attention from cries made to Jesus and consider three cries made by Jesus. These cries also contain intertextual echoes that evoke a larger subtext of OT lament. To reiterate, the interplay between the Lukan text and the subtext of lament has hermeneutical implications for understanding both the individual pericopes and Lukan Christology.

Jesus’s Lament over Jerusalem As Jesus moves closer to Jerusalem within the literary structure of Luke’s Gospel, he makes a poignant cry along the way: Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills its prophets and stones those sent to her, how many times I wanted to gather your children in which manner a hen gathers It is interesting to note that some Jewish tombstones from the era bear inscriptions that ask God to “remember” the deceased. See David E. Garland, Luke (ZEC 3; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2011), 925 n. 29 (emphasis added). 40 See Joseph’s request to be “remembered” (μνήσθητί μου) in Gen 40:14. Thanks to Paul Thomas Sloan for this observation. 39

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its brood under her wings, and you were not willing. Behold your house is left to you, you certainly shall not see me until the time comes when you should say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord’. (Lk. 13:34–35)41

While a handful of exegetical difficulties usually consume the attention of interpreters, the primary focus here is on the OT lament subtext of Jesus’s cry.42 At least three interrelated echoes are at work. First, the vocative address Ἱερουσαλήμ Ἱερουσαλήμ evokes Jeremiah’s four laments against the capital city.43 For instance, God cries out “Be disciplined, O Jerusalem (Ἱερουσαλήμ), lest my soul should leave you, lest I should make you an incurable land which will not be inhabited.” Contextually, this cry is part of a larger lament in which Jeremiah and God both warn about impending judgment that stems from the nation’s idolatry and refusal to listen to its prophets. With respect to the latter, God criticizes their refusal to listen exclaiming, “I have set over you watchmen, saying ‘Hear the sound of the trumpet;’ and they said, ‘We will not hear’ ” (Jer 6:17). The echo of this divine judgment against Jerusalem can be heard in Jesus’s description of the city as “the one who kills its prophets and stones those sent to her” (Luke 13:34). Because of this rejection, just as God cried out to Jerusalem about impending judgment, Jesus does the same. Next, when Jesus compares himself to a hen (ὄρνις) who wanted to gather the brood under its wings, it echoes a divine image of protection in Israel’s scriptures. Several OT texts, including many involving lament, liken Israel’s God to a bird who saves and protects his people under his wings: With his shoulders he will overshadow (ἐπισκιάσει) you, and you will hope under his wings (ὑπὸ πτέρυγας αὐτοῦ); his trust will surround you with a shield. (Ps 90:4 LXX)44 As an eagle (ἀετός) may shelter (σκεπάσαι) his brood (νοσσιάν) and desires (ἐπεπόθησεν) his young (νεοσσοῖς), having spread his wings (πτέρυγας) he receives them. (Deut 32:11) 41 Danker notes that the “repetition of the name of the city accentuates the solemnity of the address”: Fredrick W. Danker, Jesus and the New Age: A Commentary on St. Luke’s Gospel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1988), 266. The vocative uses of Ἰερουσαλήμ in the LXX do not have this repetition. See, e.g., Ps 116:19; 122:2; 137:5; 147:12; Isa 40:9; 51:17; 52:1; 62:6; Jer 4:14; 6:8; 13:27; 15:5. 42 One of the main interpretive issues is the identity of the speaker. Does Jesus speak as personified wisdom, a prophet, God, or none of the above? For discussions of these various views, see, e.g., Darrell L. Bock, Luke 9:51–24:53 (BECNT 3B; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1996), 1249; Rudolf Bultmann, History of Synoptic Tradition (New York: Harper & Row, 1963), 114; Robert H. Stein, Luke (NAC 24; Nashville:  Broadman & Holman, 1992), 383; John Nolland, Luke 9:21–18:34 (WBC 35B; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1993), 742. 43 See Jer 4:14; 6:8; 13:27; 15:5. In both laments, rhetorically, Ἱερουσαλήμ is a synecdoche for the city’s inhabitants and really the entire nation. On the synecdoche in Luke 13:33–34, see Stein, Luke, 383; David Lyle Jeffrey, Luke (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2012), 182. 44 In the LXX, the prepositional phrase ὑπὸ πτέρυγας occurs in Ps 90:4; Ruth 2:12; 1 Kgs 8:6. For other texts that involve God’s protection and birds, see Exod 19:4; Ps 10:1; 60:5; 62:8; 83:4; 123:7; Isa 31:5.

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Clearly, God’s protection from the wilderness, subsequent military conflicts, and other distressing situations is likened to a bird sheltering its brood under its wings. Of course, the people’s refusal to seek God’s protection from their enemies meant they would face his wrath instead.45 This is the sense of Jesus’s cry. The brood’s refusal to come under the protection of his “wings” means they will face God’s, or Jesus’s, wrath. Along these same lines, Jesus’s ominous “Your house (οἶκος) is left (ἀφίεται) to you” echoes warnings in OT lament that God would abandon his people, or “house,” to its enemies. For example, God’s announces in Jer 12:7, “I have abandoned (ἐγκαταλέλοιπα) my house (οἶκόν), I have left (ἀφῆκα) my inheritance, I have given my beloved’s life into the hands of her enemies (ἐχθρῶν).”46 Contextually, the divine abandonment of the “house” is the result of the people’s wickedness and rejection of God.47 In Jesus’s warning, the abandonment of the οἶκος ultimately hinges upon their rejection of him. Obviously, Jesus’s lament is teeming with OT echoes in which God offers protection to his people but also warns of his judgment against those who refuse it. Yet, Jesus reworks the divine images and cries around himself. Consequently, as Hays rightly notes, “These daring words can hardly be merely the complaint of a rejected prophet. They are nothing other than a cry from the heart of Israel’s God.”48 In other words, Jesus cries out as Israel’s God and not merely as someone speaking on his behalf.

Jesus’s Lament at the Mount of Olives The register of lament in the scene at the Mount of Olives (Luke 22:39–46) is signaled by Jesus’s request which occurs just moments before his arrest, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup (ποτήριον) from me; yet, not my will but let your will (θέλημα) be done” (Luke 22:42). The references to ποτήριον and God’s θέλημα in the request indicate a subtext located in OT lament. Specifically, it is lament in which ποτήριον is a metonymy for divine wrath, and the divine θέλημα is the sole desire of the righteous lamenter. We find “cup” as a reference to divine wrath in both the Major Prophets and the Psalms. Two examples will have to suffice here: For the cup (ποτήριον) in the hand of the Lord is full of very strong unmingled wine, and he has moved it from this place to that one, yet his dregs have not been emptied, all the sinners of the earth will drink it. (Ps 74:9 LXX). Awake, awake, rise, Jerusalem who drank the cup (ποτήριον) of wrath (θυμοῦ) from the hand of the Lord; for the cup (ποτήριον) of the fall, the drinking of anger you have drank and emptied. (Isa 51:17)49 This is evident in the broad sweeping death of the wilderness generation. See also, Isa 65:1–7. 46 See also, Lev 26:31; Jer 22:5; Ezekiel 9–11; 1 Kgs 9:7–8; Ps 68:26 LXX. 47 See Jer 12:5–6, 8–13. 48 Hays, Reading Backwards, 72. 49 See also, Isa 51:22 (τὸ κόνδυ τοῦ θυμοῦ); Jer 28:7; 30:6; 32:15; 32:28; Ezek 23:31, 32, 33. 45

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Both of these examples clearly identify the contents of God’s cup as “wrath.”50 The wider context of Ps 74 LXX warns lawless people not to sin against God, but it also praises God for pouring out his cup of wrath against the unrighteous which crushes the horns of sinners but exalts the horns of the righteous.51 In the example from Isaiah, the description of Jerusalem drinking the cup of God’s wrath is part of a larger lament (Isa 51:17–23) that acknowledges the painful effects of the Babylonian captivity on the people but also calls for hope beyond that divine judgment. As it is described in Isa 51:22, “Behold I have taken from your hand the cup of falling (τὸ ποτήριον τῆς πτώσεως) and the dish of wrath (κόνδυ τοῦ θυμοῦ), and you will not still drink it.” Therefore, if the target of the cup metaphor in these examples is to indicate Israel’s experience of God’s wrath, it follows that Jesus is most likely requesting that he not have to experience such wrath by asking “Let this cup pass from me.”52 Another echo of lament in Jesus’s prayer is found in his request, “Let not my will (θέλημα) be done but yours (σόν).” The expression θέλημα σόν echoes Ps 39 LXX, an individual lament in which the speaker asserts “Then I said ‘Behold I come, in the head of the scroll it is written about me; I desired (ἐβουλήθην) to do your will (τὸ θέλημά σου), my God, and your law in the midst of my stomach” (Ps 39:8–9).53 Prior to this pledge, the lamenter praises God for answering his previous cries for deliverance, and he acknowledges that God’s answer to his cry engendered hope in those who saw it.54 In verses 6–12, he addresses God directly and his speech revolves around a heartfelt desire to do God’s will. The specific nature of the θέλημα is grounded in preaching the good news (εὐηγγελισάμην) of God’s righteousness (δικαιοσύνη).55 As verses 11–12 make clear, the lamenter does God’s will by preaching about divine righteousness, which is shorthand for the revelation of God’s truth, salvation, and mercy to the great congregation of people. The lamenter then cries out about his enemies and asks that the Lord would “delight” (εὐδόκησον) to deliver him.56 His cry turns to a final note of praise when he confesses that he is poor, in need of God’s protection, and pleads for God not to delay in helping him. The echoes from Ps 39 LXX illuminate Jesus’s request “Let your will be done” and identifies him as a kind of righteous lamenter from Israel’s Scriptures.57 If the request is read against the fuller context of the psalm, Jesus requests that the Father grant him the following: (1) allow him to proclaim the good news of God’s righteousness; (2) be delivered from enemies; (3) for others to be filled with hope when they see God answer his lament; and (4) for God not to delay in rescuing him from his enemies. In this way, In Ps 10:6 LXX, the contents of the cup are described as πῦρ and θεῖον. 51 See Ps 74:10–11 LXX. 52 For a fuller treatment of Jesus’s prayer at the Mount of Olives, see Joel B. Green, “Jesus on the Mount of Olives (Luke 22:35–46): Tradition and Theology,” JSNT 26 (1986): 29–48. 53 Psalm 39 LXX appears to have been a key Christological text for the early church. See, e.g., Heb 10:5–8. 54 See Ps 39:2–5 LXX. 55 See Ps 39:10–11 LXX. 56 See Ps 39:14 LXX. 57 The “righteous lamenter” is a figure that spans the various genres of the OT. Their personal experiences and stories may vary. Nevertheless, what binds them together is the idiom and narrative of their laments. Some of these figures include: Abel (Gen 4:8 MT); Abraham (Gen 15:1–6); Moses (Exod 32:32); Joshua (7:6–9); Samson (Judg 16:28); David (2 Sam 22:1–51); Jeremiah (Jer 12:1–4); and Job (Job 3:1–26). 50

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the Lukan Jesus aligns himself with the righteous lamenter, a figure whose prayers permeate the psalms and who is often contrasted with the unrighteous. However, as his lament at the crucifixion will indicate, Jesus both resembles and far exceeds that figure.

Jesus’s Lament from the Cross The final Lukan lament to be considered involves Jesus’s cry from the cross: “And having cried out with a great voice Jesus said, ‘Father, into your hands I commit my spirit’ ” (Luke 23:46). This citation from Ps 30:6 LXX clearly identifies the larger subtext of Jesus’s lament. Psalm 30 LXX is an individual lament that oscillates between requests, complaints, statements of trust, and praise. The lamenter requests that God hear his plea for deliverance from enemy induced affliction, recalls God’s past deliverance, and he hopes in future deliverance. The lamenter’s affliction is colorfully described as being poor, distressed in his bones, a reproach to enemies and neighbors, and like a broken vessel (Ps 30:10–13 LXX). The lamenter states his trust in God’s ability to deliver him throughout the psalm including the statement uttered by Jesus, “Into your hands I commit my spirit.” Yet, this is not the final request in the psalm. As is typical in OT lament, the statement of trust “Into your hands I commit my spirit” later shifts to statements of requests for delivery and complaints about enemies. The lamenter also refers to himself as a righteous one (ὁ δικαίος) who is oppressed by deceitful enemies (Ps 30:18–19 LXX). The lamenter even complains that at one time, “I was cast away from before your eyes” (Ps 30:23 LXX). Yet, God heard his cry. Therefore, he is confident that he can place his spirit, his very life, in God’s hands. There are obviously strong points of resonance between the Lukan crucifixion scene and Ps 30 LXX. Yet, I  will limit the focus to Jesus’s cry, “Into your hands I  commit my spirit” and the response it produces. The larger context of Ps 30 LXX indicates that his cry is a statement of trust grounded in the confidence that God has heard his cries in the past and will do so again. It is grounded in the confidence that God answers the laments of the righteous who hope in him, and in the certainty that Jesus is righteous in a way which far exceeds those who have cried out before him. Luke assures the reader of that status through the centurion’s reaction to Jesus’s statement of trust. He observes, “Surely this man was righteous (δίκαιος)” (Luke 23:47). Since Jesus is righteous at his death, the reader knows that God will answer his cry of trust. That divine answer is found in God’s resurrection of Jesus. In this way, Jesus is the righteous lamenter par excellence. His cry of distress in death receives an answer that far exceeds his lamenting predecessors, namely, resurrection from the dead.

Conclusion Based upon the preceding metaleptic readings of select Lukan episodes, I would like to propose four implications for Lukan Christology. First, Jesus’s ability to directly answer laments about divine wrath, forgiveness of sin, and vindication includes him within the identity of Israel’s God. He answers prayers that only YHWH answers in Israel’s Scriptures. Moreover, in answering the

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cries of those at sea, the blind, and the guilty, he turns lament to praise. Again, this is something only YHWH could do. Therefore, in Luke, Jesus becomes the “You” within the three participants of lament, a place always reserved for YHWH alone in OT lament. Second, Jesus’s sorrowful lament against “Jerusalem” portrays him as both protector and judge of Israel, thereby including him within the identity of Israel’s God. He cries out about the nation’s rejection of him in the same way YHWH cries out about the nation’s rejection of Him in Israel’s scriptures.58 Jesus’s cry that he desired to protect his people and that he could protect his people under his “wings” is not a mere representation of God’s cry. Neither is the ominous announcement “your house is left to you” a representative cry of God. It is in fact God’s cry. Third, Jesus laments as the righteous one par excellence. His lament to do God’s will just prior to his arrest and the entrustment of his life to God on the cross is emphatically answered through the resurrection. Fourth, no righteous lamenter in the OT desired to do God’s will like the lamenting Jesus, and no one had their lament answered in the way God answered this “righteous man’s” cries.59 Overall, lament in Luke narratively asserts what Christian orthodoxy has dogmatically affirmed in subsequent centuries. Jesus, being fully God, answers lament. At the same time, Jesus is fully man, because he laments.60 However, because Jesus both answers lament and laments himself, the common categories of ontic and functional Christology do not necessarily capture the interpretive impact of OT lament echoes on Lukan Christology. Lament is an act in which both God and human beings act as participants. The OT lament participants are always consistent in their roles. The “I” (lamenter) cries out and the “You” (God) answers. This is part and parcel to Jewish monotheism. Yet, in Christological monotheism, at least in its Lukan presentation, the “I” and the “You” become intertwined in a truly unique way. Jesus convincingly participates in lament as the “I” and the “You.” The former answers the cries of distress in a manner normally reserved for YHWH, while the latter has his cry answered in a way that is consistent and yet unprecedented in the experiences of the lamenters who preceded him. The interplay between Jesus who answers lament, Jesus who laments, and the divine answer in his resurrection deserves further reflection in the exploration of Luke’s Christology which, at least from the perspective of OT lament echoes, is far from “low” and not merely “idealized.”

See, e.g., Isa 65:1–2. Israel’s Scriptures also bears witness to the fact that destruction can be prompted by the nation’s rejection of its prophets. See, e.g., the prayer in Dan 9:1–27. Of course, rejection of the prophets is tantamount to rejection of Israel’s God. It is the latter that is emphasized in Luke 13:31–34. 59 See, e.g., the use of Ps 16 (15 LXX) in Acts 2:25. 60 As Hays notes, “It is therefore precisely by attending more fully to the Old Testament intertexts in Luke’s Gospel that we gain a deeper and firmer grasp of the theological coherence between Luke’s narrative testimony and what the church’s dogmatic tradition has classically affirmed about the identity of Jesus”: Hays, Reading Backwards, 72. 58

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The Marriage and Wedding Imagery of Jesus and Adam: The Intertextual Connection of John 19:23–37 and Gen 2:18–25 Sunny Chen

The Gospel of John contains stories that directly refer to marriage and wedding, such as the wedding in Cana (2:1–11) and the proclamation of John the Baptist (3:25–30). Modern interpreters of John have also identified passages in which the Gospel alludes to OT marriage and wedding imagery, including the Samaritan woman (4:4–42),1 the anointing of Jesus’s feet (12:1–8),2 and the resurrection appearance (20:1–18).3 They argue that these passages are intertextually connected to various OT texts in Hebrew scriptures (MT) and Septuagintal readings (LXX), including Jer 33:10–11, Gen 29:1–20, and Song 3:1–4. By referring to the methods proposed by Richard Hays and Michael B. Thompson for intertextual analysis, this study examines the intertextual connections between John 19:23–37 and Gen 2:18–25, proposing that the crucifixion story is an allusion to the Adam story.4 Both texts similarly portray their respective protagonist, Jesus and Adam, Andrew T. Lincoln, The Gospel According to St John (BNTC; London: Continuum, 2005), 170; Jocelyn McWhirter, The Bridegroom Messiah and the People of God: Marriage in the Fourth Gospel (SNTSMS 138; Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2012), 58–76; Brendan Byrne, Life Abounding:  A Reading of John’s Gospel (Strathfield, NSW: St. Paul’s Publication, 2014), 80. 2 Ann Roberts Winsor, A King is Bound in the Tresses: Allusions to the Songs of Songs in the Fourth Gospel (SBL 6; New York: Peter Lang, 1999), 9–10; McWhirter, Bridegroom, 86. 3 Mark J. Edwards, John Through the Centuries (BBC; Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2003), 193; Lincoln, John, 495–96; McWhirter, Bridegroom, 88–105. 4 Hays distinguishes between allusion and echoes, claiming that echo “is used of obvious intertextual references, echo of subtler ones”: Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 29. Porter criticizes that Hays wrongly defines the two terms, arguing that precision is required. According to Porter, allusion is the “indirect invoking of… literary work into the contemporary material … the unacknowledged (indirect) quotation of previous sources,” and echo is “the invocation by means of thematically related language of some more general notion or concept”: Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Stanley, eds., As It Is Written: Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture (SBLS 50; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 33, 39. Shaw also shares Porter’s criticism: David A. Shaw, “Converted Imagination? The Reception of Richard Hays’s Intertextual Method,” CBR 11 (2013): 234–45 (241–42). While being aware of Porter’s concerns, however, allusion is considered in a broader sense in this study, referring to both the indirect invocation and unacknowledged quotation of the OT (Porter’s definition of allusion) and the invocation of thematically related language of a general concept (Porter’s definition of echo). 1

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as a naked, unconscious bridegroom with a wound in his side, suffering death from a “tree” inside a garden. Furthermore, both texts include reference to separation from parent(s). Furthermore, aspects of the crucifixion narrative in John 19 are consistent with the marriage and wedding imagery depicted in other stories in John. The term intertextuality was first employed by Julia Kristeva in the late sixties of the last century5 to denote “dialogue between texts.”6 Stefan Alkier sums up succinctly the concept of intertextuality, stating that: “no text is produced and received in isolation from other texts. The concept of intertextuality therefore involves the task of investigating the relationships that a text can have with other texts.”7 The groundbreaking work of Richard Hays in 1989 has since provided valuable criteria for undertaking intertextual analysis. Hays proposes seven criteria for analyzing the validity of any intertextual connection between two texts.8 Michael Thompson modifies Hays’s method and expands the number of criteria to eleven.9 Based on the criteria defined by Hays and Thompson, this study argues that there is verbal and thematic agreement 10 between the two stories in John 19 and Gen 2. There is also contextual coherence11 between the crucifixion story and John’s other stories with the imagery of marriage and wedding, in particular, the wedding in Cana. In this study, I shall address two questions: Do the two texts in John 19:23–37 and Gen 2:18–25 display any verbal and thematic agreement, sharing the same theme? If so, does this shared theme in John 19 display contextual coherence with the rest of John’s Gospel?

Verbal and Thematic Agreement: John 19:23–37 and Gen 2:18–25 Genesis 2:18–25 has direct and unambiguous reference to marriage and a wedding. There are two main parts in the passage: the story about the creation of Eve as a partner 5 Alfaro details how the term was first used in the works of Kristeva. María Jesús Martínez Alfaro, “Intertextuality: Origins and Development of the Concept,” Atlantis 18.1–2 (1996): 268. 6 As noted in the work of Magdolna Orosz, “Literary Reading(s) of the Bible Aspect of a Semiotic Conception of Intertextuality and Intertextual Analysis of Texts,” in Reading the Bible Intertextually (ed. Richard B. Hays, Stefan Alkier, and Leroy A. Huizenga; Waco, TX:  Baylor University Press, 2009), 191–204 (191). 7 Stefan Alkier, “Intertextuality and the Semiotics,” in Reading the Bible Intertextually (ed. Richard B. Hays, Stefan Alkier, and Leroy A. Huizenga; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 3–22 (3). 8 Hays, Echoes, 29–31. 9 Michael B. Thompson, Clothed with Christ: The Example and Teaching of Jesus in Romans 12.1–15:13 (JSNTSup 59; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 30–36. 10 Verbal and thematic agreement in this study refers to a number of criteria proposed by Hays and Thompson, including the verbal agreement shared by the two texts in terms of either a clear repetition of words or syntactical/structural pattern and/or a prominent conceptual parallel. For a description of the respective labels subsumed in these categories, see Hays, Echoes, 29; Thompson, Clothed, 31–33. 11 Contextual coherence in this study refers to several criteria proposed by Hays and Thompson: the allusion is aligned with the argument developed in the borrowing text (thematic coherence), possibly cited elsewhere in the same discourse (recurrence), and generating a relevant meaning that would make sense to the original readers by illuminating “the surrounding discourse” (historical plausibility, satisfaction, and exegetical value). Hays, Echoes, 30–31; Thompson, Clothed, 33, 35.

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for Adam (2:18–23, 25) and the narrator’s commentary on marital union (2:24).12 On the other hand, John 19:23–37 narrates Christ’s crucifixion. However, there are six shared elements in both stories. First, both characters are depicted as naked (John 19:23; Gen 2:25). Second, there is a common portrayal of an unconscious man (θνῄσκω in John 19:33; ὑπνόω in Gen 2:21 LXX). Third, both passages mention the parting from mother (John 19:26–27; Gen 2:25). Fourth, both protagonists carry a side wound, signified by the shared word πλευρά (John 19:34; Gen 2:21 LXX). The last two elements are based on the immediate context of both stories. Fifth, the key event in both narratives takes place in a garden (κῆπος in John 19:41; παράδεισος in Gen 2:15 LXX). Sixth, in both stories a “tree” that leads to death is present (John 19:13–18; Gen 3:1–12 LXX). In terms of pattern, the following table summarizes the elements shared by the stories. There is one particularly intriguing observation: if the unconsciousness and the subsequent side wound are considered to be the same incident, then the sequence of depiction in John reverses that in Genesis. Parallel Elements in John 19 and Gen 2

John 19

Gen 2

1. Jesus and the cross (vv. 13–18)

5. Adam in the garden (v. 15)

2. Jesus is naked (v. 23)

4. Adam asleep + side wound (v. 21)

3. Jesus parting from mother (v. 26)

3. Parting from father and mother (v. 24)

4. Jesus’ death + side wound (vv. 33–34)

2. Adam is naked (v. 25)

5. Jesus in the garden (v. 41)

1. Adam and the tree (3:1–12)

In John 19:23, Jesus’s clothes, both τὰ ἱμάτια and τὸν χιτῶνα, are taken away by soldiers, and in Gen 2:25, Adam is depicted as γυμνός. There is no explicit employment of the adjective γυμνός in the crucifixion story, however, the image of a naked Jesus is vividly portrayed. In both stories, the protagonist is described as unconscious. Although θνῄσκω (John 19:33) and ὑπνόω (Gen 2:21 LXX) are different words, there is an intriguing connection between them. Ὑπνόω typically signifies “to sleep”13 and its noun form is ὕπνος. It is of interest that ὕπνος occurs six times in the NT, and it appears only once in the Gospel of John, to connote death. In the story about the resurrection of Lazarus (11:1–44), Jesus tells his disciples that Lazarus has fallen asleep; however, his disciples

It is widely accepted in scholarship that 2:24 is the narrator’s comment instead of being part of the story:  see, e.g., Claus Westermann, Genesis 1–11:  A Commentary (trans. John J. Scullion; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1974), 233; Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1–15 (WBC 1; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987), 70; Hermann Gunkel, Genesis (Mercer Library of Biblical Studies; trans. Mark E. Biddle; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), 13; Carlos Raul Sosa Siliezar, Creation Imagery in the Gospel of John (LNTS 546; London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), 123–30. 13 BAGD, 843. 12

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misunderstand his utterance. Then, the author of John provides a commentary: εἰρήκει δὲ ὁ Ἰησοῦς περὶ τοῦ θανάτου αὐτοῦ, ἐκεῖνοι δὲ ἔδοξαν ὅτι περὶ τῆς κοιμήσεως τοῦ ὕπνου λέγει (11:13).14 The synonymous treatment of θάνατος and ὕπνος by John is remarkable. For the author of John, sleep and death are not portrayed as totally unrelated concepts. Hence the portrayal of Jesus’s death in the crucifixion narrative forms a possible parallel with Adam who is asleep. Intertextual connection does not solely rely on shared vocabulary; the shared conceptual theme is equally important. If Hebrew Scriptures are taken into consideration, the Hebrew word ‫ רדם‬in Gen 2:21 (MT), which is translated as ὑπνόω in LXX, is also employed to connote death in Ps 76:7 (MT).15 The shared word, μήτηρ, marks another parallel in the vocabulary of both stories. The word occurs in the context in which the parting of parent(s) is mentioned. On the cross, Jesus announces to his mother that she is going to be received by a new son, the beloved disciple: λέγει τῇ μητρί· γύναι, ἴδε ὁ υἱός σου, εἶτα λέγει τῷ μαθητῇ· ἴδε ἡ μήτηρ σου (19:26–27). The announcement reflects Jesus’s farewell to his mother. This is significant, as the word μήτηρ only appears on two occasions in John: the wedding in Cana (John 2) and here.16 Also, Jesus’s parting from his mother at the cross is a unique account, not mentioned elsewhere in the NT. Jesus’s parting from his mother echoes the narrator’s commentary in Gen 2:24: ἕνεκεν τούτου καταλείψει ἄνθρωπος τὸν πατέρα αὐτοῦ καὶ τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ καὶ προσκολληθήσεται πρὸς τὴν γυναῖκα αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἔσονται οἱ δύο εἰς σάρκα μίαν. Not only do the two texts share the same word μήτηρ, they also share the same image of a man parting from his mother.17 Of interest, the announcement in John 19 is identified as either an adoption formula or a revelatory formula,18 and a similar announcement also occurs in Tob 7:9–18 (LXX), a story concerning the engagement between Tobias and Sarah.19 The term πλευρά “side”20 is another part of the shared vocabulary. The word is not common in the NT; it occurs only five times in the NT, four times in John alone, always denoting Jesus’s side wound (19:34; 20:20, 25, 27). On the other hand, the word occurs 29 times in LXX. Among all its occurrence, πλευρά is employed only seven times, 14 Although Jesus uses κοιμάω to describe Lazarus (11:11), Barrett, commenting on κοἰμησις being used to depict death, states that the “resemblance between sleep and death has often been noted”: C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St John: An Introduction with Commentary and Notes on the Greek Text (London: SPCK, 1978; 2nd ed.), 393. Brown also contends that in “Hebrew and in Greek, both secular and LXX, ‘to sleep’ can be a euphemism for death”: Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John (AB 29–29A; 2 vols; New York: Doubleday, 1970), vol. 1, 423. 15 BDB, 922. 16 The intertextual connection between the wedding in Cana and the crucifixion is detailed in the later part of this study. 17 None of the literature reviewed in this study observes this similarity between John 19 and Gen 2. 18 Schnackenburg considers this announcement as an adoption formula: Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Gospel According to St. John ( HThKNT; trans. Kevin Smyth; 3 vols; London: Burns & Oates, 1988), vol. 3, 278. Goedt and Brown suggest that this is a revelatory formula. Michel De Goedt, “Un schème de révélation dans le quatrième evangile,” NTS 8 (1962): 145–50; Brown, John, 2:923. Barrett argues that both formulas are not mutually exclusive in this case: Barrett, John, 552. 19 In both John 19 and Tob 7 (σὺ δὲ ἀδελφὸς εἶ αὐτῆς, καὶ αὐτή σού ἐστιν, Tob 7:12 LXX), the announcer performs the introduction for the two recipients. In other seemingly similar announcements, for example, the ones in Ps 2:7 (LXX) and 1 Sam 18:21 (MT), the announcement is made between the announcer and the recipient. 20 BAGD, 668.

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including twice in Gen 2:21–22, to depict the anatomical part of a human body (the side where ribs are located).21 Nonetheless, this specific term is found in both John 19 and Gen 2, portraying the side wound of both protagonists. Keener affirms that there is a connection between “water flowing from Jesus’ side” and “Adam’s side as the origin for Eve’s life.”22 The connection between John 19 and Gen 2 is in part, signified by the use of πλευρά. Referring to the immediate context of both texts, there are two common elements: both protagonists suffer death from a “tree;” and both events take place inside a garden. First, a garden is the common location mentioned in both stories. John is the only NT book that mentions a garden in connection with the location where Jesus was crucified: ἦν δὲ ἐν τῷ τόπῳ ὅπου ἐσταυρώθη κῆπος (19:41). The garden of Eden is the background location of the Adam story in Gen 2. Again, this common theme, in part, demonstrates the parallel between the two texts. Mary Coloe argues that John 19:41 echoes Gen 2:9, claiming that the garden “frames the crucifixion.”23 Carlos Siliezar repudiates this claim, contending that there is no such connection due to the fact that different words are employed: κῆπος in John and παράδεισος in Genesis.24 However, referring to the criteria raised by Hays and Thompson, explicit shared vocabulary is not the only evidence for intertextual connection. An image with a distinctive portrayal and a common significance is sufficient to illustrate a connection.25 Second, a “tree” that brings death is narrated in the immediate context of both stories. According to the NT and early Jewish literature, crucifixion on a cross was considered equivalent to being hanged on a tree, based on the contemporary Jewish perspective.26 This understanding can be traced back to Deut 21:23, which states See Gen 2:21, 22; Num 33:55; 2 Sam 2:16; Jdt 6:6; Job 40:18; Sir 30:12; Sir 42:5; Ezek 34:21. Nonetheless, in Jdt 6:6, the word does not denote an anatomical part of a human body. Instead, it means people passing “beside” a person. In Job 40:18, the word is employed to describe the side of a beast. For the rest of the occurrences, the word denotes the side of an object or beside an object. 22 Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (2 vols.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 2003), 2:1154. Brown considers this allusion as “dubious”:  Brown, John, 2:951. However, Brown fails to see that the parallel between the two narratives does not merely rest on one single common aspect. Bultmann and Köstenberger regard the piecing of the side as connecting to Psalm and Isa 53 respectively: Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John (ed. R. W. N. Hoare and J. K. Riches; trans. G. R. Beasley-Murray; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1971), 676–77; Andreas J. Köstenberger, John (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2004), 554. Hoskyns and Michaels consider the piercing of the side as a fulfilment of John 7:38. Edwyn Clement Hoskyns, The Fourth Gospel (ed. Francis Noel Davey; London:  Faber and Faber, 1947), 533; J. Ramsey Michaels, The Gospel of John (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 969. 23 Mary L. Coloe, “Theological Reflections on Creation in the Gospel of John,” Pacifica 24 (February 2011): 1–12 (1, 5). 24 Sosa Siliezer, Creation Imagery, 179–90. 25 Hays, Echoes, 30; Thompson, Clothed, 32. 26 For NT passages, see Acts 5:30; 10:39; 13:29; 1 Pet 2:24; Gal 3:13. Concerning the early Jewish literature, the teaching of hanging is explained in m. Sanhedrin 6. A Qumran document teaches about hanging the person first on the tree so that the person shall die (4QpNah 1:8). Baumgarten suggests that the text is a strong elucidation to crucifixion, as executing a man by hanging a man alive is portrayed, instead of hanging a corpse. Joseph M. Baumgarten, Studies in Qumran Law (SJLA 24; Leiden: Brill, 1977), 172–73. In the Talmud of Babylonia (tractate Sanhedrin 6), Bammel notes that the word ‫ ןילות‬in the Talmud is first employed to quote the hanging practice in Deut 21:23, and then to portray someone being crucified. This demonstrates the synonymous nature of “hanging” and “crucifixion,” as well as its link to Deut 21:23: Ernst Bammel, “Crucifixion as a Punishment in 21

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that a corpse hanged on a tree is a sign of God’s curse.27 In the immediate context of John 19:23–37, Jesus is first crucified (19:18) and then dies (αὐτὸν τεθνηκότα, 19:33), portraying a symbolic image of his body hanged on a “tree.” Likewise, the immediate context of Gen 2:18–25 contains the story that depicts Adam eating the fruit from a particular tree (Gen 3:6), for which God has forewarned that the consequence would be death (θανάτῳ ἀποθανεῖσθε, 2:17 LXX). Adam’s “death” is realized when he is first expelled from the garden, cut off from the tree of life (3:23– 24 LXX), and subsequently confronted by mortality (ἀπέθανεν, 5:5 LXX). In light of the immediate context of both texts, the two elements, garden and the “tree” leading to death, do not display strict linguistic parallel. However, the thematic agreement is intriguing:  both the protagonists suffer death from a “tree” that is located in a garden. When we consider all six shared elements of the two texts, both stories demonstrate verbal and thematic agreement:  showing shared vocabulary, prominent conceptual parallels, and interesting similarity in narrative portrayal. John, alluding to Adam’s marriage and wedding in Gen 2, presents Jesus as the bridegroom. As John invites the audience to believe in Jesus (John 1:12; 20:31), it is reasonable to consider the bride as believers.28 Furthermore, the sequence of those six elements portrayed in John 19 reverses that in Gen 2, as shown in the previous table. The reverse of this order can be understood as such: Jesus, as a new Adam, is the bridegroom who enters union with believers; the crucifixion becomes the symbol of this union.

Contextual Coherence: Marriage and Wedding Imagery in John This section will address the contextual coherence of the marriage and wedding imagery in the Gospel of John.

John 2–3 and John 19 There is arguably an overarching theme of marriage and wedding imagery in John 2:1–11 and John 19:23–37. In the following section, the story of the wedding in Cana is first examined before comparing it with the crucifixion account. In the wedding in Palestine,” in The Trial of Jesus: Cambridge Studies in Honour of C.F.D. Moule (ed. Ernst Bammel; SBT 13; London: SCM, 1970), 162–65. 27 Although ξύλον also connotes wood, the word is used to depict tree in Deut 21:22 (LXX), and subsequently, influencing the employment of the same word to denote cross in the above discussed NT texts and Jewish literature. Johannes Schneider, “ξύλον,” TDNT 5:38–39. 28 Regarding the identity of Jesus’s Eve, this study interprets the bride as the believers of Christ, as stated in John 1:12: “all who received him, who believed in his name.” Interpreters identify the new Eve as either Jesus’s mother, the Church, or the Johannine community. For example, Mullins interprets the mother of Jesus as the new Eve by referring to the crucifixion story: Michael Mullins, The Gospel of John (Dublin: Columba Press, 2003), 384. Byrne agrees that there is a connection between the crucifixion story and Adam’s story, however, he focuses on identifying the mother of Jesus as “an allusion to the woman created companion for the first man, Adam”: Byrne, John, 318–19.

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Cana, the steward mistakenly attributes the supply of wine, which is supposedly the responsibility of a bridegroom, to the bridegroom (2:9–10). As the supplier of the good wine is actually Jesus, the story subtly refers to Jesus as a bridegroom.29 Furthermore, this implicit reference soon turns explicit in the proclamation by John the Baptist who proclaims that Jesus is the bridegroom (3:25–30).30 Considering the wider context, there is a coherent flow in how Jesus is introduced in John 1–3. Jesus is described as God incarnate (1:1–18), presented as the Messiah (1:19–34), alluded to as the bridegroom (2:1–11), and eventually proclaimed as the bridegroom (3:25–30). This imagery, which is based on the combination of God-Messiah-Bridegroom, aligns with the description of God in the OT, who is portrayed as the king31 and the bridegroom.32 As argued by D. A. Carson and Andreas Köstenberger, the proclamation of Jesus as also the bridegroom in John 3 shows that Jesus is the King and Messiah of Israel.33 A number of scholars also consider that there is a symbolic layer behind the wedding in Cana, in particular, the allusion to Jesus as the bridegroom and as a reference to the messianic era.34 More importantly, an overarching theme of marriage and wedding imagery is intriguing between John 2:1–11 and John 19:23–37,35 appearing as an inclusio. The two stories display intriguing similarity and contrast.

29 Lincoln suggests that Jesus “fulfils the role of the bridegroom” because the bridegroom in the story “fails in a crucial aspect of his role [in supplying wine]”: Lincoln, John, 130. Byrne also argues that Jesus is portrayed as a “Bridegroom who has supplied the best wine”: Byrne, John, 56. 30 Lincoln (John, 130)  notes the connection between John 2 and John 3.  As argued by Bulembat, John 2:1–11 and John 3:25–30 invite the original readers “to see the glory of Jesus as the divine bridegroom taking part in the wedding of the people of God”:  Jean-Bosco Matand Bulembat, “Head-Waiter and Bridegroom of the Wedding at Cana: Structure and Meaning of John 2.1–12,” JSNT 20 (2007): 55–73 (69). 31 For example, see Deut 33:5; 1 Sam 8:7; Ps 47; Jer 10:10; Mal 1:14. 32 Modern scholars maintain that the proclamation by John the Baptist adopts an OT concept in which God is the bridegroom and Israel is the bride. For example, Byrne contends that there is a “widespread biblical image of Israel as the bride or spouse of YHWH,” a view that is similar to Hoskyns: Byrne, John, 74; Hoskyns, Fourth Gospel, 229. Quoting several OT passages (Isa 54:5; 62:45; Jer 2:2; 3:20; Ezek 16:8; Hos 2:19-20), Morris goes further by suggesting that John the Baptist “would have been well aware that in the Old Testament Israel is regarded as the bride of Jehovah.” Leon Morris, The Gospel According to John (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1971), 241. Morris’s view is shared by D. A. Carson, The Gospel According to John (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 211. Morris’s understanding is sound due to the fact that this kind of marriage imagery is prominent in the OT. 33 Carson, John, 211; Köstenberger, John, 138. 34 Hoskyns contends that John 2 reveals that “God, who has now sent His Son, the bridegroom, to give life to the world”: Hoskyns, Fourth Gospel, 189. Referring to the OT (Hos 2:19–20; Isa 25:6–8; Jer 2:2; Song of Songs), Moloney interprets that this banquet “summons up biblical images of the messianic era and the messianic fullness, marked by wine and abundance of fine foods”: Francis J. Moloney, The Gospel of John (SP 4; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1998), 66. Carson refers to a number of Scriptures (Jer 31:12; Hos 14:7; Amos 9:13–14; cf. 2 Bar. 29:5; 1 En. 10:19), arguing that “Jesus remembers that the prophets characterized the messianic age as a time when wine would flow liberally”: Carson, John, 172. Lindars and Keener consider the banquet in John 2 symbolizing “the eschatological banquet” and the “eschatological blessing” respectively: Barnabas Lindars, The Gospel of John (NCB; London: Oliphants, 1972), 125; Keener, John, 1:494. 35 Brown comments on the two stories, stating that “the similarities between the scenes are too strong to be ignored”: Brown, John, 2:923.

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First, the mother of Jesus is first mentioned in the wedding in Cana (2:1), and she reemerges in the crucifixion narrative (19:26).36 In both accounts, Jesus addresses his mother as γύναι (2:4; 19:26). Second, there is an important recurrence of the term ὥρα (2:4; 19:27). In John 2, Jesus initially announces to his mother that his hour has not yet come; and then in John 19, Jesus eventually informs his mother that she will be taken by his beloved disciple in this climactic hour—the time when his ultimate glorification is fulfilled.37 Third, at the wedding, water is poured into vessels, and then wine, described by the steward as good (τὸν καλὸν οἶνον), is subsequently drawn and presented to the wedding guests (2:6–8, 10). In the crucifixion scene, on the contrary, bad wine (ὄξος) contained in a vessel is presented to Jesus (19:29–30),38 and subsequently water flows out from Jesus’s side after his death (19:34). 39 This contrast is remarkable: this particular aspect in the crucifixion narrative reverses that in the wedding in Cana. When considering all three observations, aspects of the crucifixion narrative in 19:26– 37 are in parallel with the wedding in John 2:1–11.

John 4 and John 14 Besides the wedding in Cana and the proclamation of John the Baptist, there are other stories in John that allude to the imagery of marriage and wedding. They include the Samaritan woman (4:1–42), and the Upper Room discourse (14:1–7).40 Although the marriage and wedding imagery is not explicit in the Samaritan woman (4:1–42), the account exhibits an interesting reference to OT marriage and wedding stories. Encountering a future bride at a well is a motif found in the Pentateuch (Gen Smith, Byrne, Mullins, Lincoln, and Lightfoot note this recurrence:  D. Moody Smith, Jr., John (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon Press 1999), 359; Byrne, John, 54, 318; Mullins, John, 112; Lincoln, John, 477; R. H. Lightfoot, St John’s Gospel: A Commentary (ed. Christopher F. Evans; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956), 317. Byrne and Mullins suggest that the address, “woman,” is an allusion to Eve: Byrne, John, 319; Mullins, John, 384. For Bultmann, Mary is a symbol, representing “Jewish Christianity”: Bultmann, John, 673. However, Carson, Lindars, and Michaels reject any notion of symbolic representation. See Carson, John, 618; Lindars, John, 579; Michaels, John, 959. 37 Both Byrne and Mullins argue for the connection between two stories in regard to the employment of the word hour. For Mullins, the wedding at Cana “functions … as an inclusio with the crucifixion scene where the hour introduced at Cana is fulfilled.” He notes that “[the hour is] introduced at Cana, and mentioned throughout the gospel … [and] on Golgotha [the beloved disciple takes Jesus’ mother in the hour of ] Jesus’ glorification”: Mullins, John, 112, 383. For Byrne, the hour of Jesus’ crucifixion is “the climax of Jesus’ ‘hour’ ”: Byrne, John, 57. 38 The word ὄξος connotes vinegar or sour wine: BAGD, 574. Some interpreters consider this wine is probably a “common wine” (Brown, John, 2:928), or a “wine vinegar diluted with water” (Keener, John, 2:1147), a “refreshing” wine (Lindars, John, 581). Others simply consider this a cheap wine (Morris, John, 813; Köstenberger, John, 550). 39 Keener advocates this view. Keener, John, 2:1147. 40 Modern scholars also identify two other stories that contain the imagery of marriage and wedding: the anointing of Jesus (12:1–8) and the resurrection (20:1–18). Regarding the anointing story, McWhirter argues that there are some parallel elements between John 12 and Song 1:12 (LXX), including the shared vocabulary (μύρον and ὀσμή), and the similar portrayal of a reclining king: McWhirter, Bridegroom, 81–86. However, Foster heavily criticizes McWhirter’s methodology as “weak,” “convoluted,” and “speculative”:  Paul Foster, “Echoes without Resonance:  Critiquing Certain Aspects of Recent Scholarly Trends in the Study of the Jewish Scriptures in the New Testament,” JSNT 38 (2015):  102–04. Concerning the resurrection story, McWhirter details how 36

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24:1–67; 29:1–35; Exod 2:15–22). The common points of all three stories include the following: (1) the future bridegroom or his representation arrives at a well located in a foreign land; (2) an unmarried woman arrives at the well; (3) water is drawn from the well; (4) the unmarried woman returns to her hometown, informing acquaintances of the encounter; (5) a betrothal is held afterward. The story in John 4 shares the first four points.41 Furthermore, Jacob’s well is mentioned in John 4, and intriguingly, Jacob is the protagonist in Gen 29:1–35, who meets his bride-to-be at a well. Of interest, if the Samaritan woman has had five husbands and the one that is with her, the sixth man, is not her husband, then Jesus in the story could be considered as the seventh man (the symbolic bridegroom) in this woman’s life. Therefore, Jesus may subtly be depicted as the bridegroom, as the story appears in parallel with the marriage and wedding narratives in the Pentateuch. In previous scholarship, there is little discussion of how Jesus’s discourse in 14:1–7 is related to the marriage and wedding imagery. Most modern interpreters do not suggest such a relationship. Nonetheless, there is one particular point worth mentioning for reflection and further research. Based on the rough description of a Jewish wedding in the first century, Morris notes that the bride and the groom would be separated after the initial betrothal, the groom would return to his father’s house, and then, followed by a period of time, at [the betrothal’s] conclusion, the marriage celebration would take place as the bridegroom and his friends made their way in procession to the bride’s house … before the bride and groom went in procession to the groom’s house, where the wedding banquet was held.42

Jesus’s saying in John 14 seemingly resonates with this ancient wedding custom: “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also” (John 14:2–3). Jesus is seemingly portrayed as a bridegroom who reassures his “bride” of his return. The above analysis has shown that the marriage and wedding imagery in John is not an aimless and sporadic occurrence. Instead, there is a coherent flow of this imagery throughout the whole Gospel, either with explicit reference (the wedding in Cana in John 2, the proclamation of John the Baptist in John 3)  or implicit allusion (the Samaritan woman in John 4, the Upper Room discourse in John 14, the crucifixion in John 20 alludes to Song of Songs (3:1–4; 5:2–8 LXX), including the dark setting, the woman’s futile search, the sudden discovery, and the holding: McWhirter, Bridegroom, 98–105. Lincoln refers to the first century’s romantic literature, conjecturing that the resurrection narrative illustrates a love story: Lincoln, John, 496. 41 Modern scholars also observe the parallel between John 4 and these OT marriage and wedding stories. For example, see Lyle Eslinger, “The Wooing of the Woman at the Well: Jesus, The Reader and Reader-Response Criticism,” Journal of Literature & Theology 1 (1987): 167–83; Byrne, John, 80; Lincoln, John, 170. Byrne notes that the command in John 4:16 (Go, call your husband and come back) “brings to the forefront the biblical ‘courtship/marital’ aura that has been hovering in the background since the conversation began”: Byrne, John, 84. 42 Morris, John, 178.

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John 19). Furthermore, the crucifixion story is not the only passage in John referring to the creation account in Genesis.43 It is widely accepted in NT scholarship that John 1 carries a strong reference to the creation account in Gen 1.44 In conclusion, there is contextual coherence between the crucifixion story and the other stories in John. They share the same theme of marriage and wedding imagery, as this allusion aligns with the argument developed in the text, is cited elsewhere in the same discourse, and generates a relevant meaning that would make sense to the original readers by illuminating the surrounding discourse.45

Conclusion This study has shown that there is verbal and thematic agreement between Jesus’s crucifixion narrative in John 19 and the Adam story in Gen 2, sharing the theme of marriage and wedding. John 19:23–37 contains allusions to Gen 2:18–25. The protagonist in both stories is depicted as a naked, unconscious bridegroom, bearing a wound in his side, suffering death from a “tree” inside a garden. Both texts contain reference to separation from a mother. The recurrent bridegroom imagery in John’s Gospel also demonstrates that there is contextual coherence between these various narratives and John 19. In particular, there is an intriguing parallel between the crucifixion story and the wedding in Cana, forming an inclusio in the Gospel. By echoing the Adam story and by reversing the order of depiction, John 19 employs the imagery of marriage and wedding to presents Jesus to the original readers as the bridegroom of his people. As the new Adam, Jesus is the bridegroom who enters union with believers. His action on the cross undoes the breaking of the union between humanity and God, as enacted by Adam.

Hay’s Recurrence is part of the definition of contextual coherence, see footnote 11. 44 For example, see the discussion of Moloney, Thompson, and Barrett: Moloney, John, 35; Marianne Meye Thompson, John: A Commentary (NTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015), 27–30; Barrett, John, 149–53. 45 See footnote 11. 43

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Multivalent Biblical Images in the Fourth Gospel and the Patristic Verbum Abbreviatum William M. Wright IV

Scripture is an essential component in the Fourth Gospel’s presentation of Jesus. Throughout the Gospel, the evangelist relates Jesus and Scripture through a variety of intertextual techniques.1 These include, for instance, the use of formula fulfillment citations, wherein John (similar to Matthew), cites a biblical text as being “fulfilled” in an episode in Jesus’s life. A different kind of intertextual technique is the placement of Jesus in relation to a biblically based institution or reality, which is contemporary with Jesus and is not a biblical text per se.2 Examples of this would include the placement of Jesus in relation to Jewish liturgical institutions such as festivals and holy days. Yet another kind of intertextual technique is the association between Jesus and a multivalent biblical image, which evokes many biblical references without being exhausted or reduced to any single one of them. Examples of this technique include the application to Jesus of biblical images such as the lamb, the bread, or the light. It is with this third kind of intertextual technique—the use of multivalent biblical images—that this chapter is concerned. In particular, I look to bring to light some of the implicit dimensions of John’s use of this intertextual technique by analyzing it through the lens of a patristic exegetical notion known as the “abridged” or “abbreviated word” (verbum abbreviatum). I will first outline some aspects of this patristic exegetical notion, which appears in two related interpretive trajectories. I will then bring this notion to bear on the presence of multivalent biblical images in John’s Gospel and draw out some implications of this intertextual technique for John’s presentation of Jesus. 1 A succinct account of John’s intertextual strategies is given in Carl R. Holladay, A Critical Introduction to the New Testament: Interpreting the Message and Meaning of Jesus Christ (Nashville: Abingdon, 2005), 285–88. 2 See William M. Wright IV, “The Doctrine of God and the Liturgical Res in John’s Gospel: Reading John 8:12–20 with the Theology of Disclosure,” NV 12 (2014): 947–69.

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The Patristic Notion of “The Abridged Word” The basic idea of the Abridged Word is the following:  that which is multiple and spread out in the OT is brought together into one and shortened (i.e., abridged) in Jesus. Or considered in the opposite direction of the dynamic (i.e., from unity back to multiplicity), the only Son or Word of God is like a ray of light which shines singularly in the NT and is diffracted like a spectrum in the many realities, sayings, episodes, and so on in the OT. The abridgement of the many into the one Jesus also enables a clearer perception of God’s purposes in the economy of salvation by illuminating its underlying principle of unity. As Henri de Lubac has shown, this exegetical notion has various shapes in premodern Christian exegesis, appearing as it does in the works of Origen, Ambrose, Jerome, Augustine, and flourishing in the twelfth-century writings of Bernard of Clairvaux and Rupert of Deutz.3 Two related biblical texts provide the points of departure for this exegetical tradition, and these two texts give rise to two interrelated trajectories of interpretation. First, the expression “the abridged word” goes back to LXX Isa 10:22–23 and Paul’s quotation of it Rom 9:28. This text speaks of God “cutting short” (LXX: συντέμνων) his Logos in the world—and the Latin Vulgate of Rom 9:28 subsequently reads, “verbum breviatum faciet Dominus super terram.”4 The second text is Rom 13:9, where Paul states that all the commandments of Torah “are summed up [ἀνακεφαλαιοῦται] in this word, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ ”5 These two texts—Rom 9:28 and 13:9—are often conjoined in the exegetical tradition of the Abridged Word. This pairing of texts, as well as the two trajectories of interpretation to which they give rise, appear in the writings of Irenaeus of Lyons.

Trajectory 1: The Torah Abridged in the Double Love Command In a section of his Demonstration of the Apostolic Preaching, which takes up the postresurrection preaching of the Gospel to the world, Irenaeus writes the following: “men were to be saved not according to the wordiness of the law, but according to the brevity of faith and charity.”6 Irenaeus relates the “brevity” of the apostolic preaching to Isa 10:23: “a word shortened and cut short in justice; because a short word shall God make See Henri de Lubac, Medieval Exegesis:  Volume 3:  The Four Senses of Scripture (trans. E. M. Macierowski; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 136–46. Many of the premodern instances of this exegetical tradition, which are addressed in this essay, are derived from de Lubac’s inventory. 4 LXX text cited from Henry Barclay Swete, The Old Testament in Greek According to the Septuagint (3 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1912). Vulgate text cited from Angela M. Kinney, ed., The Vulgate Bible (6 vols., Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2013). 5 Except when otherwise noted, all biblical translations are taken from the NRSV: The New Oxford Annotated Bible with the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books:  New Revised Standard Version (ed. Bruce M. Metzger and Roland E. Murphy; New York: Oxford University Press, 1991). 6 Irenaeus, Epid. 87; cited from St. Irenaeus, Proof of the Apostolic Preaching (trans. Joseph P. Smith, S.J.; Westminster, MD: Newman Press, 1952), 101. The italicized quotations of Scripture here are taken from Smith’s translation of Irenaeus’s text. John Behr calls attention to this text and provides helpful analysis in Irenaeus of Lyons: Identifying Christianity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 138. 3

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upon all the earth.”7 For Irenaeus, the apostolic preaching of the Gospel articulated the shortened word of which Isaiah speaks. To support this abbreviation of the Law in the Gospel, Irenaeus adduces two further texts. The first is Paul’s statement, “Love is the fulfilment of the law” (Rom 13:10).8 The second is Jesus’s double love command given in Matt 22:37–40, on which, Jesus says, “hang all the law and prophets” (Matt 22:40). Irenaeus then concludes: “He has increased, through our faith in Him, our love towards God and our neighbor, rendering us godly and just and good. And therefore He has made a short word upon the earth.”9 The first interpretive trajectory, therefore, is that the Abridged Word is the double love command into which the many laws of Torah are condensed. The identification of the Abridged Word as the distillation of Torah in the double love command is picked up by later premodern Christian exegetes. For instance, Origen contributes to this tradition when treating the Abridged Word reference of Rom 9:28 in his Commentary on Romans. In the course of commenting on this text from Romans, Origen mentions the double love command in Matt 22:37–40 and states that here Jesus “has clearly condensed the prophets and the law into these two statements.”10 Similarly, in his Homily 34 on Luke, Origen writes, “While in the Law there are many precepts, in the Gospel the Savior laid down only two.”11 He then specifies these two precepts as those specified in the double love command which Jesus issues in Luke 10:25–28. Jerome likewise interprets the Abridged Word as the double love command on several occasions in his Commentary on Isaiah. Among the several interpretations of Isa 10:22–23 which he offers, Jerome writes, “Now the word of the gospel is abbreviated and carried out, which in place of all the ceremonies of the intricately complex law, he has given the very brief command of love and faith.”12 Jerome goes on to cite Matt 22:40 for support. He likewise mentions this same interpretation, with a significant addition, in his exegesis of Isa 30:20 and its mention of “spare bread” and “spare water.” Jerome writes that according to both Paul and Isaiah, “the word of the gospel at the advent of the Savior is being predicted, as spare bread, and short water. In place of the intricately complex observations and commands of the law, it has recapitulated all things in one word [in uno verbo recapitulavit].”13 Jerome then cites the love command in Matt 19:19 as well as “abbreviated word” reference in Isa 10:23. Significantly, Jerome, in concert with Paul’s statement in Rom 13:8, also speaks of the “abbreviation” of the Torah in the Gospel as “recapitulation” [recapitulavit]. This points us to a second trajectory of

7 Irenaeus, Epid. 87 (emphasis in the original). 8 Ibid. (emphasis in the original). 9 Ibid. (emphasis in the original). 10 Origen, Comm. Rom. 7.19.3. Cited from Origen, Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans: Books 6–10 (FC 104; trans. Thomas P. Scheck; Washington, DC:  Catholic University of America Press, 2012), 127. 11 Origen, Hom. Luc 34.1. Cited from Origen, Homilies on Luke (trans. Joseph T. Lienhard; FC 94; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1996), 137. 12 Jerome, Comm. Isa. 4.9. Cited from St. Jerome, Commentary on Isaiah, Including St. Jerome’s Translation of Origen’s Homilies 1–9 on Isaiah (trans. Thomas P. Scheck, ACW 68 ; New York: Newman Press, 2015), 208. 13 Ibid., Comm. Isa. 9.27 (467). Latin text cited from Jerome, Comm. Isa 9.27 (PL 24:346) (original emphasis).

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interpretation associated with the Abridged Word, which is more germane for present purposes and likewise takes it cue from Irenaeus.

Trajectory 2: The Abridged Word as Recapitulation As we have seen, Irenaeus associates the mention of the Abridged Word in Rom 9:28 with Rom 13:8. By linking these two texts in Romans, Irenaeus connects the “abridged word” (9:28) with the notion of “recapitulation” via Paul’s use of ἀνακεφαλαιοῦται in Rom 13:8. When taken in this light, the patristic exegetical notion of the Abridged Word can be seen as an extension of key features in Irenaeus’s doctrine of recapitulation.14 As is widely recognized, recapitulation is an important theological category for Irenaeus by which he integrates creation, redemption, Christology, and exegesis.15 Irenaeus teaches that the same divine Word by whom humanity was created also becomes incarnate in Jesus to save humanity. The divine Word becomes flesh and takes up humanity into himself. As human, the incarnate Word revisits and reverses the wrongs of Adam, and so redeems humanity. The doctrine of recapitulation enables Irenaeus to uphold the unity of the Testaments, the orders of creation and redemption, and the identity of the one God acting in them against the Valentinian severance of each. Irrespective of whether Irenaeus derives this notion from Justin Martyr, Irenaeus’s use of recapitulation certainly is indebted to the conventions of Greco-Roman rhetoric.16 According to the Rhetorica ad Herennium, the rhetorical technique of ἀνακεφαλαιωσις (or enumeratio) forms part of a speech’s conclusion. Appearing as it does at a speech’s end, this technique “gathers together and recalls the points we have made,” and it does so “briefly, that the speech may not be repeated in entirety, but that the memory of it may be refreshed.”17 Three features relevant for present purposes stand out in this description. First, the ἀνακεφαλαιωσις (or enumeratio) comes at the end of a speech’s sequence. Second, it sums up in a few words the major points made throughout the speech. It is an abridgement of the entire case. Third, by epitomizing the speech’s major points at its end, it gives the audience a focused perspective on what has come before. As Quintilian puts it, by bringing together the major elements in the conclusion, this technique “refreshes the memory of the judge, and places the whole Cause before eyes at once.”18 These three aspects of “recapitulation”—it comes at the end; it sums up in a few words the speech’s major points; it gives focused perspective on the preceding—inform Irenaeus’s use of recapitulation as a theological category and thus set the essential As suggested in de Lubac, Medieval Exegesis:  Volume 3, 142; cf. 536, n.  729; Behr, Irenaeus of Lyons, 138. 15 Irenaeus’s principal discussion of recapitulation appears in Haer. 3.21.10–3.23.8. 16 On the rhetorical background of Irenaeus’ use of ἀνακεφαλαιωσις, see Robert M. Grant, Irenaeus of Lyons (New York: Routledge, 1997), 50–54; Behr, Irenaeus of Lyons: 136–37. 17 Rhet. Her. 2.30.47. All citations of the Rhetorica ad Herennium are taken from [Cicero], Rhetorica ad Herennium (LCL; trans. Harry Caplan; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1954). 18 Quintilian, Inst. 6.1.1. Cited from Quintilian The Orator’s Education (LCL; trans. Donald A. Russell; Cambridge:  Harvard University Press, 2001); cf. Behr, Irenaeus of Lyons, 136–37, who likewise adduces this text from Quintilian. 14

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features of the Abridged Word as an exegetical notion. Both recapitulation and the Abridged Word share the same basic structural dynamic: namely, what is many in the OT is summed up into the singular figure of Jesus, whose coming is eschatological (i.e., at the end) and gives perspective on what has preceded him.19 These elements appear in Irenaeus’s interpretation of Jesus’s statements in John 5 that the scriptures “testify on my behalf ” (John 5:39) and “If you believed Moses, you would believe me, for he wrote about me” (John 5:46).20 Irenaeus interprets these verses from John to mean that the OT writings not only speak prophetically about the life of the incarnate Word, but also that the Word himself appears and acts as a subject in the OT writings. That is, Moses wrote “about” Jesus, because the pre-incarnate Word (or Son) of God was present and active in Old Testament episodes. Irenaeus thus states, “the Son of God is implanted [inseminatus] everywhere throughout [Moses’s] writings.”21 He goes on to cite a number of biblical episodes which he reads as featuring the Son of God as a character: the Son visits Abraham’s tent (Gen 18); he gives Noah instructions to build the ark (Gen 6:13–21); he searches for Adam in the Garden of Eden (Gen 3:8–9); he appears to Jacob at Bethel (Gen 28:10–17) and to Moses at Horeb (Exod 3:1–4:17). Irenaeus also cites the institution of Passover as well as other individual texts (such as Jacob’s testament to Judah in Gen 49:10–12) as speaking prophetically to the Son’s passion and death.22 The key point here is that the same Son of God, who becomes incarnate in Jesus, is present in these many different episodes and realities in Scripture. However, the presence of the Son in the OT as well as the ways in which the OT bears witness to Jesus remain hidden prior to the incarnation. Irenaeus speaks to this point in Against Heresies 4.26. Referencing the “Parable of the Buried Treasure” (Matt 13:44), Irenaeus states, “the treasure hid in the Scriptures is Christ, since He was pointed out by means of types and parables.”23 He later adds, “For every prophecy, before its fulfillment, is to men [full of] enigmas and ambiguities. But when the time has arrived, and the prediction has come to pass, then the prophecies have a clear and certain exposition.”24 The Son’s incarnation and cross make clear what was previously hidden in the OT. Accordingly, Irenaeus concludes, “when [the Scripture] is read by the Christians, it is a treasure, hid indeed in a field but brought to light by the cross of Christ.”25 By recapitulating its contents, the incarnate Word sheds new light on the OT. He shows how the contents of Scripture speak of him either prophetically or as a figure within its pages, and in doing so, he reveals himself as being the singular point on which they all bear. The Word thus “abridges” the OT showing how many discrete episodes, institutions, and sayings all come together and are “summed up” in himself.

On the eschatological dimension of Christ’s coming in Irenaeus, see Behr, Irenaeus of Lyons, 133–34. 20 See Irenaeus, Haer. 4.10.1–2 (ANF 1.473–74). 21 Ibid., Haer. 4.10.1 (ANF 1.473); Latin text cited from PG 7:1000. 22 Ibid., Adv. Haer. 4.10.1–2 (ANF 1.473–74). 23 Ibid., Adv. Haer. 4.26.1 (ANF 1.496). 24 Ibid. 25 Ibid. 19

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These elements receive various further expressions in a second interpretive trajectory in premodern exegesis. Similar to Irenaeus—and many other Christian exegetes—Origen affirms the genuine, yet veiled, presence of the Logos in the OT. He writes in his Homily 14 on Genesis, “though our Lord Jesus Christ is one in his substance and is nothing other than the son of God, nevertheless he is represented as various and diverse in the figures and images of the Scriptures.”26 Origen goes on to associate Christ with a series of OT persons, realities, and texts. Thus, he writes, “Christ himself was Isaac, in type, when he was offered as a holocaust.”27 The Logos is also present figuratively in the angel who stops Abraham at the Aqedah, the Passover lamb, the shepherd, the high priest, the bridegroom, and the wisdom of God as bride.28 Significantly, these identifications of OT realities with the Logos (almost) all come to Origen by way of various NT texts in which these identifications are made. It is in the light of Christ, given in the NT, that the veiled and manifold present of the Logos in the OT becomes apparent. For Origen, Jesus reveals a multiplicity of OT realities as all deeply interconnected and coming together into one in him. Origen employs this idea of the many having their unity in Christ in other exegetical cases. For instance, in Book 5 of his Commentary on John, Origen articulates a basic principle in this regard: “The complete Word of God which was in the beginning with God is not a multitude of Words, for it is not words. It is a single Word consisting of several ideas, each of which is part of the whole Word.”29 For Origen, Christ, the Word of God, is a principle of unity in which the multiplicity finds harmony. To illustrate, Origen goes on to cite how the many books of OT Scripture all speak of Christ. Similar to Irenaeus, Origen reads John 5:39 as affirming that the whole of Scripture, and not just individual passages, speaks of Christ. He writes the following:  statements about Christ … have been recorded in the Pentateuch, and he has also been mentioned in each of the prophets and in the Psalms, and in general “in all the Scriptures” [Luke 24:47], as the Savior himself says when he sends us back to the Scriptures and says “Search the Scriptures … it is they that testify of me [John 5:39].”30

Origen continues, “If then, he refers us to ‘the Scriptures’ as testifying to himself, he does not refer us to this one, but not to that one, but to all which bring tidings of himself.”31 Origen goes on to identify this totality of witness to Jesus with the one “book” mentioned in Ps 40:7. By bringing together the totality of the biblical witness into one, it is, Origen concludes, “summing up [ἀνακεφαλαιουσθαν] into one the teaching which has come to us concerning himself.”32 26 Origen, Hom. Gen. 14.1; Cited from Origen, Homilies on Genesis and Exodus (FC 71; trans. Ronald E. Heine; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1982), 196. 27 Ibid. 28 Ibid. 29 Origen, Comm. Jo. 5.5; cited from Origen, Commentary on the Gospel According to John: Books 1–10 (FC 80; trans. Ronald E. Heine; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1989), 163. 30 Origen, Comm. Jo. 5.6 (Heine 164). 31 Ibid., 5.6 (Heine 164). 32 Ibid., 5.6 (Heine 164); Greek text cited from PG 14:192.

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These remarks of Origen interface with his previous comments in Book 1 of his Commentary on John wherein he identifies all Scripture as Gospel in the respect that it speaks of Christ.33 Origen identifies the Gospel with the “good things” spoken of in Isa 52:7 and highlights the importance of the plural form of “good things” in that text. For Origen, the Gospel involves an announcement of many “good things” (plural) which all come together in the one Jesus. To illustrate this basic dynamic, Origen cites many different titles in the Fourth Gospel which find unity in Jesus as their single referent.34 Another, less developed, example of this interpretive trajectory is in Ambrose’s Explanatio of Psalm 61. Ambrose capitalizes on the motifs of unity and plurality in the statement: “God has said one thing, and I have heard these two things.”35 He begins “God has said one thing, and many things have been heard.”36 The one thing that God has spoken is his Son, but this sounded out differently in the OT and NT. On the one hand, God spoke his one Word in the OT through a multiplicity of means: “through enigmas … visions … the distribution of graces … the spirit of individuals.” 37 On the other hand, Ambrose continues that this thing spoken by God sounds out as one in Jesus. Redolent of Heb 1:1–2, Ambrose continues that the one thing God has spoken singularly is the Son:  “since he has spoken in many places in the prophets, he has now spoken most recently in his Son. He has spoken once when He has spoken in the Son.”38 Once again, there appears the motif that what is multiple and extended in the OT comes together as one in Jesus. Augustine also contributes to this second interpretive trajectory of the Abridged Word. This notion that the one Word of God is given in a multiplicity of biblical voices appears in the beginning of his Fourth Exposition of Ps 103. Augustine begins this sermon: “There is but one single utterance of God amplified throughout all the scriptures …. Through the mouths of many holy persons a single Word makes itself heard, that Word, who being God-with-God in the beginning, has no syllables.”39 The one Word, spoken by God, is the eternal Word, and this Word is given throughout the many books and voices in Scripture. Taken from a different vantage point, the one Word of God is the underlying principle of unity or point of reference, which integrates the many Scriptural voices into a whole. Augustine goes on to speak of the eternal Word of God, becoming accessible to us through language, as a kind of divine accommodation, comparable to the incarnation itself:  “to meet our weakness he descended to the discrete sounds we use, for he also descended to

See Origen, Comm. Jo. 1.12–31. 34 Origen, Comm. Jo. 1.52–57. 35 Ambrose, Exp. Ps. 61.33 (line 5); cited from Sancti Ambrosii Opera. Pars Sexta: Explanatio Psalmorum XII (CSEL 64; ed. M. Petschenig; New York: Johnson Reprint Corporation, 1962). First published 1919 by F. Tempsky and G. Freytag. 36 Ambrose, Exp. Ps. 61.33 (line 6). 37 Ibid. (lines 7–9). 38 Ibid. (lines 11–13). 39 Augustine, Enn. Ps. 103.4.1; cited from Saint Augustine, Expositions of the Psalms 99–120 (trans. Maria Boulding, O.S.B., The Works of Saint Augustine; Hyde Park: New City Press, 2003), 167. 33

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take to himself the weakness of our human body.”40 For Augustine (as for others, such as Origen), there is an analogy between the Word incarnated and the Word inscripturated.41 Another comparable example from Augustine is his exegesis of the crowd calling Jesus “the Prophet” in John 6:14.42 On the one hand, Augustine holds that Jesus is rightly called a prophet in light of Jesus’s own words (e.g. Mark 6:4) and his being the Prophet-like-Moses (cf. Deut. 18:15; Acts 3:22). And yet, Augustine also teaches that Jesus is more than a prophet: “he was the Lord of the prophets, the one who inspired the prophets, the one who sanctified the prophets.”43 As the Word made flesh, Jesus is rightfully identified with these many titles: “The Lord is a prophet, and the Lord is the Word of God, and no prophet prophesies without the Word of God; the Word of God is with the prophets, and the Word of God is a prophet.”44 For Augustine, the pre-incarnate Word accompanies the many biblical prophets and inspires them, and the same Word of God subsequently became incarnate in Jesus. There is, therefore, a deep continuity of presence and speech between the many biblical prophets and the one Word of God made flesh in Jesus. To summarize:  this review has highlighted three key features of this second trajectory of the Abridged Word as an exegetical notion. First, the Abridged Word (like recapitulation) entails the manifold presence and activity of the preincarnate Word in the OT. Not only does the OT speak prophetically to the Word’s incarnation in the form of “types” and “enigmas,” but the Word himself is an agent in the OT. Second, the manifold ways in which the Word is present in and spoken of in the OT are hidden before the Word’s incarnation. The Word, as Irenaeus puts it, is genuinely present there but in “types and parables,” “enigmas and ambiguities.”45 Third, when the Word becomes flesh and recapitulates what comes before him, this eschatological event (i.e., coming at “the end”) illumines the manifold presence of the Word in the many episodes, institutions, and sayings in the OT. By so giving an illuminating and focused perspective on what has come before, the incarnate Word shows that what was many and obscure before the incarnation now comes together and becomes clear in him. As John Behr succinctly writes, in the incarnation “what was prolix becomes condensed, what was incomprehensible become comprehensible, the unseen becomes seen, the invisible visible—the Word becomes flesh.”46

Ibid., Enn. Ps. 103.4.1 (Boulding 167). 41 On this motif, see Henri de Lubac, History and Spirit:  The Understanding of Scripture According to Origen (trans. Anne Englund Nash and Juvenal Merriell; San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2007), 385–426; J. H. Crehan, “The Analogy between Verbum Dei Incarnatum and Verbum Dei Scriptum in the Fathers,” JTS 6 (1955): 87–90. 42 Augustine, Tract. Ev. Jo. 24.7; cited from Saint Augustine, Homilies on the Gospel of John 1–40 (trans. Edmund Hill; The Works of Saint Augustine; Hyde Park: New City Press, 2009), 428. 43 Ibid., Tract. Ev. Jo. 24.7 (Hill 428). 44 Ibid., Tract. Ev. Jo. 24.7 (Hill 428–29). 45 Irenaeus, Haer. 4.26.1 (ANF 1.496). 46 Behr, Irenaeus of Lyons, 138. 40

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Implications of the Abridged Word for John’s Intertextual Christology The Multivalent Biblical Image as an Intertextual Technique in John As used here, a “multivalent biblical image” is an association between Jesus and a biblical reality, image, or title, which evokes many references without being exhausted or reduced to any single one of them. Many examples of this technique in John can be cited. For the present purposes, I will cite three examples and briefly sketch some relevant exegetical data. First, John the Baptist declares that Jesus is “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (1:29; cf. 1:35).47 Arguably, the primary intertext here is the Fourth Servant Song of Deutero-Isaiah (Isa. 52:13–53:12). This text describes the Servant of the Lord as being “like a lamb that is led to the slaughter” (53:7) and who “bore the sin of many” (53:12). But these connections with the Suffering Servant allusion do not exhaust the whole range of allusions which the title “lamb” evokes. One can discern in this title a further allusion to the Passover lamb. Even though the Passover lamb was not generally reckoned as expiating sins, John does present Jesus in terms of the Passover lamb at the crucifixion by stressing that (like the Passover lamb), none of Jesus’s bones had been broken (cf. John 19:36; Exod 12:24). Moreover, hyssop, the plant with which the Israelites were to smear the lamb’s blood on their doorframes (cf. Exod 12:22), was used to lift the sponge, soaked with sour wine, up to the crucified Jesus (19:29). The title of “lamb,” more remotely, recalls Israel’s sacrificial system as a whole. Lambs figured into various kinds of sacrifices, such as the peace offerings (‫( )הַ ְּׁשל ִָמים‬Lev 3:7) and the sin or guilt offering (‫( )חַ ּטָ את‬Lev 4:32; 5:6). If we think of sacrificial offerings as a kind of gift, there appears a connection with Jesus offering his life as a sacrificial gift.48 In the Good Shepherd discourse, Jesus speaks of giving his life as a gift on behalf of people: “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (John 10:11). Moreover, Jesus gives his life as a gift in perfect freedom: “No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord” (John 10:18). As this review indicates, the title “Lamb of God” evokes a number of biblical texts and realities without being exhausted by any single one of them. Another example of this intertextual technique is John’s identification of Jesus as the place of God’s presence in the world. He makes this identification in part by associating Jesus with many numerous biblical references to God’s dwelling place. In the Prologue, John presents the incarnation of the divine Word in terms redolent of the wilderness Tabernacle. When John declares, “the Word became flesh and lived [ἐσκήνωσεν] among us” (1:14), he articulates lexically a connection between the incarnate Word, who “lived” (σκήνουν) among us, and the wilderness Tabernacle, called σκηνή See C. H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), 233–38; Francis Martin and William M. Wright IV, The Gospel of John (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2015), 45–46. Dodd, Interpretation, 236–38, argues for another allusion of “lamb” as a way of speaking of the messianic king. 48 On the conceiving of sacrificial offerings in terms of gift, see Gary A. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings,” ABD 5:870–86, esp. 871–72. 47

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throughout the Pentateuch in the LXX (e.g., Exod. 25:9). Moreover, John says of this tabernacling Word of God, “we have seen his glory [δόξαν]” (1:14). In doing so, he makes further link to the Tabernacle in which the Glory of the Lord [δόξα κυρίου] would manifest (e.g., LXX Exod 40:34–35; Num 14:10; et al.). Later in John 1, Jesus tells Nathanael and his other first disciples, “you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man” (1:51).49 Here, Jesus identifies himself with the heavenly staircase in the theophany to Jacob (Gen 28:10–22), and in doing so, Jesus presents himself as the bridge point between heaven and earth. In Gen 28, Jacob declares of the site of this theophany (i.e., Bethel), “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven” (Gen 28:17). The intertextual link between Jesus and Bethel further establishes Jesus as the dwelling of God on earth. John also articulates several connections between Jesus and the Jerusalem Temple. After the temple incident, Jesus declares to “the Jews” (arguably the temple authorities), “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2:19). The narrator informs the audience that the meaning of this saying was not clear when Jesus uttered it. But the post-resurrectional “reminding” by the Paraclete imparted proper understanding of Jesus’s words: “he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this” (2:21–22).50 The Spirit-guided interpretation of Jesus’s words involves an identification between the temple and Jesus’s body. The same identification continues into the Passion Narrative where water flows out from the side of Jesus’s corpse (John 19:34) in a manner redolent of the life-giving flow of water from the side of Ezekiel’s eschatological temple (cf. Ezek 47:1–12). To sketch one more cluster of intertextual allusions, one can point to the Bread of Life discourse (John 6:35–58). This discourse contains numerous references to Scripture and does so in a variety of ways. For present purposes, I wish to identify three intertextual associations involved in Jesus’s self-identification as “the Bread of Life.” First, Jesus’s self-identification as the Bread recalls the manna which God provided as food for the Israelites in the wilderness. Numerous elements in the discourse recall the manna including the crowd’s citation of this miracle in 6:30–31. Jesus himself refers to the manna miracle (6:32, 49, 58), and, as Peder Borgen famously argued, the discourse itself is a homiletic exposition of the statement: “He gave them bread from heaven to eat” (6:31).51 Second, Jesus’s language about himself as “the Bread” also recalls biblical presentations of the Word and Wisdom of God.52 In Prov 9, the Wisdom of God invites people to come and learn from her, and this invitation is likened to an invitation to a See Martin and Wright, Gospel of John, 51–52. 50 See William M. Wright IV, “The Theology of Disclosure and Biblical Exegesis,” The Thomist 70 (2006): 395–419, here 404–9. 51 Peder Borgen, Bread from Heaven:  An Exegetical Study of the Concept of Manna in the Gospel of John and the Writings of Philo (NovTSup 10; Leiden: Brill, 1965). On the manna allusions in John 6, Susan Hylen, Allusion and Meaning in John 6 (BZNW 137; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2005). On the manna tradition in Second Temple Judaism, see Brant Pitre, Jesus and the Last Supper (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015): 148–59. 52 See Martin and Wright, Gospel of John, 120–21. 49

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dinner: “Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed” (Prov 9:5). Wisdom issues a similar invitation in Sirach 24: “Come to me, you who desire me, and eat your fill of my fruits. … Those who eat of me will hunger for more, and those who drink of me will thirst for more” (Sir 24:19, 21). Jesus similarly says in John 6: “Everything that the Father gives me will come to me” (6:37) and “Whoever comes to me will be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” (6:35). Jesus is both like and unlike Wisdom in the OT in a manner similar to his being both like and unlike the manna. Whereas Wisdom leaves people wanting more (Sir 24:21) and the manna sustains only mortal life (cf. John 6:49), the bread that is Jesus, which he gives on the cross and in the Eucharist, satisfies eternally.53 Following upon the eternal nature of that which Jesus gives is a third intertextual allusion. There is a subtle association between Jesus as the Bread of Life and the Edenic Tree of Life.54 In this discourse, Jesus promises that those who eat the Bread of Life will “not die” (6:50). Rather, he promises “Whoever eats of this bread will live forever [ἐάν τις φάγῃ ἐκ τούτου τοῦ ἄρτου ζήσει εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα]” (6:51). In this respect, the Bread of Life recalls the food of the Tree of Life in Eden. Those who partake of it, God says in Gen 3:22, will “eat, and live forever [LXX: φάγῃ καὶ ζήσεται εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα].” Like the food of the Edenic Tree of Life, the Bread of Life is the food that gives immortality. With this simple sketch of three multivalent biblical images in place, I will turn to consider this intertextual technique of John in light of the patristic exegetical notion of the Abridged Word.

Areas of Congruence between “the Abridged Word” and John’s Multivalent Biblical Images The patristic notion of the Abridged Word turns on the relationship between multiplicity and unity. As we have seen, the basic principle involved in this patristic exegetical notion is that what is multiple in the OT comes together into one in Jesus. Attention to both elements of the dynamic—the multiplicity and the unity—can help illumine literary and theological dimensions of these multivalent biblical images in the Gospel of John. Focusing on John’s use of multivalent biblical images in light of the Abridged Word helps us appreciate how extensive and ingredient is this intertextual technique in John’s Gospel. John uses this technique on many occasions throughout the Gospel. In addition to the examples cited above—the lamb, the dwelling place of God, and the Bread— one could also cite John’s presentation of Jesus as “the shepherd” (10:14), “the light” (8:12; 9:5), and “the true vine” (15:1). Each one of these images simultaneously evokes a number of biblical references without being reduced to any single one of them. The preceding sketch of three multivalent biblical images in John has identified a series of discrete OT realities which all come together in their common reference to Jesus: the Suffering Servant, the Passover lamb, the sacrificial cult, the wilderness tabernacle, the Glory of the Lord, the theophany to Jacob at Bethel, the Jerusalem Temple, the manna, Ibid., 127–30. 54 Ibid., 128. 53

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the Wisdom of God, and the Edenic Tree of Life. Jesus thus appears as a “bringing together” into one of a diverse set of biblical texts and realities which variously “testify on [his] behalf ” (John 5:39). This is quite consistent with the basic dynamic of the Abridged Word: many discrete texts and realities in the Old Testament come together in the one person of Jesus. The intertextual associations, which this technique articulates, go beyond a particular instance and extend into the larger Gospel narrative. For instance, John’s identification of Jesus as “the Lamb of God” picks up the Suffering Servant of Isa 53. In doing so, this technique prepares the reader for other connections in the Gospel between Jesus and the Suffering Servant, such as Jesus’s threefold pronouncement that he will be “lifted up” (ὑψωθῆναι; John 3:14; 8:28; 12:32) much as the Servant will be “exalted and lifted up” (ὑψωθήσεται; LXX Isa 52:13). Moreover, the use of multivalent biblical images interacts with other kinds of intertextual techniques. When John calls Jesus “the Lamb of God” (1:34) and develops the association between Jesus and the Passover lamb in the crucifixion scene, he does so by using a formula fulfillment citation: “These things occurred so that the scripture might be fulfilled, ‘None of his bones shall be broken’ ” (John 19:36). That John should use this intertextual technique on many occasions, that it simultaneously evokes many biblical references, and that it interacts with other narrative elements and intertextual techniques, show it to be a key ingredient in the Fourth Gospel’s presentation of Jesus. The extensive and multi-faceted use of this intertextual technique throughout the Gospel has a cumulative effect. By presenting so many different biblical texts and realities in relation to Jesus, this technique has the effect of showing the whole of Scripture as converging on the person of Jesus. While the patristic readers surveyed earlier were more concerned with the unification of diverse biblical realities in Jesus, the basic dynamic in the patristic notion of the Abridged Word also presupposes a real notion of multiplicity. In order for the many the biblical references to be brought together in the one figure of Jesus, these many OT must first be recognized as having an enduring meaning and integrity in their own right. Thus, the Passover lamb, the wilderness tabernacle, and the manna do not cease to be themselves when they are subsequently related to Jesus. It is precisely because these biblical realities have a meaning and integrity of their own that they can in turn be related to Jesus on the basis of some similarity between them. Thus, in one respect, these biblical episodes and realities have an enduring sense and integrity of their own (multiplicity), but in another respect, they all come together as one by virtue of their common reference to the figure of Jesus (unity). Moreover, as Irenaeus taught, the way in which these diverse realities come together as relating to Jesus only becomes visible in the light of Christian faith. To reiterate Irenaeus’s words quoted above: “For every prophecy, before its fulfillment, is to men [full of] enigmas and ambiguities. But when the time has arrived, and the prediction has come to pass, then the prophecies have a clear and certain exposition.”55 Similarly, the Fourth Gospel holds that the full understanding of Jesus and the Scripture in relation to Jesus only comes by way of the post-resurrection activity of the Paraclete in Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 4.26.1 (ANF 1.496). 55

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Jesus’ disciples.56 Not only does the Abridged Word help us appreciate these elements of John’s intertextual technique, but it also helps clarify the hermeneutical challenge for interpreters of John:  to preserve both aspects of the intertextual dynamic—the multiplicity and the unity—without letting one absorb the other and also accounting for the shift in context in which these realities are perceived (e.g., the horizon of postresurrectional Christian faith and the action of the Paraclete in believers). The patristic exegetical notion of the Abridged Word also involves a particular theology of history. It entails that the divine Word was present and active throughout Israel’s history in a concealed manner. Only when the Word became flesh was his manifold presence in previous biblical history revealed. This theological account of history resonates with some elements in the Fourth Gospel, where John subtly affirms the presence of the pre-incarnate Logos in OT history. A helpful way into this aspect of John’s theological presentation is his treatment of two OT theophanies.57 On several occasions, the Gospel states “No one has ever seen God” (1:18) and that only Jesus, “the one who is from God … has seen the Father” (6:46). If no one has ever seen the Father, then whom do those visionaries in the history of Israel see when they receive a theophany? The answer that the Fourth Gospel gives (though not unambiguously) is that these visionaries see the pre-incarnate Word or Son. For instance, Jesus’ words in John 5:37 contain a subtle allusion to the Sinai theophany. Here Jesus says of his opponents about the Father, “You have never heard his voice or seen his form” (5:37). This saying recalls Deut. 4:12 in which Moses says that at Sinai, Israel “heard the sound of words but saw no form; there was only a voice.” If, according to Jesus in John 5:37, the Father’s voice has never been heard nor his form seen, then whose voice did the Israelites hear at Sinai if not the Father’s? It is possible to read this text as implying that the one who appeared at the Sinai theophany and gave the Torah to Israel was the pre-incarnate Word—for “It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known” (1:18). Even more telling is John’s interpretation of Isaiah’s call vision wherein the prophet is given to see “the King, the LORD of hosts” (Isa. 6:5).58 As the first half of the Gospel comes to a close, John cites two texts from Isaiah as a way of interpreting the diverse responses of people to Jesus. The first is a verbatim quotation from LXX Isa 53:1 in John 12:38, which the narrator interprets as an anticipation of Jesus’s revelation to the world and the faith response to him. The second quotation is from LXX Isa 6:10, which the narrator presents as anticipating the disbelief and negative response to Jesus. In both cases, these two texts from Isaiah are interpreted as speaking to the events of Jesus’s life. After these two citations, John specifies the reason that these Isaiah texts can be read as referring to Jesus. He states, “Isaiah said this because he saw his glory and spoke about him” (12:41). The most likely reference here is Isaiah’s call and vision in Isa 6. John specifies that what Isaiah saw was “his glory [τὴν δόξαν αὐτοῦ].” While the Wright, “Theology of Disclosure and Biblical Exegesis,” 404–9. 57 See William M. Wright IV, “Jesus’ Identity and the Use of Scripture in John 6:1–21,” Josephinum Journal of Theology 17 (2010): 24–40, here 36–39; cf. Martin and Wright, Gospel of John, 107–9. 58 The following five paragraphs develop argumentation given in Wright, “Jesus’ Identity and the Use of Scripture,” 37–38. 56

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αὐτοῦ is not specified, the context suggests that it refers to Jesus. Not only does John lead into this statement in 12:41 with two quotations from Isaiah, but the second one actually appears in Isaiah’s call narrative (Isa 6:10). John’s use of a text from Isa 6 in connection with his observations about what Isaiah saw points to the prophet as seeing the glory of Jesus, the glory of the pre-incarnate Word, at his calling. The different readings of Isa 6 in various textual versions suggest an ongoing reflection on what (or who) it was exactly that Isaiah saw. According to the MT of Isa. 6, the prophet says that he saw “my Lord [6:1( ”]‫)אֲדֹ נָי‬. Isaiah later indicates that he has seen “the King, the LORD of hosts [‫( ”]הַ ּמֶ לְֶך יְ הוָה צְ בָ אֹות‬6:5), and the two seraphim likewise offer praise to “the LORD of Hosts [‫( ”]יְ הוָה צְ בָ אֹות‬6:3). LXX Isa. 6 does not differentiate between ‫( אֲדֹ נָי‬6:1) and ‫( יְ הוָה‬6:3, 5), rendering both Hebrew terms as κύριος. In both the MT and the LXX, Isaiah reports a vision of YHWH Himself. However, the LXX offers a different reading of Isa 6:1c. The MT reads, “the hem of his robe filled the temple” (6:1). The LXX, however, reads, “the temple was full of his glory [πλήρης ὁ οἶκος τῆς δόξης αὐτοῦ]” (6:1).59 This reading aligns the prophet’s description with the praise of the seraphim, “the whole earth is full of his glory [πλήρης πᾶσα ἡ γῆ τῆς δόξης αὐτοῦ] (6:3).60 A similar introduction of “glory” as a component of Isaiah’s vision appears in the Tg. Isa. The targumic description of Isaiah’s vision displays a more extensive interpretation than the LXX. The targumic text begins with Isaiah claiming, “I saw the glory of the LORD” (Tg. Isa. 6:1).61 The “glory [‫ ”]יְ קָ ר‬is the object of the prophet’s vision in the targum, not simply and directly YHWH himself as in the MT and LXX. In the MT and LXX, when the prophet declares his own woe and unworthiness at this theophany; he declares that “my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts” (Isa 6:5). In the Tg. Isa., the prophet states that “my eyes have seen the glory of the Shekhinah of the eternal king, the LORD of hosts” (Tg. Isa. 6:5). The insertion of “the glory of the Shekinah” in Tg. Isa. 6:5 likewise qualifies the object of the prophet’s vision as the “glory.” An analogous qualification of Isaiah’s vision appears in the different readings of Isa 6:8. In both the MT and LXX of Isa 6:8, the prophet claims to hear “the voice of the LORD [MT: ‫;קֹול אֲדֹ נָי‬ LXX: τῆς φωνῆς κυρίου]” asking whom will be sent. In Tg. Isa. 6:8, the text reads, “I heard the voice of the Memra of the LORD.” The targum interprets Isaiah’s vision to be of YHWH’s Glory, Shekinah, or Memra, rather than a vision of YHWH simpliciter.62 59 Translation mine. 60 Translation mine. 61 English translations of Tg. Isa. are taken from Bruce D. Chilton, The Isaiah Targum: Introduction, Translation, Apparatus and Notes (ArBib 11; Wilmington: Michael Glazier, 1987), quotation here from p. 14. Quotations of the Aramaic text of Tg. Isa. are taken from J. F. Stenning, The Targum of Isaiah (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1949). 62 This relates to the issue of ancient Jewish monotheism and “two powers in heaven,” which involves the appropriate ways to categorize YHWH’s Glory, Shekinah, or Logos/Memra in various Second Temple and rabbinic theologies (e.g. are they “aspects” of YHWH in his relating to creation or do they have some sort of hypostatic identity?). For discussion, see Richard 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), 13–17; Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines:  The Partition of JudaeoChristianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 89–147; Bruce D. Chilton, The Glory of Israel: The Theology and Provenience of the Isaiah Targum (JSOTSup 23; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1982), 56–77; Alan F. Segal, Two Powers in Heaven: Early Rabbinic Reports about Christianity and Gnosticism (SJLA 25; Leiden: Brill, 1977).

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Like Tg. Isa., John claims that the object of Isaiah’s vision was “his glory” (John 12:41). But John specifically associates the glory with Jesus, the Word of God. By positioning the Word in the place of YHWH as the object of Isaiah’s vision, John interprets the theophany of YHWH to Isaiah as a theophany of the divine Word, and the glory of YHWH seen by Isaiah is that of the pre-incarnate Word. This equating of glory of the Word with the glory of the Father finds support in Jesus’s petition, “So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed” (17:5). By identifying the one manifested in the theophany to Isaiah as the divine Word, John posits the presence and activity of the Word in the history of Israel prior to the Incarnation. While these texts do not give unambiguous evidence, taken together they do provide warrant for reading John as positing the presence and activity of the pre-incarnate Word in the OT. Thus, not only do multiple OT texts, institutions, episodes, and realities have an anticipatory relationship to the incarnate Word, but the Word himself appears and acts as a subject in the OT history proper. In both respects, the Fourth Gospel exhibits similarities with the patristic exegetical notion of the Abridged Word.

Conclusion There is a deep conceptual congruence between the patristic exegetical notion of the Abridged Word and the presence of multivalent biblical images in the Fourth Gospel. The basic structure of the Abridged Word is that what is many in the OT comes together in the one figure of Jesus. Comparably, John presents many diverse biblical texts, episodes, and realities as all coming together to bear on the figure of Jesus. But in order for these biblical realities to come together as bearing upon Jesus, they must also possess a sense and integrity of their own. In this way, the many realities and episodes of the OT come together as one in their reference to Jesus, but they do so without losing their own respective senses and integrities. Furthermore, the Abridged Word tradition and the Fourth Gospel also agree that the ways in which various biblical realities come together in Jesus become visible only within the horizon of Christian faith. The notion of the Abridged Word is also underwritten by a theology of history, wherein the divine Word is both present in the OT history and becomes incarnate in Jesus. While the evidence is not entirely clear, the Fourth Gospel seems to provide warrant for discerning a similar theology of history as undergirding his narrative and intertextual technique. In various ways, then, the patristic exegetical notion of the Abridged Word can help bring to light certain theological implications of John’s use of multivalent biblical images for his understanding of Jesus and the various texts and realities of the Scriptures in relation to him.

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The Covenant Curses, the Restoration, and the Inheritance of the Son: Jesus as Servant and Messiah in Gal 1:4 and Beyond Esau D. McCaulley

Introduction The openings of Paul’s epistles often contain themes that resonate throughout the letter.1 Galatians is no different.2 Therefore, discerning what Paul means he when says that Jesus is τοῦ δόντος ἑαυτὸν ὑπὲρ τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν ἡμῶν, ὅπως ἐξέληται ἡμᾶς ἐκ τοῦ αἰῶνος τοῦ ἐνεστῶτος πονηροῦ is pivotal to interpreting the letter. When interpreting this phrase, many acknowledge that Paul alludes to Isa 53:12 when describing Jesus’s death for sins.3 Few, however, considered whether the allusion to Isa 53 extends beyond likening Jesus death to that of the servant to include the fact that, similar to the servant, Jesus receives an inheritance (3:16, 18, 3:26–29, 4:1–7; 4:27–31). When I refer to the

1 For a fuller discussion on the importance of letter openings in Paul, see Lee Ann Jervis, The Purpose of Romans: A Comparative Letter Structure Investigation (JSNTSup 55; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1991), 65–89; Bruce W. Longenecker, The Triumph of Abraham’s God: The Transformation of Identity in Galatians (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998), 44. 2 For a defense of the importance of the opening verses in Galatians, see Robert A. Bryant, The Risen Crucified Christ in Galatians (SBLDS 185; Atlanta: SBL, 2001). 3 Heinrich Schlier, Der Brief an die Galater (KEK 7; Göttingen:  Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1965; 13 ed.) 32–33; Franz Mußner, Der Galaterbrief (HThKNT 9; Freiburg: Herder, 1974), 51; Martin Hengel, The Atonement:  The Origins of the Doctrine in the New Testament (London:  SCM; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 35; Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians (WBC 41; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1990; repr. ed.), 7; James D.G. Dunn, The Epistle to the Galatians (BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1993), 35; Roy Ciampa, The Presence and Function of Scripture in Galatians 1 and 2 (WUNT II/102; Tübingen:  Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 51–62; Richard Hays, “The Letter to the Galatians,” in 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, 1 & 2 Thessalonians, 1 & 2 Timothy, Titus, Philemon (NIB 11; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2000), 203; Matthew S. Harmon, She Must and Shall Go Free: Paul’s Isaianic Gospel in Galatians (BZNW 168; New York: De Gruyter, 2010), 56–66; Thomas R. Schreiner Galatians (ZEC; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2010), 76; Michael Wolter, Paulus:  Ein Grundriss seiner Theologie (Neukirchen-Vluyn:  Neukirchener Verlag, 2011) 97, 104–5; Joel Willitts, “Davidic Messianism in Galatians,” JSPL 2 (2012):  154; Douglas J. Moo, Galatians (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2013), 72.

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inheritance given to the servant, I have in mind these words from Isa 53:12 that occur in the aftermath of his death for the sins of many: Isa 53:12LXX

διὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸς κληρονομήσει πολλοὺς καὶ τῶν ἰσχυρῶν μεριεῖ σκῦλα,

Isa 53:12 MT

‫לכן אחלק לו ברבים ואת עצומים יחלק שלל‬

At the center of my argument, then, is the claim that Paul’s allusion to Isa 53:12 in Gal 1:4 extends beyond the lexemes taken from Isa 53:12 to include the wider themes in Isa 52–54. Here I draw upon the insights of biblical scholarship on intertextuality that have received renewed attention in the aftermath of Richard Hays’s influential work on Paul’s use of Scripture.4 When describing the presence of OT echoes in Paul’s letters Hays says that, “when a literary echo links the texts in which it occurs to an earlier text, the figurative effect of the echo can lie in the unstated or suppressed (transumed) points of resonance between the two texts.”5 According to Hays, the hermeneutical importance of an allusion should not be limited to the words that Paul cites. Instead, the exegete must attend to the ways in which the wider contexts of OT texts that Paul alludes to connect with the arguments that Paul advances in his letters. These correspondences help the reader understand the theological vision that informs Paul’s reading of Israel’s Scriptures. While Hays highlights the importance of “points of resonance” in allusive echoes, he also notes the presence of these same resonances in “higher volume echoes whose allusive character is more readily audible.”6 Paul’s allusion to Isa 53:12 in Gal 1:4 is just such a “high volume” allusion. The question, as it relates to Gal 1:4, is not the presence of Isa 53:12. Many have noted that Paul draws on that text.7 The question is whether the context of Isa 53:12 helps us understand Paul’s argument in Galatians. In this chapter I  will argue that, based upon the confluence of themes found in both the Isaianic servant narrative and Galatians, Paul’s allusion to Isa 53:12 does take into account its wider context. Paul’s use of Isa 53 encompasses the fact that Jesus’s death leads to his receiving of an inheritance that he shares with others in the same way that Isa 52:13–53:12 claims that the servant’s death for sins leads to the servant receiving an inheritance that he shares with others. In Paul’s case, the inheritance given to those who believe is a share in the inheritance of the whole earth given to Jesus as Son and seed (Ps 2:7–8; Gal 3:16). According to Paul, then, when believers share in the inheritance of the whole earth given to Jesus as Son and seed, then God’s promises to Abraham will be fulfilled.

4 Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993; new ed.). On the influence of this text Christopher D. Stanley, “Paul and Scripture: Charting the Course,” in As It Is Written: Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture (ed. Christopher D. Stanley and Stanley E. Porter; SBLS 50; Atlanta: SBL, 2008), 3–15 says, “Nearly all subsequent studies of Paul’s use of Scripture are indebted to Hays’s work” (6). 5 Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 20. 6 Ibid., 24. 7 See note 2.

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I begin by demonstrating that Jewish apocalyptic texts could look to the new age as the time when the promise to Abraham of receiving land would be fulfilled, but in these readings the promise was expanded to encompass the whole earth. This is important because many have noted that Gal 1:4 betrays a reliance on an apocalyptic understanding of history. This means that Paul’s use of an apocalyptic schema in Gal 1:4 does not imply that he abandons the concept of the Abrahamic inheritance as a physical space. Next I analyze the work of two authors who have previously attempted to link the inheritance of the servant to the inheritance theme in Galatians. I  show that their proposals could be strengthened by attending to the allusion to Isa 53:12 in Gal 1:4. Turning to the argument of Galatians, I support the claim that Paul alludes to the inheritance of the servant by showing the lexical and thematic correspondences between the servant narrative of Isa 52:1–54:4 and Paul’s argument in Galatians. These correspondences include the fact that: (1) The presentation of Israel as enslaved and in exile in Isa 52:1–12 matches Paul’s description of the state of affairs for Israel before the death of Christ (Gal 1:4, 3:10–14, 5:1); (2) The servant’s death for sins solves the problem of Israel being a cursed nation by suffering the effects of the curse in place of the nation; (3)  After suffering the curse for the nation, the servant receives an inheritance that he shares with others. This concept of an inheritance given and shared corresponds to Paul’s claim that the inheritance belongs to Christ and is only available in him (Isa 53:12 LXX; Gal 3:14, 16, 26–29); (4)  Paul uses Isa 54:1 to describe the Gentiles who, in Gal 4:27–31, have come to have faith. The use of Isa 54:1 is important because Isa 54:1–5 describes the expansion of the Abrahamic seed outward to inherit the nations of the earth after the servant bears the nation’s sins. Paul’s point, then, is that the Galatians are the seed who have come into being as a result of the servant’s death; they now stand to inherit the earth. Following an analysis of the correspondences between Isaiah’s servant narrative and Galatians, I  show that Paul’s use of sonship language in conjunction with allusions to Isa 53 (Gal 2:20; see also, Rom 8:32) suggests that he believes that one who gives himself for sins is not only the Isaianic servant, but also Israel’s Messiah, the Son of God. I maintain that, according to Paul, the inheritance that God gives to Jesus is the whole earth over which he reigns as Son (Ps 2:7–8; 89:25–28). What believers stand to inherit is a share in the Son’s inheritance of the earth as his kingdom on the other side of the covenant curses (Gal 5:21).

Apocalyptic Schemas and the Worldwide Inheritance Most interpreters of Gal 1:4 rightly note that Paul’s claim that Jesus rescued believers from the present evil age relied on a Jewish apocalyptic worldview that divided the world history into ages. Albrecht Oepke says, “Das Urchristen teilt mit der jüdischen Apokalyptic die Anschauung, daß die Welt eine Bestimmte Dauer hat, daß ihre Zeit bald abgelaufen ist daß aber diesem unrettbar der Sünde und dem Tode verfallenen Aion ein zweiter, ganz andersartiger folgen wird.”8 However, can this “new age” of Gal 8 Albrecht Oepke, Der Brief des Paulus an die Galater (HKNT 9; Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt,

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1:4 be reasonably interpreted as a worldwide inheritance that fulfills the Abrahamic promises? Two texts that are often cited as reflecting the same “apocalyptic” perspective as the one found in Gal 1:4 are 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch.9 It is worth considering whether these texts present the “new world” as the locale of the fulfillment of the Abrahamic promises. In what follows, I evince that these texts do present the new world as the locale of the fulfillment of God’s promises to Abraham. The author of 4 Ezra 6:59 claims that the world was Israel’s inheritance and wonders, “If the world has indeed been created for us, why do we not possess our world as an inheritance?” When the author refers to Israel, he has in mind the people born of the Abrahamic promise: When those who dwelt on earth began to multiply, they produced children and peoples and many nations… And when they were committing iniquity before you, you chose for yourself one of them, whose name was Abraham; and you loved him … You made with him an everlasting covenant, and promised him that you would never forsake his descendants. (4 Ezra 3:12–15)10

Despite Israel’s sin, God’s faithfulness to his creational purpose and his promises to Abraham demands a new creation of the world that fulfills his promises.11 The author of 4 Ezra makes his belief in a coming physical world plain during his discussion with God that takes place in ­chapter 7. God begins by making an analogy about a man who must pass through many dangers to receive the inheritance promised to him (4 Ezra 7:1–9). He then likens the situation of a man due an inheritance to the nation of Israel. According to 4 Ezra, the world was made for Israel, but Adam’s sin made the path to that inheritance very narrow and difficult (4 Ezra 7:11–13). Nonetheless, for those who are obedient to the Torah, they will experience life in a new world that fulfills God’s promises.12 Here again are the words of 4 Ezra: “For this reason the Most High has made not one world but two” (4 Ezra 7:50). We have no reason to believe that the new world would be any less physical than the previous world. Therefore, the apocalyptic schema of history in 4 Ezra presents the new world as a physical and not a “spiritualized” fulfillment of the Abrahamic promise of land. A similar case could be made for 2 Baruch. In 2 Bar. 14:13 and 14:19 it is claimed that the world was made for Israel, and in that world to come God’s promises to them will be fulfilled. These verses read:

1973; 2nd ed.), 45. See also, Longenecker, Galatians, 8; Dunn, Galatians, 36; Moo, Galatians, 73; Andrew A. Das, Galatians (Concordia Commentary; Saint Louis:  Concordia Publishing House, 2014), 84. 9 Dunn, Galatians, 36; Martinus C. de Boer, Galatians:  A Commentary (NTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 30; Das, Galatians, 84. 10 All quotations of 4 Ezra from Bruce M. Metzger, “The Fourth Book of Ezra: A New Translation and Introduction,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha Volume 1: Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments (ed. James H. Charlesworth; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 517–60. 11 Longenecker, Triumph, 9–10. 12 John M. G. Barclay, Paul and the Gift (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015), 298–300.

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Therefore, they leave this world without fear and are confident of the world which you have promised to them with an expectation full of joy. (2 Bar. 14:13)13 And now, I see that the world which was made for us, behold, it remains; but we, for whom it was made, depart. (2 Bar. 14:19)

According to 2 Baruch, despite the fact that faithful Israelites depart from this world, there is hope. Israel’s hope lies in the fact that they are descendants of Abraham. Therefore, God will eventually fulfill his promises. God’s faithfulness is made clear in the letter to the exiles that concludes 2 Baruch: Are we not all, the twelve tribes, bound by one captivity as we also descend from one father … He is the one who always promised on our behalf to those who are more excellent than we that he will not forever forget or forsake our offspring, but with much mercy assemble all those again who were dispersed. (2 Bar. 78:4, 7)14

According to 2 Baruch, then, God’s faithfulness to his promises demands a restoration of the tribes. Presumably, this restored Israel will enjoy the new creation promised in 2 Bar. 14:13. Let me be clear. I am not suggesting that every mention of the new age or world in Second Temple Judaism in itself refers to a worldwide understanding of the Abrahamic inheritance. Instead, I  am contending that the relationship between the new age and the Abrahamic inheritance depends on the cojoining of both themes in a single work. Therefore, Paul’s use of an “apocalyptic schema” in a letter that contains an extended consideration of who is heir to the Abrahamic promises suggests that Paul is working within a comparable conceptual framework, in which, according to his gospel, the worldwide inheritance belongs to those in Christ.

Previous Studies on the Servant’s Inheritance in Galatians In the scholarship I encountered on Galatians, Richard Hays was the first to emphasize the importance of servant’s inheritance in Isa 53:12 LXX.15 Hays discusses the inheritance during his messianic interpretation of Hab 2:3–4 in Gal 3:11. According to Hays, Paul believes that Hab 2:3–4 is a messianic prophecy.16 Hays maintains that in Gal 3:11, ὁ δίκαιος ἐκ πίστεως ζήσεται refers to the Messiah. Jesus is the righteous one who lives by faith, and those who believe in him receive the benefits of Christ’s All quotations of 2 Baruch from A. F. J. Klijn, “2 (Syriac Apocalypse of) Baruch: A New Translation and Introduction,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (ed. James H. Charlesworth; London: Yale University Press, 1983), 615–53. 14 For support that this letter was a part of the original work and functions as a summary of the whole, see Lutz Doering, “The Epistle of Baruch and its Role in 2 Baruch,” in Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch:  Reconstruction after the Fall (ed. Matthias Henze and Gabriele Boccaccini; JSJSup 164; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 151–73. 15 Richard Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ:  The Narrative Substructure of Galatians 3:1–4:11 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002; 2nd ed.), 134–41. All LXX quotations from the New English Translation of the Septuagint unless otherwise noted. 16 Ibid., 134–36. 13

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faithfulness. According to Hays, both Isa 53:10–12 and Hab 2:3–4 support his interpretation of Gal 3:11 because both texts call the Messiah δίκαιος. To bolster the claim that Paul interprets δίκαιος in Isa 53:10–12 in reference to the Messiah, Hays points out the fact that God gives the servant an inheritance.17 According to Hays, the theme of inheritance at the climax of the servant narrative corresponds to Paul’s claim in Galatians that the inheritance belongs to Christ. Hays is correct to note that the theme of inheritance in Isa 53:12 corresponds to inheritance theme in Galatians. He also rightly observes that the inheritance belongs to Jesus as Messiah. However, his reading relies upon a messianic interpretation of Hab 2:3–4 that is unlikely. Paul’s point in Gal 3:11 is not that the Messiah has come, but that faith in the Messiah’s atoning death justifies (makes righteous) and brings one into Abraham’s family. Furthermore, although I agree that Gal 3:16 contains a messianic reading of 2 Sam 7:12, the text did not promise the Son of David an inheritance. This text promises David offspring. The language of inheritance relevant to our discussion appears in Ps 2:7–8 where God promises the Son an inheritance of the whole earth as I will argue later. Therefore, rather than claiming that Paul thinks that Isa 53:12 LXX is messianic because it speaks about the righteous one, I suggest Paul thinks that Isa 53:12 LXX is messianic and speaks about an inheritance that comes to someone after that person’s death and resurrection. The death for sins and the subsequent receiving of the inheritance is what allows Paul to discern a reference to Christ in Isa 53:10–12. Stated differently, I  will maintain that Paul discerns a correspondence between the events in the life of the servant (suffering for the nation, death for sins, inheritance) and the life of Christ (suffering, death for sins, inheritance).18

The Servant Narrative in Gal 1:4 and the Wider Argument of Galatians I suggested that the best place to establish the connection between the inheritance of the servant and the inheritance theme in Galatians is in 1:4. This verse is to be preferred over Hays’s proposal about Gal 3:11 because 1:4 contains: (1) a more direct illusion to the Isa 53; and (2) a more organic link to the inheritance theme in Galatians and Isaiah.19 Before turning to the theme of inheritance, it is important to explain why many believe that Paul alludes to the Isaianic servant in 1:4. Many believe that the combination of δίδωμι + preposition + “sins” in 1:4 and elsewhere matches the selfgiving of the Isaianic servant.20 17 Ibid., 137. 18 Rodrigo J. Morales, The Spirit and the Restoration of Israel: New Exodus and New Creation Motifs in Galatians (WUNT II/282; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 81–85, makes a similar argument for an allusion to the Isaianic servant in Galatians based upon the shared theme of inheritance. 19 See my argument earlier, where I show that the “new age” of Gal 1:4 can in apocalyptic texts refer to the expansion of the Abrahamic inheritance to include the whole renewed earth. 20 Hengel, Atonement, 35; Wolter, Paulus, 97, 104–5. See the more extensive bibliography in footnote 3 earlier.

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Gal 1:4

τοῦ δόντος ἑαυτὸν ὑπὲρ τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν ἡμῶν

Gal 2:20

παραδόντος ἑαυτὸν ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ.

Rom 4:25

ὃς παρεδόθη διὰ τὰ παραπτώματα ἡμῶν21

Rom 8:32

ὅς γε τοῦ ἰδίου υἱοῦ οὐκ ἐφείσατο ἀλλ᾿ ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν πάντων παρέδωκεν αὐτόν22

Isa 53:6

καὶ κύριος παρέδωκεν αὐτὸν ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις ἡμῶν.

Isa 53:10

καὶ κύριος βούλεται καθαρίσαι αὐτὸν τῆς πληγῆς· ἐὰν δῶτε περὶ ἁμαρτίας, ἡ ψυχὴ ὑμῶν

Isa 53:12

ἀνθ᾿ ὧν παρεδόθη εἰς θάνατον ἡ ψυχὴ αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἀνόμοις ἐλογίσθη· καὶ αὐτὸς ἁμαρτίας πολλῶν ἀνήνεγκεν καὶ διὰ τὰς ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν παρεδόθη.

My proposal is that Paul’s allusion to Isa 53 extends beyond the death for sins to encompass the wider narrative including the fact that Jesus’s death ended the covenant curses, including in particular Israel’s exile. To support the claim for the wider allusion, I  will now demonstrate that Isaiah’s description of Israel as enslaved, under the Deuteronomic curses, and in need of a second exodus matches Paul’s description of the state of affairs in Israel before the coming of Christ. Following this, I will consider the inheritance theme in Isa 53 and its relationship to the argument in Galatians. I conclude by showing that the inheritance that came to Christ was the whole earth over which he reigned as king. Most OT scholars point out that Isa 52:13–53:12 must be understood within the context of a larger narrative that stretches back at least to 52:1.23 In Isa 52:10–12, God speaks to an enslaved Israel announcing her departure from bondage. This narrative climaxes with a call to leave slavery that evoked the Exodus, “because you shall not go out with confusion, nor shall you go in flight, for the Lord will go before you, and the Lord God of Israel is the one who gathers you together. (Isa 52:12 LXX).”24 In the wider context of Isa 40–55, it is evident that Israel experiences exile as slavery because of covenant disobedience. Stated differently, the slavery of Isa 52:1–12 is the exile and slavery pronounced by the covenant curses outlined in the latter portions

On the Isaianic influence on Rom 4:25, see Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Romans: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 33; New Haven:  Yale University Press, 1992), 389; Brendan Byrne, Romans (SP 6; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2007), 161–62; Michael Bird, Romans (The Story of God Bible Commentary; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2016), 151–52. 22 C. K. Barrett, The Epistle to the Romans (BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991; rev. ed.), 161, claims that Paul alludes to the sacrifice of Isaac and therefore not Isa 53. Fitzmyer, Romans, 531–32, rightly notes that Paul could be using both. On the allusion to Isaiah 53 and the Aqedah, see also, Bird, Romans, 293–94. 23 Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 19A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 339–40; Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, KY:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 410; Klaus Baltzer, Deutero-Isaiah:  A Commentary on Isaiah 40–55 (Hermeneia 23C; trans. Margaret Kohl; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), 393–94. 24 On the New Exodus imagery see Baltzer, Deutero–Isaiah, 387. 21

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of Deuteronomy.25 Thus, Isa 52:13–53:12 presents inheri the servant’s ministry as the solution to the problem of Deuteronomic curses. The servant solves the problem of the Deuteronomic curses by suffering the effects of those curses in place of the nation. We can tell that he suffers the effects of national curses because Isaiah draws upon Deut 28:58–61 in the description of the servant’s suffering on behalf of the people.26 Deut 28:59

The Lord will make exceptional your plagues [πληγή] and the plagues [πληγή] upon your offspring, great and marvelous plagues [πληγή] and evil and constant maladies.

Deut 28:61

And he will bring back upon you all the evil pains [ὀδύνη] of Egypt of which you were in dread before them, and they shall cling to you.

Isa 53:4

This one bears our sins and suffers pain [ὀδυνάω] for us, and we accounted him to be in trouble and calamity [πληγή] and ill–treatment.

Deut 28:61

And every malady [μαλακία] and every plague not recorded in the book of this law the Lord will bring on you until he utterly destroys you.

Isa 53:5

But he was wounded because of our acts of lawlessness and has been weakened [μαλακίζομαι] because of our sins.27

The three lexemes (πληγή, ὀδύνη, μαλακία) that occur in Deut 28:59–61 and Isa 53:4–5 provide a warrant for believing that Isaiah intentionally evokes the Deuteronomic curses in his description of the servant’s suffering and death for the nation.28 This slavery and Deuteronomic curse background matches Paul’s description of the situation in Galatians.29 He warns the Galatians that turning to the Law means 25 On the influence of Deut 32 in particular on Isaiah 40–55, see Thomas A. Keiser, “The Song of Moses a Basis for Isaiah’s Prophecy,” VT 55 (2005): 486–500; Walter Brueggemann, “Isaiah 55 and Deuteronomic Theology,” ZAW 80 (1968): 191–203. On the influence of Deuteronomy 27–29 on Isa 52:13–53:12, see Matthew S. Harmon, “When Return from Exile Is More Than a Return: Paul’s Use of the Isaianic Exile and Return Motif in Galatians.” Paper presented at SBL, San Antonio, TX, 18 November 2016, 8–12. 26 Harmon, “Return,” 11 says, “The sicknesses … which the servant bears (Isa 53:4) are the sicknesses that Yahweh had promised to bring upon Israel if they broke the covenant (Deut 28:59–61). The servant is ‘struck by God’ … (Isa 53:4) just as God had vowed to strike rebellious Israel for her covenant unfaithfulness (Deut 28:22, 27–28, 35).” I noticed this link between the servant’s suffering and Deut 27–28 before I encountered Harmon’s work. 27 See also, Isa 53:3, which says, “But his form was without honor, failing beyond all men, a man being in calamity [μαλακία] and knowing how to bear sickness.” 28 See also, Lev 26:21, which also describes the impending covenant curses, and uses the lexeme πληγή to do so. 29 On the importance of Exodus imagery in Galatians, see N. T. Wright, The Climax of the Covenant: Christ and the Law in Pauline Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992; 1st Fortress Press ed.), 137–56. Sylvia C. Keesmaat, Paul and his Story (Re)Interpreting the Exodus Tradition (JSNTSup 181; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999); William N. Wilder, Echoes of the Exodus Narrative in the Context and Background of Galatians 5:18 (StBibLit 23; New  York:  Peter Lang,

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returning to the Deuteronomic curses and slavery (Gal 3:10–14, 4:22, 5:1).30 Paul also uses redemption-from-slavery language when claiming that Jesus’s death signals the end of the curse of the Law (Gal 3:13, 4:4–7). The shared theme of the curse and slavery in the background of the redemptive-restorative death of the servant and Paul’s interpretation of the death of Jesus makes it likely that Paul’s reading of Israel’s history is similar to the one found in Isaiah 52–54. I have argued that both the death of Jesus in Galatians and the death of the servant are presented as solutions to the Deuteronomic curses and slavery. Now I will suggest that Paul likens the inheritance won by the servant to the inheritance Jesus has received as a result of his death and resurrection. Our focus is the climax of the narrative found in Isa 53:11–12. There, as a result of his death for sins, God gives the servant an inheritance: Isa 53:12 MT

‫לכן אחלק לו ברבים ואת עצומים יחלק שלל תחת אשר הערה למות נפשו ואת‬ ‫פשעים נמנה והוא חטא רבים נשא ולפשעים יפגיע‬

Isa 53:12 LXX

διὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸς κληρονομήσει πολλοὺς καὶ τῶν ἰσχυρῶν μεριεῖ σκῦλα, ἀνθ᾿ ὧν παρεδόθη εἰς θάνατον ἡ ψυχὴ αὐτοῦ.

Both the LXX and Hebrew text traditions make it plain that God gives the servant an inheritance because of his death for the sins of many (διὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸς κληρονομήσει πολλοὺς/ ‫)לכן אחלק לו‬. Baltzer, pointing to the resonances with Num 26:1–4, 53–56 notices a connection to the distribution of the land.31 He observes this connection because in Num 26:1–4 God commands Moses to take a census so that he can allot [‫ ]חלק‬each tribe a portion of the inheritance (Num 26:53–56). In the same way, God commands the servant to distribute the inheritance. Isaiah 53:12, then, imagines that the second exodus mentioned in Isa 52:10–12 culminates in a second giving of the inheritance because of the servant’s death. Therefore, in Isa 53, the second exodus leads to a second reception of the inheritance. There is a question, however, regarding the inheritance that the servant receives and how it relates to the many (‫ )רבים‬whose sins he bears. One view suggests that ‫ אחלק לו ברבים‬refers to the servant’s inheritance “of ” or “from” the many.32 In this view, God gives the servant an inheritance that he then shares with others. Representing this reading, Christopher North says, “The servant is the arbiter of the spoils accruing from his victory.”33 This reading requires us to take the ‫ ב‬that precedes the “‫ ”רבים‬to mean “of ” or “from” instead of the more natural “among.” Advocates present two reasons for 2001); Todd A. Wilson, The Curse of the Law and the Crisis in Galatia: Reassessing the Purpose of Galatians (WUNT II/225; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 550–71. 30 See the discussion later. 31 Baltzer, Deutero–Isaiah, 425–26. 32 John W. Olley, “ ‘The Many’: How Is Isa 53:12a To Be Understood?” Bib 68 (1987): 342–53; Baltzer, Deutero–Isaiah, 427. 33 Christopher R. North, The Second Isaiah:  Introduction, Translation and Commentary to Chapters XL–LV (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), 246. See, more recently, R. Reed Lessing, Isaiah 40–55 (Concordia Commentary; Saint Louis: Concordia, 2011), 603, who says, “Since the Servant is in fact the sole victor … he deserves all the booty.”

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the “of ” or “from” translation. First, throughout the narrative, the servant has been the singular actor bringing about Israel’s restoration.34 Given the singularity of his agency, it is strange to conclude the narrative with the servant being equal to the many who receive an inheritance. Second, in the latter half of 53:12 the servant allots the spoils (‫ )יחלק שלל‬won by his death. This suggests that God gives the inheritance to the servant and then, as a surprising act of grace, the servant shares that inheritance with others.35 The second reading takes the more standard interpretation of ‫ ב‬as “among.” This would mean that God gives the servant an inheritance along with others and then the servant divides the spoils. This seems to be the more natural reading of the Hebrew text.36 But the very tension between the shared inheritance and the servant dividing the spoils makes the choice between the two readings difficult. The LXX tradition reflects the first reading: The servant inherits πολλοὺς and then the servant divides the spoils with the strong (κληρονομήσει πολλοὺς καὶ τῶν ἰσχυρῶν μεριεῖ σκῦλα). The question remains as to how to take the πολλοὺς in Isa 53:12 LXX. Given that πολλοὺς refers to the nation of Israel in Isa 53:11, it seems that what belongs to the nation passes to the servant because of his death for sins. The servant, however, does not keep the inheritance for himself. He divides the spoils with those whose sins he bears. This reading matches Paul’s argument about the inheritance in Galatians. I suggest that shared themes of:  (1) slavery and curse; (2)  death for sins; (3) reception of an inheritance; and (4) sharing that inheritance with others, make it likely that Paul alluded to the servant’s death and inheritance both in Gal 1:4 and throughout the rest of the letter.37 This means that Paul’s claim that Jesus rescues the believer from the evil age finds its ultimate fulfillment in their sharing in his messianic inheritance. Support for this claim of a shared inheritance comes from Paul’s use of Isa 54:1 in Gal 4:27–31. Isaiah 54:1–4 describes the immediate aftermath of the servant’s work. It chronicles a newly restored Jerusalem giving birth to σπέρμα that expand outward to inherit the nations. In Isa 53:12–54:4, then, the death of the servant results in his receiving an inheritance that he shares with others after the exile was over. His exileending death causes the newly restored Jerusalem to expand exponentially. Paul explicitly refers to the Galatians as the children predicted in Isa 54:1–4 (Gal 4:26–27).38 This suggests that Paul believes that Jesus’s death ends the covenant curses and results in the multiplication of the seed who will inherit alongside Jesus, the seed of Abraham and David. 34 North, Second Isaiah, 264. 35 For a strong argument that the ‫ רבים‬and ‫ עצומים‬are synonymous see Olley, “Many,” 330–41. 36 Claus Westermann, Isaiah 40–66: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969), 255, 268; John Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah, Chapters 40–66 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 406; Childs, Isaiah, 420; Hans-Jürgen Hermisson, “The Fourth Servant Song in the Context of Second Isaiah,” in The Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 in Jewish and Christian Sources (ed. Bernd Janowski and Peter Stuhlmacher; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 40–41. 37 On the links between the contexts of Isa 53 and the argument of Galatians, see Morales, Spirit, 82. 38 See Karen H. Jobes, “Jerusalem, Our Mother: Metalepsis and Intertextuality in Galatians 4:21–31,” WTJ 55 (1993): 299–320.

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The Inheritance Belongs to the Seed and the Son Having discussed the servant’s inheritance, we will now briefly consider the theme of messiahship. The importance of Jewish or Christian messianism on Paul’s thought is a long-standing question that cannot be explored in full here.39 Rather than examine all the aspects of Paul’s theology that may have been influenced by messianic ideas, I posit that messianic ideas do help us understand Paul’s definition of the inheritance. Stated differently, Paul’s claim that God gave Jesus a singular inheritance is best explained as a reference to the worldwide inheritance promised to the Son of David (Gal 3:16–18; Ps 2:7–8). Here Paul likely draws on a tradition found in the Royal Psalms in which the worldwide kingdom given to the seed of David realizes God’s promises to Abraham. Consider, for example, Ps 71:8 and Ps 71:17 LXX. These portions of Ps 71 LXX include elements of the Abrahamic texts in their descriptions of the worldwide rule of the Davidic king: Gen 15:18

Τῷ σπέρματί σου δώσω τὴν γῆν ταύτην ἀπὸ τοῦ ποταμοῦ Αἰγύπτου ἕως τοῦ ποταμοῦ τοῦ μεγάλου, ποταμοῦ Εὐφράτου,

Ps 71:8

αὶ κατακυριεύσει ἀπὸ θαλάσσης ἕως θαλάσσης καὶ ἀπὸ ποταμοῦ ἕως περάτων τῆς οἰκουμένης.

Gen 12:3

ἐνευλογηθήσονται ἐν σοὶ πᾶσαι αἱ φυλαὶ τῆς γῆς.

Ps 71:17

καὶ εὐλογηθήσονται ἐν αὐτῷ πᾶσαι αἱ φυλαὶ τῆς γῆς

Referring to the connection between Davidic kingship and the Abrahamic blessing in Ps 71 LXX, Hossfeld and Zenger say: A king who realizes justice and compassion according to the “program” proposed in Ps 72 does in fact serve the history of God and Israel begun with Abraham, which is intended to bring Israel and the nations together in such a way that the world may become God’s royal dominion, in which the fullness of salvation exists both in the social sphere and in that of nature.40 In this text and in Ps 2:7–8, the inheritance that God gives to the Son is not limited to Israel. Instead, his worldwide kingdom that realizes God’s promises. Let me be clear. My thesis, then, does not require “Son” or “Seed” in itself to refer to a Davidic king who restores Israel to its inheritance and assumes a rule over the world in fulfillment of Ps For a review of the history of research on the question, see Esau D.  McCaulley, “Sharing in the Son’s Inheritance: Davidic Messianism and Paul’s Worldwide Interpretation of the Abrahamic Land Promise in Galatians” (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of St. Andrews, 2017), 9–60. 40 Frank-Lothar Hossfeld and Erich Zenger, A Commentary on Psalms 51–100 (Hermeneia 19B; trans. Linda M. Maloney; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 218. On the allusion to the Abrahamic promises in Psalm 72 (MT), see J. Clinton McCann Jr., “The Book of Psalms,” in 1 Maccabees–Psalms (ed. Leander E. Keck of The New Interpreter’s Bible; vol. 4; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996), 641–1282, here 964. 39

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2:7–8 and Ps 72:8–17. Nonetheless, the exegete can surmise that if Paul presents Jesus as an agent of restoration to an inheritance that ultimately belongs to Christ on the other side of the covenant curses, the Davidic messianism is a plausible explanation for his claims. In Galatians, then, we encounter a claim that a person whom Paul calls God’s “Son” and Χριστός dies for sins. This death ends Israel’s covenant curses and enables all who believe to participate in an inheritance, but only in Christ (Gal 3:14) because the inheritance belongs to him (Gal 3:16, 18–19). Galatians also looks to a coming kingdom on one hand (5:21) and a new creation on the other (6:14–16). Taken as a whole, Paul’s argument seems to be a unique form of Davidic messianism reformulated around the cross as interpreted in light of Isa 52–54. That Paul uses sonship language in texts that could allude to the Isaianic servant in Galatians and Romans strengthens the possibility that he combined Davidic and Isaianic traditions in ascribing a worldwide inheritance to the Son. Here I have in mind Gal 2:20 and Rom 8:32. It is noteworthy that in Rom 8:17–32 the believer is described as a coheir (συγκληρονόμοι) to the inheritance of a transformed creation brought into being by the death and resurrection of Christ. Thus, Rom 8:17–32 exemplifies the use of Isa 53 and sonship language to speak about the inheritance of all creation through the Son. Lest I  be misunderstood, this argument does not imply a preexisting belief in a suffering Messiah. Instead the fact that Paul believes that Jesus is the Messiah who has been crucified for the sake of the nations’ redemption allows Paul to link the inheritance given to the servant to the inheritance promised to the Messiah. This messianic and Isaianic reading of Gal 1:4 fits well with themes that Paul develops throughout the rest of the letter. At its most basic level, the prominence of the inheritance theme in Galatians makes an allusion to the servant’s inheritance in Gal 1:4 possible. Moreover, this reading helps explain why Paul was able to say that God promised the inheritance to the Messiah Jesus and not the rest of the nations (3:16). If the restoration to the inheritance only comes through suffering and death for sins, then Jesus as Son (Ps 2:7, 89:25–27) and servant (Isa 53:12) is the one who has obtained his inheritance. Similar to the Isaianic servant (Isa 53:12; 54:1–4), Jesus shares the inheritance with those whose sins he has born. Therefore, it is only in and through Christ that the believer can share in his inheritance.

Conclusion I have sought to show that Paul’s use of the Isaianic servant in Gal 1:4 extends beyond his death for sins. In Gal 1:4, and throughout the letter, Paul relies on the wider narrative surrounding the servant’s death. Like the servant, Jesus’s death rescues others from slavery and ends Israel’s covenant curses by suffering on behalf of the nation. Additionally, similar to the servant, Jesus’s death for sins leads to his reception of an inheritance that he distributes to others in a surprising act of grace. For Paul, this inheritance is a place in the worldwide kingdom that belongs to Jesus because he is the Son. Although we cannot fully explore this here, two major adjustments to the standard

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interpretation of Galatians flow from this reading. First, the idea that Paul replaces the Abrahamic land inheritance with the Spirit is incorrect.41 Instead Paul believes that the Spirit begins the new age that will culminate in the kingdom. Second, if sharing in the inheritance of the Son is central to the argument of Galatians, then the claim that Davidic messianism plays little to no role in Paul’s theology should be reconsidered.42

For the claim that the Spirit replaces the land, see Das, Galatians, 390; de Boer, Galatians, 214–16. 42 Aquila H. I. Lee, “Messianism and Messiah in Paul: Christ as Jesus?” in God and the Faithfulness of Paul: A Critical Examination of the Pauline Theology of N.T. Wright (WUNT II/413; ed. Christoph Heilig, J. Thomas Hewitt, and Michael F. Bird; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 372–92, where he says “traditionally, the majority of scholars maintained that Χριστός in Paul should be understood as Jesus’s surname rather than a title, and that the Messiahship of Jesus carries little or no significance in Paul’s thought” (375, emphasis added). See also, J. Louis Martyn, Galatians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (ABY 33A; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997), 89–90, where he attributes a belief in Jewish messianism to Paul’s opponents not Paul himself. 41

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Lawlessness, Idolatry, and Apostasy in the Book of Deuteronomy and in 1 John: An Old Message in a New Setting* Max Rogland

Introduction This study will consider three difficult texts in 1 John, namely, the description of sin as “lawlessness” in 3:4, the reference to the “sin unto death” in 5:16–17, and the concluding warning against idols in 5:21, each of which has produced significant exegetical discussion and debate. This chapter will seek to clarify the meaning of these texts by interpreting them intertextually, that is, in light of the use of OT Scripture. Specifically, it will argue that the book of Deuteronomy provides the intertextual background in each instance and that the particular concern in all three statements is one of belief versus unbelief or apostasy, issues that are central to Deuteronomy’s message as well.1 It is suggested here that 1 John represents a creative reapplication of the book of Deuteronomy to the Johannine community as it urges its audience to continue to cling to Jesus Christ as “the true God” (5:20 ὁ ἀληθινὸς θεός) and not to turn away from him to “idols” (5:21 εἴδωλα). Given the powerful impact that the book of Deuteronomy had on the Hebrew Scriptures themselves, noncanonical Jewish literature of the Second Temple period, and the NT, this would not normally be considered a controversial claim. Many studies have demonstrated Deuteronomy’s pervasive influence on the NT, including the bulk of the Johannine literature.2 With respect to 1–3 John, however, this claim requires * This essay was first presented at the Intertextuality in the New Testament section of the 2016 Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in San Antonio, and it has benefited greatly from the comments of the other participants, as well as from the editors of the present volume. Any shortcomings that remain are the author’s responsibility. 1 This study recognizes that the suggested allusions to Deuteronomy may have been mediated through oral traditions; however, the purpose of this essay is not to identify such mediations, but the ultimate source or “intertextual background.” 2 See the various essays in Maarten J.  J. Menken and Steve Moyise, eds. Deuteronomy in the New Testament (LNTS 358; London:  T&T Clark, 2007), particularly Michael Labahn’s “Deuteronomy in John’s Gospel,” in Deuteronomy in the New Testament (ed. M. J. J. Menken and S. Moyise; LNTS 358; London:  T&T Clark, 2007), 82–98, and Michael Tilly’s “Deuteronomy in Revelation,” in Deuteronomy in the New Testament (ed. M. J. J. Menken and S. Moyise; LNTS 358; London: T&T

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some defending. The prevailing scholarly view is that they display little use of Scripture of any kind, Deuteronomic or otherwise, apart from the reference to Cain in 1 John 3:12. In 1946, for example, C. H. Dodd stated that there are “few if any direct echoes of Old Testament language” in 1 John,3 and such has remained the general consensus of Johannine scholarship. In a 1988 essay on the use of the OT in the Johannine literature, D. A. Carson spoke of “the absence not only of OT quotations but even of many unambiguous allusions to the OT” in these letters.4 Carson later provided some qualifications to this statement and even proposed an example of intertextuality in 1 John.5 Nevertheless, despite some severe criticism (as discussed later), he has continued to maintain that the letter’s “number of [OT] allusions, real or potential, is extremely limited.”6 In his view, 1 John was intended as a polemic against at least an incipient form of Gnosticism, and for that reason he found its lack of references to the OT to be unsurprising.7 Similarly, in a survey of the use of the OT in the Pastoral and Catholic Epistles, Andreas Köstenberger devotes scant attention to the Johannine letters. His conclusion is that the author “does not invoke Israel’s Scriptures in his epistles, presumably because the heresy with which he was confronted was Christological …, and so his refutation necessitated a Christological rationale rather than citation of the Hebrew Scriptures.”8 Objections against this general consensus have been raised by scholars such as Judith Lieu and Daniel Streett, who discern a more significant intertextual component to 1–3 John. Lieu insists, contra Carson: “To say that the OT has played no part in the weave of [1 John’s] tapestry is clearly wrong.”9 To support this claim she considers allusions and more subtle forms of Scriptural reference but, somewhat tellingly, concedes that “1 John’s engagement with Scripture may be more with traditions of its interpretation and reworking than directly with the text.”10 With this broad understanding of what constitutes intertextuality, Lieu concludes that the use of Scripture is pervasive in 1 John, and she argues moreover that it is inextricably linked with a Jewish provenance of the epistle: “The Jewishness of 1 John and the use of Scripture in 1 John, as well as Clark, 2007), 169–88. Conspicuous by its absence, however, is an essay dealing with the Johannine letters. 3 C. H. Dodd, The Johannine Epistles (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1946), li. 4 D. A. Carson, “John and the Johannine Epistles,” in It is Written: Scripture Citing Scripture. Essays in Honour of Barnabas Lindars, SSF (ed. D. A. Carson and H. G. M. Williamson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 245–64 (256). 5 D. A. Carson, “ ‘You Have No Need That Anyone Should Teach You’ (1 John 2:27): An Old Testament Allusion that Determines the Interpretation,” in The New Testament in Its First Century Setting: Essays on Context and Background in Honour of B. W. Winter on His 65th Birthday (ed. P. J. Williams et al.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 269–80. 6 D. A. Carson, “1–3 John,” in Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (ed. Gregory K. Beale and D. A. Carson; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007), 1063–67 (1063). 7 Carson, “1–3 John,” 1064. 8 Andreas Köstenberger, “The Use of Scripture in the Pastoral and General Epistles and the Book of Revelation,” in Hearing the Old Testament in the New Testament (ed. Stanley Porter; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), 230–54 (249). 9 Judith Lieu, “What Was from the Beginning: Scripture and Tradition in the Johannine Epistles,” NTS 39 (1993), 458–77 (475). 10 Judith Lieu, I, II & III John: A Commentary (NTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 24.

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the relation between those two issues, Jewishness and Scripture, are fundamental to 1 John itself.”11 The connection between 1 John’s provenance and its employment of OT intertexts is also discussed by Streett in his attempt to clarify the identity of the epistle’s “opponents.” He identifies a number of instances of OT intertextuality in 1 John and argues that the opponents of the letter are best understood as Jewish-Christian apostates who had come to reject the Messiahship of Jesus.12

Deuteronomic Echoes in the Johannine Letters Although the two issues are often intertwined, the focus of this study is not the provenance of 1 John but, rather, its use of Scripture. Since the thesis advanced here is at odds with the prevailing scholarly consensus, it will be helpful to begin by considering a variety of relatively clear instances of Deuteronomic intertextuality. Richard Hays notes that one possible criterion for evaluating the presence of intertextuality is “recurrence,” that is, whether an author repeatedly cites from the same passage or book.13 If 1 John shows a certain proclivity for the book of Deuteronomy, for example, it lends greater plausibility to additional proposed instances of Deuteronomic intertextuality. When the data is carefully considered, several instances emerge in which the influence of Deuteronomy on 1 John appears to be probable.

“Three Witnesses” (1 John 5:7–8) In 1 John 5:7–8 the author writes, “For there are three that bear witness: the Spirit, the water, and the blood; and these three agree.”14 The famous text-critical issues of these verses may be easily resolved, but the exegetical issues are not.15 For the purposes of this chapter, however, the relevant matter is simply the threefold nature of this “witness,” Lieu, “What Was from the Beginning,” 459. 12 Daniel R. Streett, They Went Out from Us: The Identity of the Opponents in First John (BZNW 177; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 90–111, 142–50. Some scholars likewise interpret the Johannine letters within a Jewish rather than a Greco-Roman context, but they do not do so based upon particular instances of perceived intertextuality; see, e.g., Birger Olsson, “Johannine Christians—Members of a Renewed Covenant? Jewish/Christian Identity According to the Johannine Letters,” in Making of Christianity: Conflicts, Contacts, and Constructions: Essays in Honor of Bengt Holmberg (ed. Magnus Zetterholm and Samuel Byrskog; ConBNT; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2012), 173–203. Olsson concedes (202): “It is true that there are no explicit quotations from the Hebrew Bible … to be found in the Johannine letters. In fact, generally speaking, explicit quotations and clear borrowings from older traditions do not occur at all in these letters.” Nevertheless, he argues (174–75) in favor of a Jewish–Christian setting due to the presence of broader theological themes and emphases in the Johannine letters that are to be attributed to a general OT background, such as the interiority of the new covenant. Edward Malatesta has examined a variety of different OT texts on this theme; see Interiority and Covenant. A Study of εἶναι ἐν and μένειν ἐν in the First Letter of Saint John (AnBib 69; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1978), 42–77. 13 Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 30. 14 Italics in all the Scripture references are my own. 15 On the various interpretations of the phrase, see Raymond Brown, The Epistles of John (AB 30; New  York:  Doubleday, 1982), 581–85 and Judith Lieu, The Theology of the Johannine Epistles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 48. 11

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which is also evident in 3 John 12: “Demetrius has testimony from everyone, and from the truth itself; I testify to him too, and you know my testimony is true.”16 This precise number of witnesses displays the influence of distinctly Deuteronomic language. While the necessity of multiple witnesses in a legal case can be found throughout the Pentateuchal laws of testimony, the specific reference to “three” witnesses is unique to the Deuteronomic code.17 For example, the law of testimony in Num 35:30 states, “If anyone kills a person, the murderer shall be put to death on the evidence of witnesses;18 but one witness will not suffice for putting a soul to death.” In contrast, Deuteronomy requires not merely multiple witnesses, but specifies a minimum of two or three: Deut 17:6 “On the evidence of two witnesses or of three witnesses he that is to die shall be put to death. He will not be put to death on the evidence of one witness.” 19 Deut 19:15:  “On the evidence of two witnesses or on the evidence of three witnesses shall a charge be sustained.” 20 Given the uniqueness of Deuteronomy’s specification of a threefold witness, Raymond Brown is surely correct in his assessment that “the author is consciously referring to the law of testimony in Deut 19:15 concerning the need for two or three witnesses.”21

“Closing/Hardening One’s Heart to a Brother” (1 John 3:17) In 1 John 3:17 the author asks, “But whoever has the world’s goods and might see his brother having need and should close off his inmost being (κλείσῃ τὰ σπλάγχνα) from him—how does God’s love abide in him?” The Nestle-Aland apparatus suggests that this has been influenced by Deut 15:7: “When there might be a poor man among you from one of your brothers, in one of your gates within your land which YHWH your God is giving you, you must not harden your heart or shut your hand against your poor brother.”22 Deuteronomy’s wording is similar though not precisely parallel to 1 John 3:17; for example, 1 John refers to “closing (κλείω) one’s inmost being (τὰ σπλάγχνα),” whereas Deuteronomy refers to “hardening” or “emptying” one’s heart23 and “shutting one’s hand.”24 In other respects, the verbal parallels between the two passages are closer: both are directed towards one’s “brother” (‫אָ ח‬, ἀδελφός), that The threefold nature of the “witness” in 3 John 12 is noted by, e.g., I. Howard Marshall, The Epistles of John (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978), 93. 17 Cf. Labahn, “Deuteronomy in John’s Gospel,” 85. 18 MT: ‫ ;לִ פְ נֵי ע ִֵדים‬LXX: διὰ μαρτύρων. 19 MT: ‫ ;עַל־ּפִ י ְׁשנַיִ ם ע ִֵדים אוֺ ְׁשֹלׁשָ ה ע ִֵדים‬LXX: ἐπὶ δυσὶν μάρτυσιν ἢ ἐπὶ τρισὶν μάρτυσιν. 20 MT: ‫ ;עַל־ּפִ י ְׁשנֵי ע ִֵדים אוֺ עַל־ּפִ י ְׁשֹלׁשָ ה ע ִֵדים‬LXX: ἐπὶ στόματος δύο μαρτύρων καὶ ἐπὶ στόματος τριῶν μαρτύρων. 21 Brown, Epistles of John, 581. Other scholars have noted the influence Deuteronomy’s threefold witness as well; see Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Johannine Epistles: A Commentary (New York: Crossroad, 1991), 235; Streett, They Went Out from Us, 109, 302, 305. 22 The parallels between the two passages are also observed by Colin G. Kruse, The Letters of John (PNTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 138; and Robert W. Yarbrough, 1–3 John (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2008), 204. 23 MT: ‫ ;ל ֹא ְתאַ ּמֵ ץ אֶ ת־לְ בָ בְ ָך‬LXX: οὐκ ἀποστέρξεις τὴν καρδίαν σου “you will not empty your heart (viz., of compassion).” Some textual witnesses read the verb ἀποστρέφω; see John W. Wevers (ed.), Deuteronomium. Septuaginta: Vetus Testamentum Graecum. (vol. III, 2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht: 2006; 2nd ed.), 201. 24 MT: ‫ ;ל ֹא ִתקְ ּפֹ ץ אֶ ת־י ְָדָך‬LXX: οὐδὲ μὴ συσφίγξῃς τὴν χεῖρά σου “you must not close your hand.” 16

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is, a fellow member of the community, and both appeal to a sense of compassion in extending material assistance. The OT is not unique in urging generosity towards the indigent, of course, and hence 1 John 3:17 could be influenced by any number of possible sources, or it could be an entirely original exhortation on the part of the author. Such appeals, however, can take a wide variety of forms: “Remember the poor” (cf. Gal 2:10), “send relief ” (cf. Acts 11:29), “bring aid” (cf. Rom 15:25), “bring alms” (cf. Acts 24:17), and so on. In 1 John 3:17, it is the collocation of a number of shared terms or concepts (“brother,” “heart/ inmost being,” “shut/close off ”) that points in the direction of a Deuteronomic echo, even if its “volume” may be somewhat faint.25 The likelihood of Deuteronomic influence, rather than that of another OT source, increases when one observes that most of the OT texts that urge generosity toward the indigent are directed not toward a “brother” but rather toward orphans, widows, resident aliens, and the like. Assisting a “brother” is indeed commanded in Lev 25:35, 39: “And when your brother becomes poor and his hand falters with you, you must grasp him as a resident alien and a sojourner, and he will live among you … And when your brother becomes poor and sells himself to you, you must not make him serve as a slave with a slave’s work.” Significantly, however, Leviticus does not contain the same emotive appeal as the Deuteronomic injunction. 1 John 3:17, then, is uniquely similar to Deut 15:7 in appealing specifically to the giver’s sense of compassion for his “brother.”

Discerning True and False Prophecy (1 John 4:1–3) Another instance of Deuteronomic echo occurs in the warning against false prophets and the urging to “test the spirits” in 1 John 4:1–3: Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see if it is from God; for many false prophets have gone out into the world. By this you know the Spirit of God: every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God, and every spirit that does not confess Jesus is not from God. And this is the [spirit] of the antichrist, which you have heard is coming, and now already is in the world.

The author is addressing the problem faced in the early Christian communities by the presence of false teachers, who are variously called “antichrists” (ἀντίχριστοι:  1 John 2:18, 22; 4:3; 2 John 7) and “false prophets” (ψευδοπροφῆται: 1 John 4:10). To deal with this challenge, a confessional “test” is laid down by which professedly Christian teaching is to be evaluated:  the confession of Jesus Christ’s coming in the flesh. While there are plentiful warnings against false prophets in the OT,26 it is the book of Deuteronomy in particular that warns against false prophets and at the same time For a discussion of the “volume” of an intertextual echo, see Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 23, 30. This is primarily determined, according to Hays, by “the degree of explicit repetition of words or syntactical patterns,” but may also involve the distinctiveness or prominence of the precursor text within Scripture. 26 E.g., Jer 23:25–40.; 27:9; 29:8; Zech 10:2. 25

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explicitly lays out specific tests by which prophetic utterances are to be evaluated as true or false: Deuteronomy 13:1–3 If a prophet arises among you, or a dreamer of dreams, and gives you a sign or a wonder, and the sign or wonder which he tells you comes to pass, and if he says, “Let us go after other gods,” which you have not known, “and let us serve them,” you shall not listen to the words of that prophet or to that dreamer of dreams. Deuteronomy 18:21–22 when a prophet speaks in the name of the LORD, if the word does not come to pass or come true, that is a word which the LORD has not spoken

In parallel fashion, 1 John 4 establishes tests for evaluating the “spirits” of prophets and also warns that false prophets will, by their teaching, attempt to lead people away from Jesus Christ. It has been plausibly suggested that the Deuteronomic “tests” lie at the root of 1 John’s teaching, not only in this passage but also in the discussion of “antichrists” in 2:18–27.27 It appears that 1 John has appropriated and recontextualized Deuteronomy’s warnings against false prophets and the guidelines for evaluating them to the situation faced by the Johannine community.

“This is the Commandment” (1 John 3:23) The author of 1 John speaks frequently of God’s “commandments” (ἑντολαί), and in 3:23 states, “And this is his commandment (καὶ αὕτη ἐστὶν ἡ ἐντολὴ αὐτοῦ): that we believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he gave a commandment to us.” A very similar expression occurs in 2 John 6: “This is the commandment (αὕτη ἡ ἐντολή ἐστιν): just as you have heard from the beginning, that you should walk in it.” These are viewed by some scholars as oblique references to passages in the Gospel of John such as John 13:34: “A new commandment I am giving to you, that you love one another”; or 15:12: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”28 This possibility cannot be excluded, but the question of literary priority and literary dependence remains disputed. While many would assume 1 John’s dependence on the Gospel of John, some suggest that the order might be reversed,29 and others such as Lieu argue that “both writings draw independently The dependence on Deut 13 and 18 is particularly emphasized by Streett, They Went Out from Us, 110, 148, 232–3. Brown, Epistles of John, 487–8, also sees Deuteronomy’s influence here, though refracted through the “two spirits” theology of the Dead Sea Scrolls and other intertestamental literature (cf. Lieu, I, II & III John, 174). 28 Cf. Schnackenburg, Johannine Epistles, 190; Lieu, I, II & III John, 159. 29 See Terry Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols: A New Look at 1 John (JSNTSup 233; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 209–11. 27

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on earlier formulations.”30 Leaving the relationship between the Gospel of John and the Johannine letters aside, it is preferable to view the source for the assertions in 1–2 John as being drawn ultimately from Deut 6:1: “And this is the commandment (‫)וְ ז ֹאת הַ ִּמצְ וָה‬, the statutes, and the rules that YHWH your God commanded me to teach you to do in the land to which you are crossing in order to possess it.” Indeed, it is suggested here that this instance is the closest that the Johannine letters come to a direct quotation of the OT. Admittedly, we are dealing with a brief clause, and one that might not seem to be highly distinctive at first glance. A closer examination reveals, however, that the phrasing is more unique than it appears. The particular expression “this is the commandment” (‫ )ז ֹאת הַ ִּמצְ וָה‬occurs only in Deut 6:1; when the noun ‫ ִמצְ וָה‬occurs as a predicative nominative elsewhere, plural forms are used, that is, ‫“ אֵ ּלֶה הַ ִּמצְ ֹות‬these are the commandments” (Lev 27:34; Num 36:13). What is more, the formulation with the singular “commandment” is unique to the Hebrew text of Deut 6:1, since the LXX has pluralized ‫ וְ ז ֹאת הַ ִּמצְ וָה‬by rendering καὶ αὗται αἱ ἐντολαὶ “and these are the commandments.”31 If we are dealing with a case of Deuteronomic intertextuality, then it appears to be drawing upon a Hebrew tradition in this instance.32 Despite the brevity of the clause in Deut 6:1, the statement occurs within a textually prominent OT context. It is widely accepted that the first five chapters of Deuteronomy are a textual unit of their own, serving as a kind of prologue to the book, with ­chapters 6–11 forming the second major literary unit. Some of Deuteronomy’s most theologically significant material occurs in c­ hapters 6–11, such as the famous Shema of 6:4 and the summons of 6:5 to love the Lord with all one’s heart, soul, and strength. The theological and liturgical significance of Deuteronomy 6 finds early attestation in its presence among tefillin and mezuzot at Qumran, as well as in the ancient tradition of its use for daily prayer, both personal and corporate (m. Ber. 2:2; m. Tam. 5:1).33 Hence, 30 Lieu, I, II & III John, 18. 31 In the Pentateuch the LXX almost always renders the MT’s singular ‫ ִמצְ וָה‬with a Greek plural; see Exod 24:12; Num 15:31; Deut 5:31; 6:1, 25; 7:11; 8:1; 11:8, 22; 15:5; 17:20; 19:9; 26:13; 27:1. (Most witnesses do not render ‫ ִמצְ וָה‬in Deut 31:5 at all.) The only singular rendering occurs in the LXX of Deut 30:11 and in Exod 12:17, but in the latter passage the translator mistakenly read ‫ מצות‬as “commandment” (καὶ φυλάξεσθε τὴν ἐντολὴν ταύτην) instead of as ‫“ מַ ּצוֺ ת‬Passover,” as it is pointed in the MT. 32 The question of the textual form of the author’s source(s) is too complex to be handled adequately here. While the example under discussion suggests a source derived from a Hebrew tradition, other instances can be sufficiently explained with reference to a Greek textual tradition (see, e.g., the discussion of ἀνομία in 1 John 3:4 later). The overall lack of clear Scriptural citations (the present example excepted) makes it virtually impossible to generalize regarding the author of 1 John’s source(s). Moreover, as Labahn observes (“Deuteronomy in John’s Gospel,” 86), the fairly literal LXX rendering of MT Deuteronomy makes it difficult to be certain of the textual form of possible citations. 33 For the Dead Sea Scrolls, see Armin Lange and Matthias Weigold, “The Text of the Shema Yisrael in Qumran Literature and Elsewhere,” in Textual Criticism and the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. Andrés Piquer Otero; JSJSup 157; Leiden: Brill, 2012), 147–78 (154–56). According to Daniel Falk, “Qumran and the Synagogue Liturgy,” in The Ancient Synagogue From Its Origins until 200 C.E. (ed. Birger Olsson and Magnus Zetterholm; ConBNT 39; Stockholm:  Almqvist & Wiksell, 2003), 404–34 (405–6), the Rule of the Community enjoins morning and evening prayer in language akin to the Shema of Deuteronomy 6 (1QS 9:26–10:8); likewise, Josephus (Ant. 4:212–213) and the Letter of Aristeas (158–160) mention the custom of twice-daily Jewish prayer in terms strongly suggestive of the three sections of the Shema, though the texts are not explicitly mentioned.

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6:1 marks a rhetorically prominent transition point in the book and is thus a more likely candidate for later textual re-use than it might initially appear.

“The Word of Life” (1 John 1:1) A final example of Deuteronomic echo can be discerned in First John’s proemium (1:1): “That which was from the beginning, that which we have heard, that which we have seen with our eyes, that which we have beheld and our hands have touched, concerning the word of life (τοῦ λόγου τῆς ζωῆς) …” Understandably, discussion of the short phrase “word of life” has often been focused upon establishing (or denying) its parallels with the prologue to John’s Gospel and its Logos Christology.34 What has often been overlooked, however, is the expression’s OT roots. Robert Yarbrough draws attention to the noun ζωή and remarks: it is hard to avoid the impression that there is a close connection between what [the author] had in mind by the expression and what key sections of the OT express … Deuteronomy is particularly suggestive. The words “live” and “life” there reverberate with the promise of “eternal life” sounded in John.35

Yarbrough provides numerous references to “life” in the book of Deuteronomy to support this claim.36 While this is true as far as it goes, a more specific Deuteronomic intertext suggests itself when one considers not simply the term “life” itself but rather the collocation of “word” and “life” together. Surprisingly, this collocation is quite rare in biblical and intertestamental literature.37 The only other occurrence of the exact noun phrase “word of life” (λόγος ζωῆς) is found in Phil 2:16, where it is used somewhat in passing to refer to the Christian message. In several instances the occurrence of λόγος and ζωή in the same verse is incidental (Deut 4:9; 2 Kgs 25:30; Prov 18:4; 1 Macc 9:71; Acts 13:46, 48), but in some cases there is a more substantial association. In Prov 4:10, for example, a basic correlation is expressed between hearing the father’s “words” and enjoying a long “life.” A similar causal relationship can be found in John 5:24, which promises that the believing reception of Jesus’ “word” will result in eternal life (ζωὴ αἰώνιος).38 Perhaps the most significant collocation of “words” and “life” occurs in Deut 32:46–47, a chapter which forms another rhetorical climax in the book of Deuteronomy: And he said to them, ‘Take to heart all the words (‫ּדבָ ִרים‬,ְ λόγους) that I am testifying to you today, that you might command them to your sons to keep, 34 See the discussion in Brown, Epistles of John, 164–66, and Ruth B. Edwards, The Johannine Epistles (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 70. 35 Yarbrough, 1–3 John, 39. 36 E.g., Deut 4:1, 40; 5:16, 33; 8:1; 16:20; 30:15–16, 19–20; 32:47. 37 The collocation of ῥῆμα and ζωή is infrequent as well, though John 6:63, 68 and Acts 5:20 it appears to have a similar import. 38 Compare also Rev 22:19, which warns that taking away from “the words of this book” will result in the removal of one’s share of “the tree of life.”

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doing all the words of this law. For it is not a word (‫ּדָ בָ ר‬, λόγος) too idle for you, but it is your life (‫חַ ּיֵיכֶם‬, ἡ ζωὴ ὑμῶν), and by this word (‫ּובַ ּדָ בָ ר הַ ּזֶה‬, ἕνεκεν τοῦ λόγου τούτου) you shall extend your days upon the land that you are crossing the Jordan to possess.

YHWH’s word is explicitly identified in Deut 32:46–47 as the Israelites’ “life,” and the hearing and doing of YHWH’s word is presented as the instrumental cause by which they will attain long life within the land. Obviously, the terms “word” and “life” are extremely common throughout the Bible, not only in Deuteronomy and in 1 John. Nevertheless, the surprising infrequency of the two terms in close connection with one another urges careful consideration of 1 John 1:1 as a possible intertextual reference to Deut 32:46–47.

Summary The examples just presented illustrate 1 John’s recurring interest in the book of Deuteronomy. An appreciation of the letter’s employment of intertextuality is important for two reasons. First, as mentioned earlier, it lends greater plausibility to additional proposals of Deuteronomic echo in the Johannine letters. As Luke T. Johnson notes, “Where we can show a cluster of allusions from one document to another, it is easier to argue for the probable presence of other allusions in passages which, considered alone, might seem at first unlikely candidates.”39 Second, an appreciation of 1 John’s proclivity for the book of Deuteronomy can assist with textual interpretation, as it suggests that the author was functioning within a Deuteronomic theological framework, and the book’s message and themes can be brought to bear in the exegesis of 1 John.40 With this possibility in mind, let us now consider how 1 John employs Deuteronomic intertextuality in a more theologically substantive way. Several difficult texts in 1 John (3:4; 5:16–17, 21) are clarified considerably by reading them in light of Deuteronomy’s treatment of apostasy and unbelief.

Apostasy in Deuteronomy and 1 John “Sin is Lawlessness” (1 John 3:4) In 1 John 3:4, the author refers to “sin” as “lawlessness” (ἀνομία) as he discusses the nature of sin: “Everyone who does sin (πᾶς ὁ ποιῶν τὴν ἁμαρτίαν) also does lawlessness Luke T. Johnson, “The Use of Leviticus 19 in the Letter of James,” JBL 101 (1982): 391–401 (392). 40 Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 20, has pointed to the importance of “transumption” or “metalepsis” for appreciating the intended impact of intertextuality. That is, the real significance of intertextual echo may not be found in the actual words taken from one textual source and utilized in a new literary context, but “can lie in the unstated or suppressed (transumed) points of resonance” between two texts. An author can intend to evoke substantial associations with an earlier text while utilizing only a minimal amount of that text’s actual verbiage. 39

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(τὴν ἀνομίαν ποιεῖ), and sin is lawlessness (ἀνομία).” In the following verses, the author states not only that believers do not continue to sin (v. 6) but also that they cannot continue to do so (v. 9; cf. 5:18). Not surprisingly, such statements have occasioned a great deal of debate in the exegetical literature.41 A central question in this discussion is how the term ἀνομία is to be understood in verse 4. Many take this to refer to the breaking of God’s law,42 yet Brown aptly observes that the author does not “accuse his adversaries of statements against the Law. Nor is there evidence of libertine behavior by the secessionists,”43 which makes it unlikely that ἀνομία refers to dissolute behavior. While many interpretative proposals have been made, the most convincing one is that of Raymond Brown, Terry Griffith, and others, who have drawn attention to the use of ἀνομία in various texts that refer to an eschatological rebellion: Testament of Dan 6:1, 5–6 And now fear the Lord, my children, and beware of Satan and his spirits. 5 The angel of peace himself will strengthen Israel, so that it will not fall into the end of the wicked. 6 And it will happen in the time of the lawlessness (ἐν καιρῲ ἀνομίας) of Israel when the Lord will depart from them, and he will pursue the nations that do his will… 1

Sibylline Oracles 2:254–263 but the godless will perish unto all ages, all who dealt evils previously, 256 and committed murders, and all those who are accomplices, 257 liars and thieves, deceitful, homewreckers, dreadful, 258 parasites, and marriage-breakers, gushing out words of ill-omen, 259 terrible, violent, lawless (ἄνομοι), idolaters, 260 and all who forsook the great immortal God, 261 and became blasphemers and ravagers of the godly, 262 faithless and destroyers of righteous men… 254 255

Matthew 24:11–12 And many false prophets will rise up and will lead many astray. And because of the increasing of lawlessness (τὴν ἀνομίαν), the love of many will grow cold.

Rudolf Bultmann, The Johannine Epistles (trans. R. Philip O’Hara, with L. C. McGaughy and R. W. Funk, ed. R. W. Funk; Philadelphia:  Fortress Press, 1973), 49. For a survey of different scholarly views, see Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols, 128–36. 42 Cf. John L. Anderson, An Exegetical Summary of 1, 2, 3 John (Dallas, TX:  Summer Institute of Linguistics, 1992), 113. 43 Brown, Epistles of John, 399; similarly Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols, 136–39. 41

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2 Thessalonians 2:3, 7–8 Let no one deceive you in any way, for (it will not happen) unless the rebellion (ἡ ἀποστασία) comes first and the man of lawlessness (ὁ ἄνθρωπος τῆς ἀνομίας) is revealed, the son of destruction… For the mystery of lawlessness (ἀνομίας) is already in effect; (there is) only the one now restraining until he is gone from the midst. And then the lawless one (ὁ ἄνομος) will be revealed, whom the Lord Jesus will slay with the breath of his mouth and destroy by the appearing of his coming.44

Griffith concludes that such examples understand ἀνομία “not in terms of the ‘law’, but in terms of the ultimate hostility shown to God’s plan revealed at the endtimes.” With regard to 1 John 3:4 he argues similarly that the sin of ἀνομία “can be nothing other than the denial of the community’s confession of faith,” that is, apostasy.45 In the context of 1 John, this eschatological rebellion is understood as having been historically realized in the author’s present.46 A  comparable historicizing of a future apostasy occurs in the Psalms of Solomon: Psalms of Solomon 17:11, 18, 20 The lawless one (ὁ ἄνομος) desolated our land so that no one dwelt in it. They destroyed young and old and their children together. 11

Their scattering by lawless ones (ὑπὸ ἀνόμων) occurred through all the earth. For the heavens ceased the falling of rain upon the earth. 18

…The king was in rebellion (ὁ βασιλεὺς ἐν παρανομίᾳ), and the judge in disobedience, and the people in sin. 20

In view of these various texts, then, Yarbrough is justified in his claim that “there seems to be sufficient lexical warrant to posit that by ἀνομία John has in mind transgression so weighty that the perpetrator is outside the pale of Christ’s followers.”47 Despite the plausibility of such an analysis of ἀνομία, the question lingers as to why the author employs the language of “lawlessness” rather than his more customary language of “believing” (3:23; 4:16; 5:1, 5, 10, 13) or the language of confession and denial (e.g., 2:22–23; 4:2–3, 15). Griffith suggests that the author is adapting either an oral or a written source here, although he does not identify what it might be.48 In light of other examples of Deuteronomic intertextuality proposed earlier, it is plausible to consider the book of Deuteronomy itself as the source of the term ἀνομία For additional examples, see Brown, Epistles of John, 399–400, Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols, 137 n. 107, and Kruse, Letters of John, 117. 45 Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols, 137–38; cf. Edwards, Johannine Epistles, 98; Martin Culy, I, II, III John. A Handbook on the Greek Text (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2004), 71. 46 Bultmann, Johannine Epistles, 50. 47 Yarbrough, 1–3 John, 182. 48 Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols, 138; cf. also Bultmann, Johannine Epistles, 49. 44

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as a designation of apostasy. Throughout the book of Deuteronomy, but especially in the concluding chapters, there are indications of a future falling away of the covenant people, an ensuing judgment, and a future restoration.49 In the LXX of Deuteronomy, one can observe both the noun ἀνομία and the cognate verb ἀνομέω in contexts indicative of this future rebellion: Deuteronomy 4:15-16a And you shall keep your souls carefully, since you saw no form when Yahweh spoke to you at Horeb from the midst of the fire, lest you act corruptly (MT: ‎‫ ;ּפֶן־ּתַ ְׁשחִ תּון‬LXX: μὴ ἀνομήσητε)… Deuteronomy 4:25–26 When you father sons, and sons’ sons, and grow old in the land, and act corruptly (MT: ‎‫ ;וְ הִ ְׁשחַ ּתֶ ם‬LXX: καὶ ἀνομήσητε) and make a carved image of anything, and commit evil in the eyes of YHWH your God, provoking him… you will quickly perish utterly from the land… Deuteronomy 31:29 For I  know that finally, after my demise, you will surely act corruptly (MT: ‫ ;הַ ְׁשחֵ ת ּתַ ְׁשחִ תּון‬LXX: ἀνομίᾳ ἀνομήσετε), and will turn aside (MT:‎‫ ;וְ סַ ְרּתֶ ם‬LXX: καὶ ἐκκλινεῖτε) from the way which I have commanded you.”

These are referring to a sin of a particularly climactic type, namely:  apostasy from Yahweh and His covenant. The usage of ἀνομία and ἀνομέω is similar to what we find in 1 John and in the Second Temple texts mentioned earlier, but a Deuteronomic origin is much more plausible, given the author’s penchant for echoing Deuteronomy, and given the book’s literary and theological prominence in Second Temple literature.

“Keep Yourselves From Idols” (1 John 5:21) The ending of 1 John is famously abrupt due to its concluding warning against idols: 1 John 5:20–21 But we know that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding that we might know the True One—and we are in the True One, in his son Jesus Christ. This one is the true God (ὁ ἀληθινὸς θεός) and eternal life. Little children, keep yourselves from idols (φυλάξατε ἑαυτὰ ἀπὸ τῶν εἰδώλων). See especially, J. Gordon McConville, Grace in the End: A Study in Deuteronomic Theology (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1993), 132–39; and Paul Barker, The Triumph of Grace in Deuteronomy: Faithless Israel, Faithful Yahweh in Deuteronomy (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2007). 49

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“Idols” have not been mentioned previously, and the sudden reference to them at this climactic point seems out of place here, leaving scholars puzzled over its meaning. Griffith has undertaken a full study of the use of εἴδωλον in Greek literature and concluded that 1 John’s use of the term is best understood within a Jewish/JewishChristian frame of reference rather than Greco-Roman one.50 Within this milieu, the use of εἴδωλον is “deliberately pejorative,” and functions chiefly as a polemical term “that aims to develop self-identity and maintain group boundaries.”51 In the immediate context of 1 John, the εἴδωλα of 5:21 stand in deliberate contrast to Jesus, “the true God” (ὁ ἀληθινὸς θεὸς) of 5:20. Griffith’s detailed analysis allows the OT associations evoked by the reference to “idols” to be fully appreciated for what they really are, namely, echoes of a persistent and emphatic OT theme, but recontextualized in light of the NT’s revelation of Jesus Christ as “the true God.” It hardly needs to be said that the entire OT is full of denunciations of idolatry; Deuteronomy certainly plays a leading role in the OT’s war on idols, as it continually insists on wiping them out entirely,52 although it is by no means alone in this regard. Any number of passages, therefore, could potentially form an intertextual matrix for 1 John’s warning.53 However, in light of the preceding discussion of ἀνομία in 1 John 3:4, it is worth noting examples of the verb ἀνομέω in Deuteronomy 4 linked with the particular sin of idolatry and which refer to a future apostasy. Deuteronomy 4:15–16 And you shall keep your souls carefully (LXX: καὶ φυλάξεσθε σφόδρα τὰς ψυχὰς ὑμῶν)… lest you act corruptly (LXX: μὴ ἀνομήσητε) and make a carved image for yourselves, any likeness,54 the figure of male or female. Deuteronomy 4:25–26 When you father sons, and sons’ sons, and grow old in the land, and act corruptly (LXX: καὶ ἀνομήσητε) and make a carved image of anything, and commit evil in Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols, 1–2; cf. Lieu, I, II & III John, 234–35. 51 Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols, 56. 52 See, e.g., 4:16, 23, 25; 5:8; 7:5, 25; 9:12; 12:3; 27:15; 29:17; 32:21. 53 Yarbrough (1–3 John, 323–4) suggests that 1 John 5:21 has been particularly influenced by Zech 13:2: “I will banish the names of idols from the land.” His reasons for this proposed intertext are fourfold: 50

1. John views himself and his readers as belonging to the same eschatological age of which Zechariah spoke. 2. The Gospel of John cites Zech 12:10 and probably alludes to 13:7. 3. According to Zech 13:2, a coming figure will remove false prophets and impurity from the land. 4. Zechariah was “moved by a vision of God’s faithfulness and radiant purity.” While Yarbrough’s proposal is intriguing, the textual connection seems opaque at best, and there do not appear to be other instances of Zecharian echo in 1 John. In contrast, the several examples discussed in the present chapter suggest that the influence of Deuteronomy was more palpable than that of Zechariah. 54 Aquila adds “of an idol” (εἰδώλου) here; see Wevers, Deuteronomium, 97.

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the eyes of YHWH your God, provoking him… you will quickly perish utterly from the land…

Significantly, Deut 4:15 urges the hearers to “keep their souls carefully” (φυλάξεσθε σφόδρα τὰς ψυχὰς ὑμῶν), using the same verb φυλάσσω found in the warning in 1 John 5:21 against idols. In both the Deuteronomic and Johannine contexts, one is to “guard” oneself against “idols,” since this would be an expression of unbelief and apostasy. According to 1 John, one can worship “idols” (εἴδωλα), or one can worship Jesus, “the true God” (5:20 ὁ ἀληθινὸς θεός), and one must consciously and deliberately choose between them.

The “Sin unto Death” (1 John 5:16–17) Once it is recognized that Deuteronomy’s framework of belief and covenant loyalty versus unbelief and apostasy provides the intertextual backdrop to the reference to ἀνομία in 3:4 and to the εἴδωλα in 5:21, the reference to the “sin unto death” and the sin “not unto death” in 5:16–17 becomes clearer: 1 John 5:16–17 If anyone should see his brother sinning a sin that is not unto death (ἁμαρτίαν μὴ πρὸς θάνατον), he shall ask and [God] shall give him life – to those who sin not unto death (μὴ πρὸς θάνατον). There is a sin unto death (ἁμαρτία πρὸς θάνατον). I do not say that he should ask concerning that one. All unrighteousness is sin, and there is a sin not unto death (ἁμαρτία οὐ πρὸς θάνατον).

All commentators discuss the nature of this “sin unto death,” but some ultimately find it impossible to describe its character precisely, since the author simply assumes it rather than explains it.55 For some, the statements in 1 John 5 are felt to be at odds with the letter’s earlier assertions in ­chapters 1 and 2 regarding the forgiveness of sin. While it is possible that the author was simply an inconsistent thinker, a less skeptical approach is to be preferred. The extreme nature of this “sin unto death,” which appears to exclude the guilty one from the possibility of divine forgiveness, would suggest a climactic transgression such as apostasy. Indeed, this is how scholars such as Griffith have understood it: Both the local and overall context in 1 John points to the identification of the ‘sin unto death’ as apostasy … This has already been expressed antithetically in Christological terms in 5:12: ‘Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life.’ It is nothing less than the renunciation of Jesus as the Christ and Son of God.56 55 E.g., Bultmann, Johannine Epistles, 87; similarly, Lieu, I, II & III John, 226. 56 Griffith, Keep Yourselves from Idols, 144. For a comparable conclusion, see also, B.J. Oropeza, In the Footsteps of Judas and Other Defectors: The Gospels, Acts, and Johannine Letters: Apostasy in the New Testament Communities (vol. 1; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2011), 160–228.

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Appeal is often made to the OT’s distinction between “inadvertent” and “highhanded” sins as in Num 15:27–31.57 While the connection is undoubtedly apt with regard to theological substance, it should be observed that the Johannine language is different:  The OT passages referring to “inadvertent” and “high-handed” sins do not speak directly of sins “unto death” and “not unto death.”58 The Deuteronomic treatment of apostasy evoked in 3:4 and 5:21 can readily provide an explanation for the specific language of 5:16–17 as well.59 Much like 1 John, the book of Deuteronomy presents the danger of apostasy, along with the summons to belief, in antithetical terms of “life” and “death”:60 Deuteronomy 30:15 “Look, I have placed before you today life and good, and death and evil.”

The antithetical nature of this exhortation is in fact heightened by an altered word order in the LXX: LXX Deuteronomy 30:15 Behold, I have placed before you today life and death (τὴν ζωὴν καὶ τὸν θάνατον), good and evil (τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ κακόν).

The same antithesis occurs in verse 19 (where the LXX word order reflects the MT): Deuteronomy 30:19 I hereby summon heaven and earth to witness against you today: Life and death (τὴν ζωὴν καὶ τὸν θάνατον) I have set before you, blessing and curse. You should choose life, that you might live, you and your offspring.

Just as Deuteronomy set “life and death” before the Israelites (Deut 30:15, 19), so also 1 John sets forth “life” found in the Son of God (5:12),61 along with the alternative, namely, eternal death (5:16–17), which comes as a result of denying him. The author is fully aware that all sin is evil (5:17) and is in need of atonement by Christ’s sacrifice (2:2; 4:10), but the one sin which by definition cannot be atoned for is the sin of renouncing Christ in favor of an “idol.” Such an act of complete rebellion—ἀνομία—leads indeed to eternal death.62 E.g., Edwards, Johannine Epistles, 103–4, and many others. 58 Corporal punishment is most likely implied, however, by the expression “to cut someone off from his people” (Num 15:30–31). 59 Cf. Streett, They Went Out from Us, 108. 60 Cf. Olsson, “Johannine Christians,” 201. 61 As mentioned earlier under the discussion of 1 John 1:1, Yarbrough, 1–3 John, 39, notes the Deuteronomic background of “live/life” in 1 John. 62 This danger is powerfully articulated in Deut 29:17–20, according to which the worship of idols will not be forgiven by the Lord and will lead to the book’s “curses” being enacted, including the “blotting out of his name from under heaven” (v. 20). 57

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Conclusion The present study does not claim to be exhaustive, and other potential echoes of Deuteronomy deserve to be explored.63 It should also be noted that the book of Deuteronomy is not the only OT text that is echoed in 1 John, and scholars have suggested possible intertextual references to Genesis, Exodus, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Daniel.64 Nevertheless, the present study has sought to demonstrate that Deuteronomy exercised an especially formative influence on the letter, either as its direct source or mediated through another (e.g., the Gospel of John). Not only can distinctively Deuteronomic concepts and phrasing be discerned in a variety of passages, but it also appears that Deuteronomy’s perspective on belief and unbelief has helped to shape 1 John’s exposition of sin and apostasy in a theologically substantive way. Discerning a Deuteronomic background in 1 John 3:4 and 5:16–17, 21 helps to clarify each reference individually and to integrate them into a more cohesive theological understanding of the book’s message, which is focused on the necessity of believing in Christ, “the true God,” and rejecting “idols.” As Hays has rightly noted, despite the possible subjectivity involved, any proposed instance of an intertextual echo ultimately has to pass the test of “satisfaction”: Does the proposal illuminate a text in an exegetically satisfying way?65 An appreciation of 1 John’s use of Scripture, particularly Deuteronomy, ultimately allows for a more cohesive reading of the specific passages considered individually as well as in the overall context of the epistle. For this reason, the proposal of a pervasively Deuteronomic intertextual background to 1 John merits serious consideration. An appreciation of the intertextuality of 1 John can assist not only in the exegesis of the letter itself but can also prove helpful in other ways. As was noted in the introduction to this essay, some scholars have argued for a close nexus between the question of 1 John’s provenance and its use of Scripture. Questions surrounding the identity of the audience of the letter, the identity of the sectarians/antichrists, and the nature of the theological dispute between them, could possibly be further clarified by additional exploration of the letter’s intertextual sources. It is hoped that the present study will spur on additional research into this underappreciated feature of 1 John.

For example, 1 John’s references to being “children of God” (e.g., 1 John 3:1–2, 9–10; 4:7; 5:1–2, 4) could be reflective of a number of passages in Deuteronomy (e.g., 8:5; 14:1; 32:18–20), particularly 14:1’s pointed assertion “You are sons of Yahweh your God.” It has been plausibly suggested (e.g., Kruse, Letters of John, 172 n. 197; Lieu, I, II & III John, 202) that 1 John 5:3 (“And his commands are not burdensome”) could be an echo of Deut 30:11, “For this commandment … is not too hard for you.” Lieu suggests that the discussion of the “love of God,” in 1 John 4:20–5:3 has been influenced by Deuteronomy’s emphatic call to love Yahweh (I, II & III John, 17, 198, 201–2). Following this paper’s initial presentation, one respondent suggested that 1 John 1:1–3 (“what we have heard … seen … looked upon … touched”) might be intended as a deliberate contrast with Deut 4:12 and 15: “A sound of words you were hearing, but a form you were not seeing—only a sound … For you did not see any form on the day when YHWH spoke to you …” (cf. vv. 3, 9). 64 See, inter alia, Lieu, “What Was from the Beginning”; Carson, “1–3 John,” 1064–67; Streett, They Went Out from Us, 107–10. 65 Hays, Echoes of Scripture, 31–32. 63

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Final Reflection Steve Moyise

My point of departure for this reflection is the notion of metalepsis, introduced into biblical studies by Richard Hays, drawing on the work of John Hollander.1 According to Hays, metalepsis is a trope whereby certain unstated points of resonance can nevertheless generate specific meanings or figurations. They cannot be “proved” by traditional sourcecritical methods since, by definition, the connections are “unstated.” Rather, the case must be argued in a more indirect way, relying on such criteria as “recurrence,” “coherence” and “satisfaction.”2 The fruit of such an approach is shown in the almost poetical chapters3 that follow and in his more recent book, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels.4 However, two dangers immediately suggest themselves. First, reliance on “unstated resonances” can be used to support what is otherwise a weak argument. Criteria such as “coherence” and “satisfaction” are notoriously subjective and can sometimes mean little more than support my particular theory. Second, the discovery (at least in the mind of the author) of such “unstated resonances” can be given a significance far beyond the “volume” of the proposed parallels. The use of the audible metaphor “echo” contributes to this, since echoes can be quite loud if you are standing in a tunnel. The key point then is whether the parallels adduced by a particular author can have such a “tunneling” effect or whether they are best left as whispers. As I stated in one of my early publications, failure to attend to such echoes would be like a music critic limiting his or her comments to the loudest instruments in the orchestra. It is often these nuanced sounds that give the work its particular character. But it would be wrong

1 Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989); John Hollander, The Figure of Echo: A Mode of Allusion in Milton and After (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981). 2 Hays focused on specific texts, but I  entirely agree with the point made by Erik Waaler in this volume: “Metalepsis may be textual or cultural. If an old text is perceived in a particular manner and associated in a particular way at a later stage in cultural development, that cultural context may influence the reading even when such an association is not stated explicitly” (49). 3 “Texts are not inert; they burn and throw fragments of flame on their rising heat … [they] come to us unbidden, impose themselves upon us in ways that we understand through a glass darkly” (33). 4 Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2016).

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to assert that these “quiet” instruments are really “loud” if only one understood the score properly.5 In my judgement, Esau McCaulley manages to avoid these dangers in his study on Galatians. Hays usually began with an explicit quotation or generally recognized allusion as his point of departure and such is the case with Gal 1:4 (“gave himself for our sins to set us free from the present evil age”), a probable allusion to Isa 53:12. However, Isa 53:12 also speaks of the servant being given an “inheritance,” an important theme later in Galatians (3:18; 4:30; 5:21). In his earlier monograph,6 Hays combined this with a messianic interpretation of Hab. 2:3–4 (ὁ δίκαιος is Jesus) in Gal. 3:11 and a messianic interpretation of 2 Sam 7:12 (σπέρμα is Jesus) in the difficult Gal. 3:16. McCaulley doubts the first (which Hays omitted from Echoes) and although he accepts the allusion to 2 Sam 7:12, he argues that Ps 2:7–8 is the more important intertext, speaking as it does of God giving his Son an “inheritance.” He concludes with the words: “If the restoration to the inheritance only comes through suffering and death for sins, then Jesus as Son (Ps 2:7; 89:25–27) and servant (Isa 53:12) is the one who has obtained his inheritance.”7 I was also convinced by Paul Sloan’s proposal that Mark 9:49 (“salted with fire”) is best understood as an allusion to Zech 13:9 (“And I will put this third into the fire, refine them as one refines silver”), despite the fact that the verb ἁλίζω (“to salt/ season”) does not occur in Zech 13:9, leaving “fire” (πῦρ) as the only verbal parallel. However, Sloan points to Mark’s undisputed use of Zech 14:1–5 in the Olivet discourse (Jerusalem surrounded by Gentiles, houses plundered, women in peril, flight to the mountains, Lord returns with holy angels) and the explicit quotation of Zech 13:7 in Mark 14:27 (“I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered”). Though the “salt” saying comes much earlier in Mark’s discourse, most scholars think that Mark has located it with his two other “salt” sayings. There is also an interesting connection between the passages in that Jesus’s words in Mark 9:49 have God’s “little ones” in mind (9:42), a term uniquely traceable to Zech 13:7 (though there is some confusion in the LXX manuscripts). A different approach is taken by William Wright, who suggests that images such as “lamb,” “bread,” and “light” in John’s Gospel evoke a number of biblical texts and realities without being exhausted by any one of them. By comparing this use of Scripture with the Patristic notion of Verbum Abbreviatum (“The Abridged Word”), Wright argues that not only do “multiple OT texts, institutions, episodes, and realities have an anticipatory relationship to the Incarnate Word, but the Word himself appears and acts as a subject in the OT history proper.”8 This more dialectical relationship between old and new is something I  explored with respect to the lion/lamb juxtaposition in Rev 5:5–6. Christians have naturally assumed that John’s purpose was to reinterpret (i.e., eliminate) the “lion” characteristics of Jewish expectation with the “lamb” Steve Moyise, The Old Testament in the Book of Revelation (Sheffield:  Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 18. 6 The Faith of Jesus Christ:  The Narrative Substructure of Galatians 3:1–4:11 (SBLDS 56; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1983). 7 McCaulley, “The Covenant Curses,” 190. 8 Wright, “Multivalent Biblical Images,” 177. 5

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characteristics of Christianity, but that is hardly the dominant theme in the rest of the book. Indeed, much of John’s narrative seems to suggest that the lamb has picked up many of the traits of the lion (e.g., Rev 6:16; 17:14).9 By constructing a link between two entities, freight can travel in both directions, leading to mutual interpretation rather than substitution of one by the other. There are two further aspects of Wright’s study that I found interesting. First, he argues that multivalent images should not be seen as inferior to explicit quotations but have a positive function: they seek to show that all of Scripture converges on the person of Jesus, not just a few particular texts (like Isa 53). This is, after all, what Jesus claims in John 5:39:  “You search the scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that testify on my behalf.”10 Second, Wright’s comparison with the Verbum Abbreviatum highlights the shift in context in which these realities are perceived, namely, “the horizon of post-resurrectional Christian faith and the action of the Paraclete in believers.”11 Although the OT images retain their own integrity, it is clear that Wright is not arguing for some sort of objective historicalgrammatical exegesis. Rather, John and the early church writers interpreted OT texts (and institutions, episodes, realities) in the light of “post-resurrectional Christian faith and the action of the Paraclete.” Similarly, Adam Winn refuses to argue for an exclusively Jewish or Roman background for Mark’s incipit (“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God”). In light of the quotation of Isa 40:3 that immediately follows, there are good reasons for understanding LXX Isaiah’s use of the verb εὐαγγελίζω in Isa 40:9 (as well as 52:7 and 61:1) as the source of the noun εὐαγγέλιον in the incipit. On the other hand, there are good reasons for seeing it as a “well-crafted weapon in a battle between two conflicting gospel narratives, namely, the Roman narrative of imperial peace and prosperity and the Christian narrative of the present and advancing kingdom of God.”12 Both backgrounds cohere quite well with what follows, and so Winn concludes that Mark is deliberately engaged in a process of “double coding.” Further, as one would expect from an incipit, the reader is urged to look for such “double coding” in the narratives that follow. Of course, one needs to guard against “over-reading” every narrative, but it is clear from stories like the Gerasene demoniac (“My name is Legion”; 5:9) that a case can be mounted. According to Winn, not only does Mark present Jesus as the fulfillment of Jewish messianic hope, he also responds to the challenge of Flavian propaganda and the Roman imperial power it evokes. In a contribution to the collection Exploring Intertextuality: Diverse Strategies for the New Testament Interpretation of Texts,13 Dennis MacDonald outlines what he calls “mimesis criticism,” illustrating it by drawing on parallels between Mark’s Gospel 9 For a brief summary, see my contribution in B. J. Oropeza and Steve Moyise, eds., Exploring Intertextuality: Diverse Strategies for New Testament Interpretation of Texts (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2016). 10 And notably in Luke 24:44: “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” 11 Wright, “Multivalent Biblical Images,” 175. 12 Winn, “The Good News of Isaiah,” 105. 13 Dennis R. MacDonald, “Mimesis” in Exploring Intertextuality. Diverse Strategies for New Testament Interpretation of Texts (ed. B. J. Oropeza and Steve Moyise; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2016), 93–105.

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and Homer. In this current volume, Karl Sandnes is appreciative of the method but takes issue with three things: (1) Given that Mark 1:2–3 specifically points to the book of Isaiah, which has a significant role elsewhere in the Gospel, there is no reason to prioritize Homer above the Jewish scriptures; (2) Although the goal of imitating a great predecessor necessarily has a bearing on the question of oral traditions/memory, it does not in itself imply fiction. It is just as likely that the author was impressed by certain resemblances between the stories and wanted to make the connections more overt; (3) MacDonald’s case for the anointing in Mark 14 is far more impressive than it is the story of the Gerasene demoniac in Mark 5. Demonstrating mimetic imitation undoubtedly relies on a cumulative argument but it can only be regarded as convincing (“advertised”) if a good number of the parallels are convincing. A short response by MacDonald is included in this volume, but from what I have said so far, readers will probably guess that I am inclined to agree with Sandnes.14 Now we come to those studies where I  broadly accept the proposed echoes or resonances but consider the conclusions to be overstated. It has often been noticed that the cry of the disciples in the boat incident (Luke 8:22–25) has certain resemblances to the book of Jonah and uses language similar to laments such as Ps 69:2–3. However, Channing Crisler goes on to relate two other laments, the cry of the blind beggar (“Son of David, have mercy on me”) and the cry of the penitent thief (“Jesus, remember me”) to possible OT intertexts and then draws the weighty conclusion that such (unstated) echoes “locate the Lukan Jesus in a place normally reserved for YHWH.”15 Similarly, the three laments spoken by Jesus (“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets;” “Father, if you are willing;” and “Father, into your hands”) find parallels with divine laments in the OT, resulting in an overall conclusion that “Jesus, being fully God, answers lament. At the same time, Jesus is fully man, because he laments.”16 For some, this will be a welcome piece of evidence for bridging the gap (indeed, eliminating it) between the NT writings and the later creeds, but for others, it will be a bridge too far. I focus on two issues. First, the method is inherently circular. If I were to cite parallels from “perils at sea” passages in the Greek classics, then a completely different conclusion would result. The very choice of prioritizing these OT passages, despite being “unstated resonances,” already contains within it the conclusion about to be reached. Second, the third lament of Jesus (“Father, into your hands”) is of course an explicit quotation and raises the question of whether it is correct to treat “unstated resonances” in the same way as explicit quotations. Should we not regard Jesus’s specific identification with the anointed prophet of Isa 61 in the Nazareth sermon (Luke 4:16–21) as more determinative for Luke’s Christology than a series of “unstated resonances”? Max Rogland argues on similar lines, though with less weighty conclusions. He begins by suggesting that a number of passages in 1 John may plausibly be echoes Readers might be interested in comparing Hays’s seven tests for identifying intertextual echoes (availability, volume, recurrence, thematic coherence, historical plausibility, history of interpretation, satisfaction) with McDonald’s seven for confirming a mimetic connection (accessibility, analogy, density, narrative order, distinctive trait, interpretative gain, reception history). 15 Crisler, “Luke’s Christology,” 147. 16 Crisler, “Luke’s Christology,” 152. 14

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of passages in Deuteronomy. He then cites the dictum of Luke Timothy Johnson, that the presence of a cluster of allusions can add to the probability of those which “might seem at first unlikely candidates.” In this case, the unlikely candidates are the “sin of lawlessness” in 1 John 3:4, the “sin unto death” in 1 John 5:16–17, and the abrupt ending of the letter, where “idols” are mentioned for the first time (1 John 5:21). Since all of these passages are exegetically difficult, any proposal that goes even some way to explaining them is certainly welcome and if successful, would indeed be “satisfying.”17. However, we immediately notice a difference in terminology. Johnson refers to a cluster of allusions but Rogland speaks of “echoes,” a term which is never defined but presumably refers to parallels with much fainter connections. These undoubtedly add something to the reading experience (“the quieter instruments in the orchestra”) but I am not sure that they can be substituted for “allusions” in Johnson’s dictum. Indeed, Rogland earlier refers to Hays’s criterion of “recurrence,” where the probability for a specific allusion increases “when an author repeatedly cites from the same passage or book.”18 But even if Rogland is correct that Deuteronomy lies in the background of the author’s thinking, it is hard to see how this can be described by the phrase, “repeatedly cites.” Thus while the denunciations of idolatry in Deuteronomy could be more significant to the author than the denunciations found in other biblical books or passages, it in no way explains the sudden and unexpected end to the letter (“Little children, keep yourselves from idols”—1 John 5:21). If Deuteronomy had a similar abrupt ending, the parallel would indeed be interesting but of course the book ends with a eulogy to Moses. David Turner’s answer to a lack of verbal parallels to support his case is to consider “implicit conceptual intertextuality” rather than “explicit verbal intertextuality.” He uses this to argue that contrary to Ulrich Luz and others, the series of denunciations (“woes”) in Matt 23 do not imply a complete abandonment of Israel. Rather, the “implicit conceptual intertextuality” ties Jesus’s message to the “Deuteronomistic pattern of sin, discipline, confession, and restoration.”19 This, he argues, tilts the balance in taking the final quotation of Ps 118:26 in Matt 23:39 (“For I tell you, you will not see me again until you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’ ”) as a positive hope rather than a forced submission. Turner cites a large number of texts and convincingly shows that Jesus’s denunciations are firmly rooted in scriptural models. This is helpful and enriches our understanding of Jesus’s teaching, especially challenging those readings which posit a dichotomy between “heart” religion (Christianity) and “rule” religion (Judaism). However, I was intrigued to read the closing argument that seems to take the form of “Jesus wouldn’t do that.” Noting that Ps 118:26 has already been cited by the welcoming crowd in Matt 21:9, commentators who think Jesus’s denunciations are final are said to be effectively accusing him of a “spiteful parting shot” that would fit the imagery of a “raptor seizing its prey” rather than a “hen gathering its chicks.” It is of course Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, 31–32. 18 Rogland, “Lawlessness, Idolatry, and Apostasy,” 195. 19 Turner, “Israel’s Last Prophet,” 92. 17

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entirely reasonable to use “intra-textuality” (references to other parts of the same book) to elucidate Jesus’s meaning, but I suspect there is something else going on here, namely, Turner’s particular view of Jesus. This is not to suggest that this invalidates his argument, and he could no doubt supply convincing reasons for why he holds his views, just as Crisler could for his belief in the humanity and divinity of Jesus. Indeed, it would find a welcome in the so-called Theological interpretation of Scripture school. My point is simply that such unacknowledged influence from the reader was one of the things that the early pioneers of intertextuality wished to expose. Would it not be better to acknowledge that the author’s own convictions constitute one of the “voices” in the dialogue between texts and intertexts and to creatively explore it?20 The goal of Sunny Chen’s intertextual analysis is to convince us that John 19:23–37 deliberately echoes a number of features of Gen 2:18–25 (garden, tree, mother, naked, side-wound), with a view to claiming that John presents Jesus as the new Adam who “undoes the breaking of the union between humanity and God, as enacted by Adam.”21 Since the only significant verbal parallel is that both stories use the word πλευρά for the site of the wound,22 Chen draws on Hays to argue that “thematic correspondences” and “contextual coherence” can be just as important. Once again, I found the parallels interesting and suggestive of deeper meaning but must question whether they warrant such a big conclusion (which seems more at home in Paul). When Hays introduced the idea of intertextual echo, he used the words of Phil 1:19 (“this will turn out for my deliverance”) as a case study. He notes that there is an exact verbal agreement with the LXX of Job 13:16 (τοῦτό μοι ἀποβήσεται εἰς σωτηρίαν) and considerable thematic agreement (so-called friends making their suffering harder to bear). However, even with this, Hays remained cautious in his claims, using words like “tacit,” “subtle,” “cadence,” “lightness,” and “whisper.”23 Although it enriches our experience of the text, it would be foolish to think that Paul relies on such things to get his major points across. Thus, contrary to many of his followers, Hays stated his goal in these words: “I do not intend to spend hermeneutical energy pursuing such faint echoes in this book. The following chapters concentrate on higher-volume echoes whose allusive character I believe one can make this point without sliding into the view that one’s own “voice” necessarily silences every other “voice,” which would make genuine learning from texts impossible. I  am reminded of a debate I once had with Robert Royalty, who argued that the allusive use of Scripture in the book of Revelation was an attempt by the author to silence all voices except his own and thus referred to the book as the “death of Scripture.” Royalty particularly had in mind the final verses of the book, where John warns that plagues will come upon any reader who tries to add or take away from the words of his book. I argued that Royalty is correct to point out that John’s use of Scripture is nothing like the modern ideal of “letting texts speak for themselves,” but that is not to say that all of the intertexts have been silenced. It is relatively easy to deduce that Rev 22:18–19 is a deliberate re-wording of Deut 4:2 and 29:19–20, which the reader has access to and can decide what sort of influence they should have when interpreting the last verses of Revelation. See Steve Moyise, “Intertextuality and Historical Approaches to the Use of Scripture in the New Testament” in Reading the Bible Intertextually (ed. Richard B. Hays, Stefan Alkier, and Leroy A. Huizenga; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2009), 23–32. 21 Chen, “The Marriage and Wedding Imagery of Jesus and Adam,” 162. 22 Twenty-nine times in the LXX; four of the five NT occurrences are in John’s crucifixion account. On the other hand, one can hardly make much of his choice of μήτηρ, which occurs over 300 times in the LXX and 77 times in the NT. 23 Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, 24–25. 20

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is more readily audible.”24 Similarly, I can accept that there might be a “whisper” of a new Adam theology in John 19:23–37, but I do not think it is appropriate to describe it in language that seems more in keeping with Paul’s theology in Rom 5. B. J. Oropeza’s contribution is different in that he is not so much seeking to detect “unstated resonances” or “intertextual echoes” but evidence of midrashic techniques in 1 Cor 15. This has often been downplayed because it appears to be more “atomistic” than the sophisticated literary theories proposed by intertextual critics. For example, it would appear that Isa 25:8 and Hos 13:14 have been brought together in 1 Cor 15:54–55 by the principle of gezerah shavah, both texts using the word “death” (‫מות‬/ θάνατος). However, the reader of 1 Corinthians is more likely to be struck by the occurrence of the much rarer word νῖκος (“victory”), found in both texts as Paul quotes them. This word only occurs four times in the LXX and not in either of the quoted texts. Oropeza suggests that Paul probably had the Hebrew text of Isa 25:8 in mind and (deliberately) took ‫“( לנצח‬for ever”) in a conquering sense, hence “victory.” Alternatively, since the LXX of Isa 25:8 bizarrely makes “death” the subject of “swallow up” (κατέπιεν ὁ θάνατος ἰσχύσας), it may be that Paul is using a revised form of the LXX. Evidence from this comes from the later version of Theodotion, who has the same reading as Paul but hardly derived it from Paul. They are both probably witnesses to an earlier revision that sought to bring the text into closer alignment with the (known) Hebrew text. However, its occurrence in Paul’s quotation of Hos 13:14 appears to be his own manipulation of the text, changing either “plagues” (‫ )דבר‬or “penalty” (δίκη) to νῖκος. I draw two conclusions from this. First, in studies that often draw big conclusions from the occurrence of specific words, a thorough account of the manuscript tradition is vital. This is one of the many useful points made by Eric Waaler in his multidimensional approach to recontextualization in this volume. Second, one must be careful of the lure of the “sophisticated theory.” The fact that Hays and others have provided convincing arguments for the existence of “unstated resonances” and “intertextual echoes” in the NT does not mean that we should see them everywhere. As first-century exegetes, the NT authors most likely drew on both Jewish exegesis and Greco-Roman rhetoric to make their points and sometimes that was what we would have called “forced” or even “atomistic.” I enjoy reading expressions like: “It is as though the light of the gospel shining through the text has illuminated a latent sense so brilliant that the opaque original sense has vanished.”25 But we should not be so dazzled by it that we rule out more “atomistic” approaches on principle.26 The studies in this volume provide some excellent examples of listening to the quieter instruments of the orchestra and basking in the resulting performance. But not all ancient authors were as adept as this and we should remain in dialogue with one another to ensure we are not just listening to our humming.

24 Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, 24. 25 Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, 67. 26 This is the thrust of Christopher D. Stanley’s argument in his, Arguing with Scripture: The Rhetoric of Quotations in the Letters of Paul (New York: T&T Clark, 2004).

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Index of Authors Abegg Jr., M. G. 89 n.44 Ackroyd, P. R. 18 n.55 Adam, A. K. M. 13 n.30 Ahearne-Kroll, S. 140 n.6 Aichele, G. 12 Albright, W. F. 37 n.35, 41 n.44, 128 n.29 Alexander, P. S. 19 n.56, 20–1 Alkier, S. 3 n.3, 6, 13 n.28, 111 nn.10–12, 154 nn.6–7, 214 n.20 Allen, D. M. 16 n.42 Allen, G. V. 10 n.12, 11 n.15, 13 n.27, 110 n.3 Allen, W. C. 82 nn.25–6 Allison, D. C. 9 n.6, 32 n.14, 33 n.18, 36 n.29, 38 n.36, 39 n.39, 79 nn.8–9, 92 n.49 Aloisi, J. 35 n.25 Anderson, B. H. 144 n.27 Anderson, G. A. 171 n.48 Anderson, H. 42 n.46 Anderson, J. L. 202 n.42 Andriolo, K. R. 36 n.30 Arnold, G. 95 n.1 Audet, J.-P. 116 n.29 Auvinen, V. 121 n.2, 133 n.51 Avemarie, F. 23 n.83 Baarda, T. J. 113 n.17 Bakhos, C. 17 nn.43–6 Bakhtin, M. 13, 17 Ballentine, S. 143 n.21 Baltzer, K. 185 nn.23–4, 187 nn.31–2 Bamel, E. 157–8 n.26 Barclay, J. M. G. 182 n.12 Barker, P. 204 n.49 Baron, L. 5, 23 n.84 Barr, J. 30 n.8 Barrett, C. K. 156 nn.14, 18, 162 n.44, 185 n.22 Bauckham, R. 140 n.7, 141 n.8, 176 n.62

Baumgarten, J. M. 157 n.26 Bayer, H. F. 129 n.36 Bazerman C. 6, 75 n.2, 76 n.3 Bažil, M. 61 n.31 Beal, T. K. 12 n.21, 13 nn.30, 31, 15 n.38, 16 n.41 Beale, G. K. 27 n.99, 131 n.48, 194 n.6 Beasley-Murray, G. R. 157 n.22 Beaton, R. C. 45 n.51 Behr, J. 164 n.6, 166 nn.16, 18, 167 n.19, 170 n.46 Berlin, A. 22 n.78 Betz, H. D. 142 n.16 Betz, O. 100 n.10 Biddle, M. E. 155 n.12 Bieler, L. 98 n.8 Bird, M. F. 185 nn.21–2, 191 n.42 Blenkinsopp, J. 185 n.23 Boccaccini, G. 183 n.14 Bock, D. L. 14 n.34, 148 n.42 Bockmuehl, M. 45 n.51 de Boer, M. C. 25 n.89, 182 n.9, 191 n.41 Booth, W. C. 83 n.33 Borgen, P. 172 n.51 Boring, M. E. 47 n.58, 95 n.1, 100 n.11, 101 n.14 Boulding, M. 169 n.39, 170 n.40 Bousset, W. 97 n.6, 98 n.8, 139 n.3 Boyarin, D. 13 n.28, 17 n.49, 18 nn.50–4, 28 n.100, 176 n.62 Boyce, R. 142 n.15 Bratcher, R. 109 n.1 Brawley, R. L. 13 n.28 Brettler, M. Z. 22 n.78 Brock, B. 140 n.5 Brodie, T. L. 15 n.41, 16 n.41, 56 n.8, 64 n.47 Brooke, G. J. 19 n.61, 19 n.62, 20 nn.64–5 Brown, J. K. 141 n.12

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Index of Authors

Brown, R. E. 156 nn.14, 18, 157 n.22, 159 n.35, 160 n.38, 195 n.15, 196 n.21, 198 n.27, 200 n.34, 202 n.43, 203 n.44 Brox, N. 38 n.36 Brueggemann, W. 186 n.25 Bruehler, B. B. 4 n.5 Bryant, R. A. 179 n.2 Buchanan, G. W. 23 n.82 Bulembat, J.-B. M. 159 n.30 Bultmann, R. 98 n.8, 148 n.42, 157 n.22, 160 n.36, 202 n.41, 203 nn.46, 48, 206 n.55 Burchard, C. 131 n.47 Busch, A. 63 n.44 Byrne, B. 153 n.1, 158 n.28, 159 nn.29, 32, 160 nn.36–7, 161 n.41, 185 n.21 Byrskog, S. 195 n.12 Camery-Hoggatt, J. 51 n.63 Campbell, D. K. 140 n.6 Capes, D. B. 52 n.66 Caplan, H. 166 n.17 Van Cappellen, P. 121 n.2, 128 n.32, 135 Carey, H. J. 6, 121 nn.1, 3, 122 n.4, 123 n.6, 124 nn.10, 12, 125 nn.13, 15, 126 nn.17, 20, 127 n.23, 128 nn.28–32, 34, 129 nn.37, 39, 130 nn.43–6, 131 n.48, 132 n.49, 133 nn.51, 53–4, 134 n.55, 135 n.62 Carleton Paget, J. 17 n.48 Carr, D. M. 19 n.60 Carroll, J. T. 133 n.51 Carson, D. A. 27 n.99, 131 n.48, 159 nn.32– 4, 160 n.36, 194 nn.4–7, 208 n.64 Carter, W. 50 n.60, 102 n.1 Casey, M. 141 n.8 Cathcart, K. J. 114 n.26 Charlesworth, J. H. 42 n.46, 182 n.10, 183 n.13 Chen, S. 7, 214 n.21 Childs, B. S. 185 n.23, 188 n.36 Chilton, B. D. 176 nn.61–2 Ciampa, R. E. 27 n.99, 179 n.3 Clayton, J. 12 n.25 Clements, R. A. 19 n.59 Clements, R. E. 80 n.11 Cohn-Sherbok, D. 22 n.80 Collier, G. D. 23 n.83 Collins, A. Y. 95 n.1, 98 n.9 Collins, J. J. 17 n.45

Collins, R. F. 26 n.97 Coloe, M. L. 157 n.23 Cook, E. M. 89 n.44 Cowley, A. E. 84 n.35 Crehan, J. H. 170 n.41 Cribiore, R. 57 n.12, 58 n.13 Crisler, C. L. 6, 142 n.15, 212 nn.15–16 Crouch, J. E. 81 n.19 Crump, D. 139 n.4 Culler, J. 13 n.29 Cullu, M. 203 n.45 Danker, F. W. 148 n.41 Das, A A. 182 nn.8–9, 191 n.41 Daube, D. 19 n.57, 21 n.72, 22 Davey, F. N. 157 n.22 Davies, W. D. 32 n.14, 33 n.18, 36 n.29, 38 n.36, 39 n.39 Davis, B. C. 35 n.28 Davis, R. C. 12 n.24 De Goedt, M. 156 n.18 Deigh, A. Y. 4 n.5 DeVos, C. 142 n.15 Dittenberger, W. 97 n.5 Docherty, S. 19 n.60 Dodd, C. H. 15 n.40, 171 n.47, 194 n.3 Doering, L. 183 n.14 Doeve, J. W. 20 n.63 Downing, F. G. 56 n.8 Draper, J. 115–16 n.29 Dunn, J. D. G. 15 n.40, 179 n.3, 182 nn.8–9 Dunne, J. A. 110 n.3 Eco, U. 111 n.12 Edenburg, C. 16 n.41, 19 n.60 Edwards, M. J. 153 n.3 Edwards, R. B. 200 n.34, 203 n.45, 207 n.57 Eklund, R. 140 n.6, 142 n.15 Ellens, J. H. 46 n.52 Elliott, M. A. 92 n.48 Ellis, E. E. 19 n.59, 20 n.67, 22 n.80 Enns, P. 14 n.34 Epp. E. J. 19 n.58 Eslinger, L. 161 n.41 Evans, C. A. vii, 9 n.7, 97 n.5, 105 n.22, 112 n.16, 113 nn.17, 20, 131 n.48 Evans, C. F. 18 n.55, 160 n.36 Eynikel, E. 25 n.90

 243

Index of Authors Falk, D. K. 199 n.33 Fears, J. R. 103 n.17 Feldkämper, L. 139 n.4 Feldman, L. H. 20 n.66 Fewell, D. N. 12 n.21, 63 n.44 Fiedler, P. 38 n.38 Fields, W. 113 nn.18–20 Fischel, H. A. 21 n.72 Fishbane, M. 14, 17 nn.43–4, 20 n.66, 22 n.77 Fitzmyer, J. A. 33, 36 n.31, 185 nn.21–2 Fletcher-Louis, C. H. T. 140 n.7 Foley, J. M. 59 nn.21, 23 Foster, P. 160 n.40 France, R. T. 113 n.17 Freedman, D. N. 23 n.81, 80 n.11 Friedman, S. S. 12 n.25 Friedrich, G. 96 nn.3–4 Fuller, R. H. 100 n.10 Funk, R. W. 202 n.41 Gaechter, P. 32 n.15 Gamble, H. Y. 127 n.24 Garber, Z. 136 n.64 García Martínez, F. 23 n.83, 89 n.44 Garland, D. E. 82 n.22, 147 n.39 Garnsey, P. 103 n.19 Geertz, C. 31 n.11 Genette, G. 12 n.23 Gerhards, M. 58 n.15 Gese, H. 130 n.42 Gesenius, W. 25 n.89 Gillmayr-Bucher, S. 15 n.41 Glockmann, G. 55 n.2 Gnilka, J. 32 n.14, 49 n.59, 129 n.35 Good, E. M. 83 n.28 Gordon, R. P. 114 n.26 Gould, E. 97 n.6 Gowler, D. B. 4 n.5 Grant, R. M. 166 n.16 Gray, J. R. 128 n.29 Green, H. B. 82 n.24 Green, J. B. 104 n.20, 133 n.51, 150 n.52 Griffith, T. 198 n.29, 202 nn.41, 43, 203 nn.44–5, 48, 205 nn.50–1, 206 n.56 Grobel, K. 98 n.8 Grotius, H. 25 n.91 Guelich, R. A. 95 n.1, 98 n.7, 100 n.10 Gundry, R. H. 32 n.15, 38 n.36

243

Gunkel H. 142 n.14, 155 n.12 Gvozdanovic, J. 39 n.40 Haas, P. J. 46 n.52 Hadas, M. 97 n.6 Hägerland, T. 121 n.2 Hagner, D. A. 41 n.45, 42 n.46, 44 nn.49– 50, 45 n.51 Hammerling, R. 139 n.1 Harastra, E. 140 n.5 Harlow, D. C. 17 n.45 Harmon, M. S. 179 n.3, 186 nn.25–6 von Harnack, A. 97 n.6 Harvey, A. E. 141 n.8 Hatina, T. R. 12 n.22, 29 n.1 Hauspie, K. 25 n.90 Hays, R. B. 3 nn.1, 3, 5–6, 6 n.10, 9 n.4, 12, 13 n.28, 15 n.41, 16 n.41, 20 n.67, 21 nn.68–71, 26 n.95, 30 n.3, 52 n.65, 60 n.25, 75 n.1, 111 n.10, 112 nn.15–16, 130 n.43, 140 n.6, 141 nn.10–11, 13, 144 n.22, 149 n.48, 152 n.60, 153 n.4, 154 nn.6–8, 10–11, 157 n.25, 162 n.43, 179 n.3, 180 nn.4–6, 183 nn.15–16, 184 n.17, 195 n.13, 197 n.25, 201 n.40, 209 nn.1–4, 210, 212 n.14, 213 n.17, 214 nn.20, 23, 215 nn.24–5 Heil, J. P. 26 n.92 Heilig, C. 191 n.42 Heine R. E. 168 nn.26–32 Hengel, M. 22 n.79, 184 n.20 Henze, M. 183 n.14 Hermisson, H.-J. 188 n.36 Hewitt, J. T. 191 n.42 Hezser, C. 55 n.1 Hill, E. 170 nn.42–4 Hill, R. C. 117 nn.32–4, 118 nn.35–40 Hinds, S. 60 nn.27–8 Hirsch, E. D. 30 n.5, 83 n.33 Hoare, R. W. N. 157 n.22 Hock, R. F. 57 n.11 Hoffmann, P. 78 n.6 Holmes, M. W. 115 n.29, 116 n.30 Holladay, C. R. 163 n.1 Hollander, J. 141 n.13, 209 n.1 Hooker, M. D. 100 n.10 Horsley, R. A. 102 n.15 Horstkotte, S. 46 n.53 Hoskyns, E. C. 157 n.22, 159 nn.32, 34

244

244

Index of Authors

Hossfeld, F.-L. 189 n.40 Howard W. F. 81 n.20 Huizenga, L. A. 3 n.3, 13 n.28, 111 n.10, 154 nn.6–7, 214 n.20 Hurtado, L. W. 140 n.7, 141 n.8 Hylen, S. 172 n.51 Ingham, H. 34 n.23 Instone-Brewer, D. 20 n.63 Jackson, J. 106 Jacobson, A. 78 n.6, 79 n.7 Jacobson, H. 20 n.66 Janowski, B. 142 n.16 Jeal, R. 6 Jeffrey D. L. 148 n.43 Jencks, C. 104 n.20 Jenny, L. 12 n.23 Jeremias, J. 19 n.59, 22 n.80, 139 n.3 Jervis, L. A. 179 n.1 Jobes, K. H. 188 n.38 Johnson, L. T. 7, 44 n.49, 130 n.43, 201 n.39, 213 Kaiser, W. C. 14 n.34 Kalimi, I. 46 n.52 Kautzsch, E. 84 n.35 Keck, L. E. 47 n.58, 189 n.40 Keener, C. S. 5, 21 n.74, 26 nn.94, 97, 36 n.33, 62 n.40, 85 n.39, 157 n.22, 159 n.34, 160 n.39 Keesmaat, S. C. 186 n.29 Keiser, T. A. 186 n.25 Keith, C. 123 n.6 Kern-Ulmer, R. 20 n.63, 22 n.7 Kerrigan A. 117 n.34 Kinney, A. M. 164 n.4 Kirk, J. R. D. 145 n.31, 146 n.35 Kittel, G. 96 n.3 Klauser, T. 61 n.31 Klijn, A. F. J. 183 n.13 Kloppenborg, J. S. 56 n.8, 78 n.6 Knowles, M. 78 n.6, 79 n.7 Koch, D.-A. 15 n.38, 25 n.88 Kohl, M. 185 n.23 Köhler, W.-D. 115 n.29 Koskenniemi, E. 57 n.11 Köstenberger, A. J. 157 n.22, 159 n.33, 160 n.38, 194 n.8

Köster, H. 116 n.29 Kristeva, J. 3 n.3, 5, 9 n.1, 12 nn.24–5, 13, 17, 154 n.5 Kruse, C. G. 196 n.22, 203 n.44, 208 n.63 Kugel, J. L. 17 n.45 Labahn, M. 193 n.2, 196 n.17, 199 n.32 Labov, W. 40 n.41 Lane, W. L. 113 nn.17, 20 Lange, A. 199 n.33 Langford, J. 13 n.28 Larsen, K. B. 63 n.42 Lee, A. H. I. 191 n.42 Lee, M. J. 4 n.5, 5 Lehmann, M. R. 20 n.66 Leithart, P. J. 50 n.62 Leonard, J. M. 16 n.41 Lessing, R. R. 187 n.3 Lester, G. B. 14 nn.31, 33 Levine, A.-J. 62 n.39 Lieberman, S. 19 n.57, 21 n.73 Lienhard, J. T. 165 n.11 Lieu, J. 194 nn.9–10, 195 nn.11, 15, 198 nn.27–8, 199 n.30, 205 n.50, 206 n.55, 208 nn.63–4 Lightfoot, R. H. 160 n.36 Lincoln, A. T. 153 nn.1, 3, 159 nn.29–30, 160 n.36, 161 nn.40–1 Lindars, B. 159 n.34, 160 nn.36, 38 Linell, P. 30 nn.7, 10 Lohmeyer, E. 97 n.6 Longenecker, B. W. 179 n.1, 182 n.11 Longenecker, R. N. 179 n.3, 182 n.8 Louden, B. 58 n.15, 59 nn.16–19, 62 n.39 de Lubac, H. 164 n.3, 166 n.14, 170 n.41 Lucas, A. J. 16 n.41 Luft, J. 34 n.23 Lust, J. 25 n.90 Luz, U. 38 nn.36–7, 51 n.64, 62 n.40, 81 n.19, 92 nn.46, 50 MacDonald, D. R. 5–6, 15 n.41, 16 n.41, 55 nn.3–4, 56 nn.5–7, 57 nn.9–11, 58 n.14, 59 nn.19–20, 24, 60 nn.26, 29, 61, 62 nn.37, 39, 63 nn.41, 43, 45, 64 nn.46, 48–50, 65, 66 nn.52–3, 67, 211 n.13, 212 n.14 Macierowski, E. M. 164 n.3 MacRae, G. W. 19 n.58

 245

Index of Authors Mai, H.-P. 9 nn.3, 8, 12 n.23, 15 n.36 Mailloux, S. 9 n.3 Malatesta, E. 195 n.12 Malbon, E. S. 134 n.59, 135 n.60 Malina, B. J. 30 n.6 Mann, C. S. 37 n.35, 41 n.44 Marcus, J. 95 n.1, 100 nn.11–12, 113 n.20, 125 n.15, 129 n.37, 133 nn.51, 54 Marshall, I. H. 196 n.16 Martin, F. 171 n.47, 172 nn.49, 52, 173 nn.53–4, 175 n.57 Martin, M. 31 n.11 Martínez Alfaro, M. J. 154 n.5 Martyn, J. L. 191 n.42 Mason, S. 107 n.26 McCann Jr., J. C. 189 n.40 McCaulley, E. D. 7, 189 n.39, 210 n.7 McConville, J. G. 204 n.49 McGaughy, L. C. 202 n.41 McIntyre, L. C. 31 n.11 McKenzie, S. L. 3, 13 n.26, 14 n.31, 17 n.43 McKinnon, J. W. 127 n.21 McWhirter, J. 153 nn.1, 3, 160 n.40, 161 n.40 Meek, R. L. 12 n.22, 14 n.31 Melanchthon, M. 144 n.24 Menken, M. J. J. 193 n.2 Merriell, J. 170 n.41 Metzger, B. M. 98 n.7, 164 n.5, 182 n.10 Michaels, J. R. 157 n.22, 160 n.36 Milavec, A. 116 n.31 Miller, G. D. 11 n.20, 14 n.32, 16 n.41, 139 n.2 Miller, P. D. 132 n.50, 142 n.14 Moessner, D. P. 78 n.6 Moffitt, D. M. 111 n.12 Moloney, F. J. 159 n.33, 162 n.44 Momigliano, A. 103 n.18 Moo, D. J. 37 n.34, 114 n.27, 179 n.3, 182 n.8 Moore, C. H. 106 Morales, R. J. 184 n.18, 188 n.37 Morgan, T. 14 n.35, 58 nn.12–13 Morris, L. 159 n.32, 160 n.38, 161 n.42 Morrisette, R. 25 n.88 Moulton, J. H. 81 n.20, 82 n.26 Moyise, S. 3 n.3, 5 n.8, 6–7, 7 n.13, 10 n.10, 12 n.21, 13 nn.26, 28, 15 n.38, 23

245

n.84, 56 n.7, 141 n.12, 193 n.2, 210 n.5, 211 n.13 Muecke, D. C. 83 nn.29–30 Mullins, M. 158 n.28, 160 nn.36–7 Murphy, R. E. 164 n.5 Mußner, F. 179 n.3 Nagy, G. 59 nn.21–3 Nash, A. E. 170 n.41 Neusner, J. 17 n.43, 25 n.87 Nickelsburg, G. W. E. 128 n.33, 129 n.38, 130 n.40 Nida, E. A. 109 n.1 Niditch, S. 19 n.60 Niederwimmer, K. 116 n.29 Niehoff, M. R. 55 n.1 Nock, A. D. 103 n.18 Nolland, J. 148 n.42 Norden, E. 107 n.27 North, C. R. 187 n.33, 188 n.34 Noth, M. 78 n.4 O’Brien, K. S. 130 n.45, 132 n.50, 134 nn.56–9 O’Connor, M. 84 n.35 O’Donnel, P. 12 n.24 O’Hara, R. P. 202 n.41 Oepke, A. 181 n.8 Öhler, M. 139 n.5, 142 n.15 Olley, J. W. 187 n.32, 188 n.35 Olson, B. 195 n.12, 199 n.33, 207 n.60 Omanson, R. 81 n.17 Ong, H. T. 40 n.42 Oropeza, B. J. vii, 3 n.3, 4 n.5, 5 n.8, 7 n.13, 10 n.10, 12 n.21, 13 nn.26, 28, 15 n.38, 23 nn.83–4, 24 n.86, 56 n.7, 114 n.22, 141 n.12, 206 n.56, 211 n.13, 215 Orosz, M. 154 n.6 Oswalt, J. 188 n.36 Van Oyen, G. 121 n.2, 128 n.32, 135 n.61 Parente, F. 107 n.26 Pedri, N. 46 n.53 Perrin, N(icholas). 5 Perrin, N(orman), 123 n.7 Petschenig, M. 169 n.35 Phillips, G. A. 6, 12 n.21 Piquer Otero, A. 199 n.33 Pitre, B. 172 n.51

246

246

Index of Authors

Plag, C. 23 n.83 Plett, H. F. 9 n.2, 10 n.13, 11 n.16, 13 n.27, 14 n.3 Plummer, A. 82 n.22, 83 nn.26–7 Ponterotto, J. G. 31 n.11 Porter, S. E. 5, 9 n.7, 16 n.41, 133 nn.51–4, 153 n.4, 180 n.4, 194 n.8 Porton, G. G. 17 n.43, 20 n.63, 21 n.73, 22 n.76, 23 n.81 Price, S. R. F. 103 n.18 Putnam, M. C. J. 59 n.23 Rainbow, P. 36 n.32 Rajak, T. 107 n.26 Ramelli, I. 62 n.36 Resseguie, J. L. 47 nn.55–7 Riches, J. K. 157 n.22 Riffaterre, M. 12 n.23 Robbins, V. K. 4 n.5, 11 n.14, 13 n.28, 30 n.9, 111 n.14, 122 n.5, 132 n.50 Robertson, A. T. 84 n.36 Rogland, M. 7, 15 n.40, 212–13, 213 n.18 Rolfe, J. C. 107 Rosner, B. S. 27 n.99 Roth, D. T. 123 n.6 Rothstein, E. 12 n.25 Ruppert, L. 129 n.35 Russell, D. A. 166 n.18 Ruzer, S. 19 n.59 Saldarini, A. J. 19 n.58 Saller, R. 103 n.19 Samely, A. 20 n.66 Samuel, S. 105 n.22 Sanders, J. A. vii, 9 n.7, 112 n.16 Sandmel, S. 30 n.4 Sandnes, K. O. 5–6, 55 n.1, 56 n.6, 57 n.11, 58 nn.12–13, 60 n.25, 61 nn.30–2, 34, 62 nn.35–6, 38, 63 n.41, 66 n.51, 69–72, 212 van de Sandt, H. 116 n.29 Saulnier, C. 107 n.28 Schalit, A. 107 n.27 Schaper, J. 17 n.48 Scheck, T. P. 165 nn.10, 12 Schembra, R. 61 n.33 Schlier, H. 179 n.3 Schmidt, K. M. 113 n.17 Schnackenburg, R. 156 n.18, 196 n.21, 198 n.28

Schneider, J. 158 n.27 Schniedewind, W. 78 n.6 Schoeps, H. J. 19 n.59 Schreiner, T. R. 179 n.3 Schröter, J. 116 n.29 Schwartz, D. R. 19 n.59 Scott, J. M. 104 n.20 Scullion, J. J. 155 n.12 Segal, A. F. 176 n.62 Van Segbroeck, F. 122 n.5 Sharp, C. J. 83 n.31 Shaw, D. A. 16 n.41, 153 n.4 Shiner, W. T. 134 n.59 Sievers, J. 107 n.26 Sloan, P. T. 13 n.28, 109 n.3, 112 n.15, 114 n.27, 115 n.28, 147 n.40 Smith, D. M. 160 n.36 Smith, J. P. 164 n.6 Smith, M. 97 n.6 Sommer, B. D. 17 nn.44, 47, 22 n.78 Sosa Siliezer, C. R. 155 n.12, 157 n.24 Stahlber, L. C. 18 n.51 Stanley, C. D. 6, 15 nn.38–9, 16 n.41, 25 n.88, 26 nn.93, 97, 153 n.4, 180 n.4, 215 n.26 Stanton, G. N. 92 n.48, 102 n.16 Steck, O. H. 78 n.6, 79 n.7 Steely, J. E. 97 n.6 Stegner, W. R. 20 n.67 Stein, R. A. 113 n.17, 148 nn.42–3 Stemberger, G. 17 nn.43, 48, 20 nn.63, 66 Stendahl, K. 30 n.2, 33 n.16, 35 n.27 Stenning, J. F. 176 n.61 Stephens, S. A. 6, 104 n.20 Stockhausen, C. K. 23 n.83 Streett, D. R. 195 n.12, 196 n.21, 198 n.27, 207 n.59, 208 n.64 Stuhlmacher, P. 100 n.10, 101 n.13, 102, 188 n.36 Swete, H. B. 164 n.4 Tallis, R. 10 n.9 Taylor, J. 62 n.36 Taylor, V. 97 n.6 von Thaden Jr., R. H. 4 n.5 Thimmes, P. L. 144 n.23 Thompson, M. B. 7, 13 n.30, 154 nn.9–11 Thompson, M. M. 162 n.44 Thraede, K. 61 n.31

 247

Index of Authors Tigchelaar, E. J. C. 89 n.44 Tilly, M. 193 n.2 Tkacz, C. B. 136 n.63 Todorov, T. 12 n.23 du Toit, D. S. 115 n.27 Towner, W. S. 20 n.63, 21 n.73 Tregelles, S. P. 25 n.89 Trick, B. R. 42 nn.47–8 Tuckett, C. M. 115 n.29 Tull, P. K. 11 n.20, 14 n.3 Turner, D. L. 6, 75, 79 nn.8–9, 81 n.20, 82 n.26, 213 n.19, 214 Ulmer, R. 136 nn.64, 66–9, 137 n.70 Usher, M. D. 61 n.31 Vanhoozer, K. J. 83 nn.32–3 Verheyden, J. 56 n.8, 78 n.6 del Verme, M. 116 n.31 Vermes, G. 18 n.55 Villanueva, F. G. 142 n.17 Villers, P. G. R. 46 n.54 Waaler, E. 4 n.5, 5, 28 n.100, 33 nn.19–21, 50 n.61, 209 n.2 Wallace, D. B. 82 nn.23, 26 Waller, M. 12 n.24 Walters, P. 25 n.90 Waltke, B. 84 n.35 Wasserman, T. 98 n.7 Watson, F. 10 n.11, 123 n.7 Watts, R. 95 n.1, 100 n.12, 125 n.15, 126 n.19, 131 n.48, 133 nn.52–4 Weigold, M. 199 n.33 Wenham, G. J. 155 n.12

247

Westermann, C. 132 n.50, 141 n.9, 142 nn.14–15, 155 n.12, 188 n.36 Wevers, J. W. 196 n.23, 205 n.54 Wikenhauser, A. 32 n.14 Wilcox, M. 19 n.59 Wilder, W. N. 186 n.29 Williams, J. G. 84 n.34 Williams, P. J. 194 n.5 Williamson, H. G. M. 194 n.4 Willitts, J. 179 n.3 Wilson, T. A. 187 n.29 Winn, A. 98 n.9, 100 n.11, 102 n.15, 105 n.22, 106 n.24, 108 n.29, 211 n.12 Winsor, A. R. 153 n.2 Winter, B. W. 103 n.19 Wise, M. O. 89 n.44 Witherington III, B. 101 n.14 Wolff, H. W. 78 n.5 Wolter, M. 179 n.3, 184 n.20 Wright, N. T. 186 n.29 Wright IV, W. M. 7, 163 n.2, 171 n.47, 172 nn.49–50, 52, 173 nn.53–4, 175 nn.56–8, 210 n.8 Yarbrough, R. W. 196 n.22, 200 n.34, 203 n.47, 205 n.53, 207 n.61 Yoon, D. I. 15 n.37 Zahn, T. 81 n.19 Zangenberg, J. 116 n.29 Zeitlin, S. 20 n.63 Zenger, E. 189 n.40 Zerwick, M. 81 n.20 Zetterholm, M. 195 n.12

248

248

 249

Index of Primary Sources Biblical Literature Genesis 1  2 2:9  2:15  2:17  2:18–25 2:18–23  2:21–22  2:21 2:22 2:24 2:25  3:1–12  3:6  3:8–9  3:22  3:23–24  4:8 5:5  6:13–21  12:3  13:4  13:10 14:2 14:8 15  15:1–6 15:2  15:13  15:16 15:18  18  19:22 19:23 19:30 24:1–67 

162 7, 155, 156 n.17, 157–8, 162 157 155 158 153–4, 158, 162, 214 155 157 155–6, 157 n.21 157 n.21 155, 155 n.12, 156 155 155 158 167 173 158 76, 87, 150 n.57 158 167 189 33 114 n.23 114 n.23 114 n.23 88 150 n.57 33 88 87 n.41, 88 189 167 114 n.23 114 n.23 114 n.23 161

28  28:10–17  28:17  29:1–35  29:1–20  34:3 37 40:14 49:10–12 

172 167 172 161 153 114 n.23 128 n.33 147 n.40 167

Exodus 2:15–22  3  3:1–4:17  3:1–6 3:4  3:6 3:15  3:16–17  3:16  3:17  4:5  12:17 12:22  12:24  13:9  13:16  14–15  15:21  17  19:4 23:20 24:12 25:9  28:17–20  29:37  30:29  32  32:32 40:34–35 

161 43 167 24 n.85 37 32 n.13, 38–9, 41–2, 44 41 43 41 42 41 199 n.31 171 171 76 76 125 128 23 148 n.44 125 n.14 199 n.31 172 89 76 76 24 150 n.57 172

250

Index of Primary Sources

250 Leviticus 2:13 3:7  4:32  5:6  8–9  11:41–45  18:24–30  19:18 19:34 23 23:1–16  25:35  25:39  26:21 26:31 27:30  27:34 

109 n.2, 113 171 171 171 46 76 88 38, 44–5 38, 44 24 n.86 24 197 197 186 n.28 149 n.46 76 199

Numbers 9:6–11  11  14  14:10  15:27–31  15:30–31 15:31 15:38–39  16  19:11–22  20  20:5  21  25  26:1–4  26:53–56  33:55 35:30  36:13 

22 24 24 172 207 207 n.58 199 n.31 76 24 76 23 23 24 24 187 187 157 n.21 196 199

Deuteronomy 4:1 4:2 4:9  4:12 4:15–16  4:15 4:16 4:23

200 n.36 214 n.20 200 175, 208 n.63 204–5 206, 208 n.63 205 n.52 205 n.52

4:25–26  4:25 4:40 5:7  5:8 5:11  5:16 5:31 5:33 6–11  6 6:1 6:4–5  6:4  6:5 6:8 6:25 7:5 7:11 7:25 8:1 8:2  8:5 9:12 11:1  11:8 11:18  11:22 12:3 13 13:1–3  14:1 14:22–23  15:5 15:7  15:17  16:20 17:16  17:20 18 18:15–19 18:15  18:21–22  19:9 19:15  21:22 21:23 22:12  25:5 

204–5 205 n.52 200 n.36 43 205 n.52 31 200 n.36 199 n.31 200 n.36 199 199, 199 n.33 199, 199 n.31, 200 44 199 33, 38, 40, 43–5, 199 43, 76 199 n.31 205 n.52 199 n.31 205 n.52 199 n.31, 200 n.36 40 40, 208 n.63 205 n.52 38 199 n.31 76 199 n.31 205 n.52 198 n.27 198 208 n.63 76 199 n.31 197 196 200 n.36 196 199 n.31 198 n.27 79 n.8 170 198 199 n.31 196 158 n.27 157, 157 n.26 76 41

 251

Index of Primary Sources 26:13 27:1 27–29 27–28 27:15 28  28:15  28:58–61  28:59–61  28:59  28:61  29:17–20 29:17 29:19–20 29:20 30:11 30:15–20  30:15–16 30:15  30:17–18 30:19–20 30:19  31:5 31:29  32 32:11 32:18–20 32:21 32:46–47 32:47 33:5

199 n.31 199 n.31 186 n.25 186 n.26 80, 205 n.52 78 87 186 186 186 186 207 n.62 205 n.52 214 n.20 207 n.62 199 n.31, 208 n.63 78 200 n.36 207 143 n.21 200 n.36 207 199 n.31 204 186 n.25 76, 148 208 n.63 205 n.52 200, 201 200 n.36 159 n.31

Joshua 1:1–9  1:16–18  7:6–9

78 78 150 n.57

Judges 3:9–11  10:14 16:28

89 84, 84 n.37 146 n.37, 150 n.57

Ruth 2:12

148 n.44

1 Samuel 8:7 18:21

159 n.31 156 n.19

251

2 Samuel 2:16 2:26 7:11–12  7:12  7:14 22:1–51

157 n.21 25, 26 n.90 20 210 98, 101 150 n.57

1 Kings 2:22 8:6 8:13  8:37 8:46  9:7–8 17  17:17–24  18–19  18:27 21:25–26  22  22:15

84, 84 n.37 148 n.44 76 128 n.31 87 76, 149 n.46 56 126 87 84, 84 n.37 88 87 84, 84 n.37

2 Kings 4:32–37  20:3 21:3  21:6  21:10–15  25:30 

126 146 n.37 88 88 88 200

1 Chronicles 29:11

25, 25 n.90

2 Chronicles 6:42 23:35  24:17–22  24:20–22  24:21  30:2–3  36:15–23 36:15–17  36:15–16 36:22–23 

146 n.37 87 87 76 87–8 22 92 n.47 90–1 76–7, 87 91

Ezra 9:8–9

92 n.47

252

Index of Primary Sources

252 Nehemiah 1:8 5:19 6:14 9:16 9:19 9:26–31  9:26–30 9:26–28 9:26  9:30  9:31 13:14 13:22 13:29 13:31

146 n.37 146 n.37 146 n.37 92 n.47 92 n.47 77 79 n.7 92 n.47 87 87 92 n.47 146 n.37 146 n.37 146 n.37 146 n.37

Job 3:1–26 7:7 10:9 13:16  14:21 22:29  36:7  38:3 40:10 40:18

150 n.57 146 n.37 146 n.37 214 114 n.24 76 25 84 n.37 84 n.37 157 n.21

Psalms 2:1–2 2:2  2:7–8 2:7 6  6:3 6:8–11 8  9:14 8:4–7  8:5–10 10:1 10:6 15(16) 22

128 n.30 32 180, 189–90 98, 101, 156 n.19, 190, 210 145 145, 145 n.33 145 n.33 24–5 145 n.32 24 25 n.87 148 n.44 150 n.50 152 n.59 6, 121–3, 127–8, 130, 130 n.46, 131, 131 n.48, 132, 132 nn.49, 50, 133,

22:1 22:2 22:4–6 22:4 22:5–6  22:7 22:8–9  22:10–12  22:10–11  22:12  22:13  22:14  22:17–19  22:18 22:20–22 22:21  22:22 22:23–32  22:23  22:25  22:26–32  22:26–28  22:26  22:27–28  22:27  22:30–32  22:30  22:31–32  22:32  24  24:2–5  24:2–3 24:2 24:6–7  24:11 24:12  24:15 24:16 24:19 24:22 25:11 26:7 26:8  30 

133 nn.51, 53, 134–5, 135 n.62, 136–7 132 n.50, 136, 136 n.67 121–2, 124, 127, 130, 130 n.43, 131, 132, 133 n.51, 134–7 130, 135 132 n.50 135 132 n.50 130 135 130 135 136 136 130 132 n.50 130, 135 136 130–1, 136 135 133 130–1 133 130 133 133 131 130 133 133 130 145–7 147 145 n.34 146 n.38 146 145 n.34, 147 147 146 n.38 145 n.32 146 n.38 146 n.38 145 n.32 145 n.32 76 151

 253

Index of Primary Sources 30:6  30:10–13  30:10 30:18–19  30:23  39 39:2–5 39:6–12  39:8–9  39:10–11 39:11–12  39:14 40:5 40:7  40:11 41:10  43  43:10 43:24  44 47 50:3 55:2 56:2 60:5 62:8 68(69) 68(69):2–3 68(69):18  68(69):26 71(72) 71(72):8–17  71(72):8  71(72):17  72:18 72:22 73:2 74  74:9  74:10–11 76:7  83:4 85:3 85:16 88(89):23–27 88(89):25–28  88(89):25–27 88(89):48 88(89):51

151 151 145 n.32 151 151 150, 150 n.53 150 n.54 150 150 150 n.55 150 150 n.56 145 n.32 168 145 n.32 126 144 144 n.25 144 144 n.24 159 n.31 145 n.32 145 n.32 145 n.32 148 n.44 148 n.44 128, 143, 143 n.20 143, 212 143 149 n.46 189 n.40 190 189 189 146 n.37 146 n.37 146 n.37 150 149 150 n.51 156 148 n.44 145 n.32 145 n.32 145 n.31 181 190, 210 146 n.37 146 n.37

90:4 102 102:14 105:4 106(107) 106(107):6 106(107):13 106(107):19 106(107):23–29 106(107):28 106(107):29  106(107):30 110

253

118(119):29 118(119):49 118(119):58 118(119):132 120 120:1–2 120:4  120:5–8 121 122:2 123:7 130 131:1 136:7 137:5 147:12

148, 148 n.44 128 n.31 146 n.37 146 n.37 144, 144 n.27 144 n.28 144 n.28 144 n.28 144, 144 n.27 144 n.28, 145 145 145 n.30 34–6, 39, 41 n.43, 45–6, 49 24, 33, 35, 38–9, 43, 45, 49, 52 49 148 n.41 92 124 76–7, 92, 92 n.49, 93, 213 145 n.32 146 n.37 145 n.32 145 n.32 128 n.31 144 n.26 144 144 n.26 128 n.31 148 n.41 148 n.44 128 n.31 146 n.37 146 n.37 148 n.41 148 n.41

Proverbs 4:10  9:5  18:4  21:28 22:9 29:23 

200 173 200 25 n.91 25 n.90 76

Ecclesiastes 11:9

84 n.37

110:1 110:4  116:19 118  118:22–23  118:26

254

Index of Primary Sources

254 Song of Songs 1:12 3:1–4 5:2–8

160 n.40 161 n.40 161 n.40

Isaiah 1:4 3:9 3:11 5  5:1–7  5:7  5:8 5:11 5:18 5:20 5:21 5:22 6  6:1  6:3  6:5 6:9–10  6:9 6:10 8:9–10 10:1 10:22–23  10:23  15:5 22:13  24:20–21  25:6–9  25:6–8 25:8 26:1–4  26:19–27:1  29:1  29:9 30:19 30:20  31:5 38:3 40–61  40:3 40:9–10  40:9 41:27  43:18–19

80 n.12 80 n.12 80 n.12 86 85 86 80 nn.10, 12, 86 80 nn.10, 12, 86 80 nn.10, 12, 86 80 nn.10, 12, 86 80 nn.10, 12, 86 80 nn.10, 12, 86 176 176 176 80, 86, 175–6 85 84 n.37, 85–6 175–76 84, 84 n.37, 87 80 n.1 164–5 164–5 114 n.23 25 26 26 159 n.34 25–7, 215 26 26 84 84, 84 n.37 145 n.32 165 148 n.44 146 n.37 100 100, 125 n.14, 211 100 148 n.41 100 10 n.11

47:12  51:17–23  51:17 51:22 52–54 52:1–54:4  52:1–12 52:1 52:6–10  52:7 52:10–12 53:11–12  53:11  52:12 52:13–53:12

54:1–4 54:1 54:5 56  56:7  61:1  62:4–5 62:6 64:10  65:1–7 65:1–2 65:17 66:1 

84 150 148 n.41, 149 149 n.49, 150 180, 187, 190 181 181, 185 148 n.41, 185 93 36, 100, 169, 211 185, 187 187 188 185, 187–8, 210 7, 171, 180, 185–6, 186 n.25 174 179–81, 185, 185 n.22, 187, 190, 211 175 186 186 n.27 186 186 185 171 184 185 188 171, 179–81, 183–5, 190 188, 190 181, 188 159 n.32 126 126 211 159 n.32 148 n.41 76 149 n.45 152 n.58 10 n.11 76

Jeremiah 2:2 3:5  3:20

159 nn.32, 34 25 159 n.32

52:13  53 53:1  53:3–4  53:3 53:4  53:5  53:6  53:7  53:10–12  53:10  53:12–54:4  53:12

 255

Index of Primary Sources 4:14 148 nn.41, 43 6:8 148 nn.41, 43 6:14  104 6:17  148 7  126 7:10 126 n.18 7:11  126 7:13 126 n.18 7:21 84 n.37, 85, 87 7:24 126 n.18 10:10 159 n.31 12:1–4 150 n.57 12:5–6 149 n.47 12:7 76, 149 12:8–13 149 n.47 13:27 148 nn.41, 43 14:1 128 n.31 14:21 79, 146 n.37 15:5 148 nn.41, 43 17:12  79 18:20 146 n.37 20  87 22:5 76, 149 n.46 22:18  80 23:25–40 197 n.26 23:28 84 n.37, 85 23:29  17 25:4  87 26:5  87 26:20–23  87 27:9 197 n.26 28:7 149 n.49 29:8 197 n.26 30:6 149 n.49 30:19 114 n.24 31:12 159 n.34 32:15 149 n.49 32:28 149 n.49 33:10–11  153 37–38  87 44:25–26 84 n.37 44:25  85 48:34 114 n.23 50:45 (27:45 LXX) 114 n.25 Lamentations 4:21 5:1 5:20 

84 n.37, 85 146 n.37 25

255

Ezekiel 1:1  3:27 9–11 13:10  16:8 20:39 23:31 23:32 23:33 34:21

39 84 n.37, 85 149 n.46 104 159 n.32 84 n.37, 85 149 n.49 149 n.49 149 n.49 157 n.21

Daniel 3 6 7:13–14  8:15–27  8:19  8:23  9:1–27 9:4–19  9:6  9:10  9:24 

128 n.33 128 n.33 79 88 88 88 152 n.58 77 87 87 88

Hosea 2:10  2:19–20 6:2  13  13:14 14:4–7 14:7

87 159 nn.32, 34 24 26 26, 26 n.96, 27, 215 26 n.94 159 n.34

Amos 1:11  3:2  3:14  4  4:1  4:4–5 4:6  4:8  4:9  4:10  4:11  4:12  5:5  5:18

25 85 85 85 85 84 n.37, 85, 87 85 85 85 85 85 85 85 80 n.10

256

Index of Primary Sources

256 6:1 6:4 7:9  7:10–17  7:13  8:7  9:11  9:13–14

80 n.10 80 n.10 85 87 85 25 20 159 n.34

Jonah 1:17 (2:1 LXX)  2:1–10 2:3–4 

24 144 n.22 144

Micah 6:8 

76

Nahum 3:1 3:14–15

80 n.13 84 n.37, 85, 87

Zephaniah 3:5 

25

Habakkuk 2:3–4 2:9 2:12 2:15 2:19

183–4, 210 80 n.10 80 n.10 80 n.10 80 n.10

Zechariah 1:1  2:10 10:12 12:10 13–14  13:2 13:7–14:6 13:7–14:5  13:7–9 13:7 13:8–9  13:8 13:9

76 110 n.8 197 n.26 205 n.53 116 205 n.53 115, 118 117 109–10, 114, 114 n.22, 115, 118 110, 114, 114 n.22, 115, 117–18, 205 n.53, 210 118 117–18 6, 109, 109 n.2, 110, 112, 112 n.15, 113–14,

14:6  14:7

114 nn.22, 26, 115–16, 116 n.31, 117–19, 210 109 109–10 110, 118, 210 118 110 110 110, 110 n.4 110, 110 n.6, 112, 116–19 118 110, 110 n.9, 118

Malachi 1:14 3:1

159 n.31 125 n.14

Matthew 1–2  1:1–17 1:11–12  1:17 1:22  2:15  2:17  2:23  3:7–12  3:15  4:4–10  4:14  4:19 5:10–12  5:12  5:15 5:17–48  5:17–21  5:17–20  5:17  7:7 8:8 8:11  8:17  8:23 8:27 9:13  10:18  10:22 

91 77, 92 86 80 n.10, 86 91 91 91 91 86 91 32 91 82 n.21 77 86 82 n.21 87 77 92 91 82 n.21 82 n.21 51 91 143 n.19 143 n.19 86 77 77

14  14:1–6 14:1–5 14:1–2  14:1  14:2  14:4 14:5

 257

Index of Primary Sources 10:23  10:24–25  10:40  10:41–42  11:5  11:7–18  12:7  12:17  13:14–15  13:14  13:35  13:44  15:7–9  15:22 17:12  19:1–19  19:19 19:28 20:28  21:4  21:9 21:13  21:16  21:32  21:33–46  21:33  21:42  21:45  22:14  22:15–45  22:15–22  22:15  22:16 22:17  22:18  22:22  22:23–33  22:23 22:24  23:29–31  22:29 22:31–46 22:31–32 22:31 22:32–40  22:32 22:33–34  22:33

92 77 77 86 99 86 86 91 85–6 91 91 167 86 145 n.32 86 19 33, 165 79, 79 n.9, 92 79 91 76, 92–3, 213 86 86 86 85 86 86 86 40 46 46 48 40, 45 45 47 47–8 46 40–1, 46 45 86 37, 48 5, 29–30 40, 45, 50 32, 37, 41, 44 43 32 n.13, 37–9, 42, 44–5, 51–2 48 40, 47–8

22:34–40  22:34 22:35 22:36–40  22:36  22:37–40  22:37–39  22:37–38  22:37 22:38 22:39 22:40 22:41–45 22:41–42  22:41  22:42–45  22:42 22:43–44  22:43  22:44–45 22:44 22:45–46 22:45 22:46 23 23:1  23:3  23:5 23:12  23:13 23:15 23:16 23:17  23:19  23:21  23:22  23:23 23:24  23:25 23:27–39 23:27 23:29–37  23:29–36 23:29 23:31–32  23:31 23:32 23:34

257 46 40, 48, 51 37, 40, 47 45 44–5 165 37 49 32, 35, 39–40, 43–5 32 n.13, 44 44–5, 76 37, 165 35, 46 32 40 45 39, 44 34 32 46, 48–50, 52 32–3, 37–9, 45 31, 47–8 37 n.35, 51 41, 47–8, 51 48, 75–7, 79, 81–2, 84, 86, 90–2, 213 40 40 43, 76 76 80 n.12, 86 80 n.12, 86 80 n.12, 86 76 76 76 76 76, 80 n.12, 86 76 80 n.12, 86 92 n.46 76, 80 n.12, 86 86 6, 77, 91 80 n.12, 86 81 81–3, 91 77, 81–7, 89–91 76–77, 86, 92

258

258 23:35–36  23:35 23:37–39 23:37 23:38 23:39 24  24:1  24:9–14  24:11–12  24:10  25:31–46  25:35–45  26:6–13  26:24  26:26–29  26:39  26:42  26:54  26:56  27:9  27:20–23  28:18–20  28:19–20  Mark 1:1–15 1:1 1:2–8  1:2–3 1:3  1:4 1:11  2:24 3:2–4 3:6 4:35–41  4:36 4:41 5 5:1–20 5:6–8  5:9 5:14–17  5:18–20  5:19  5:21–24 

Index of Primary Sources 86 76–7, 88 79 n.9, 89, 91–2 76–7, 80 76, 91, 93 77, 92–3, 213 116 46 92 202 116 79 86 62 91 79 91 91 90–1 91 91 92 92 77 95 n.1 6, 95, 95 n.1, 100 125 58, 60–1, 95 n.1, 125, 212 125 95 n.1 131 126 n.18 126 n.18 126 n.18 126 143 n.19 143 n.19 6, 65, 65 n.51, 66, 71–2, 212 63–4, 66, 125 64 64, 211 65–6 65 65 123

5:25–34 5:35–43  5:39 5:41 6:4  7:1–13 8:11 8:12 8:31 8:34–38  8:35  8:38 9  9:2–8  9:7  9:9  9:10  9:12  9:14–29  9:27  9:31 9:42–49  9:42–48  9:42 9:48 9:49 9:50  10:33–34 10:34  10:35–45  10:39  10:47 10:48 11:17 11:18 11:27–33 12:1–12 12:6  12:7  12:12  12:30 12:32–33  12:28–34  13 13:3

123 n.9 123 126 n.16 123, 126 n.16 170 126 n.18 126 n.18 126 n.18 123 n.8, 124, 129 n.39, 131 129 129 110, 110 n.6, 116 115 123 131 123 123 123 123 123 123 n.8, 124, 129 n.39, 131 115 114 113–15, 210 109, 113 6, 109, 109 n.2, 110, 113, 113 n.17, 114 n.22, 115, 117–19, 210 109 123 n.8, 124, 129 n.39 131 129 129 145 n.32 145 n.32 126, 126 n.20 126 n.18 126 n.18 124, 126 n.18, 129 124 129 124 32–3, 35, 40 38 48 110, 117, 119 110, 110 n.4

 259

Index of Primary Sources 13:9–13 13:14–19  13:14–17  13:14  13:26–27  13:26  13:27 13:32 14 14:1–2  14:3–9  14:8  14:9 14:10–11  14:18–21  14:18  14:26  14:27–28  14:27 14:28 14:30  14:36 14:43–50  14:50–51  15–16  15 15:24  15:27  15:29  15:30  15:31  15:32  15:33 15:34

4:18  6:20–26  6:24–26 7:22  7:36–50  8:22–25 8:23  8:24 10:25–37  10:25–28  10:27  13:28  13:31–34 13:33–34 13:34–35  13:34  13:35 16:16  16:24 18:35–43  18:43  20:37  22:39–46  22:42  23:26 23:32 23:39–43  23:41  23:42  23:46 23:47  24:44 24:47 

15:35–36  15:38  15:39 15:43  16  16:1–8 16:6–8  16:7  16:8

110, 115 110 110 110 110 116 110 n.8 110, 110 n.9 65, 212 126 62 63 63, 66 126 126 126 127 126 110, 114–15, 131, 210 114 n.27 131 131, 134 126 131 130 131, 133 130 130 130 130 130 130 131 n.47 6, 122, 124, 127, 130, 130 n.43, 131–4, 135 n.62, 137 130 131 108 n.29, 130–1, 133 133 131 130, 132 130 133 133 n.53

Luke 4:16–21  4:18–21 

212 38

2:1–11

John 1:1–18  1:12 1:14  1:18  1:19–34  1:29  1:34  1:35  1:51  2–3  2

259 99 80 80 n.12 99 62 143, 144 n.22, 212 144 140, 143 33 165 33 51 152 n.58 148 n.43 148 148 143 n.20 99 145 n.32 145 145 51 149 149 143 n.20 146 n.36 146 147 140 140, 151 151 211 n.10 168 159 158, 158 n.28 171–2 175 159 171 174 171 172 158 156, 159 nn.30, 34, 160–1 153, 158–9, 159 n.30, 160

260

260 2:1  2:4  2:6–8  2:9–10  2:10  2:19 2:21–22  3 3:14  3:25–30 4  4:1–42  4:4–42  4:16 5:24  5:37  5:39 5:46  6 6:14  6:30–31  6:31  6:32  6:35–58  6:35  6:37  6:46  6:49  6:50  6:51  6:58  6:63 6:68 7:38 8:12  8:28  8:56  9:5  10:11  10:14  10:18  11:1–44  11:11 11:13  12 12:1–8 12:32  12:38  12:41 

Index of Primary Sources 160 160 160 159 160 84 n.37, 172 172 159, 159 n.30, 161 174 153, 159, 159 n.30 160–1 160 153 161 n.41 200 175 167–8, 174, 211 167 172 n.51 170 172 172 172 172 173 173 175 172 173 173 172 200 n.37 200 n.37 157 n.22 173 174 51 173 171 173 171 155 156 n.14 156 160 n.40 62, 153, 160 n.40 174 175 175–7

13:27 13:34  14  14:1–7  14:2–3  15:1  15:12  17:5  19

19:23  19:26–27  19:26 19:27  19:29–30  19:29  19:33–34  19:33 19:34 19:36 19:41 20 20:1–18  20:1–8 20:17 20:20  20:25  20:27  20:31 

84 n.37 198 160–1 160–1 161 173 198 177 7, 154–5, 156 nn.17, 19, 157–8, 160, 162 155 158 153–5, 158–9, 162, 214–15 155 156 155, 160 160 160 171 155 155, 158 155–6, 160 171, 174 155, 157 161 n.40 153 160 n.40 133 n.51 156 156 156 158

Acts 1:6 1:20 2:25 3:19–21 3:22  5:20 5:30 7:52 7:55–56  10:39 11:24  11:25  11:29  13:29

79 n.9 143 n.20 152 n.59 79 n.9 170 200 n.37 157 n.26 87 n.42 24 157 n.26 36 36 197 157 n.26

19:13–18  19:18  19:23–37

 261

Index of Primary Sources 13:46  13:48  17:23  17:28  22:3 24:17 

200 200 14 14 19, 22 197

Romans 4:3–8 4:25 5  5:4–9  5:10  5:17  5:18  5:21  8:17–32  8:32 9:28  10:15  10:17  11:12  11:15  11:24  13:8  13:9  13:10  15:25 

23, 23 n.83 185, 185 n.21 215 23 23 23 23 23 190 181, 185, 190 164–6 36 36 23 23 23 166 164 165 197

1 Corinthians 1:18–2:16 2:9–13  3:19–20  8:1–6  9:9–10  10:1–13 10:1–11  10:1  10:4  10:5  10:6  10:7–8  10:7  10:8  10:9  10:10  12:8  12:28–29  15

26 n.97 23 23 50 23 26 n.97 23 23 23 24 24 23 24 24 24 24 23 23 5, 10, 11 n.14, 24, 27, 215

261

15:3–4 15:4  15:20–28 15:21–22  15:22  15:24–28  15:24–27 15:27  15:32–33  15:45–49  15:45  15:54–55 15:55–57  15:56 

24, 24 n.86 27 26 n.97 24 24 26 24, 28 24 24–5 24 24 24–6, 26 nn.91, 97, 215 26 25

2 Corinthians 3:1–6  5:17

23 10 n.11

Galatians 1:4 1:13–15  2:20 3:10–14 3:11 3:13 3:14 3:16–18  3:16 3:18–19  3:18 3:26–29 4:1–7  4:4–7  4:22  4:26–27  4:27–31 4:30  5:1 5:21 6:15

179–82, 184, 184 n.19, 185, 190, 210 22 181, 185, 190, 197 181, 187 183–4, 210 157 n.26, 187 181, 190 189 179–81, 184, 190 190 179, 210 179, 181 179 187 187 188 179, 188 210 181, 187 181, 190, 210 10 n.11

Ephesians 1:20–22 

24

Philippians 1:19  2:16  3:4–8 

214 200 22

262

Index of Primary Sources

262 1 Thessalonians 2:14–16 2:16 5:3 

87 n.42, 90 n.45 87 n.41 104

2 Thessalonians 2:3  2:7–8 

203 203

Titus 1:12 

14

1 Peter 2:24 3:21–22 

157 n.26 24

Hebrews 1:1–2  2:5–8  10:5–8 11:32–38

169 24 150 n.53 87 n.42

1 John 1–2  1:1–3 1:1 2:2  2:18–27  2:18  2:22–23  2:22  3:1–2 3:4 3:6  3:9–10 3:12  3:17  3:23 4:1–3  4:2–3  4:3  4:7 4:10 4:15  4:16  4:20–5:3 5  5:1–2

206 208 n.63 200, 207 n.61 207 198 197 203 197 208 n.63 193, 199 n.32, 201–3, 205–8, 213 202 208 n.63 194 196–7 198, 203 197 203 197 208 n.63 197, 207 203 203 208 n.63 206 208 n.63

5:1  5:3 5:4 5:5  5:7–8  5:10  5:12  5:13  5:16–17 5:17  5:18  5:20–21  5:20 5:21

203 208 n.63 208 n.63 203 195 203 206 203 193, 201, 206–8, 213 207 202 204 193, 205–6 193, 204–5, 205 n.53, 206–8, 213

2 John 6  7 

198 197

3 John 12

196, 196 n.16

Revelation 5:5–6  6:16  17–18  17:14  18:10 18:16 18:19 22:11 22:18–19 22:19

210 211 14 211 80 n.12 80 n.12 80 n.12 84 n.37 214 n.20 200 n.38

Pseudepigrapha/Apocrypha Baruch 3:2

145 n.32

2 Baruch 14:13  14:19  29:5 78:4  78:7 

182–3 182–3 159 n.34 183 183

1 Enoch 10:19

159 n.34

 263

Index of Primary Sources 94:6–95:7  96:4–8  98:9–99:2  100:7–9 

80 80 80 80

2 Enoch 52 

80

1 Ezra 3:9

25 n.90

4 Ezra 3:12–15  6:59  7  7:1–9  7:11–13  7:50 

182 182 182 182 182 182

Jubilees 1:12–14  14:16–17  14:16 29:11 

87 88 87 n.41 88

Judith 5:17–19  6:6 6:19

78 157 n.21 145 n.32

Letter of Aristeas 158–160 228–229 

199 n.33 50

Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 25:3–28:10  89 26:12  89 26:13  89 1 Maccabees 3:19 9:71  14:41

25 n.90 200 38, 49

2 Maccabees 6:12–17  7 10:28

89 128 n.33, 130 n.41 25 n.90

263

10:38 36:15–17

25 n.90 92 n.47

4 Maccabees 7:19 16:25  16:25  17:12

42, 51 42 50–1 25 n.90

Martyrdom and Ascension of Isaiah 1:1–3:12  87 5:1–16  87 Odes 14:40

145 n.32

Paraleipomena of Jeremiah 1:1–8  87 9:19–31  87 Psalms of Solomon 17:11  203 17:18  203 17:20  203 Sibylline Oracles 2:254–263  3:57–59 4:24  4:30  8:481–482 

202 84 n.37 50 50 50

Sirach 24  24:19  24:21  30:12 36:1 41:1–2  42:5

173 173 173 157 n.21 145 n.32 27 157 n.21

Testament of Abraham A 16–20 27 n.98 18:1–2 27 n.98 Testament of Benjamin 3:1  50 10:6  51

264

Index of Primary Sources

264 Testament of Dan 6:1  202 6:5–6  202 Testament of Issachar 5:2  38 Testament of Levi 18:19 

51

Tobit 1:3–6  3:3–5  3:7–9  7 7:9–18  7:12 13:5–6  13:9  13:15–17 14:3–6 14:4–7 

78 78 41 156 n.19 156 156 n.19 78 78 92 n.47 92 n.47 78

Vita Prophetarum 1–3  6–7  15  23  27.1

87 87 87 87 27 n.98

Wisdom 2–5 2 2:12–20  4–5 4:18–5:14 

127–8, 128 nn.26–7 128 n.33 128 128 n.33 128

Dead Sea Literature CD 7.13–8.1  7:17–18  19:9 

20 87 114

1QapGen 21:2  22:32 

33 33

1QpHabakkuk 10:5 11:2 12:14

80 n.13 80 n.13 80 n.13

1QH 13:6–19

128 n.27

1QS 1:11–13  1:16–17  2:5–9 4:27–5:1  9:26–10:8 10:23–24 

33 33 80 n.13 33 199 n.33 89

4Q162 2:2

80 n.13

4Q166 Frag. 1, ii, 1–6 

87

4Q169 (4QpNah) Frag. 1, i, 8 157 n.26 Frags. 3–4, ii, 1 80 n.13 4Q174 Frag. 1, i, 18–19 128 n.30 Frag.1, i, 21  20 Frag. 1, ii, 10–13  20 4Q179 Frag. 1, i, 4 Frag. 1, ii, 1

80 n.13 80 n.13

4Q185 Frags. 1–2, i, 9

80 n.13

4Q266 Frag. 3, ii, 8–19 

87

4Q286 2:2–12

80 n.13

4Q365 Frag. 6a, ii, 1–7

128 n.30

 265

Index of Primary Sources 4Q389 Frag. 8, ii, 4–7 

90

4Q390 Frag. 2, i, 5 

88

4Q511 Frag. 6, iii, 5

80 n.13

11QMelchizedek (11Q13) 2:6–8  36 2:13  36 2:15–16  36 2:18  36 11QTemple Scroll (11Q19–20) 59:2–20  78 59.2–13 87 n.40 59:3–13  90 59:9  90 Targums 176 176 176 24 114 n.26

Lamentations 2:20

88 n.43

Philo Judaeus 38, 43, 50

De posteritate Caini 1.12  50 Quod omni probus liber sit 1.42–43  50 1.83  50 Josephus Antiquities 4.212–213 18.117 

96 96 106

Other Early Jewish Literature Abot de Rabbi Natan A 37 20 n.63 Genesis Rabbah 8.6 (on Gen 1:26–28)

25 n.87

Lamentations Rabbah Proem 5  88 Proem 23  88 1.16.51  88 2.2.4  88 2.20.23  88 4.13.16  88 Midrash Sekhel Tov Shemot 15 136 n.66

Jonathan Isa 6:1  Isa 6:5  Isa 6:8  Hos 6:2  Zech 13:9

De decalogo 106–110

Jewish War 4.618  4.656–657  6.312–313 

265

199 n.33 50

Midrash Tanhuma Yelamdenu Lev 4:1 88 n.43 Midrash Tehillim 22 

136

Pesiqta Rabbati 34 35 36 37

136 n.69 136 n.69 136 n.69, 137 n.70 136 n.69

Qohelet Rabbah 3:16

88 n.43

Sifra 3a

20 n.63

m. Berakot 2.2 

199

m. Nazir 9.5

20 n.66

m. Sanhedrin 6

157 n.26

266

Index of Primary Sources

266

Other Early Christian Literature

m. Sota 6.3

20 n.66

m. Ta‘anit 2.3

128 n.31

m. Tamid 5.1  7.4

199 128 n.31

t. Sanhedrin 7.11

20 n.63

b. Berakot 3a 6a 24b 33a 61a

80 n.14 127 n.21 80 n.14 80 n.14 80 n.14

b. Gittin 57b

88 n.43

b. Megillah 15b  32a

136 127 n.21

b. Pesahim 65a 87b

80 n.14 80 n.14

b. Sanhedrin 7b 34a  96b 98a

Hippolytus Apostolic Tradition 25 127 n.25

80 n.14 17 88 n.43 90 n.45

Irenaeus Epideixis 87

b. Shabbath 10a

80 n.14

b. Ta‘anit 16a

127 n.21

b. Yoma 72b 86a

80 n.14 80 n.14

y. Ta‘anit 69a

88 n.43

Ambrose Explanatio Psalmorum XII 61  169 61.33 169 nn.35–8 Augustine Enarrationes in Psalmos 103  169 103.4.1 169 n.39, 170 n.40 In Evangelium Johannis tractatus 24.7 170 nn.42–4 Barnabas 5:11

90 n.45

Didache 16 16:1  16:3–4  16:5 16:7 

115, 119 116 116 116, 116 n.31 116

Gospel of Peter 5:17

90 n.45

Adversus haereses 3.21.10–3.23.8 4.10.1–2 4.10.1 4.26  4.26.1

164 n.6, 165 n.7 166 n.15 167 n.22 167 n.21 167 167 nn.23–5, 170 n.45, 174 n.55

Jerome Commentariorum in Isaiam 4.9 165 n.12 9.27 165 n.13

 267

Index of Primary Sources Origen Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 1  169 1.12–31 169 n.33 1.52–57 169 n.34 5  168 5.5 168 n.29 5.6 168 nn.30–2 Commentarii in Romanos 7.19.3 165 n.10

Homer Odyssea 9 9.366  10 10.210–243  10.330  19.360–507  19.475 

267

65–6, 71 65 65–6, 71 65 65 62 63

Ilias

Homiliae in Genesim 14  168 14.1 168 nn.26–8

Menander Thais Frag. 187(218) 

25

Homiliae in Lucam 34  165 34.1 165 n.11

Plato Respublica 2.377a 

95

Tertullian Apologia 39

Plutarch Pompeius 66.3 

96

127 n.25

Greco-Roman Literature

Quintilian Institutio oratoria 6.1.1 166 n.18

Aristotle Poetica 11  16 

63 63

Rhetorica 2.23.4–5 3.14.1 

Suetonius Vespasianus 4.5 

107

21 n.75 95

Cicero Pro Caecina 21.59

Tacitus Historiae 5.13.1–2 

106

21 n.72

Vergil Aenid 3 

71

Rhetorica ad Herennium 2.30.47 166 n.17 Partitiones oratoriae 36.123 21 n.72 36.126 21 n.72

Inscriptions and Papyri OGIS no. 458 ll. 32–41 

97

268

268